The Heart Fountain

 
The Forest: Prologue
The fog in my mind lifts slowly, and I find myself in a young boy’s body.

I hear Jaina’s thoughts, and feel his feelings.
His senses are mine.

But he does not hear my thoughts, or feel my feelings.
And I have no power to act.

The old ones call this “traveling as a witness.”

What will it be like to observe someone for a whole lifetime, unable to act?

After a few days, I begin to get lost in him, and forget about me.
I start to believe that the thoughts and actions are all mine.

Sometimes I remember, and feel that I am only a witness.
And that I am different than his thoughts, his feelings, and his actions.

But then a moment, or a day passes, and I lose myself again.

And so, the years pass.

And then death comes.
And my thoughts continue.

First, I imagine that this is a life after death.
I think Jaina’s thoughts about life and death.
I think that I am Jaina.

I remember Shazira my wife, and Tzina, my daughter, before I remember myself.
Then I remember Yagrin and the temple and the old ones.

And I begin to feel my body resting in the vat.

I’ve thought about different ways to tell about Jaina’s forest.

But the only way is to speak as Jaina with his words and thoughts.

 
A Chief’s Heart

My name is Jaina and I am chief of my group.
There are many wonderful things that I remember in my life, and many challenges.

But first of my strong memories is of the climb.

My people live in a dangerous world.
So we fight to live.

Usually we fight the Kalmil, shape shifters that live as great cats, and hunt in the forest.

We drive them away when they attack.

Killing them is bad luck.
An old saying says,”killing kalmil is like killing your father.”
A strange saying.

Sometimes we fight other groups.
Sometimes we fight each other.

Elder mother says: “Fight to live, not in anger.”

My father has four wives.
His wives raise all their children together.

And we play and work with other children of the group.

But elder mother was the oldest wife when father lived.
Not my blood mother, but she gave birth to this heart.

She taught me how to think and feel.
Elder mother has always been my favorite.

Among my people, there are two councils who advise the chief.

One is a council of elders.
Mostly, they are women.

The other council is of fire dreamers.
This one is split, men and women.

Elder mother is on both councils.
She is worthy, and who has the courage to deny her?

Some people say it is hard to be chief.
It’s not the right way to speak of it.

It’s not hard for the sun to rise in the sky,
Or for the great cats to run after their prey.
It’s not hard to be chief.

But you have to know if you are the chief.

The “climb” is one way for children to learn if they have the heart of a chief.
There are other tests, too.

The fire dreamers dreamed all of our tests.
The fire dreamers tell us of things that our eyes cannot see.
They help the chief to keep the heart of the people straight.

No one has to take the tests to become chief.
Many who were chiefs never saw the tests.

But elder mother says that a chief must know he is a chief,
Not just be stronger or faster.

It was she who decided that I would do the climb.

There was little question that I would obey her in this.
Sometimes I don’t listen to her, but not for long.

Elder mother is very kind.
But when my birth mother begged me not to go, elder mother slapped her.

“He must believe he can do it,” she said, “or he will die.”

The climb is a deep dry hole.
To enter is easy.
There is an easy way to the bottom of the hole by walking through the caves.

Once the climber is at the bottom, the passageway to the hole is sealed at the bottom with great rocks. And the way is guarded so no one may help or provide rescue.
The rocks are too large for any young one to move.
There are two ways out: up, or die.

The passageway is narrow and the rocks sharp.
The one who climbs will get cut many times.

The climber moves slowly, squeezing between the rocks.
There is no water and little food.

Do the climb when you’re too small, you won’t have the strength to make it up.
Do it when you’re too big and you won’t fit.

The ways are clear.
Eight suns old, until the ninth sun comes, you can climb.

Eat too much before you climb, and you won’t fit.
Eat too little, you won’t have the strength.

I had an elder brother who told me wonderful stories when I was little.
He was so strong and kind.
He made the climb, but left much of his blood on the rocks.

He was bleeding fast when he came out of the hole.
A healer came quickly, but my brother died an hour out of the hole.

The whole group mourns for anyone who dies in a test or battle.

Elder mother says “Getting out is great work.”
Once I said to her that getting out is hard to do.

She slapped me hard enough to knock me down.
I cried a little as I got up, but I did not complain.

“A rock is hard,” she said as she looked sharply into my eyes.
“Work is just work. You face it with all that you are, and more.”
“If you die then, it is a good death.”

“But don’t die,” she added and smiled, kissing the place that she had slapped.

Many die.

Some lose the courage to climb, and just remain at the bottom waiting for death.

Others climb part way and go mad from the small spaces.
They tear themselves to pieces, trying to rush out of the hole.

Some die from bleeding.
Some from weakness.
Some just get stuck.

And when you bleed, there are flies.

Sometimes a climber dies, and their bones and flesh get stuck along the way
A barrel is made of vistal, and poured down the hole.

It does not burn the rocks, or remain long in the hole, but it dissolves flesh and bone.
What is left at the bottom is cleaned up a few days later.

Some mothers tell their children stories of the spirits of dead children to frighten them.
The most scary of all stories are of dead children who never made it through the climb.

I think that children who believe such stories will never become chiefs.