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leadpencils2018-04-09 10:52 pm
gumviolet) wrote in leadpencils2018-04-09 10:52 pm
ficlet; ice songs
Inspired by this tumblr post.
Th'uhnvekk is not an easy place to grow up. Yfa knows this, has it written into her bones and soul. She is fourteen summers old, and finally filling out into her too-big hands and feet. Ts'hava says she has all the grace of a caribou colt, but Ts'hava was small once too.
Yfa knows this because Tn'atak told her so, shaping memory with song to show a tiny Ts'hava struggling to run and shoot at the same time. Tn'atak knows many things, and Yfa spent much of the winter by Tn'atak's hearth, learning.
Something wild and free roams Yfa's soul. Tn'atak had Seen it when Tn'nai was round with Not-Yet Yfa, had seen omens in the cut-glass sea of dawning spring. So Tn'atak has watched Yfa, waiting for the wild to rise howling behind her eyes.
Ts'ket doesn't like it. Ts'ket is a-feared of the wildness, the gloaming, endless dark that rolls over Th'uhnvekk each winter. Tn'atak says it is because Ts'ket has seen the worst of the Dark, has seen how hunger and ice-dark can unmake a person.
Ts'ket was not born of Th'uhnvekk. Neither was Tn'atak, but where Tn'atak will answer a questioning babe, Ts'ket will merely scowl. Ts'hava likes Ts'ket. "Ts'ket is strong!" Ts'hava says. "Ts'ket will lead us through the ice-dark, through to the dawn."
Yfa thinks that Ts'hava would like to be wed to Ts'ket, but only told Tn'nai so. Tn'nai had laughed and laughed, before patting Yfa on the head.
--
Th'uhnvekk sits on the edge of the vast frozen northern continent. People within Th'uhnvekk know that the land they live on is vast, but few dare to venture out of the taiga and forest - for beyond that is the vast plains of the ice-dark. And the ice-dark unmakes people.
Ts'ket came from a place that was unmade during the deep-winter. He then walked through the ice-dark until he came across another village. Tn'atak's village still exists, but Tn'atak left because they had three song-speakers already, and Th'uhnvekk had none.
Th'uhnvekk has fourteen wedded groups, and is built on a plateau against a hill. In winter, it a trek to open water, but ice-fishing keeps them fed. In summer, the beach below them heaves with seals and other wildlife. It is four day's walk to the Th'uvaata, the nearest settlement. Across the water lies an island of ash and fire.
There are songs that tell of a massive beast that flies on smoke; Tn'atak sings them every ice-dark. There has been no fire-beast for many summers now, but Ts'kava, though blind, can tell them of a time when fire took the place of the sun during the ice-dark, and the sea-ice melted so the beast could fish.
--
There is a period in the dawning spring when the sea ice melts down to shards and laps against the snowy shore. It sounds like the shell-and-bone charms hung outside ever door, only a dozen times better.
Yfa steals out at dawn, walking down to the shoreline. Tn'nai is busy scraping hide, and Ts'hava and Ts'umu have not yet risen from sleep. Ts'kava sits outside, sunning himself. But Yfa's feet have learned to be quiet during this last ice-dark, and her keen eyes avoid patches of ice that would crack underfoot.
No one else is yet outside, but columns of peat-smoke rise from every building. Cooking fires, rather than warming embers. So Yfa will have to be quick.
The path down to the shore switches back on itself, and while Yfa moves, she keeps an eye out for predators on the beach. This time of year, bears are a constant risk. Mothers are hunting for their cubs, and males are just plain hungry. But Yfa sees no white-on-white movement, and hears only the calm grunting of seals. Overhead, a tern spirals, calling without expecting an answer.
The shoreline is calm. Yfa lies down, seal-skin outer jerkin keeping her dry. The roll of the waves is perhaps an arm length away, the gentle clinking of the ice a lullaby. The wildness in her soul calms, and Yfa's eyes slide almost closed.
Yfa listens to the sounds of the world; a seal calf bays for it's mother. The mother growls back, and a ripple of noise flows through the colony. The tern shrieks again, and a gull caws back. The cut-glass ocean whispers to her, and below that, the grinding of ice out to sea.
Yfa breathes out, and a tiny wisp of chilled air rises from where her breath meets the ice. Yfa breathes in, and the fog brushes over her face. The sun rises higher, and the sounds of Th'uhnvekk begin in earnest. Scraping of bone over snow, as butchering frames are pulled out from their winter holes. Voices, some rumbling like stones falling down a hill and others sharp like bone breaking.
People will see that Yfa is missing, soon. People will look for Yfa, and likely yell for her. Yfa doesn't want that. It means that Yfa will have to stop listening to the sounds of the world, and help carry things and scrape hides and crush berries. It's easier to just listen to the cut-glass ice rolling against the shore.
So Yfa doesn't notice someone approaching until a hand wraps around the collar of her jerkin and she is hauled skywards. Yfa squeaks, kicking her feet - until she realises that it is Ts'ket who is scowling like a thundercloud.
Ts'ket berates her the entire way back up the hill, and sends her to help Tn'nai with a harsh shove. Yfa stumbles into Ts'umu, who is still Not Awake, and they both have to be steadied by Ts'shava.
"What happened, Yfa? Ts'ket looks especially foul-tempered this morn." Yfa huffs, face screwed up in a scowl as she straightens out her layers.
"The ice was singing, and Ts'ket caught me." Ts'umu clucks, and steers her back towards the house. It's better that Yfa avoid Ts'ket for the rest of the day. Jh'taava he may be, but Ts'ket still had a temper few wanted to bring out.
-------
Notes: Yfa and her village dwell in an area that is well within the arctic circle of the world of Imikirr. Ice-dark is their term for the season when the sun does not rise, which lasts for about three-four months. Gloaming-dark is the term for the twilight months, summer is when the ice has melted, and spring is when the sun stays up for longer than six hours.
Yfa's people (Jh'aahnar) are extremely specific when it comes to using names - to use pronouns other than "I" is considered horrendously rude, as it reduces a person to a thing. And things aren't people. Ostracism is considered the capital punishment for Jh'aahnar, because it unpersons you, removing the target for the support system of the village.
Children are given adult names when they hit fifteen summers, or are deemed to be competent by the Jh'taava, or headperson of the village. The prefix Ts' is used for male-bodied persons, and Tn' for female-bodied persons. Th' is a signifier for a permanent village, rather than a seasonal hunting camp.
Tn'atak can be considered a bard, and left their village for Th'uhnvekk because her home village had three other bards (a master and two apprentices), and Tn'atak was considered to be a journeyman in the craft.
Yfa is an as-yet unskilled sorceror - she was born with magic running through her veins, and Ts'ket is concerned that she could lose control and destroy the village. Ts'ket's old village was allegedly torn apart by wendigo-esque unpeople, and it is believed that mentioning unpeople will draw them to you.
The fact that Ts'ket survived the ravages of the unpeople, and then survived fleeing blindly into the depths of the icedark is seen as a trait that he would be a good leader, as he is a tenacious individual.
Th'uhnvekk is not an easy place to grow up. Yfa knows this, has it written into her bones and soul. She is fourteen summers old, and finally filling out into her too-big hands and feet. Ts'hava says she has all the grace of a caribou colt, but Ts'hava was small once too.
Yfa knows this because Tn'atak told her so, shaping memory with song to show a tiny Ts'hava struggling to run and shoot at the same time. Tn'atak knows many things, and Yfa spent much of the winter by Tn'atak's hearth, learning.
Something wild and free roams Yfa's soul. Tn'atak had Seen it when Tn'nai was round with Not-Yet Yfa, had seen omens in the cut-glass sea of dawning spring. So Tn'atak has watched Yfa, waiting for the wild to rise howling behind her eyes.
Ts'ket doesn't like it. Ts'ket is a-feared of the wildness, the gloaming, endless dark that rolls over Th'uhnvekk each winter. Tn'atak says it is because Ts'ket has seen the worst of the Dark, has seen how hunger and ice-dark can unmake a person.
Ts'ket was not born of Th'uhnvekk. Neither was Tn'atak, but where Tn'atak will answer a questioning babe, Ts'ket will merely scowl. Ts'hava likes Ts'ket. "Ts'ket is strong!" Ts'hava says. "Ts'ket will lead us through the ice-dark, through to the dawn."
Yfa thinks that Ts'hava would like to be wed to Ts'ket, but only told Tn'nai so. Tn'nai had laughed and laughed, before patting Yfa on the head.
--
Th'uhnvekk sits on the edge of the vast frozen northern continent. People within Th'uhnvekk know that the land they live on is vast, but few dare to venture out of the taiga and forest - for beyond that is the vast plains of the ice-dark. And the ice-dark unmakes people.
Ts'ket came from a place that was unmade during the deep-winter. He then walked through the ice-dark until he came across another village. Tn'atak's village still exists, but Tn'atak left because they had three song-speakers already, and Th'uhnvekk had none.
Th'uhnvekk has fourteen wedded groups, and is built on a plateau against a hill. In winter, it a trek to open water, but ice-fishing keeps them fed. In summer, the beach below them heaves with seals and other wildlife. It is four day's walk to the Th'uvaata, the nearest settlement. Across the water lies an island of ash and fire.
There are songs that tell of a massive beast that flies on smoke; Tn'atak sings them every ice-dark. There has been no fire-beast for many summers now, but Ts'kava, though blind, can tell them of a time when fire took the place of the sun during the ice-dark, and the sea-ice melted so the beast could fish.
--
There is a period in the dawning spring when the sea ice melts down to shards and laps against the snowy shore. It sounds like the shell-and-bone charms hung outside ever door, only a dozen times better.
Yfa steals out at dawn, walking down to the shoreline. Tn'nai is busy scraping hide, and Ts'hava and Ts'umu have not yet risen from sleep. Ts'kava sits outside, sunning himself. But Yfa's feet have learned to be quiet during this last ice-dark, and her keen eyes avoid patches of ice that would crack underfoot.
No one else is yet outside, but columns of peat-smoke rise from every building. Cooking fires, rather than warming embers. So Yfa will have to be quick.
The path down to the shore switches back on itself, and while Yfa moves, she keeps an eye out for predators on the beach. This time of year, bears are a constant risk. Mothers are hunting for their cubs, and males are just plain hungry. But Yfa sees no white-on-white movement, and hears only the calm grunting of seals. Overhead, a tern spirals, calling without expecting an answer.
The shoreline is calm. Yfa lies down, seal-skin outer jerkin keeping her dry. The roll of the waves is perhaps an arm length away, the gentle clinking of the ice a lullaby. The wildness in her soul calms, and Yfa's eyes slide almost closed.
Yfa listens to the sounds of the world; a seal calf bays for it's mother. The mother growls back, and a ripple of noise flows through the colony. The tern shrieks again, and a gull caws back. The cut-glass ocean whispers to her, and below that, the grinding of ice out to sea.
Yfa breathes out, and a tiny wisp of chilled air rises from where her breath meets the ice. Yfa breathes in, and the fog brushes over her face. The sun rises higher, and the sounds of Th'uhnvekk begin in earnest. Scraping of bone over snow, as butchering frames are pulled out from their winter holes. Voices, some rumbling like stones falling down a hill and others sharp like bone breaking.
People will see that Yfa is missing, soon. People will look for Yfa, and likely yell for her. Yfa doesn't want that. It means that Yfa will have to stop listening to the sounds of the world, and help carry things and scrape hides and crush berries. It's easier to just listen to the cut-glass ice rolling against the shore.
So Yfa doesn't notice someone approaching until a hand wraps around the collar of her jerkin and she is hauled skywards. Yfa squeaks, kicking her feet - until she realises that it is Ts'ket who is scowling like a thundercloud.
Ts'ket berates her the entire way back up the hill, and sends her to help Tn'nai with a harsh shove. Yfa stumbles into Ts'umu, who is still Not Awake, and they both have to be steadied by Ts'shava.
"What happened, Yfa? Ts'ket looks especially foul-tempered this morn." Yfa huffs, face screwed up in a scowl as she straightens out her layers.
"The ice was singing, and Ts'ket caught me." Ts'umu clucks, and steers her back towards the house. It's better that Yfa avoid Ts'ket for the rest of the day. Jh'taava he may be, but Ts'ket still had a temper few wanted to bring out.
-------
Notes: Yfa and her village dwell in an area that is well within the arctic circle of the world of Imikirr. Ice-dark is their term for the season when the sun does not rise, which lasts for about three-four months. Gloaming-dark is the term for the twilight months, summer is when the ice has melted, and spring is when the sun stays up for longer than six hours.
Yfa's people (Jh'aahnar) are extremely specific when it comes to using names - to use pronouns other than "I" is considered horrendously rude, as it reduces a person to a thing. And things aren't people. Ostracism is considered the capital punishment for Jh'aahnar, because it unpersons you, removing the target for the support system of the village.
Children are given adult names when they hit fifteen summers, or are deemed to be competent by the Jh'taava, or headperson of the village. The prefix Ts' is used for male-bodied persons, and Tn' for female-bodied persons. Th' is a signifier for a permanent village, rather than a seasonal hunting camp.
Tn'atak can be considered a bard, and left their village for Th'uhnvekk because her home village had three other bards (a master and two apprentices), and Tn'atak was considered to be a journeyman in the craft.
Yfa is an as-yet unskilled sorceror - she was born with magic running through her veins, and Ts'ket is concerned that she could lose control and destroy the village. Ts'ket's old village was allegedly torn apart by wendigo-esque unpeople, and it is believed that mentioning unpeople will draw them to you.
The fact that Ts'ket survived the ravages of the unpeople, and then survived fleeing blindly into the depths of the icedark is seen as a trait that he would be a good leader, as he is a tenacious individual.