Sisters of the Ancients

Book I - The Ancients Series

The Sisters of the Ancients

by Kate Black copyright 2009

I woke in a sweat, more charged than I have ever felt before. It was night, but the moonlight flooded in through the overhead skylight of my cave and cast ghostly shadows.  My dog, Zulu, was not at my feet.  Right then, I should have known something was wrong. But I was not thinking. I was feeling. I felt energy. An emotion that I could not name. Was it anger? Fear? It was something so urgent that I don't remember dressing. I was fully dressed and pulling back my front flap to my underground home. I stood for only a quick second in the moon-drenched clearing before urgently ploughing off into the darkened forest.

Where was I going?  Something was guiding my footfalls even in the dark of the night; I did not take any care.  What or who was directing me?  Was it the Ancients?  For once in my history as a Sister, I could not tell. I just knew that it had a burning and terrible magnetic pull on me that I could not resist, and could not understand.  It was all consuming, like a screaming pain.

I noticed that I was moving in a disconcerting straight line at my rapid stride through the gloomy woods.  The bushes and trees seem to move aside for me, like people parting in a crowd.  How could this be?  I started to feel a certainty of the spot I knew I must come to, and started to sense that I was to meet others.

I could not say how long I had been travelling, but I knew that I had covered ground at an amazing speed. Now, I started to hear the approach of the others through the woods. We came in four different directions.  Through the moonlight I started to glimpse them.  My Sisters. In the eerie light we came striding like sleepwalkers. As I neared them I saw their graven faces.  I had never seen their faces like this before.  The moonlight made them ashen, their faces seemed contorted, frowning and distraught.  We came together and halted simultaneously and looked at each other. Mutually, our mouths opened to speak, but there was a pause of stunned shock as no sound came out. We were mute.




I awoke rapidly and heard Zulu jump with my sudden movements. My heart was pounding. My cave was bright, with morning flooding through the skylight and the sound of the birds outside.  It took a second to realize that I had experienced a dream, and its anxiety was still gripping me.  But how could that be? The Sisters are more fully conscious of their dreams than all others.  What was this?

It was not just the dream’s anxiety that filled me.  It was the same drive and urgency that I had felt in the dream. I must go. I must go now!

I jumped from my fur-layered bed and dressed rapidly.  This time, I was fully conscious of the process I needed to pull on my tunic and calf high boots and rapidly ready myself for the trip. Zulu cocked his head at me quizzically, sensing that I was not my relaxed self. I gave him calming signals that were not effective. As I continued to rapidly ready myself for the outdoors, he bounced on his feet nervously.

Once again I threw back my flap, but this time the clearing was bright with early morning, the birds were chattering and the morning light glittered on the top leaves of the trees like jewels. Yet, I could not smile or appreciate it.  I took the identical steps I had taken in the dream, but only paused to turn back and give Zulu the command to stay and guard the cave. He looked at me with confusion and reluctance, but I had no time to spare for him.

I strode again through the woods, and felt the same underpinning of guidance. This time, it did feel like it was the Ancients that were directing me, but something was different.  Something I could not name then, but later would come to think of as desperation.

The forest was abuzz with birds, insects, wildlife as the sun was streaming through, creating a lovely summer morning with light dew still about.  I kept walking, just as in the dream, knowing where I was going.  I did not travel on any of the familiar worn paths through the forest, but the trees did not move aside for me either.  I was moving to the exact location of the dream, in the exact path I had taken in the dream. Bushwhacking my way there, my legs and arms were getting scratched; I ignored it.

I walked for a long time keeping a relentless pace, until I heard it. As soon as I heard it, a panic welled up in me, a fear like I had never known.  The others were coming. My Sisters, just as in the dream we drew closer repeating the steps of what I now knew was our dream.  We stopped a few feet from each other, and gazed at each others amazed faces. Ember, who I knew the best, looked distraught, nearly in tears. Mara, the oldest and wisest, and Sestra the strong-willed and quiet, both had faces of grave concern. My Sisters.  The keepers of the balance of our land.  We all knew without words that all the strange things that had happened over the past year were precursors to this moment. We knew that somehow the centuries of peace in our land had now ended and we were charged with greater challenges than our history had ever told.  An evil had entered our world. We were now sure and alert, overwakeful of it.  This had to be a foe greater than the horror of the Sledgla, and we did not yet know if we could win it.

Where had it all started? I could only piece together my story to try to make sense.









Saba

I am Saba, one of the four living Sisters of the Ancients. I was one of the chosen ones. That choosing was really the beginning of my life, my story.

The first time I was called I would have been about 15 years old. Young since most of us live to 200. I lived with my parents, as we all do, in our village. There are four villages in the land of the Ancients.  The villages are serviced by each Sister who takes care of it, as well as all our peoples in the Land of the Ancients, and the City of the Children and the Valley of the Children’s Children. The villages in the Land of the Ancients are no more than an hour or two in walking distance from one another.

All girls from 13 to 18 years of age were reviewed. Also, any men, or older or younger individuals whose parents, and others, thought they had seen evidence of any unusual abilities in them. We are called Sisters because our powers have almost always run in the lineage of women. Men are rarely blessed with strong enough precognitive abilities, and the powers that come from those in touch with their dreams.  I was summoned.

I may have been one of the few young women who did not want to be a Sister. When we were girls, and played “grown-up,” we used to fight over who would play the role of a Sister.  But as I grew older and knew what it meant, I didn’t want it. And I did not want to admit to myself that I had powers, particularly in my ability to Dream and have dreams that were more than dreams.

Yet, here I was, at 15, summoned to the cave of Jazjeet. My mother and father were anxious. Jasjeet herself stood outside the door of our cabin, cloak about her and a torch in her hand, lighting the way.  For weeks people had been interviewed by the Sisters. The Sisters had dreamed and reflected, and now they were quietly narrowing the field.  A knock on the door of anyone’s cabin who had a daughter brought both anxiety and excitement.

Jazjeet was still considered young at the age of 100 and beautiful, with a smooth, dark face, and azure eyes that had a calmness.  She was the Sister for my village, and therefore I was very familiar with her. I had been in her cave before for every kind of malady since I was a child. Jazjeet always frightened me a little, not that she was frightening, but serious.  She rushed me along the woods to her cave silently.

Jazjeet’s cave was then, as it is now, roomie, but containing many plants, medicines and samples.  It has a smell like no other that is not sweet nor unpleasant, but pervasive. Walking into her cave made you feel you have walked into a different world. Her skylight let in plenty of light but because of the mature trees surrounding the area, she had the darkest cave of the four Sisters. But like all the caves built by the Ancients, they designed them to be cool in heat and warm in cold.

Inside, the other three Sisters were waiting for me. They sat in the firelight, and I stood before them feeling very alone. I looked for a friendly face.  Ersa, was my favourite of the four Sisters. She had a warm smile, but she was from the farthest village so I only saw her at feasts, dances and celebrations. Jazjeet rarely smiled.  Mara was the oldest, at 140, and considered one of the wisest Sisters since anyone could remember, she often had a somewhat mischievous grin. Her face was still full of life and she had a weathered beauty.  Her life’s mission was well known to all: to figure out the mystery of the Sledjla. Why it came, why it killed. Maybe it was to figure out how to stop it’s killing, or maybe it was just to know what it was. Mara never said. Sestra, even as the youngest, was somehow calmly somber. She was extraordinarily pretty in an odd way.  Her eyes were larger than normal, and an amber brown. They gave her a look of both sweet innocence and of something distinctly unfathomable.  They sat, four figures, cloaked and mysterious, a presence surrounding them that you could inhale.  The smells of Jazjeet’s herbs and medicines combined with the fire gave a distinct and heady atmosphere. Under the scrutiny of the four faces peering at me I felt a fear rise to my throat and I tried to calm myself. I knew why I was here.

I looked at Jazjeet’s calm, beautiful face and thought, how can I be afraid when she is so brave facing death. I was here because Jazjeet had her own death foreseen and confirmed by the other Sisters. Though they did not know exactly how she would die, they knew it was inevitable. It was decided she should have an apprentice now. She needed to give a minimum of two years of training. They believed she might have time.

Jazjeet sat before me now, vibrant, her hair was both brown and silver and was tucked away.  Her looks did not belie her age. She could still allure men and please them if she desired it, as most of the Sisters could. Her eyes stared at me intensely now, as she asked the first question.

“Saba, I have known you since you were a babe and I personally remember two incidents where you showed some ability to Dream and to feel the future.  As you know, that is one of the gifts we search for to choose a new Sister. We know that the Ancients never steer us wrong so we look at everyone carefully. Saba, can you tell me if you have had any more remarkable incidents since you were a child?”

It was the question I dreaded, but I had rehearsed my answer.  Of course there were dozens of other incidents, but it is dangerous to lie to a Sister and usually not possible. I had to answer carefully and try not to look her directly in the eye, focus on her eyebrow area instead. That was the strategy that I had worked out the night before…because I knew they would knock at our door.

“Sisters, I have had other incidents, but small and unverifiable like finding things for my mother and father.  There was something I felt when my Grandmother went through Passage, but it was just a feeling and went away.”

“What did you feel?” Mara asked abruptly.

I answered without lying, “I felt as if she were with me for a brief moment and that she was giving me something, I felt a flame inside me that was lighted by her. And I felt a warmth like I have never known.  It is difficult to explain.”

“How long did you have this feeling?” she asked further.  And I was happy she was asking about this instead of the other incidents, as that was my plan, to use a truth to deflect from the other truths I was not willing to admit.
“A week, maybe more.”

“Did you dream about her in this time, or have visions?”

“Yes, I dreamt of her every night and it was always similar, she said ‘don’t be afraid, you will have all you want.  You will have love and you will have more.’ Then she ends up laughing.”

I see all the Sisters quickly glance at one another and I think maybe I have made a mistake in using this example. I am unsure.

It is Ersa who breaks the silence and asks, “And what do you dream of now, in the past week?”

You must understand that from a young age we are told to examine our dreams and retell them to our parents as a matter of course, unless they are unremarkable.  I was prepared for this question also.

“I have not shared any dreams with my parents for over a week.”  The truth was I had an explosion of remarkable dreams and dreams where I saw things both confusing and simple.  All of the simple things came true.  A goat escaped the past week and fell down a ravine, my mother spilled something on a favourite shawl and remembered how her mother had helped her make it and cried, my friends exchanged gossip about the handsome man who played music and travelled from the Valley spreading news.  All these things, and perhaps a few more, that I dreamt about, the next day or two happened exactly as dreamed. But I did not share this with my parents or anyone.

Ersa looked at me intensely, and leaned closer.  “You did not really answer my question?”  Now I knew I was caught.

“What did I dream about?  Nothing worth remembering I guess.” I tied to sound convincing and knew I was not. Again the Sisters exchanged glances.  Then Mara nodded at Jazjeet, and Jazjeet said to me, “You may go Saba.”

I was perspiring when I left.  Risky to lie to a Sister as most children are told or find out quickly.  Sisters have a way of getting back at you in small ways, little punishments, or humiliations, such as you trip and land in mud immediately after exiting their cave not seeing what you could possibly have tripped on. Things like that, with the punishment often fitting the crime.  After I left, I was prepared for anything. Anything.

It never came.  Instead, two weeks later I heard that Ember, a girl from the next village who I knew well and liked, had been chosen.  I was surprised and felt a pang of regret. Should I have hidden my talents? My parents were not disappointed.  It is always bitter sweet for them to lose a child, but gain the honour and prestige of what their child has become. I did not disappoint them by not being accepted, and I did not disappoint them by staying at home. But to myself, that was different. I struggled.

It was not the training, responsibilities or duties of being a Sister that intimidated me.  I was a good student, a hard worker and liked to share.  What I could not reconcile myself to was the life without a mate. And though I had yet to fall in love, I so wanted to emulate the loving relationship that I had seen between my mother and father who were devoted to one another. To live a Sister’s life meant to be alone. It meant to give up thoughts of a special bond with one. The bond of love between a man and woman was a sacred thing to me. And I was just becoming a woman.  I wanted to experience that joy.

To live a Sister’s life did not mean to go totally without sex however.  Instead you may need to give sexual healing to any man, or even woman of the village who needed it.  Though Sisters always retained control in any relationship with members of their community, knowing the risks of throwing it out of balance, at that time, the idea of servicing the community this way left my young mind spinning.  So why did I have a pang of regret when I heard of Ember?

It is because we always know when we deny our own powers.  Whatever the rationale, whatever the fears you tell yourself, whatever the sacrifice you also avoided, you know you are denying yourself. 

Two years later, Jazjeet died, falling down a ravine, much like that goat had done two years before. There was a celebration of her life and a mourning, but what followed was the initiation celebration of Ember, a black-eyed, raven-haired girl I used to compete with in archery. That’s when I really felt a loss. Especially because it was Ember.  I knew her. Although I did not see her often because she lived so far, I had felt a distinct kinship with Ember and now I began to think perhaps that was because we both had powers, though we never admitted it to one another. But unlike me, Ember would now be able to use her powers.  She was emerging from her apprenticeship from Jazjeet and now she was to become one of our Sisters. I cried for the wrong reasons.  I was jealous. I had made a mistake in lying.  Perhaps the Sisters had found the ultimate way of punishing me.

That summer, at 17, I had my first experiences with love, but not the kind I wanted. Rudya, a boy with a goofy grin, had a complete crush on me and took to following me around.  It was annoying.  Meanwhile, I had my own crush on another boy, Janga, who could be cool and standoffish, but had eyes like firepits crowned with the longest lashes. But he seemed to tease me with bits of attention, and even kissed me once, but then did not give me the time of day. I suspected he had his eyes on another. And, like many of my girlfriends, I was a devoted, swooning fan for the traveller man, Ajax, who spread the news in song.  All in all, though,  I felt like this love thing, with all the fumbling, unfulfilled sexual longings was not what it was cracked up to be. The life of a Sister was starting to look surprisingly appealing.

So the night that we celebrated Ember becoming the Sister for our village, I watched her with envy and fascination.  Wondering, could I have gone that path?  She was only a year older than I was. 

I remember, she picked me out in the crowd that night, grasped my hands, and our eyes met.  Something passed between us and cheered me. I stopped feeling bitterness and doubt, and started to relax.  I started to enjoy my dreams and visions. I started to nurture them, and, I finally started to talk about them.  Maybe because there was no point hiding it now that a Sister had been chosen.  I talked with my mother first and she encouraged me. Maybe she also felt a release of pressure with the announcement of Ember. She also encouraged me to talk about my infatuations, although that was painfully difficult.  I think she was both protective and curious to see me in my first attempts at love, but she tried to downplay those ideas that I nurtured, that love was the be all, end all.  She knew me well.

Then winter came, and with it, the event that changed my life and destroyed my innocence. Not through love, but through death.