Chapter Seventeen: Hamazon

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In the following days, Aric remained close to camp while he recovered his strength. Antisthenes and I argued over whether he was up to making the long journey to Gerrhi for the Midsummer festival, though it seemed unlikely anyone could stop Aric if he wanted to do something. I may not have been able to dissuade him, but I kept a close eye on him nevertheless, worried about all the things I couldn’t control. 

On a warm, sunny morning, I suggested he looked well enough to ride out with me and check traps and snares in the field surrounding camp. It was fruitful work but not overly taxing on the body. He’d agreed and even led my horse in from the pasture for me. But I observed how winded he was upon his return. We walked our horses out to the hunting grounds, enjoying the leisurely day.

“Look what I got!” I shouted across the field to him. A deadfall trap I had set the day before near an outcrop of rock had taken a good hare. I’d be happy to give that to Bradak for our dinner tonight.

Aric whistled back a cheer. 

I put the hare in my pack, reset the trap, and ambled down the field to meet him. He gave a faint smile at my approach and looked away. He’d been quiet all morning.

“Is it Midsummer worrying your thoughts? I’m sure no one will mind if you miss the festival this once. I won’t mind missing it, either.” 

“The men are uneasy. Now is no time to tax their faith.” Kneeling in the grass, he was untangling a snare that had snarled in the underbrush, as they often did from the fierce winds over the plain. “They fear you, you know.”

“Me?” Was it me he brooded about? “Well, that’s ridiculous. Bunch of grown men—warriors no less—afraid of a woman. Is this about the potion? I healed you, that’s all.”  

“Some of the men say the hamazon are sorceresses. Others say you’re not human.”

I could see he was serious, but a cackle erupted unexpectedly from me. “What are we then?”

“Mourdag said that you’re servants of Artimpasa, spirits which lead men into the wilds and drive them mad.” He flashed an inscrutable smile.

“Oh no, you’re not going to blame me. I found you like this. You were already in the wilds—and already mad.” 

“Heh, I can’t argue there,” he chuckled and finally pulled the snare free. His laugh warmed me, as did the way his big, boyish grin crinkled the skin around his eyes. Even with the patch, his eyes were expressive, especially when he was happy. Aric looked up from the snare in his hand, quiet and thoughtful. “Why do you do it?” he asked, brow furrowing with what seemed genuine curiosity, free from the disgust that so often tinged the questions of others.

“Oh, that.” I knew his meaning. I laced my vest snug to avoid the questions, but sooner or later, they asked. Men invariably noticed breasts—or their absence. I’d long ago ceased retelling the lore I learned from my mother and hamazon tutors. It wasn’t what people wanted to hear. In the dark age of my tender youth, after so many failed attempts to explain, I decided I’d no need to justify myself to anyone. 

“It is forbidden to speak truly of it. Any man who witnesses the sacraments or learns their mysteries is put to death,” I warned him. “But, you have welcomed me into the rites of your order; I will trust you with the secrets of mine.” Some of them, anyway. His earnestness deserved honesty. But, would he understand? Or be horrified. I drew a deep breath. “As you know, we dedicate ourselves to the Mistress of Beasts and of the Wilds. Among the Suramatai, where I was fostered until I had nearly twelve winters, it is to Artimpasa that fellowships like this are devoted. The rite sets us apart from other women and is a source of great strength and pride to the hamazon.”

“But not to you?”

I shrugged. “Outside of our homeland, it makes us… oddities, monstrosities even.” 

“And among your own?”

“The Wise Mothers say it is our first union. We often want no other.”

His brow wrinkled with unconcealed discomposure. “To whom are you joined?”

“There is no one to speak of. Like the two sides of a coin that cannot be divided, they say all things opposed must be wedded to one another to become whole. In this way, the sky is united with the earth, day with night. And female must be reconciled with male. Even before we come of age, the hamazon are made whole in this way. Being only female, a girl lacks the male element within her and is therefore incomplete. As is a boy so long as the female remains absent from him. This transformation,” I instinctively pressed my closed right fist over my breast, “makes her whole, investing the hamazon with the innate power of both sexes. This—not her first blood, union with a man, or birth of a child—is her moment of maturity. Unlike other women, she does not need to join with another to find perfection, for she is full within herself.”

Aric stared at me, dumbfounded and I think a little unnerved. Did he really wish to know all this, or once I had opened the door to this secret world and allowed him a glimpse inside, might I lose the trust—and friendship—I so grudgingly conceded and so foolishly craved? Unsure if what I said answered his curiosity or only confused matters more, I continued.

“My mother told me a story when I was a girl. I doubt if it’s true, but I always liked it. She said that when Artimpasa was a young goddess, she dwelled in the wilds of her secluded river valley. She would spend her days and nights in solitude as she hunted and swam in the river or ran through the fields and forests like a deer, with the beasts as her only companions. She refused all suitors and had no desire to belong to any man but treasured her liberty above all else.  

“But the more she refused them, the more the gods pursued, desiring most of all that which was denied them. They spied upon her one day as she went to bathe. As she undressed, they became inflamed with lust. She saw them approaching the river bank with lascivious intent, coming to ravage her and carry her back to their palace.  

“She reached the bank before they did. There, she drew her dagger. They only laughed, thinking she would try to stand and fight them all. She knew she’d be no match for their numbers and strength, but what she did next disarmed them all the same. She turned the dagger upon herself, and with it, she severed her right breast and offered it up to them to soothe their vulgar passions. 

“With their object of desire in hand, so to speak, they were satisfied—spellbound by its beauty. They departed, and she was able to slip away unmolested. They left her to her wild kingdom and never troubled her again. 

“See? So little given; so much gained.”

“I think I understand,” he said, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “So, how is it done? Is there much pain?”

“A small tool of bronze like a spade is heated and put to the right breast. It’s done when we’re young, so it never fully forms. They say a warrior’s arm needs to be hard and strong to draw the bow and wield the spear, but the breast is soft and full of life-giving force. It would never permit the arm to strike deadly blows like a man’s, so its weakness must be negated if we would be truly equal to the task of battle. I remember little of it. Only that I held the shaft of an arrow in my right hand, its point aimed toward the sky, which afterward I buried deep in the earth. The pain I hardly remember.”

“Do you regret it?”

My eyes swept over the contours of this boundless place, with no dwelling or mark of human hands upon it but only the unbridled winds bending the grasses beneath them. I met his earnest gaze and smiled. “Not today.”

As the moon receded, I knew that the next spell would soon come upon me. Having made a pact to guard me during these spells, Aric agreed to help me in both concealing the fact of them and reaping whatever benefits might be gained by them in the way of prophecy. I was dubious about the latter, but I was more than ready to try for the sake of the former.

The solution he proposed was that we should venture into the cannabis tent when I sensed one was imminent. This would arouse no undue suspicion. Here, we could be alone, away from prying eyes and ears. The tents were meant for a divinatory purpose, anyhow. Simple tripods of light wooden poles draped in leather or felt, most of the men owned their own personal smoking tents. Being about chest height and conical in shape, a private tent allowed one or two people to comfortably sit cross-legged inside around the burning brazier. Space within was held sacred by all Skythai, and if anyone suspected indecent behavior, they dared not speak their thoughts aloud. I hoped the tent's heat would bring on the spell more rapidly, as thirst and stress often did.  

After the first experience with cannabis smoke and my nightmarish vision, I asked Aric not to burn it, fearing it would only confuse things. He acquiesced, but suggested we light the fire and heat the stones, offering to burn some dried juniper instead, for protection and in hopes of cleansing away dark spirits. With the heat inside the tent, it was necessary to wear only a minimum of clothing. Boots, stockings, and tunics were left outside, as were our weapons.

In the glow of the small brazier, I sat across from him and watched the curls of juniper smoke rise before his face. He grinned awkwardly at me, a little nervous, I guessed, as was I. The glow of the brazier was faint. Out of the shadows, the orange light glanced off the broad, angular sweep of his cheekbones, the long, straight bridge of his nose, and the smooth, subtle arcs over his brows, interrupted only by the leather strap. I dipped my bucket into the deep well of my thoughts, searching for something to say, but came up dry. And if I stared at him any longer, the silence would crawl inside me and begin its dance—the slow aching dance up and down the nerves of my body. The scent of juniper and Aric's own strong, not unpleasant, smell filled the tiny space. A light wind drummed against the leather. He had his amulet set before him on the leather carpet's strange colored appliqués of swirling shapes and twisting animals, but he looked only at me, his angular face eerie in the shadows thrown by the brazier.

My hands on my knees, I breathed out and in. "What is it you wish to know?" I asked, quickly adding, "if I should be so lucky as to find an answer." 

He leaned forward, his brow worried, his mouth strained. "Will the drought last? When will the rains return and the pastures recover? Is it time yet to increase our stock or continue to cull our herds?"

I nodded, a pang of distress biting at me. What did I know about the rains? I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of his breathing and found it matched my own. Slow, steady. "That smell. Did you…?" I asked, my eyes snapping open.

"Certainly not!" he snapped back, clearly offended. "Who am I, Olgas?"

It must be something else, then. "Do you smell it?"

"I smell nothing but the incense." He looked bewildered.

"Nothing at all?" I asked again, panic creeping into my mind.

"It comes," he said soberly and took me firmly by both hands. "I am here."

I met his steady gaze, and squeezed his hands with all my might as his face was swallowed by the darkness.  

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Chapter Eighteen: Midsummer

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