A Stitch in Time - Part III(A)
Elizabeth fell asleep in a cave on an island, surrounded by tropical plants and crawling crabs who burbled songs from the shallows. She woke up on a bank of sand surrounded by wild pigs who sniffed at her face as if it were a truffle. She started up, then felt bad about scaring the pigs away and gestured them back, but a crack rang out some distance away and all of her moss-covered neighbors scurried into the bushes. There was shouting in the wind, from human voices. She ran behind the trees and watched as the sounds grew nearer.
She stood there in hiding for some time before the foray came her way. Two small men, barely reaching her chest, scrambled out of the brush to her right, closer to the beach, and tumbled over each other violently. They pummeled and flailed until one got up and ran down the strand. The other slung a stone from a fluted shaft, but it just missed the target’s shoulder as he disappeared into the plants. Shortly, more small men emerged, fighting and shouting and shedding blood. The battle grew to heights that made Elizabeth fear for her life and she ran away from that violent place as quickly as she could. Behind her, she could hear their screams of anger and pain, and she would have wept for them if she weren’t running so fast.
The scene repeated itself daily for the next few weeks. Elizabeth would find some haven where she thought their violence could not reach her, but still the brawling men would careen from the bushes, destroying everything before them in their effort to slaughter each other. Once, she was chased up a hill to a dry patch of grass where an old woman sat, dressed with bells and beads and colorful parts of animals and plants. The woman gave her some food and watched the men fight, but said nothing to her guest. She seemed in a strange way amused by the action, and she kept mumbling things to herself in a deep crackle of a voice which Elizabeth could not make out while she wove together roots into symbolic designs. Once the old woman left, heaving her weight over a hefty walking stick made of some low growing tree, Elizabeth did not see her again. She had left her woven piece at the base of a plant, which Elizabeth took to be ritual. She chose not to disturb it.
For days longer Elizabeth wandered the hills and plains, meeting and fleeing from conflicting bands of tiny men who seemed to think of nothing but fighting. There seemed to be two parties in this conflict, or maybe more, but the battles usually took place between two sides. She did observe instances when comrades would become enemies because of some tiny accident or sheer overwhelming energy, and she thought that these people must be under some sort of spell. Nobody sober could be this governed by malice.
Optimistic as her thoughts may be, a voice told her she was right, and she turned around to see an ancient woman clad in layers of long moss and a mask which made her appear as a spirit of an upper world. The woman hurried her away from the fighting men and toward a distant cluster of huts upon a hill. Elizabeth saw no reason to distrust her, as her hut could not be any more dangerous than these fields of anger and pain.
They sat around a fire in the woman’s hut, several women of varying ages who all wore the mossy cloaks and spirit masks which the oldest among them adorned. Theirs were all more decorative than hers, which Elizabeth took to denote lower prestige. Again, the woman said that she was right, then laughed when Elizabeth told her to get out of her mind. “Then how do you intend me to talk to you?” the voice asked. “I can not understand your language, nor you mine.”
“You should at least have the decency to ask first,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sure if you explained it like that I’d lend you a pocket of my consciousness.”
“Believe me, child, I have found more disturbing things in people’s thoughts than yours could ever hold.”
“That’s not reassuring. Nor is it the point.”
The woman explained as briefly as she could, in order to get out of Elizabeth’s mind the quicker, that the men in their villages had been laden with a curse which made them violent and uncontrollable. This behavior was at odds with the structure of their society, in which villages traded people, professionals, and resources freely, and worked together to survive the elements. It was also unusual for males to get so uppity, she said, as they were usually the more docile and less assertive sex.
The curse had originated when a child from one of the villages had taken honey ants from the home of the witch Babuana’iwatahabete, who had been charged with protecting the colony generations ago when they had rescued her as a babe. Babuana’iwatahabete had had an omen on her birth, and her family left her in a swamp to protect themselves and neighboring villages from her destructive power. But omens, the old woman said, are inevitabilities for which we can prepare, not things to be avoided. By casting Babuana’iwatahabete out, her clan had ensured that she would grow destructive, and the only way to stop her from ruining society on the island forever was to remove the hatred which her family had left in her. This was a sickness which the people brought on themselves by neglecting their own child, and the witch was no more to blame than an ant was to blame for biting someone who treads through its hive. There were murmurs from the other women around the fire, some of the younger ones a little less sure of all this than the older. “I knew Babuana’iwatahabete when she was born,” the oldest woman said, and though I was but seven years at the time, I know I saw no anger in her then. It was only after she was abandoned that she grew to despise us.”
“I met a woman a short time after I got here,” Elizabeth said. “Was that the witch Babuana’iwatahabete?” Murmurs started from the women around the fire, but the oldest quickly hushed them.
“You’ve met her? Did she say anything to you?”
“No, nothing. She gave me some food, as I think she noticed I had grown gaunt, but she didn’t say anything.”
More murmurs from the consult. The ancient woman crawled close to Elizabeth.
“Listen to me, child. If Babuana’iwatahabete allowed you to get close to her and did not put a hex on you, perhaps she does not mistrust you like the rest of us. She knows who everyone is in the villages, so she must know you are not from here. We here have no hope of getting close to her and making peace, because she has hated us from childhood, but you might be able to gain enough trust to open her soul up to love again.”
“I wouldn’t know about that until I get to know her.”
The women whispered amongst themselves, conjecturing on plans surrounding this foreigner. “I would like to hear any schemes you’re hatching involving me, though. I fancy I’d have the right to know them.”
The oldest woman turned back to Elizabeth. “If you would to get close to Babuana’iwatahabete, you could become her disciple, learn her ways and her teachings. That will make her trust you, then from the inside you might have a chance at convincing her that we are not evil.”
“I’d have to know that for myself first, but yes, I’d be willing to talk to her.”
“Good!” The old woman seized a pack and a poncho for travelling in the sun. “But you must be careful. She is a wily creature and prone to subtle scheming. You must always be wary of her true intentions in any action.”
“I think that’s true of everybody,” said Elizabeth, staring at the ancient woman. “But I’d rather like to rest before I leave.”
She could tell that her host perceived her skepticism, and further that she respected it. “Very well. We’ll have you here tonight, then you can go to the witch.”
She stood there in hiding for some time before the foray came her way. Two small men, barely reaching her chest, scrambled out of the brush to her right, closer to the beach, and tumbled over each other violently. They pummeled and flailed until one got up and ran down the strand. The other slung a stone from a fluted shaft, but it just missed the target’s shoulder as he disappeared into the plants. Shortly, more small men emerged, fighting and shouting and shedding blood. The battle grew to heights that made Elizabeth fear for her life and she ran away from that violent place as quickly as she could. Behind her, she could hear their screams of anger and pain, and she would have wept for them if she weren’t running so fast.
The scene repeated itself daily for the next few weeks. Elizabeth would find some haven where she thought their violence could not reach her, but still the brawling men would careen from the bushes, destroying everything before them in their effort to slaughter each other. Once, she was chased up a hill to a dry patch of grass where an old woman sat, dressed with bells and beads and colorful parts of animals and plants. The woman gave her some food and watched the men fight, but said nothing to her guest. She seemed in a strange way amused by the action, and she kept mumbling things to herself in a deep crackle of a voice which Elizabeth could not make out while she wove together roots into symbolic designs. Once the old woman left, heaving her weight over a hefty walking stick made of some low growing tree, Elizabeth did not see her again. She had left her woven piece at the base of a plant, which Elizabeth took to be ritual. She chose not to disturb it.
For days longer Elizabeth wandered the hills and plains, meeting and fleeing from conflicting bands of tiny men who seemed to think of nothing but fighting. There seemed to be two parties in this conflict, or maybe more, but the battles usually took place between two sides. She did observe instances when comrades would become enemies because of some tiny accident or sheer overwhelming energy, and she thought that these people must be under some sort of spell. Nobody sober could be this governed by malice.
Optimistic as her thoughts may be, a voice told her she was right, and she turned around to see an ancient woman clad in layers of long moss and a mask which made her appear as a spirit of an upper world. The woman hurried her away from the fighting men and toward a distant cluster of huts upon a hill. Elizabeth saw no reason to distrust her, as her hut could not be any more dangerous than these fields of anger and pain.
They sat around a fire in the woman’s hut, several women of varying ages who all wore the mossy cloaks and spirit masks which the oldest among them adorned. Theirs were all more decorative than hers, which Elizabeth took to denote lower prestige. Again, the woman said that she was right, then laughed when Elizabeth told her to get out of her mind. “Then how do you intend me to talk to you?” the voice asked. “I can not understand your language, nor you mine.”
“You should at least have the decency to ask first,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sure if you explained it like that I’d lend you a pocket of my consciousness.”
“Believe me, child, I have found more disturbing things in people’s thoughts than yours could ever hold.”
“That’s not reassuring. Nor is it the point.”
The woman explained as briefly as she could, in order to get out of Elizabeth’s mind the quicker, that the men in their villages had been laden with a curse which made them violent and uncontrollable. This behavior was at odds with the structure of their society, in which villages traded people, professionals, and resources freely, and worked together to survive the elements. It was also unusual for males to get so uppity, she said, as they were usually the more docile and less assertive sex.
The curse had originated when a child from one of the villages had taken honey ants from the home of the witch Babuana’iwatahabete, who had been charged with protecting the colony generations ago when they had rescued her as a babe. Babuana’iwatahabete had had an omen on her birth, and her family left her in a swamp to protect themselves and neighboring villages from her destructive power. But omens, the old woman said, are inevitabilities for which we can prepare, not things to be avoided. By casting Babuana’iwatahabete out, her clan had ensured that she would grow destructive, and the only way to stop her from ruining society on the island forever was to remove the hatred which her family had left in her. This was a sickness which the people brought on themselves by neglecting their own child, and the witch was no more to blame than an ant was to blame for biting someone who treads through its hive. There were murmurs from the other women around the fire, some of the younger ones a little less sure of all this than the older. “I knew Babuana’iwatahabete when she was born,” the oldest woman said, and though I was but seven years at the time, I know I saw no anger in her then. It was only after she was abandoned that she grew to despise us.”
“I met a woman a short time after I got here,” Elizabeth said. “Was that the witch Babuana’iwatahabete?” Murmurs started from the women around the fire, but the oldest quickly hushed them.
“You’ve met her? Did she say anything to you?”
“No, nothing. She gave me some food, as I think she noticed I had grown gaunt, but she didn’t say anything.”
More murmurs from the consult. The ancient woman crawled close to Elizabeth.
“Listen to me, child. If Babuana’iwatahabete allowed you to get close to her and did not put a hex on you, perhaps she does not mistrust you like the rest of us. She knows who everyone is in the villages, so she must know you are not from here. We here have no hope of getting close to her and making peace, because she has hated us from childhood, but you might be able to gain enough trust to open her soul up to love again.”
“I wouldn’t know about that until I get to know her.”
The women whispered amongst themselves, conjecturing on plans surrounding this foreigner. “I would like to hear any schemes you’re hatching involving me, though. I fancy I’d have the right to know them.”
The oldest woman turned back to Elizabeth. “If you would to get close to Babuana’iwatahabete, you could become her disciple, learn her ways and her teachings. That will make her trust you, then from the inside you might have a chance at convincing her that we are not evil.”
“I’d have to know that for myself first, but yes, I’d be willing to talk to her.”
“Good!” The old woman seized a pack and a poncho for travelling in the sun. “But you must be careful. She is a wily creature and prone to subtle scheming. You must always be wary of her true intentions in any action.”
“I think that’s true of everybody,” said Elizabeth, staring at the ancient woman. “But I’d rather like to rest before I leave.”
She could tell that her host perceived her skepticism, and further that she respected it. “Very well. We’ll have you here tonight, then you can go to the witch.”