The Iyarian Glade

After a brief climb of the wooded hill just past the clearing, they entered the hollow of the Iyarian Glade. Shellah craned her head in wonder of the soaring trees, the largest sugar maples she had ever seen. Their trunks were crisscrossed with dripping pipes made of reed, sap draining into covered clay buckets. Smoke blurred the air, and with no breeze within the hollow, it formed a blue haze at the base of the trees, deterring the black flies. Unlike the rest of this deciduous forest, this glade had yet to fully leaf out. The early afternoon sun glinted ruby and golden on the thick flower bracts and the few bright new leaves far above. All around them the hum of voices reverberated.

“There will be no open flame here,” Stennigar said quietly. “We bear slow-burning thuribles up from the beach. Also, please keep any blades sheathed, not that you will need them.”

They followed Stennigar along the path down to where the shamans were seated in a ring at the center of the hollow, where the tallest of the trees stood. One shaman moved aside so Stennigar could join the circle. Shellah, Nessah and Lloel settled behind him. A shaman spun in the center of the circle, swinging the incense censer about him as the others chanted and rocked back and forth on their seats. Shellah could see they were sipping something from a deep ceramic bowl they passed around. When it reached Stennigar, he nodded and took a draft, then handed it to Lloel.

“Please have some. We make a liqueur from the tree syrup for our ceremonies. It’s sweet!”

Lloel took a small sip, and smiled. “It’s good!” he whispered to Nessah as he passed her the bowl to try. She also had a little taste, then handed the bowl to Shellah. She took a sniff. Underlying the maple scent and the cloying incense she could faintly detect some herbs she didn’t recognize but feared were a hallucinogen. She tapped Stenigar on the shoulder to return the bowl to the circle without tasting it. Nessah raised an eyebrow.

“I’m on the job,” Shellah whispered.

The bowl made a second round. Lloel soon nodded off, and Nessah’s eyes grew noticeably glassy. The smoke and the incense played with Shellah’s perception. Even though there were no black flies to bite them, little golden flies were present in the circle, seeming to form the shape of a woman, dancing with the shaman in the center as the others hummed their song. Their wings glittered like amber sequins in the dappled light. The late afternoon sun started to set behind the rim of the hollow, and as its rays slanted through the branches and smoke, a clear sunbeam hit the center of the circle. The shamans suddenly clapped, breaking the spell. The flies dispersed in a twinkling ascending spiral to depart into the boughs above.

Stiffly everyone began to stand, massaging the blood back into their knees and legs, the younger men assisting the elders. Stennigar gave Shellah a hand and helped her to her feet. Nessah rubbed her eyes. Rustling the new leaves above, an early evening breeze stirred free the haze. Shellah bent to wake Lloel.

“It’s a quicker walk back,” said Stennigar. “We’ll return to the beach before sunset.”

They followed the now chatty and active shamans as they retraced the trail back to the beach, Shellah assisting the drowsy Lloel down the path. Once there, the celebrants set up a bonfire and a huge cauldron to start preparing their dinner. Shellah swatted a fly and looked out longingly to their ship at anchor in the river. Probably too late to row back there, she thought.

“I’m going to set up our tent,” she said to Lloel and Nessah. “Are you two alright with spending the night on the beach?”

“Yes,” said Lloel. “Much to catch up with the folks here! Much to learn.”

“Agreed,” said Nessah as she sorted through her bag. “Shellah, do we have anything to add to the communal soup? I get the sense we’re supposed to contribute.”

“Yeah, there’s carrots or potatoes somewhere.” Shellah noticed Nessah still digging around in her own bag. “Food’s in my pack. You didn’t bring .. it… with you, did you?”

“No, it’s on the …”

“Hello, scholar friends!” Stennigar said, stepping into their camp area. He waved to two other shamans. “I’d like to introduce my partner, Lenni, and our elder, Olligar!”

“Found it!” Nessah said, brandishing her comb. “Pleased to meet you both. I’m Nessah Nafissar.” She extended her hand in greeting. “This is Shellah, one of my swordsmen, and fellow lore master Lloel….” Nessah peered into the tent, where Lloel was already napping. “Well, Lloel will join us at dinner. We’re very keen to get acquainted.”

“It’s been a long day,” said Shellah. She ducked inside the tent to place a plaid over Lloel. He had not even gotten his bedroll out before collapsing into sleep. She shooed a couple of flies out before lowering the fabric of the tent’s door. “We’ve got some offerings for the pot.”

The scent of the communal soup did eventually rouse Lloel, and he joined the shamans and others around the bonfire. Shellah sat close to Nessah, and made a space for Lloel to squeeze into their conversation. Olligar, Stennigar and Lenni drank the soup directly from their bowls while Nessah had found a spoon to preserve her city lady decorum.

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“Have I missed anything?” Lloel asked. “That maple liqueur was very potent!”

“Not much, just discussing the fascinating ritual earlier,” Nessah said.

“Everyone sees something different in the circle,” said shaman elder Olligar, his heavily embellished garments and headdress reflecting the bonfire’s light. “We all bring our own wishes to the grove, which make for a richer and more meaningful ritual. Our celebrants will come and go this Sugar Moon, some traveling quite far from the glacier or the coast. Everyone has their own unique vision to return a blessing back home with them. May I ask, what did you see?”

“Alas, I fell asleep,” said Lloel. “I had some sweet dreams of home, though. My family. Pleasant feasts. Laughter. My hearth and library in Dun Darlow. A rare whisky in a purple cockleshell.”

“Still, a fine blessing,” said Olligar, Lenni and Stennigar nodding in agreement. “What more could one want than a peaceful and content home?” Olligar turned to Shellah. “And you, ma’am?”

“I did not partake of your liqueur as I am working and need to somewhat keep my wits about me,” Shellah admitted. “But I did see a swarm of flies form a golden lady who danced with the celebrant in the middle of the circle? When the spell broke, the flies flew up in a spiral into the trees. I guess I’m reminded of the sea goddess and patroness of the Shielings, Finnah, whose symbol is the triple spiral, for the three magics she gave to all: hope, grace, and luck.” She tapped at the spiral incised on her bronze cloak pin.

“Those are not ordinary flies, but are the little bees special to the Iyarian Glade,” said Olligar. “The incense calls them and lulls them. A major aspect of the ritual is, of course, to encourage pollination.”

“Olligar,” Nessah interrupted. “Are there other important ritual sites up river?”

“Master, she’s interested in the deadfall!” said Stennigar. “And possibly the ice falls, too.”

Olligar paused for a moment, and stroked a drop of soup out of his long gray beard. “The deadfall is an evil place.” He stared out into the darkness of the river. “That used to be the sacred grove for the resin incense, along that mountainside. And we would find amber there on the shore. Now, we collect what little amber washes downstream, and use the resin gathered from the lesser trees closer to here.”

“Could you tell us what happened?” asked Lloel. “Was this before or after the great flood?”

Olligar held out his bowl to Lenni, who rose to fetch his teacher more of the soup. “The Ice Peoples were never subjugated by the evil gods of Old Larin, but legend has it some of their practitioners did come here just after the great flood to try to steal the powers of our sacred groves and waters. The richness of the amber in particular called their greed, and they sailed their two dark ships, not unlike your dark ship, up the river to the great conifer grove on the steep-sided walls of Mount Ullu. Lake Boraeia is a giant bowl rimmed with the many jagged peaks of Ullu and the glaciers above it, its waters ordinarily still as a mirror. As they entered the sacred conifer grove and attempted their foul magic, our gods swept a fierce storm across the lake, and dropped the tall trees down upon them, turning the trees to stone.”

“And the ice falls? Why were those sacred?” asked Nessah.

“There were ice caves in the glacier, as well as stone caves below, and the main entrance was behind the frozen waterfall high in the cliff wall. Those caves held riches as well. Within the caves one could find sparking geodes and ancient seashells turned into opals. Our chieftains would climb into the cave with ice picks made of sharpened antlers, and if they returned with an opal, the gods would bless their reign. Another sacred site defiled by the interlopers. Onto their second black ship the gods cast sharp-edged snowflakes as big as platters, which sank them.”

“And nobody goes there now?” asked Nessah. “To the lake?”

“Bees and bears protect those places now,” Olligar said. “Though I would like to see those sites, if just from afar. It has been many years since our people have visited those forsaken places, other than to fish in the cold waters of the lake. I would like to save those places if I can, and reclaim them for our people.”

“Come with us,” said Nessah. “I’m sure there’s room on the boat for a few more people if we pick up some additional supplies, and we’d appreciate the expertise as we continue our studies. It’s not the most comfortable boat and there’s Shellah’s Shielings cuisine to contend with, but at least the journey would be speedy.” Lloel suppressed a chortle. Shellah sighed and shook her head.

“My old bones don’t move about as well as they used to,” Olligar said, which caused Lloel to snort in agreement. “But if I could have the assistance of Lenni, it might be feasible?”

“Master, you should know,” Stennigar interjected. “Ennigo Annar is working aboard their vessel. Perhaps sailing to an ill-omened place on an ill-omened ship with an ill-omened person is not wise?”

Lenni nodded in agreement as he refilled everyone’s bowls from a kettle. “It’s triple bad.”

“Annar is just a questioning child, nothing more, finding their own path into the wider world,” said Olligar. “I value, respect and uphold our traditions, but even we are not immune to change. If we see ill-omens in our own people we will see them everywhere, including in new friends.” He returned to eating his soup.

Stennigar and Lenni wandered off to speak with other shamans at the gathering. Shellah collected the bowls to rinse them by the river, leaving Nessah and Olligar to finish details for when they should meet in the morning. As she walked to the shore, she could see more of that maple liqueur being shared by the campfires, overhearing more tales of what people saw that day in the glade, the blessings, the desires for a year of sweetness and abundance. And she realized that Nessah had not shared her own vision from the sacred glade.