Chapter 1: Naming Day

Book 1: Naedira

AS BEFORE FEEDBACK on this Chapter is requested! I’m interested in any thoughts any of you might have, but specifically I’d like answers to these two questions:

First, are the details of what is happening clear enough? I don’t, of course, mean “Do you understand absolutely everything that’s happening?” This is the first chapter so we’ve still got a lot of worldbuilding to do! But is there enough detail to allow you to understand the basics of what is happening, and enough hints at what you don’t understand to pique your interest? Which leads to the second question: would reading this make you want to keep reading the next chapter of the book?

Thanks in advance for any help you are willing and able to give!

There was no sun on my Naming Day. A slight greying of the dark clouds choking the eastern horizon, toward the Great Forest, was the only indication that dawn had come. But that was enough for my father, and he began the traditions.

“A bad omen!” the Eldest proclaimed when he arrived some time later. I could not see him, of course, kneeling as I was on the threshold of our home, facing inward toward my vanishing childhood, as tradition demanded. But I could picture him in my mind, strutting along the streets of our village, unmistakable in the rust colored robes of his office, arriving before our home with all the pomp and circumstance that he could muster. He was a rather short man, barely half a hand taller than I was at the time, and rather portly, if truth be told. But he carried himself with an air of absolute, arrogant authority, with the Rod of Justice perpetually in his hand. He would constantly thrust it before him with such vehemence as he walked through our village of Leitborm that I always imagined he was perpetually rooting out some vile evil-doer. I am ashamed to admit that I was quite afraid of him, and was happy to know that Father stood solidly behind me, guarding me during my vigil, as tradition demanded. I do not think I could have remained motionless and silent if I had needed to face him alone.

I pictured him coming up to my father, thrusting the Rod into the dirt as if in denunciation before folding his arms and continuing, “Why have you begun the Ritual? There can be no Naming on such a day as this!”

Father merely replied, “It is her Naming Day, Eldest.” Then, after a moment, he continued, “Clouds and ill omens do not trouble me, Eldest. Do they trouble you?”

The Eldest merely sniffed in reply, but then another voice spoke, Elder Perim I thought. “Come Rowan, be reasonable,” he said. “Surely the Ceremony can wait one day! Think of how it might affect First Daughter’s life, to be Named on such a day as this!”

I shivered slightly, and gritted my teeth, hoping they had not noticed. Tradition dictated that I should remain completely motionless while kneeling in the hour after dawn. For sixteen years I had borne the name First Daughter; to hear myself called that again, when I was so close to gaining a true Name, was almost too much to bear. It was only by sheer willpower alone that I stayed on my knees, rather than jumping up to confront the Elders who sought to take my Naming Day from me

I needn’t have worried; as always, Father stood for me. I could see him in my mind’s eye shaking his head, as if in disappointment with those around him, before softly replying, “Ill omens and bad days for Naming; all of that smacks of forbidden magics if you ask me. Or do you mean to say that such arcane powers are now acceptable in our midst, Eldest?”

I could hear in his tone that the Eldest had stiffened before drawing himself up to his full height, replying in disgust, “Do not tempt blasphemy, Goodman Rowan! Magic is and always will be forbidden, just as any who traffics in such evil must always be anathema to us.” He paused, and I imagined his expression shifting to one of calculated cruelty, before he concluded, “If you will not be dissuaded by our wise judgement, then the cost be on your head. We will await you in the square at the proper time.” A shuffling noise in the dirt of the street told me that the Elders had turned and were moving away, and I allowed myself to breathe a small sigh of relief. I would not be denied; I would gain my Name today!

To kneel motionless for an hour is a painful chore, and though I was meant to be meditating on all that had come before in my life, anticipating my entry into the world of the Named, it was not long before my mind began to wander. I was struck, as I had been many times, at the animosity that seemed to exist between Father and the Eldest. Even in my earliest memory, there had been palpable tension between them whenever they had to interact. On his side, the Eldest seemed to always be searching my father’s words and actions, as if looking for a reason to condemn him. As for Father, he seemed to delight in thwarting the Eldest’s wishes whenever it seemed safe to do so, though normally he had to be content with small, insignificant victories like the one he had just accomplished, victories that often struck me as rather petty. My mother had long since given up trying to convince Father to be more diplomatic toward the Eldest. There was something between them, some hatred that had taken root deeply which pushed them into conflict with each other in their every encounter.

Broader, larger memories began to flit through my wandering mind, remembrances of my life up to this point. I had to admit that, up until this time, my life had been a joy. As an only child, I had always had my parent’s full attention, and I blush to admit that they doted on me. Not to the point of indulgence, of course; I was held to high standards and learned early the value of respect and of hard work. So I do not believe they spoiled me. Well, at least not too much, I suppose; it is true that Father could deny me nothing that I deeply desired, if it was within his power to grant it to me. As I reflected on my sixteen years of life, I realized that I had never really known a day of loneliness or any true sorrow beyond the passing disappointments that every child must endure. My parents were my constant companions and my greatest protectors, though that last was true in ways that I had not yet begun to imagine.

As these recollections faded and my mind focused instead on the cramps steadily growing in my legs as I knelt, it began to seem like this hour would never end. This was, of course, part of the point. One who is to join the Named must have the will to master their physical needs and desires. Until that moment, it had never occurred to me how tiresome and painful this ritual would be. I had looked past these moments, to the time when I could claim my own Name, never thinking about the fact that I would have to endure some significant discomfort in order to claim that right. But I was determined to claim it, so I gritted my teeth and endured.

Eventually the hour was gone, and Father touched my shoulder before helping me to rise; my legs had long since gone quite numb, and I do not think I could have risen without his help. Once standing, he fastened a strip of white cloth over my eyes; by tradition, the one to be Named must come to the Ceremony blindfolded, to remind them of the innocence of youth. An annoyance, it seemed to me at the time, but again I stoically endured it. I would have my Name!

I knew the streets of Leitborm well, having lived there all of my life. But on this day, the ruts and bumps of the dirt streets seemed like an alien landscape, and I stumbled often, leaning more and more heavily on Father’s arm as he led me toward the village center. Though she did not speak, I knew Mother had joined us, walking along just a pace or so behind me, waiting to catch or support me if the need arose. It could not have taken more than ten minutes (Leitborm is not large), but stumbling helplessly along in unremitting darkness made the journey seem to last for days, and I could not keep a small sigh of relief from escaping my lips when we finally came to a stop.

Father removed the blindfold, and my stomach sank. Though I knew this moment was coming, now that it was here, the reality of it struck me, flinging aside all of the platitudes and encouragements that I had built up in my mind to fortify myself against it. I stood, as I had known I would, in the village square, next to the small dais beside the village well. And just before me on the dais, quite filling my vision, stood the Eldest, clothed in all the accoutrements of his position, with an expression of loathing and disgust on his implacable face. Facing him so closely, my heart quailed, and if Father had not been standing just behind me, supporting and encouraging me with his unshakeable presence, I am not certain that I would not have simply turned and fled.

So consumed was I with the sudden sight of the Eldest before me that I scarcely noticed the Hollow One standing beside him, holding the Naming Bowl in his rigid outstretched hands. I think we know more of the Hollow Ones now, but for me then, I knew only what tradition told: that they were men of great wisdom and holiness, who throughout their lives had given themselves over completely to the service of the Lord Protector and the Divine Maker whom he served. And their reward for this life of dedicated service was to stand always in the Divine presence, their vision wholly consumed with the sight of the Maker Himself. This, of course, meant they knew nothing of lesser, worldly concerns, and would simply stand gazing into His glory, unheedful of the actions or words of those around them. The Hollow One of our village was only ever seen in the Eldest’s company, as almost no one else could command his attention. But the Eldest he would obey, until his time came to be sent to Jerumbatha itself, where the Lord Protector would give him his ultimate reward. What that reward might be, no one ever said, at least not in my hearing.

I had always been fascinated by the Hollow Ones, and never missed an opportunity to study them, though today, I had eyes only for the Bowl in his hands. Memories of the night before came unbidden to my mind, and I grasped them as if a lifeline.

“The ceremony, the traditions are merely symbolic,” Father had explained, as Mother sat silently at his side, wringing her hands as if trying not to show that she was troubled about something. “They are simply a rite of passage, to symbolize your passing from childhood to being Named. Nothing more.”

“So no Name comes from the Bowl?” I asked incredulously. I had always assumed the Naming Bowl was a mystical object of some unknowable power which bestowed Names on whomever drank from it.

Father shook his head calmly. We had talked through all of this before, but his patience was almost as endless as the questions that I could ask, when curiosity had hold of me. “It is always thus. The parents choose a Name, as we have done for you. When you drink, you must concentrate on the phrase we taught you, repeat it over and over in your mind and believe that what you drink is merely water. Then, you will announce the Name we have chosen for you: Ilyaena. Do you understand?”

Mother broke in suddenly, “That phrase is important, the most important part. You must repeat it in your mind and concentrate on the water. It is only water!”

Father reached out a hand to soothe her into stillness, which gave me some pause. Mother was never one to be troubled over nothing; what troubled her now? But then Father continued, “Yes, you must remember the phrase First Daughter. You do understand?”

Standing before the Eldest, that strange phrase, in a language I had never heard before, rolled through my mind once again. Father had made me practice it for days, over and over again until it began coming to me in my sleep. But, if my parents said it was all simply ceremony, then there could be no harm in doing what was required of me, even if Mother’s strange disquiet still made my heart a bit faint.

With a gentle push on my back, Father broke me from my reminiscences, nudging me forward, and I stepped up into my place on the dais.

The Eldest burned me with his withering gaze for a moment longer, then wordlessly held out his hands. The Hollow One obediently gave the Naming Bowl to him, then stepped back, out of the way, coming to rest just between the Eldest and the other members of the Elder Council who stood in a loose ring on the far side of the dais. Taking a small step forward, the Eldest held the Bowl out toward me as he intoned, “The Unnamed comes to find their Name, in the way of our people, from the Bowl of Insight. Take it and drink, that the eyes of your heart might be opened.”

As I gingerly took the Bowl in my hands, he muttered softly, in a voice I do not think he intended anyone to hear, “And may it burn you, and your family with you!”

Shock gripped me, and I very nearly dropped the Bowl, which would have been a scandal I would never had outlived even if I had lived to be older than the Eldest himself.  To be burned by the Naming Bowl was the greatest of curses; it happened only to those evil wretches who practiced the forbidden arts of magic and witchcraft. How the Bowl knew who was a witch, no one had ever explained, but the thought that it might choose me, burn me as such a vile creature, had never once entered my mind. To hear the Eldest wish such a horrible fate upon me shook me deeply, and for a moment I simply stood, Bowl in my hands, my mind reeling.

My hesitation was enough that the Eldest raised a questioning eyebrow at me, as if to say, “Will you drink or are you too afraid?” That was enough to break the shock that had frozen me. I held the Bowl aloft, as I had seen others do many times before, then emptied what the Bowl contained into my mouth.

In an instant, the world grew dim as a vile, acrid taste filled my mouth and burned my throat. This was not water! I must have closed my eyes, because suddenly darkness surrounded me and I felt myself floating in an empty void that was filled with pain and suffering. I remember growing terribly afraid, feeling like I was drowning in that darkness.

Then Father’s voice came back to me, as if from afar, reminding me of his advice, reminding me of what I needed to do. I began to concentrate on the strange phrase he had taught me, repeating it over and over in my mind with increasing desperation, clinging to the desperate hope that what I had just drunk was, indeed, merely water as my parents had told me.

How long I floated, lost in the void, I can not say, but after a moment, after an age, a soft, indescribable, almost liquid color began to drive the darkness away. With that strange color came a music, at once soft and overpowering, which seemed to envelop me, wrapping around me in a gentle cocoon of warmth and joy. I think we all know the music now, but this was the first time I had encountered it and I was overwhelmed. I could think of nothing but the desire to fling open my arms, welcoming the music and the color into my heart and holding it there forever!

For moments, or perhaps for years, I floated, surrounded by this indescribable warmth and beauty. It seems to me that I was not alone there, either. As I reflected on this in the days and years to come, I always felt that there was someone else, another presence there with me, though who it might have been or what might have passed between us as I rested, enveloped in this ecstasy, I can never quite recall.

At long last, the music and the liquid of the light faded away, and I opened my eyes to find the Eldest staring intently at me. He seemed almost disappointed to find that I had survived drinking, but after a moment he dutifully took the Bowl from my hands and completed his part in the Ceremony, intoning, “Unnamed one, you have sipped on Insight. Turn and announce your true Name!”

I turned away from him to face the square, which I now saw was filled with most of the village. Father and Mother stood in the front of the throng, looking expectantly up at me, smiling encouragement. I gave them a small smile, which was all I could manage; I was still quite overwhelmed by all I had seen and experienced in that strange void. Then, I remembered what they had told me. I should tell everyone that my Name was Ilyaena. I opened my mouth to repeat what I had been told, but discovered that I could not. Instead, I found myself proclaiming, “My Name is Naedira.”

I still don’t know why I said this, or how I knew. But in that moment, as I opened my mouth to speak, I simply knew that my Name is, and always was, Naedira.

Continue to Chapter 2: The Dream