On the Wind

 

The wind on her face and bare arms was a delicious caress, just that temperature between hot and cold that left her skin tingling with anticipation. The sun was just beginning to peak over the mountains across the bay, causing a band of sunlight to sear the cliffs above her as she climbed silently in the quickly-thinning morning fog. The pale sand on the path was cool against her bare feet, and she pushed down harder to wiggle her toes playfully while she walked. The wind pushed the soft fabric of her sleeveless green tunic teasingly against her hips and breasts. She felt her hair lifted and tossed casually about, and reached back absently to stroke it down, thinking she must remember to tie it back before class began.

There had been moments, on days not as inviting as this one, when she had regretted her decision to live isolated in the stone cottage at the bottom of the mountain rather than among the villagers on the plateau high above. But the need to recharge her energies in the peace of her tiny dwelling, to hear ocean waves break against the rocky shoreline, and yes, to separate herself and her special mission from the casual intimacies of neighbours, always affirmed the wisdom of her choice. On mornings as glorious as this, she was in fact deeply grateful for the long, winding path back and forth across the cliff face up, up, toward the village.

As she approached the final turn that would bring her within sight of those she knew were watching for her, she hesitated in the shadows of a gnarled pine tree which thrust itself out against the all-enveloping sky. She reached into one of the deep pockets in her tunic and withdrew a small gold circlet, a gift from a previous generation of grateful parents. She held it for a moment in her hand, loving the feel of the warm, solid metal, and marveling yet again at the cleverly-wrought design of a seabird whose gently curving wings caught on one another in an intricate clasp of intertwined feathers.              When opened, the bird seemed to be soaring, wings outstretched, proud beak pointing toward some distant horizon. When closed, as now she fastened the circlet to contain her long hair, the bird became a symbol of a mother guarding her young, wings curved protectively. It was a treasure beyond price, as much for the respect and affection it denoted as for the artistry and rare metal with which it had been made.  Cenjuan. She smiled, remembering the small, gentle man who had made it, who had blushed furiously as she exclaimed in delight over the gift, and who had made sure to give credit to all who had contributed gold, assistance, and advice in its construction.

Hair now neatly tied back, she rounded the last corner, and strode confidently and purposefully up the last steps of the path. As expected, two small children were waiting for her. One of them immediately turned to race back up the hill to joyously announce her arrival, while the other offered her a small, porcelain cup filled with cool, sweet fruit juice. 

The Teacher accepted with a small, formal bow, and was rewarded by the child's crow of delight. She lifted the juice to her lips, and sipped. Mango, her favorite. "Ummm", she said quietly. "This is perfect. You must thank your mother for me, qara." She lifted the cup again, and drained the remainder of the energizing liquid, then ceremoniously, two-handed, returned the cup to the little girl.

By now there were other voices laughing from the clifftop above, and she once more began to climb. She loved this moment, when she rejoined her people, when the children's smiling faces rewarded her diligence and patience. They were waiting, as expected, on the little terrace that bordered the cliff. 

The semicircle of children was ringed behind by parents whose happy and excited faces reflected their remembrance of when they had been the children being taught, as had their parents before them and their parents before them. The mosaic tile of the terrace gleamed in cheerful colors in the morning sunlight. Someone, as always, had gotten up early enough to sweep and polish the tiles till they shone as if they were not centuries old. 

The Teacher looked carefully into each of the children's faces as she greeted them and their parents by name. She looked for signs of ill-health or distress of any kind, for unresolved angers or resentments, for mischief that needed to be set free, and lastly and most importantly, for fear. However, none of these children were frightened first-yearers; she knew that it would be at least two more years before any of the babies in the village at the moment would be old enough to begin instruction, and she relished the pleasure of taking this group to their full potential before she had to begin again to break down the walls that prevented learning.

One child, however, was missing. His father, Donyil, stood, cap in hands, at the end of the group, eyes downcast. When she reached him, she put her hand gently on his forearm. "Donyil?" she said in her near-whispering voice. "How is it with Beran?"

"No better," mumbled the distraught father. "We are giving up hope. The cough is bad, and getting worse by the night. I don't know what more we can do for him." 

“I have sent a message to the healers on Green Mountain. They will send someone within the day. You must not worry yourself. Beran will get better." She reached into another deep pocket and withdrew a simple metal clasp. "Please give this to Beran to keep for me. Tell him I expect him to return to class very soon. He is missing important lessons." Then her stern voice melted. "Maybe he can wear it when he's sitting up, to keep his long hair out of his eyes." 

Donyil accepted the clasp, holding her small hand between both of his large brown ones for a moment before releasing her. "Thank you," he whispered and turned away quickly, his eyes wet. "I will give Beran your message."

She turned her attention to the rest of her class then, and with a small gesture indicated that the parents could return home. No more words were spoken as the parents disappeared and the little group turned to walk hand in hand with their partners back down the sandy path along the face of the cliff. 

Kiri, who was Beran's partner, walked with her hand in her teacher's, awed by the privilege, and at the same time missing Beran. As if sensing her feelings, the Teacher's hand clasped hers more firmly, and when Kiri looked up, she found kind brown eyes looking at her in a way that let her know the Teacher knew exactly how she felt.

Soon they reached the place where the path had been expanded, dug out of the cliff before memory, and used for these lessons for as long as their history had been recorded. The soft sand beneath their feet was blown about by the wind, which had begun to pick up. Clumps of thick, hardy grass bent with their usual resilience against the unremitting ocean breezes. The children's tunics, an array of colors bright against the dull green rock face, blew against them in wild jigs, and the uprising wind raised their spirits, making them laugh and jostle each other near enough the cliff edge to be fun, but not so close as to endanger anyone.

The Teacher realized that they had better get started before the children's high spirits began to fade. She caught their attention with a simple lift of her hand to her shoulder, palm out, and they quieted immediately and spread out in an orderly line along the path, eyes glued to her face. 

She nodded once, and each child put out his or her hand to receive their hair clasps, which she retrieved from one or another of her deep pockets. They never ceased to wonder at the way she would reach deep into a pocket, feeling around, and retrieve the correctly colored-clasp for each child. Turquoise for Abethin, coral for Dyi, strong golden-yellow for Kiri, jade for Crezni, and deep indigo for the eldest, Arla. For a moment, the children were stung with the disappointment of not seeing Beran's copper-red clasp; then with a quick glance at Kiri so that she might know how they hurt for her, again all eyes turned once more toward the Teacher.

"Now," she smiled brightly, taking their minds away from their absent friend, "Who is ready to begin?"

“I am!" five voices exclaimed as one. It was a ritual question and a ritual answer, but each child answered with the same enthusiasm as their first day. She paused for a moment to savor the joy this moment always brought her, while quickly scanning each child for any indication that they were not, in fact, ready. Even little Kiri's eyes were shining brightly with excitement and anticipation, however, and she knew it was time. 

Without a word, the Teacher took her place in the middle of the line and turned her back to the steep precipice, reaching out a hand on either side, which the nearest child grasped firmly. Then they, in turn, reached out their free hand for the next child, until all six were joined in a comfortable line. 

She backed them up slowly with a graceful dancing step that tucked one foot behind the other, each child carefully emulating her actions. As they neared the edge, the upwelling wind blew more strongly against their backs and lifted the edges of their tunics and the ends of their pony-tailed hair. For a moment everyone held their breath, until again copying her actions, they all took a deep breath and blew the air strongly out of their lungs, letting their shoulders drop and then rotating them slowly backward, loosening the joint.

They felt the wind catch them more strongly, and each turned his or her eyes toward the mandala carved boldly into the cliff face. The complex design drew their attention away from themselves, and they barely noticed as the Teacher began to help them lift gently away up the cliff face. She looked carefully at each child to make sure they were all comfortable and concentrating, and then slowly drew them away from the mountain to hover about twenty units above the translucent green waters of the bay. 

This was higher than the children ever flew themselves, but not as high as they sometimes flew with her help. Usually at this point, she would direct them wordlessly to let go of each other’s hands, outside children first, until all would hang by themselves in the air. But this day, she saw another opportunity and took it. Instead of letting go, she upended herself and dove the group down among the fishing vessels anchored a short distance away in the harbor. The children cried out in astonishment and delight as she drew them deliciously close to the warm, blue-green waters. They gasped as they were swooped up and over one of the boats.

They could see the carefully-polished woodgrain of the mahogany deck, smell the pungent warm mixture of wood, tar, and fish, and hear the slap of the waves against the gracefully-curved hull. Double masts rose majestically above their heads, and they swung around close to the rough linen sails, which smelled of salt and the wax coating that made them waterproof. 

Coils of rope as thick as a child's arm were piled strategically along the length of the boat. Children were never allowed on the boats, so this experience was a special treat. It made them forget Beran's absence, and suddenly the skills they had been learning reflexively carried new weight. This was the freedom she was offering them. This was their heritage and their birthright – the six children out of each generation who would grow up to be the Messengers of their people, as their parents had been. Suddenly, they were all anxious to begin the true lesson.

As if sensing their new urgency, the Teacher swooped once more low enough over the waves for one or two children to get splashed, and everyone laughed. Then she swung them around and flew back up until they hung in position in front of the mandala once more. She gestured the outer children to release, which they did in pairs, partners holding hands before releasing even this comfort, until all five were flying on their own. Now it became a game of concentration, a contest to see who would falter first and fall into the warm waters below them. They were far enough from the rocky shoreline to be in no danger when falling, yet close enough to have only a short swim back to shore.

Dyi fell first that day, stiffening and losing his focus, suddenly conscious of his weight supported only by the steady ocean breeze. He tumbled headfirst into the water, to the cheers and jeers of the others. Unperturbed, he swam quickly to shore and began the long climb up the rocky cliff back to the launching terrace. He could have taken the path their teacher had taken earlier that morning, but after the dishonor of being the first to fall, Dyi was not about to bring further shame on himself by taking the easy way up.  

The cliff was dotted with small trees and handholds that had been carved by the wind and a thousand generations of children's hands, which made the climb simple, if strenuous. Dyi was grateful his wet tunic caught the breeze and cooled him as he climbed, and soon he was once again aloft with the rest.

Kiri fell second, but because she was both littlest and without her partner, no one laughed except she herself, spluttering to the surface of the sea and calling up, "Okay, we've started it. Who's next?" 

Everyone knew how deliciously warm and inviting the water was, and soon each child had ‘fallen' at least once. Swimming and climbing increased their strength without them realizing it, so the Teacher felt no need to chastise them for letting go more and more often. However, after what always seemed too short a time to her, she knew they were beginning to tire, and she guided them back to land on the path. Soon they would be ready for the ceremony where they would fly all the way back to the village escorted by an honor guard of all available Messengers. From then on, lessons would begin and end on the beautiful walled terrace where she now met them each day.

She looked forward to their achievements, but felt a bit wistful knowing that this stage was nearing its end. Soon her role would be more protector and coach than teacher, and they would begin to interact more with each other than with her. This was the right and proper way for each generation of Messengers to grow, interdependent and co-operative, for they would need to protect their partners and each other for the rest of their lives.  

She sighed. They would lead exciting and challenging lives – the life she had been forced to give up when Thirin, her own partner, had been killed. Losing one’s partner meant losing a mate, for Messenger-pairs were mated for life. That was why everyone mourned for Kiri, though she was too young to be in love with Beran. If Beran died, they all knew, Kiri's life would never be the same. Just as their teacher had had to leave her own village and become the Teacher in theirs, Kiri might have to find another place in their society, for Messengers never travelled alone.

The Teacher shook such considerations from her mind as she hugged the children and smiled congratulations at them for their successes. The sun was getting hot by this time, and the children’s clothes were drying rapidly. The walk back up the cliff face was leisurely and content. Their parents would be waiting for them at the top, ready to take them home for a quick bath to remove the salt from their skin, followed by food and drink, both of which would be quickly consumed by the exhausted group. But for now, the children held hands and laughingly recalled some of the falls and falters of the day. They giggled and whispered about the swooping dive past the fishing boats. This was the one time each day she would not chastise them for chatting, for it reinforced their lessons and bonded them more tightly as a group.

As they neared the terrace, she reached up behind her head and undid the golden clasp, shaking loose her long dark hair and slipping the clasp deep into its pocket. She watched silently and affectionately as the waiting parents undid their children’s hair clasps and returned them to her. Then one parent in each family brushed out their child’s hair, which danced about in the wind like colts released from confinement.          

Finally, the children and their parents formed a semicircle again, and each child bowed low to the Teacher as she nodded her acceptance of their gratitude. As the last child bowed and turned away, the Teacher felt a single happy tear rolling down her cheek, and began the long walk to the bottom of the cliff.