The Joining

It was dark, foggy and fresh in the forest surrounding their small village. A small group of women traipsed through the foliage on bare feet, heads bowed so as not to miss a stick to step over or a rock to avoid.

At the front of the group walked the village elder, draped in a soft, thick robe of the purest white, baring a staff used with little effort despite her advanced years. As the women passed, they got progressively younger, until, right at the very end, a young of woman of 25 years trailed the rest. Aside from the village elder, she was the most dressed up of them all; her robes were thicker, lined with the fur of a wolf that had been killed many moons ago, almost glowing in their starkness. Her face was painted, sharp white lines bisecting the tanned skin. Her body was adorned with jewellery; pearls and diamonds flashed in the bright light of the moon, weighing heavy against her chest, arms and hips. Her black hair tumbled long and straight down to her waist, brushing gently against the round of her behind. Carefully manicured nails held up her robes as she walked, showing a peak of her feet, adorned only with yet more gems.

A determined look was settled across her face, despite the rapidly increasing rate of her heart. The older women walking in front of her never turned back, placing one foot in front of the other until they reached a small clearing. The young woman couldn’t see much of the clearing at first; her view was blocked by the others, but it soon came into focus.

Her village elder was in the centre, directly in front of flat slab of rock which held a wide, shallow bowl surrounded by a perfectly coiled red rope. The young woman knew it to be soft from the talk of other women who had gone through the same ritual and she longed to feel it pull at the skin on her wrist, binding her.

The older women lined the side of the clearing they had entered, heads still bowed and waiting patiently. The village elder beckoned the young woman closer to the other side of the rock altar. She took several deep breaths as she made her way across the clearing, attempting to steady her erratic heart. She wanted this, desperately. All would be well.

For minutes, nothing happened. The clearing was silent save for the sounds of the forest at night. Tension filled the air, the women waiting, waiting, waiting . . .

The crack of a stick on the other side of the clearing broke the delicate silence. The young woman’s ears pricked and her neck snapped to look.

Another older woman, clad in darker furs, animal teeth jewellery, fabric threaded through long braided grey hair and the tanned hides of bears lead a group of several women through a gap in the trees. She held a gnarled tree limb, worn smooth by many hands and consistent use. Paint so dark it looked black in the night sliced across her cheeks and forehead. The women who trailed her were similarly clad, including the young woman who walked through last.

She was by far the most beautiful woman the first young woman had ever seen. Her red hair was braided back with leather to rest freely down her back, not much further than her shoulders. Her face was more intricately painted, swirling designs taking over her temples, cheeks and chin, cascading down leather armband clad biceps. She, too, was bare foot beneath her black tunic, cinched at the waist with a thick leather belt.

The two women were opposites in every way, yet the breath left the young woman in white’s body as her tension faded away and a smile lit up her entire being.

The village elder of the dark-clad women joined the first on the opposite side of the altar. The young woman in leathers had stalked determinedly forward as the women of her village lined their side of the clearing, stopping only a foot from her counterpart. Her eyes, a bright green, blazed with a number of emotions that the other could barely distinguish. Her fingers twitched, like they ached to reach out. Her feet shifted anxiously. She stood only a couple of inches taller than the woman in white, though her physical presence dominated the area.

With a thud of both of the staffs held by the village elders, the two young women tore their eyes away from each other to focus on the beginning of the proceedings.

The elder woman dressed in white stepped forward first, planting her staff into the ground and spreading her gaze across everyone gathered.

“This night, on the full moon of the winter solstice, we welcome the new season with the joining our two villages.” Her voice echoed throughout the area, louder and stronger than it had any right to be.

Her counterpart repeated her motions, stepping forward to join her.

“With the bonding ceremony between Aliya of Cannis and Rowan of Ithana, we not only merge our resources and skills, we merge our families.”

“On this night we will call upon the spirits of the forest and our deities to bless this union with happiness, prosperity and love.”

“You are all here tonight to bear witness and take knowledge of the encounter back to our people. You are the messengers; spread word of this night far and wide.”

With that announcement finished, the two focussed their intense gazes upon the young women before them.

“Aliya of Cannis, raise your right hand,” the woman in white instructed. The young woman in the white robe did so without hesitation, confidently raising her hand, ready for it to be clasped.

“Rowan of Ithana, raise your right hand,” the woman in leathers commanded. Rowan, in her own dark tunic and leathers mirrored Aliya opposite her, hands a breath away from each other, making her skin tingle in excitement. A twitch of her finger would have had them touching, but that was not yet allowed.

The two elder women rounded the altar to stand directly in front of Aliya and Rowan, one grabbing the bowl and the other the rope.

“With the acceptance of the all-powerful, we invite the two of you to clasp hands.”

Before they had even finished speaking, Rowan clenched Aliya’s hand in her own. The first touch was electric and both women had to hold in noises of pleasured surprise. Where Aliya’s hands were soft with constant maintenance, Rowan’s were rough with calluses from work, hunting and labour, though they had been thoroughly cleaned and softened prior to their ceremony. Where Aliya used magic, Rowan used her hands.

Rowan’s elder tied the rope around their clasped hands tightly, signifying the strength of their bond.

“Do the two of you swear to respect each other always, to listen and communicate freely?” She asked as she tied.

“I swear to the deities above and below that I will respect my partner always, to listen and communicate freely,” they intoned, voices melding together in a strong symphony.

Aliya’s elder stepped forward to pour water infused with the herbs and flowers of their lands over their hands.

“Do the two of you swear to never cause harm to the other willingly, physical or emotional?”

“I swear to never cause my partner harm willingly, either physical or emotional.”

The water was icy cold as it flowed over their skin, soaking into the rope and setting their nerves ablaze. A shiver raced down Aliya’s back and Rowan squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“With these vows, you are now joined. We invite you to claim each other,” the elders announced, standing back from the pair. With a sigh of relief, Rowan pulled Aliya into her chest by their bound hands, left rising to slide along her cheek, smudging the immaculate paint.

“Finally,” she whispered, leaning down to claim the lips of her love.