Just Niveh was written in April 2022. If you have comments, please leave them over on this blog post.

Just Niveh

Niveh steeled herself to the widow’s quiet sobs as she performed the ritual. Reverently, she removed the dead man’s earring and inspected it closely: the soft blue glow emanating from it was clear and steady. Placing it gently in the ceremonial tray, she marked the man’s forehead with a line of indigo dye.

“Khote is dead,” she intoned. “His memories have left him.” Khote’s widow, kneeling opposite her, bowed her head with grief over her husband’s body as Niveh stood, carrying the tray and its precious cargo to where the Keeper sat in quiet meditation. As Khote’s family and close friends stood in solemn witness around the perimeter of the room, Niveh first took the sharpening stone sitting on the Keeper’s left, and with a few quick strokes, honed the earring post—dull from a lifetime of wear—to a sharp point. Next, she washed the earring carefully in the bowl to the Keeper’s right, and then offered it gravely to the old woman.

The Keeper took the earring, and holding it in front of her, repeated Niveh’s words. “Khote is dead,” she said. “But never shall he be forgotten. His wisdom will live on to guide us and our descendants.” Ritual words spoken, she jabbed the stud through the skin of her cheek without so much as a second’s hesitation.

Niveh’s eyes closed involuntarily just before the point made contact. This was the worst part. Gritting her teeth, she forced her eyes open and watched as emotions and tension played across the elder’s face, the tides of memory ebbing and flowing. Niveh wondered, as always, what it was like to know another person’s entire being in a moment. She shivered, both excited and apprehensive for the day when she would find out.

After a minute, the warm blue glow of Khote’s memory stone faded and it became as lifeless as the dozens of other gems decorating the Keeper’s ears and cheeks, save for the one that continued to shine brilliantly in her right ear: her own stone. The woman opened her eyes and nodded to the room. “Khote is alive,” she said. “His memories endure, in me.” 

Ritual finished, the villagers began conversing sombrely. Niveh handed the Keeper some numbing salve and a rounded backing for the piercing. The woman winced slightly as she reached into her mouth to apply the backing and spread the salve on the area. Niveh helped her up and supported her as she made a round of the room, greeting each of the villagers, sharing a quiet word. One of the deceased’s adult sons held his mother gently as Niveh and the Keeper approached them. The Keeper grasped the widow’s hands in her own.

“Khote loved you very much,” the Keeper said. “One of his clearest memories is the day you decided to wed. He’d planned a picnic in a secret grove across the river, but…”

The widow and her son both laughed, familiar with the story. “He fell in the water and spent the whole time sopping wet,” the son finished.

The widow chuckled and wiped her eyes. “He was so embarrassed. But I was already smitten, from the day I met him.” Her eyes were far away. Her son squeezed her shoulders and nodded his thanks to the Keeper.

The Keeper smiled kindly and moved on to speak with others, but Niveh could feel her fatigue, and shortly thereafter they left amongst respectful thanks and nods from those gathered. Niveh glanced back as they walked away—they would spend the day eating and drinking and celebrating Khote’s memory, she knew. Part of her longed for that connection, that shared sadness and affection; but she tore her eyes away and with a steadying hand on the Keeper’s elbow, Niveh helped the old woman back to the small cottage they shared on the outskirts of the village.

“Three in a week,” the Keeper sighed as she gingerly lowered herself with Niveh’s help onto a chair. “Just bad luck, but it will take me awhile to fully absorb them all.” Niveh pulled a pot of stew she had left simmering while they were out off the embers of the cookfire and put on the kettle to brew some tea. Doling out a healthy bowlful, she passed it to the Keeper who dug in gratefully: absorbing a new memory stone always took a lot out of her. Niveh sat down opposite her and poked at her own bowl. Memory transfer rituals weren’t physically taxing for her, but she always felt emotionally drained afterwards. Watching the piercing itself always made her feel slightly ill, but the ceremonies also took her back to when she was the one crying over her parents...

“Niveh,” the Keeper said, kindly. Niveh jerked her head up, and realized she’d been staring at her bowl of stew. The Keeper’s bright eyes were knowing. “Why don’t you take a few days in the woods?” 

“Not now,” Niveh said, guiltily. She loved the woods, and the last time she had gone out she had discovered a beautiful spot by a small waterfall that she wanted to explore further, but she couldn’t abandon the Keeper now. She noticed the old woman’s bowl sat empty and stood to refill it. “You’ll need support as you process the new memories—”

She was interrupted by footsteps approaching the cottage, and a moment later Shaloh burst through the open door. Shaloh was the son of Thea, Niveh’s childhood neighbour, and the village blacksmith. He was a sweet boy, a little bit odd, a little bit of an outsider, didn’t have many friends. Like Niveh herself, she mused.

“Niveh! Keeper!” he greeted them. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shaloh, can’t you see the Keeper is tired?” Niveh chided. “We just came from Khote’s memory ritual. Now is not the time.”

Shaloh looked crestfallen. “Oh, uh. Sorry, Keeper. I’ll come back.” He turned to leave.

The Keeper chuckled. “What do you want to know, Shaloh?”

He brightened. “I, well, I was wondering… who was the smallest blacksmith the village ever had?”

“Shaloh!” Niveh scolded. Shaloh had the grace to look abashed. Small for his age, Niveh knew that he struggled to live up to his father’s expectations in the smithy but to bother the Keeper with such a frivolous request, right now?

The Keeper chuckled again and closed her eyes for a moment. After some inner searching, she opened them and said, “The village blacksmith seven generations ago was barely taller than your mother,” she announced.

Shaloh’s eyes sparkled. “I knew it,” he said to himself. He gave a little bow to the Keeper. “Thank you, Keeper. Excuse me, I must go tell my father.” Niveh stifled a laugh at his formality as he turned and marched out of the cottage and back up the path, head held high.

Niveh and the Keeper both stared after him, bemused. Then the Keeper shook her head and turned back to her bowl of stew.

“If I can keep up with young Shaloh, I can take care of myself. Just pick me up some salt pork from the butcher and pull some beets and potatoes from the garden for me tonight. Then, first thing in the morning—off to the woods with you.”

*****

Niveh happily inhaled scents of the forest. As the Keeper had predicted, three days out on her own had done wonders for her mood. The clearing by the waterfall had proven to be an ideal place to set up: the spongy moss providing a luxurious bed, and the rushing water lulling her to sleep at night. An only child, nature had always been her best friend, comforting her when she was lonely, a playmate with endless possibilities. Now, as an adult, she found the forest’s soothing company to be remarkably helpful in working through problems and mental blocks. Second only, perhaps, to the Keeper’s wise council—not unexpected from one who could draw upon uncounted generations of knowledge.

In any case, after her retreat she was feeling refreshed, invigorated, and ready to return to her duties assisting the Keeper with enthusiasm. She sang quietly to herself as she made her way home through the late-morning forest, dappled with sunlight, mentally cataloguing chores around the cottage that would need doing upon her return. 

As she drew closer to the village, she gradually became aware of an acrid smell in the air. Smoke. It seeped into her senses so slowly that she didn’t notice her unease until she realized her song had faltered to a stop. She walked faster, apprehension growing in her gut.

She broke through the trees surrounding the village and drew up short, her worst fears confirmed. The cottage she shared with the Keeper was a blackened husk. The roof had caved in, only two of the main supports still standing. No flames could be seen, but smoke and steam still oozed from the black timbers. Dozens of people were gathered, some picking through the wreckage, others milling uncertainly now that the fire was out, holding buckets and conversing in hushed tones. One of them spotted Niveh and gave a shout, a ripple of relief passing through the crowd.

“Niveh! Niveh, you’re alive!” Harelle the seamstress rushed over, her round face shining with concern.

Niveh broke free of her frozen disbelief. “The Keeper,” she gasped. “Where is she? What happened?” She began to push her way past Harelle but the matronly woman deftly slipped an arm around Niveh’s shoulders and steered her away from the wreckage towards a huddle of murmuring women.

“You shouldn’t go any closer,” Harelle said gently. “The fire started early in the morning; we think the Keeper was still asleep in bed. There isn’t... much left.” The women hushed as they arrived and greeted them with somber looks. 

Niveh blinked, uncomprehending. The Keeper, dead? That meant... “The memories. Her stone. Did you...”

Shehn the innkeeper wordlessly held out her hand, revealing what was inside.

A memory stone. But horribly wrong. Black with soot—no, charred, misshapen from its usual perfect sphere. And the familiar blue glow was gone. Weak light flickered sporadically, barely visible, its colour diluted. Niveh stared at it, aghast.

“Will it... still work?” Shehn asked, tentatively. 

Niveh didn’t know. “The Keeper is dead,” she said faintly. She picked up the earring carefully, and taking a deep breath, thrust it through her left earlobe. 

And waited.

A trickle of... something... seeped into her mind. A vague impression, like when she woke from a dream she couldn’t quite remember. It danced around the edges of her thoughts but the more she tried to grasp it, the more elusive it became. She strained towards it in a desperate push, but it slipped away and then faded from her senses, leaving her feeling empty.

She opened her eyes.

The women around her were watching intently, waiting.

Niveh cleared her throat. “The Keeper is dead,” she said, her voice raw with devastation. “Her memories... are lost.” Age-old ritual thus defiled, she dropped to her knees and sobbed.

*****

The following weeks were a fog for Niveh. She lay in a bed—at the inn, she noticed dully at one point, though she didn’t care—and mourned the incalculable loss of her village’s history, and the woman who had been its caretaker. 

Shehn and her husband Rihvas came in periodically with food. They told her to eat. She obeyed. They tried to talk with her. She ignored them until they went away.

*****

Countless generations of knowledge gone. The lives of so many, forgotten. The wealth of experiences from which Niveh was to advise her people—lost.

Other villagers came to visit. They tried to talk with her. She ignored them until they went away.

*****

Where did that leave Niveh? She had spent the last fifteen years preparing to become the next Keeper. What kind of Keeper was she when she had nothing to keep? What would the village do, without their past to guide them? 

She was useless. Worse than useless. She should have been there. Maybe she could have prevented the fire. It was her fault that the Keeper had died. I wonder why they haven’t run me out of the village yet, she thought dully. Maybe she should just leave before they turned on her. Go live out in the woods, where she couldn’t let anyone down again but herself.

A knock at the door.

“Go away,” Niveh said.

The door opened. It was Thea, who had been her childhood neighbour until Niveh’s parents had died and Niveh had moved in with the Keeper. The woman looked distressed, and Niveh waited bleakly for the blame she was sure would come.

“Hi,” said Thea.

“Go away,” said Niveh.

“Keeper...”

“I’m no Keeper,” Niveh said, bitterly.

“Niveh, then. Niveh, Shaloh is missing,” said Thea.

Niveh blinked. Sweet Shaloh. The outsider. Like Niveh. 

“I thought... I thought, as the Keeper, and as someone Shaloh likes... you might be able to find him.” 

“I’m no Keeper,” Niveh repeated. Shaloh, missing. But what could she do without the archival memories of her people, just her, just Niveh?

“Please,” said Thea.

Niveh got up.

*****

Shaloh had last been seen many hours ago. He had fought with his father in the smithy and left, crying. His father had not followed him, assuming it was a passing tantrum, but had grown concerned when the boy did not return. Now the whole village was alerted, but no one seemed to know where he had gone. 

Niveh knew there was nothing she could do that anyone else could not. She had no wealth of knowledge, no insights into missing children, but for Thea, and mostly for Shaloh, the boy so much like her, she could at least add her eyes and voice to the others. She volunteered to comb the woods south of the village, a semi-wild area that had been partly cultivated for game, fungi, and other things that grew better untended.

She walked through the forest calling out Shaloh’s name until her voice was hoarse. The afternoon wore on. Spending time in the woods, she felt a small bead of something in her chest, could it be—lightness? But no. She was a Keeper who had lost her village’s entire history. It was a wonder anyone would even speak to her.

Judging from the periodic shouts from the village, Shaloh still hadn’t been found. Niveh had combed the woods thoroughly but felt reluctant to return to the search group and admit her failure. Another failure. She turned around and decided to do another pass of the area, although it was beginning to get dark.

Just out of earshot from the village, she came upon a beautiful old tree she used to climb as a child. Looking up, she felt a sudden urge take hold of her and before she knew what she was doing, she had already ascended to twice her height. 

Niveh climbed and climbed, aiming for the perch she knew was right at the limit of where the branches got too flimsy to climb further. Her limbs ached from the hard work, especially after lying immobile in bed for—how long had it been?—but it was a good ache. 

She reached the perch and nearly lost her grip when she saw someone was already there.

“Shaloh,” she gasped once she had steadied herself. “Everyone’s looking for you!”

The boy looked at her, surprised. “Niveh? Uh, I mean, Keeper—”

“Just Niveh,” Niveh spoke sharply, then took a calming breath. “Shaloh. You should come home. Your mother is worried.” 

“No,” said Shaloh. “I won’t.”

Niveh sighed inwardly. “Okay,” she said. “Can you move over so I can sit?”

Shaloh looked surprised. “Uh, sure,” he said, and shimmied over on the branch to make room for her. Niveh pulled herself up and settled in next to him. They fit cozily into the nook. Sitting peacefully in silence, the sounds of twilight surrounded them.

“Why’d you run away?” Niveh eventually asked. She felt Shaloh tense up beside her.

“My father, he wants me to do all these things in the smithy,” he said. “But I’m not big enough. I can’t do it. I told him about the small blacksmith but it didn’t make a difference. He praises Pruth all the time and just yells at me.” Niveh pictured Pruth, the other apprentice who was a huge boy, nearly twice the size of Shaloh. “It’s not my fault that I’m small.” Niveh could hear a rawness in his throat that suggested he had been crying.

“You’re right,” Niveh said. “That’s not fair.”

The boy sounded surprised. “All the other adults just tell me to work harder and stop complaining.” 

Niveh shrugged. “You can’t help how big you are.”

They were silent for a few moments. A squirrel chittered a few branches over.

“I won’t go back,” Shaloh repeated firmly. “Pruth, he... called me a crybaby. And my father looked like he agreed and just told me to get back to work.”

“I knew your father when we were children,” Niveh said. “I saw him cry. More than once. When he was at least your age.” 

Shaloh made a startled noise. After a pause, he said, “I still can’t go back. I’ll never be able to keep up with Pruth. I’m just a failure. Maybe I’ll... I’ll go live in the woods!”

Niveh sighed. “You can’t go live in the woods, Shaloh. And you’re not a failure.”

“I don’t know,” said the boy in a small voice.

“Look,” said Niveh. “You can’t help that you’re small. You can’t help that you’re the blacksmith’s son. What you can control is how you deal with those realities. If you can’t keep up to Pruth in strength, then prove yourself to your father by working harder. Smarter. Be creative.”

“How do I do that?”

“Show that you don’t need strength to learn to be a blacksmith. Get to the smithy before your father does in the morning, and stay late. Learn everything you can. Ask questions. Do you want to be a blacksmith?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then prove it to your father. Show him your dedication. He knows the strength will come as you get older—given his size, you won’t be small forever—but show him that you can be useful to him now. If you’re not strong enough to do it the normal way, find a different way to do it.”

Shaloh was quiet for a few minutes, and Niveh could feel his mind working. “I actually... yesterday, had an idea for a change I could make to the bellows,” Shaloh ventured. “So that I can pump them more easily.”

“There you go. Work smarter.”

“Maybe... do you know if... something like that has been done before? In the past?”

“I don’t,” said Niveh, sadly. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Oh,” said Shaloh. 

An owl hooted softly in the distance, getting ready for its breakfast.

“But maybe you could talk to my father and convince him to let me try it? He wouldn’t listen to me.”

“I could do that,” Niveh agreed. She wasn’t the Keeper of anything, but even without memories, the position must have some authority.

It was getting quite dark now.

“I’m hungry,” said Shaloh, suddenly.

“Me too,” said Niveh. “Do you want to go back?”

“I guess so,” the boy replied.

There was just enough light for them to climb down the tree. As they neared the village, Niveh said, “Just remember. No matter what anyone says, you’re you, and that’s enough.”

Shaloh took a deep breath in the dark beside her. “Okay.”

“Ready?”

“Yeah.” Pause. “Niveh?”

“Yeah?”

Shaloh suddenly hugged her around her waist, startling her. “Thanks. I’m glad you were away when your house burned down. Or you’d be gone along with the Keeper.”

Niveh patted his head awkwardly, touched, but conflicted. Surely, she could have saved the Keeper if she’d been there... or would she just be dead, too?

They entered the village, and Shaloh endured a tearful embrace from his mother and a stern word from his father that had a clear undertone of relief. Thea embraced Niveh as well. “Thank you for bringing back my boy. Niveh.” 

As Niveh wandered slowly back to the inn, she noticed the bead of lightness in her chest had persisted. Grown, even. No ancestors’ memories had found Shaloh, or reassured him. Somehow, she alone had been enough.

Just Niveh.