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This is the third and final part of Chapter 3 of I Am The North, the first installment of the Sitka Saga trilogy.
Shared with permission, written by Rae Wojcik.
Chapter 3: The Memory Circle | Sitka
Part 3
Skye leads the way off the main path and along a narrow trail that cuts across the side of the mountain, its span barely wide enough for our feet. The earth careens to the valley floor off the side of the trail; it would take ages to climb back up after a fall, if one could climb back up at all. The journey used to scare me as a child, but with Elm being only a three-days’ ride from the border, we can’t take any chances.
Not when the price of practicing magic is death.
We’re all silent as we walk, spirits communally heavy, and eventually, the trail opens to a small mountain meadow encircled by the largest oak trees in the land. It would take five of us stretching our arms to encircle one trunk—their survival in the harsh mountain climate itself is a miracle, as it was more suited to scanty fir trees. In the center of the meadow are three wide, flat stones, like round tables, their faces each carved with a distinct pattern: one with the Wreath of Elm; one with a series of runes, carved after Sage the Great had died; and one with the same swirling designs as on Skye’s hand, for healing after the Fever had passed through.
As soon as we enter the Memory Circle, the world seems quiet. Sage, the greatest Priestess in Northern history, wrote that we all begin and end at the Memory Circle. Mother and Eska are present here, in a way. Though I had heard that the Southerners bury their dead, their bodies swallowed whole by the earth, we burn their bodies. Sage had said that’s the way it should be—born of water, quenched in fire, with whatever is not water returning to the earth and mountain air. I imagine Mother and Eska dancing with the wind among the trees; although I’m not sure I’m worthy of their presence, it makes me feel less alone.
We spread out among the trees, and Skye takes her place before the three stones in the center of the meadow. She opens her basket and removes a bundle of herbs—rosemary, sage, lavender—as well as a jar of blood-red wine. Even the slight breeze through the treetops seems to stop as Skye begins.
“Tonight, we honor our sister, Sigrid, and her child. May her spirit enter the next world pure as the sky, and may her journey be swift like the river. May the North Wind bring healing on her family, and on all of us. And may there be an end to our suffering and restoration to this land.”
With this, she pours out the jar of wine, its drops sinking into the earth. She then takes the bundle of herbs and holds them in her palms until flames erupt again, and she sets the burning bundle in the center of the carved Wreath of Elm. Then everyone raises their hands, the whole circle pulsing with energy.
Skye’s flames burn brighter, floating from her hands and skipping around each other in an intricate dance. A woman with long red hair and a floral crown begins to dance, and as she does so, the trees move, joining her, their leaves fluttering and flirting with Skye’s flames. Everyone brings their unique Gift of the land’s magic—light, wind, flames—until a warmth rises from the ground, a heat that seems to banish the sorrow the warmer it glows.
I stand near the edge of the circle, head bowed. As beautiful as the Memory Circle is, every time I come here, I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t belong. I don’t have a Gift; the land has not blessed me in that way. It’s not up to us to question why, but after the Fever, I probably didn’t deserve one. I’m cursed, after all. I’m the opposite of gifted.
My stomach feels hard as I watch the earth coming to life under the spell of the ceremony. While I love each person here, I can’t help but feel resentful that the land hadn’t gifted any of us with healing magic. Healers were rare, they said; not quite as rare as Deathlings or Rune Witches, but rare enough that we don’t have one anywhere near Elm. It seems a cruel trick. All this magic, but not enough to save a young woman and her child from death.
Eventually, the bundle of herbs burns out, and everything seems to fall silent again. Skye gets on her knees and offers a deep bow to the land. The rest of us follow suit, the damp grass warm and fresh on my face.
In the moment of silence, the tears that have threatened to make an appearance all day finally erupt, splashing and falling into the leaf-strewn ground. Please, I pray, not exactly sure to whom or what I’m praying. Please help us. We can’t go on like this.
When the moment is done, Skye gently tells us all to stand, and she packs her things as the group moves to leave the Circle.
I wipe the tears from my face as I start to get up again, and as I rise to my feet I notice the white petals of a daisy, crushed and smashed into the ground. Crushed by me, I’m sure. As I reach to pick it up, the trees give one last rustle.
Then something strange happens. My hands begin to fill with warmth—the same kind of warm heat that came from the ground. It grows stronger and stronger, and as soon as I touch the smashed flower, it disappears. Or rather, it doesn’t disappear so much as change. I blink in disbelief as my fingers sweep across the dewy grass and wrap around its delicate stem.
“It can’t be,” I whisper. I turn the flower over in my hands, inspecting each of its clean, white petals, all perfectly intact as if it had never been smashed in the first place. Almost as if the damage had been some horrid mistake.
My eyes dart around the Circle as I look for Skye. Had she seen this? But she is gone. Everyone has gone, except for one person. A figure stands near the edge of the trail, looking at me from behind one of the massive oak trunks. Flora. I stare back at her and she holds my gaze for a moment before turning away, her crown of grey hair disappearing among the misty trees.
Like what you're reading? Scholar & Scribe is hosting a writing contest set within the world of the Sitka Saga, for details check out: @jfuji/win-20-hsbi-and-more
Thanks to those that have followed along in this journey - this completes the preview of I Am the North. You can also download copies of the first 3 chapters in ebook and pdf formats here if you wish: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/e0fao1iav9, and join the Sitka World Discord server here, we were are continuing the story's development: https://discord.gg/VMDVEHDGvN