Fate Caster

Fate Caster

By Mandy Penney Valdez

If it weren’t for my mother’s stubbornness, I wouldn’t be alive. The elders said I should be put out in the woods to die. They said it was less cruel than watching me wither away slowly. But my mother wouldn’t hear it, and even though she was tired and weak from giving birth, she wouldn’t let anyone touch me. And my father wouldn’t let anyone touch her.

I entered the world on a cold night in February. Not a good time for a baby. I was too early and I had a withered arm. My parents named me Mave, after my grandmother.

In our clan, if a child is born less than whole, it is given back to nature.

Mom said it didn’t use to be this way. Before the scourge, and the Foul Wars, our people could lavish time, medicine, and resources on a sickly infant. But harsh times call for harsh measures as Taft continually reminds us. He’s the lead elder of our clan, appointed by his age to make the hard decisions that will keep us alive.

Do I hate these men and women who wanted me dead, the elders? No. I understand the reasons. I’ve seen them make the same decisions for the sick and elderly who are lingering and don’t want to be a burden. To be honest, I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes, weighing the fates between life and death.

But now my fortune is in their hands again. Tonight they are deciding if I will have a coming of age ceremony and become a full clan member. Normally this happens as a matter of course when you turn 16, or if you join the clan later in life and have proven your worth. But sometimes, if you turn out to be a troublemaker, or you are a person of low intelligence, the elders can deny you.

A few of the elders have spoken against me because of my withered arm. They say I’m too slow. I can’t defend myself properly. I’ll end up being a burden. Truth be told, I do day dream too much. I dawdle over my chores. But I’m just as quick witted as Raven, Byron, Kelvie, or any of the others who were born my year.

And then there are my premonitions. I make people uncomfortable. Do the elders know about my sixth sense? I’m not sure.

My family lives in one of the dorms on the second floor of the East building. Our clan commandeered this site many years ago, after the Foul Wars. Before the scourge it was a college, back in the Golden Times. I begin my rounds of cleaning: washing dishes, picking up, and gathering clothes to wash. My heart falls as I consider the possibility of doing this the rest of my life.

If I’m denied a coming of age ceremony, I will be labeled a child the remainder of my days. That means other clan members can order me to do any menial chore they detest. “Wash those dishes! Clean that toilet bowl! Wash these clothes!” I imagine them ordering. But that’s not the worst part. The coming of age ceremony gives you the right to take a mate, have children, or even leave the clan if you desire. Moreover, Matilda will cast my fate and tell me my position in the community. Matilda is our fate caster and our keeper of the Spirit Hall. Some of my clansmen have become hunters, some scavengers, and some are chosen to learn a special skill like weaving or book finding.

I set my younger brother and sister to their learning tasks. Now that Mom is gone it’s my job to teach them how to read and write and add sums. It’s a chore I actually enjoy, but today my hearts not in it. I’m too distracted by the dark cloud hanging over me. My eyes fill with tears as I imagine myself consigned to a life of drudgery, picking fleas out of hair and scrubbing toilets. I glance at my withered arm and curse it for the thousandth time. If only it was my only oddity. I used to tell people my premonitions. “Don’t forget to close the door today,” or “make sure you take the long knife with you,” or, “don’t forget to put out the fire tonight.” Now I mostly keep them to myself, except for the most direful ones of course. I even knew that my Mom would die. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. Why share my curse?

I have tried to sense what my future will be, but all I get is images of the Hall of Spirits. I take this as a good omen since this is where the coming of age ceremony takes place.

At dinner, everyone avoids the subject. My father ladles stew into our bowls and we eat it with the bread I made this afternoon. I consider the fact that it will be embarrassing to my family if I can’t have the ceremony. My father’s face is tense tonight. What if he’s ashamed of me? What if people think I’m a simpleton? I shudder at the thought.

With dinner eaten and cleaned up, all we have to do now is wait. I turn to go to my bed to meditate, hoping it will bring me peace. As I turn to go Dad squeezes my arm, “You know if those geezers make the wrong decision, we could always just leave,” he says smiling shyly. I’m taken aback because my father rarely joins two sentences together. He’s a hunter who prefers the company of trees to that of people. I wonder if he’s really serious, but his words warm my heart all the same.

At eight o’clock we hear a knock on the door. It’s Taft. My insides shrink as I anticipate his news. My Dad opens the door and I hear them talking, but the door is closed so I can’t make out the muffled words. Oh no. This can’t be good. Then my Dad returns smiling. “It’s happening!” he says. “The vote was seven for, three against, so most of the elders support you.” I’m so overcome with relief I almost collapse.

Two days later, at sunrise, I begin the process of purification. A few of my mother’s friends have come to help me. First Reeta and Joyce heat a large kettle of water to boiling. They pour the water in a bathtub that’s already been partly filled with cold water. We don’t bathe as often as they did in the Golden Time. The amount of water they used back then just for cleaning themselves seems almost reckless, but I do not understand these things, and decide not to worry about it today because this warm water is a special treat. Patrice combs my hair and washes it with shampoo—a rare luxury. Then she braids it and piles it atop my head with pins, weaving flowers in as she goes. Jubilee and Rosedrop present me with a beautiful dress the scavengers found on one of their recent trips. It’s white and covered in lace. I wear a string of pearls that was my mother’s around my neck. Finally, I’m handed a bouquet of white lilies. I feel my mother’s presence around me today.

It’s time.

The whole community has gathered to witness, but I’m to lead the procession. I keep my head low as I make my way down and through the buildings that flank the Hall of Spirits. It wouldn’t do to seem too keen or puffed up. As I walk my clan members file in behind me, whispering about my dress, hair, and my arm…but nothing can deflate me today.

The Hall of Spirits is bright, for the topmost windows have been opened. The thousands of photographs along the walls flutter lightly in the breeze, like butterflies about to take flight. A hushed silence falls over the crowd as they fill the space at the back of the hall. This place used to be a cafeteria, a large eating room, so it’s spacious enough for the whole clan to gather. This is where we honor our ancestors, the fallen ones. The thousands of photos pinned to the walls bless their memory. We have a special tradition in our clan, and I think it’s a beautiful one. When one of the scavengers finds photographs of people, they bring them back here, to the Hall of Spirits and put them up. Even if they have no idea who the people are. The Fallen deserve to be honored, not forgotten.

This is where we come to pray, to ask favors, or just be alone with our thoughts.

I make my way down the flower-lined path to the shrine where Matilda sits at the other end of the hall. She wears a necklace of sapphires for the occasion, and a gauzy green dress. Sitting cross-legged, her head hangs in meditation. Her long gray hair flows in waves and her gnarled hands rest on her knees. As I approach she says, “The first shall be last, and the last shall be first.” Then she gives Taft a hard look. Matilda is an enigma at the best of times, but even this strange behavior is out of the norm. I walk up to her and present my hand. She takes it in hers. Her hands are warm and soft. She looks up into my face and pats my hand. “You came right in time,” she says, giving me a wink.

She turns and opens up her divining box. It contains the objects she will use to cast my fate—odds and ends picked up by the scavengers over the years. She grabs a handful of objects and I hold my breath. Then she shouts, “So it shall be!” and throws the objects in front of her. Then we all wait with baited breath.

First she points to the heart locket. “You will find love, but the path to find him will be perilous.” Then she points to three silver beads above the heart. “I see three children in your future, but I’m not sure if you will be their mother.” Then she shambles closer to a cluster of objects containing a die, an owl, a key, and a cross. “I wasn’t expecting this,” she says to herself. “There is a difficult journey ahead of you, and it involves The Foul in some way. The number three will be important as well. I have a feeling of hope about it, but beyond that I cannot say. The overall scattering points to a consistent character, one to be trusted.” I see my father beam with pride. This is a good destiny, overall—except for the part about The Foul of course. Everyone is stunned by this, including myself. The Foul are bat-like beings who took over much of the humid areas of Earth after the scourge decimated our population. Some believe they came from caves deep within the earth. Others believe they came from the skies. Nobody really knows. But the next thing she says sends waves of shock, surprise, and elation through me.

“As far as your position in the clan goes, you will be our new fate caster. You will replace me when I pass on.” Then she smiles. Everything falls into place for me in an instant. My premonitions. The hard look she gave Taft. And it just makes sense. My father and siblings hug me, and the whole community seems happy for me, and honestly, a little in awe of me.

“Your training begins tomorrow morning,” says Matilda as she plops back down on her pillows. I don’t know what to say except, “Ok.” And I head into the meal room, where we will eat a feast to celebrate my coming of age.