The Name: Chapter 1

Hephzibah sobbed in relief as she held her newborn daughter in her trembling arms. The father, Naresh, with tears rolling down his cheeks in joy, gently brushed the child’s face with the tips of his fingers. The midwife bustled around the room, searching for the sprigs of sage she brought to bless the baby with. The proper herbs must be administered at the proper times, along with the proper proverbs. These precautions would ward off the Daemoni and protect the child from their evil influences.

Three days after the Hephzibah gave birth, the village holy man announced his entrance at the cloth door of the young couple’s hut. Naresh pulled aside the heavy curtain, placed two fingers on his forehead, and uttered the traditional greeting: “May Mother Earth bless your words.” The holy man responded in turn, “And may Father Sky shield your household.” Naresh stepped aside for the holy man to enter, and together they knelt at Hephzibah’s cot.

The holy man slid three jars of herbs and ointments from his colorful woven bag and placed them on the floor beside him. First, he dipped his index finger into the small, brown jar and smeared four lines on Hephzibah’s forehead: one for Mother Earth, one for Father Sky, one for Brother Ocean, and one for Sister Forest. The baby winced at the pungent, earthy smell but didn’t cry, which was a good omen. Next, the holy man lifted the red jar on his flattened palm, made a sign with his left hand, and anointed the baby with the thick violet liquid. The baby blinked, raised her skinny arms, but remained silent. Good. Naresh repressed a sigh of relief; the ceremony couldn’t be going more smoothly. Finally, after pausing for a minute, the holy man gingerly picked up the last jar, this one pitch black with exotic markings painted in white and red. He scooped some of the black, nutty cream with a small brush and applied it to the baby’s arms. “With this life-juice of Father Sky and this nourishment of Mother Earth, I name you Ava Keshena, Swift-Flying Comfort.”

Hephzibah and Naresh smiled, and Ava Keshena gurgled happily. A perfect naming ceremony was rare, and the proud parents rejoiced that their daughter was ensured a blessed future. The holy man exited without a word. The sun set, the ravens crowed, the day ended.

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Ava Keshena inherited her mother’s aquiline nose and her father’s curly russet hair. Her eyes, black as a crow’s, were an anomaly in the village, but everyone counted it as a blessing from Mother Earth due to her flawless naming ceremony. From a young age, she took interest in the birds of the forest, and they reciprocated her babyish greetings with kind replies. “She understands them, and they, her,” old man Eudo commented, though everyone shrugged aside his remark, scoffing at the idea that animals could communicate with a baby. Animal whisperers were rare, and besides, everyone knew you couldn’t become one until the age of eight.

Hephzibah hoped that Ava Keshena’s long arms and fingers would endear her to Zudora, the ancient village weaver who happened to be seeking an apprentice just when Ava Keshena was reaching her eighth birthday. The most entitled position in the village, the weaver held the greatest authority in the community. After all, without the enchanted robes she designed and created by hand, even adults would be vulnerable to the attacks of the Daemoni. Given her child’s reputation as specially blessed, Hephzibah should have worried little about her daughter’s future.

But she did worry. Sure, all mothers worry about their children, even when it seems that nothing could go wrong. But the forest grew darker and denser by the year. Some hunters had left of expeditions, never to return. Those who did tread softly and swiftly through the brush, alert to every strange call, and recounted stories of jagged shadows stalking them just as they stalked their prey.

To make matters worse, Ava Keshena had a natural attraction for the forest, wandering along its border and peering inquisitively inside. Occasionally, she would imitate the birds’ calls that echoed from within, initiating a cacophonous symphony of screeching and cawing. Day by day Hephzibah would drag her back to the safety of the village, terrified that her daughter’s antics would summon the Daemoni and cause her to disappear forever. That must not be the fate of such a blessed child. No, she was destined to become the new village weaver. Hephzibah was sure of it.

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Eight years after the day of Ava Keshena’s birth, Hephzibah managed to bring her daughter to Zudora’s hut with much pleading and cajoling. As they neared, the girl’s black eyes grew dull with boredom, like charcoal from an extinguished fire. Brightly dyed skeins of yarn lined shelves nailed to the wall, strands of lilac and lemon and lime and lazuli threaded throughout the room to create a brilliant array of colors. Darker colors provided less effective protection, so Zudora invented a new vibrant hue each week to keep the Daemoni at bay. She sat stiffly at her loom, entranced by a new design. For a few minutes she was oblivious to the two guests standing at her door. Then she looked up and greeted them. “May Mother Earth bless your words.”

“And may Father Sky shield your household.” Hephzibah herded her reluctant daughter inside. “Noble Zudora, we have come because we heard that you seek an apprentice. My daughter, Ava Keshena, celebrates her eighth year today. I humbly ask that you consider accepting her under your guidance and training.”

Zudora nodded absently and returned to her work. “Yes, yes. Many have asked as you do. Any girl who wishes this must craft a gift for me with her own hands before the eve of the summer solstice.” She waved them away.

As they returned home, Hephzibah racked her brain for ideas. What could her daughter create that would be unique and artistic? Finally, Ava Keshena broke the silence and answered her mother’s unspoken question. “A bird.” With that, she broke free of her mother’s grasp and darted towards the forest, brushing her fingers along the long stalks of grass.