Our ancestors believed the butat-iw were bad omens.
They appeared when I was alone—wild orbs of floating blue fire, the size of my Baba’s fist. When in great curiosity I tried to reach for them, they would vanish with a soft hush, only to reappear a few paces beyond, near the mouth of the Di-Kahyr forest.
Baba said they would lead me to my fate someday.
#
My first trip to Di-Kahyr did not seem like a very long distance, not until I wound up in a quiet clearing, my feet pausing just before a narrow stream with murmuring waters, when I realized that I had gone rather far. A warm, golden light gleamed through the foliage, reflecting against the stream, and I gazed in wonder at the dappled patterns on the ground.
A hushed call sounded. I could not do so much as turn, could not move to where the voice came from—after all, the voice came not from somewhere, but everywhere, echoing around the forest, skipping from trunk to trunk.
“You need not fear, child,” the female voice echoed. “What is your name?”
Za-amra, I said, although I was not certain whether she heard me.
“Za-amra.” A pause. “Finally.”
Her voice was a melody, singing to me of all the things possible in the forest, sounding like the beginning of my great adventures. My mind reeled from all the things I could do in Di-Kahyr, all the tales Baba told me, however unfinished, like puzzle pieces yet to be solved.
When the ancient voice spoke again, it came directly from the giant, primordial-looking tree across the stream. “My name is Inda Hikmá,” she said, voice drifting like a most tender wind, her bark dancing in waves, dark colors swirling about the wood.
Eventually the trunk had morphed into the body of a woman, except the woman did not have a full face, only a thin mouth and a round nose. She towered over everything, as she was as tall as all the other trees that shadowed the woods, her hair of hanging willow branches swaying with the gust.
The butat-iw appeared. One by one the wild balls of blue fire took shape, until there was a trail to guide me out of the woods. I ran with all my strength and followed the path until I reached the balai grounds.
I stole a glance over my shoulder. A lone butat-iw floated by the forest’s mouth. It was as though it was waiting for me to go inside, to safety. I waved goodbye.
The fire glowed intensely.
I could not sleep the night I met Inda Hikmá. I spent my days by the open window of my room, waiting for the blue fire to appear, claiming it as my sign to return.
However, despite countless dawns, the butat-iw never showed itself.
Baba said it was because I misbehaved, and that Inda was angry at me. I knew it was to tease me, but sometimes I took his words to heart; after all, I was guilty of such crimes. The day I discovered the butat-iw, I ran straight home and barged into the Council Chamber, thinking I had the power to pull my father out of a pertinent gathering. I received a tough scolding, and worse, Baba had my days filled with tiresome lessons, and we were not yet through even when dusk had drawn its curtains.
It was one evening, after writing lessons, when I saw the butat-iw again—there, beyond the window, a blue flame cutting through the darkness. I chased after it without a second thought.
When I reached the clearing, the water gushed peacefully along the stream, the pale moonlight glowing upon Inda Hikmá. Flickering yellows wandered high up around the trees, and they appeared more like a million brilliant lights than fireflies, sent by Aba himself.
“We have been awaiting your return, dearest,” she said, before her gaze shifted past me. “Isn’t that right, Kadhim?”
I followed her line of sight instinctively. The butat-iw hovered some paces away, its presence comforting and perplexing all at once, as I did not expect Inda to talk to it.
“Kadhim wishes to meet you at last.”
The butat-iw disappeared from sight. In its place stood someone barefoot upon the grass—a boy, no more than eighteen, unless his youthful features deceived me. Tall and lithe, he looked very handsome indeed, more beautiful than any boy I had ever seen. His hair was just like mine, utterly black, with a few loose curls falling over his eyes; and his skin was the shade of soil, just like Baba’s.
He swept a graceful bow. “An honor, Bai Za-amra.”
In that instant, I felt something begin.
Kadhim accompanied me on my way back. He had his hand folded like a cup, the butat-iw’s wild, blue fire dancing from his fingertips.
That evening I told Baba everything. Needless to say, he was as ecstatic as I, and allowed me to visit again the next morning, so I did.
And the next. And the weeks that soon followed.
I visited Di-Kahyr frequently: at dawn, at noon despite the harrowing heat. Some days when exhaustion did not claim me entirely, I awoke before the peaceful dawning, and brought food to feast on until the first rays of sunlight pierced the foliage.
Di-Kahyr was a second home. Yet something gnawed at me, a guilt of wanting to be here, of finding comfort with a mystical tree and a secretive boy than with my people.
Did I have two homes, then, and was I meant to choose only one? I was stuck between two worlds, always coasting along. I feared that one day, I would hover at the edge of a precipice and lose them both.
“What do I have to do to keep you?” I asked Inda. “Your rivers will stop flowing, and the forest will die if you keep it away. The people need you—and you know you need its people.” And I do not wish to choose between two worlds. I wish to live in both.
“Our kindred spirits and a strong mind are what you need, Za-amra,” she answered. “The Crown bears many a cruel memory. All at once, you inherit not only the legacy of past rulers, but their hopes and dreams, too. The forest closed its doors to human rule, and shall remain so, until a righteous one ascends.
“When it is your turn, your heart must remain true. Think of your people, of the bright future there is to come. Stand against your ancestors’ vicious legacies. Do not let them taint you, and our worlds will merge as one, as it was always meant to be.”
For all my youth I went, and with the forest, I grew.
As the heir, Baba did not have enough time to train with me at some point, so I sharpened my skills with the Kadhim who, to my chagrin, emerged victorious all the time; although I won against him, once, as Inda Hikmá whispered to me an important secret: “Tell Kadhim you find him very handsome,” she said, which I did. Hence he lost.
While Baba did everything he could to spend time with me, he was the tribe’s emissary as he was the Chief’s firstborn. He would arrive by dusk and leave before dawn, journeys long and fraught with peril—all for his name to echo across the lands, to mark his place as heir.
I was summoned to Grandbaba’s chamber one night. He was on his deathbed, although I didn’t bother to prepare words for him. There was nothing I felt compelled to say.
Through the walls, I could hear a muffled conversation. I slightly nudged the door open.
“You will not survive Chieftain,” rasped Grandfather. Hearing his brittle voice broke me a little. He usually spoke with a growl, and his strength and power throughout the years had made it seem as though he was invincible.
“Your mind is weak. You need to toughen up.”
Silence. A moment later, Baba’s voice broke the stillness. “Is that all, Father?”
The Chief gave him a look of disappointment before succumbing to a fit of coughing. Baba gave a respectful bow of his head before he excused himself.
He stopped when he saw me standing outside the door.
“I think you’re very strong, Baba,” I said, and his tense shoulders eased at once. “Don’t believe anything he says.”
He smiled weakly. “I will do my best tomorrow. I promise.”
“Tomorrow?”
At that, Baba looked weary. Nervous. “The healers doubt Father will survive the night. I am to be crowned Chief tomorrow.”
“What? You just came home!”
“That does not stop me from fulfilling my duties.”
“Spare a few days.”
“Nothing will go wrong,” he said, but I was not reassured at all. “I’ll be fine. I have you by my side.”
It did little to ease the fear, the possibility of Baba ending up like Grandfather, slipping into that same cold, distant role.
“You will be by my side?”
“Yes,” I said, even though at the moment, I hated him, hated how he chose his role over me. “I will be.”
The first few weeks after Baba was crowned Chief, my hopes had reached the heavens.
Baba seemed to be well, and he even let me visit Di-Kahyr whenever I wished, but oftentimes I chose to stay in the balai grounds with him. Inda and Kadhim would understand. I’m certain they knew I was too happy to see Baba remain the way he was that I could never leave his side.
But the months that followed passed like a daze, and I had barely noticed the subtle shift in Baba until it had already taken root—like his voice, growing sharp; his patience thinning over the most inconsequential things.
I had long prepared myself for when he became Chief. After all, even Baba said things might change once he was crowned—but despite the surge of hope, it was not things that had changed.
No, it was him.
The usual bounce in his step was gone, and there was a stern air about him when he walked. He stopped breaking our fasts together. He had kept to himself every night, locking himself up in his room.
I always saw him sitting alone in the council chambers, staring far yonder. I would come back now and then to see how he fared, but he never moved, and always gazed at the forest landscape outside the window, his once strong, broad shoulders slumped, his features desolate.
I felt myself shatter every time I saw Baba in such a pitiful state that sometimes, I would choose to look away.
I sought refuge in Di-Kahyr. There all I did was sit in silence and shed tears. How should a young girl cope with losing her father while he’s just…there?
I drew my knees to my chest. “He is deeply ill,” I whispered. “He doesn’t know you anymore.”
“So he has forgotten,” Inda said. “Tagkan loved Di-Kahyr in his youth, as you do. He uncovered more here than his guardians ever knew. But, as you know, venturing into the forest, following the butat-iw was forbidden.
“Your grandfather, he feared an heir’s example would lead others astray. If Tagkan ventured into the forest, why can’t others? Besides, Tagkan had to live up to his name. When you were born, he asked for my forgiveness. He swore to put his duty to you and your Maman first.
“Away from Di-Kahyr’s heart, his memory of us ought to fade, especially once he was Chief. But only by succumbing to the darker desires of his ancestors would he lose himself like your grandfather.”
“My Grandfather’s heart is rotting.”
I sensed that Kadhim took a seat beside me. I knew he was not as human as I was, but he was warm, full of light. I sensed his presence everywhere.
“Not yet.” I hugged my legs tighter. This grief had long hollowed me, and it was though I was losing my mind. “There’s a battle inside him. It eats at him every day.
“I’m terrified,” I said, tilting my head to look at him. For a moment, his eyes offered me comfort. Such were eyes that had seen a much worse ordeal. I only wished he would tell me. “I’m terrified, and I can’t even tell him.”
I leaned against Kadhim’s chest as his arms wrapped around me. He hummed a lullaby, and I felt sleep beckon me. I preferred letting myself be drained of what little life I had left.
There was a comforting silence before his voice broke through, “You can still save him.”
I have never jolted out of my place so quickly. “Tell me.”
“Kadhim,” Inda said in warning, but he paid her no mind. “This is dangerous.”
“I’ve lost everything. Nothing is dangerous to me anymore.”
Inda’s branches swayed as if the wind carried her hesitation. “I see your courage, but know you must take your father’s Crown to save him.”
“I have to try,” I said, and Kadhim regarded me as though weighing whether I could bear a thousand years of legacy on my shoulders. He shouldn’t have told me if he doubted me. “I’m stronger than you think.” I turned back to Inda. “I must do it.”
“I trust your strength—there is no doubt about it. But you speak as if your mind is made up. Think about it for a few days. You don’t yet understand the cost.”
“I know the cost. I’ve known it all my life! I’ve been preparing for it—you have been preparing me. Isn’t this the point of everything? Of what we do here? This isn’t just for my reprieve, and we all know it!
“I care about saving Baba,” I said. “I’ll inherit the Crown one way or another. I am an heir. My youth will make no difference—if anything, it may help.”
I felt Inda take a deep breath, and the sound of rustling leaves calmed my being. It felt to me like an approval than anything.
My gaze slid to Kadhim. “You’ll be with me, right?”
“Whenever you need me,” he said, “I shall be there.”
I convinced the Council to crown me Chief. With Baba gravely ill, there was little resistance, although the advisors whispered doubts behind my back. They did not believe in me, but I did not need them to; the inevitability of the Crown passing to one capable of bearing its curse was enough.
They needed me as Chief.
“Now,” said our spiritual leader, “we pray.”
A sharp, stabbing pain coursed through my temples, like the aftermath of sleepless nights. A voice reached me as a distant hum, barely perceptible as they placed atop my head a diadem; the weight of a thousand years, of lives borne and passed flooding my head in a single moment.
Crowns. Swords. Gold and blood. Baba, cradling me. The balai grounds, the halls; a boy my age, a wooden sword in hand; a forest closing its gates. The crowning ritual; the stale, lingering stench of dried blood drawn by Grandbaba himself. And here, again, the fresh tang of Di-Kahyr; damp earth after rain, bitter leaves, the woods.
In these memories came again the boy, who taught his brother all he knew. He said there was a spirit in the forest, shaped from bark and bough, whose wisdom was sought by kings and chiefs; a tale whispered to frightened, wide-eyed children. The butat-iw had not existed then, but the legend of a Lady Tree had haunted the people just as fiercely as the wild dogs that roamed the forests.
I was delirious. Everything except the boy, who lounged across the bamboo slats with his brother, became a blur.
“Inda Hikmá was her name.”
She was a spirit, a gift from Aba himself. Her roots stretched into the depths of the land, and she knew each man, every soul who dwelt within. Through the ages, she had remained, and she guided the Chiefs who came and went.
But as the tribes grew, so, too, did their desires, and Aba, in His wisdom, had shaped mankind to seek more. “There was an insatiable yearning in this land,” Kadhim told his brother, who listened well, “and no spirit could fill the void. But I intend to bring her back.”
Kadhim.
Suddenly I found myself a spectator at a familiar occasion.
In this dream, this memory, Kadhim as Chief looked a little changed, smiling and waving while I stood unseen. Then time shifted, warping until I stood in the heart of Di-Kahyr, a body lying near the stream. There was rustling in the distance. Someone was running away.
Kadhim stared at the dark heavens. I perched beside him on the cold grass, but he couldn’t feel my presence, and I wished he did. I wished he recognized me, every fiber of terror in my body, and he would hold my hand and tell me he’d be all right.
“So painful,” he croaked. He did not mean the wounds inflicted on his body or the sharp steel deep in his chest. “Please, forgive my brother,” he whispered, and hoisted his arm toward the glittering heavens. “And I shall be with the forest for all time.”
When I opened my eyes, I was the one lying on the ground.
I took in the hollowness before me. The tree that had once been Inda was now just a lifeless thing; its branches thin, a lackluster body for her once healthy leaves. The stream flowed, but there was no melody in it like before; not the soft gushing of water, only a forgotten waterway. It was the clearing I had always visited, I was certain of it—yet it was not, and I doubt it would be ever again.
“It doesn’t get easier,” I heard Baba say. I was perched on the edge of my berth, seated across Baba. “Our people still need you, Za-amra. I still need you.
“So, daughter…” He leaned forward, kissed my forehead. “What do you say?”
The time warp came to an end. Even then, my heart pounded wildly, as if I had just sprinted far and beyond, through forests and mountains and swam through deep waters until I was oceans away.
The village cheers filled the air. The world was how it was supposed to be, not in any way twisted, or broken, and I stood at the edge of the crowd, watching everyone’s joy rekindled. My mind drifted to Baba. To Inda, and the forest. Far ahead, the darkness lingered, and the path to Di-Kahyr remained hidden. Yet within me rose not fear nor grief, but jubilation—an exultant knowing that all had come to pass as it should have. And there, at the forest’s edge, stood Kadhim, smiling as his form flickered, brightened, and blossomed into blue flame.
