Carry my voice, carry my name,
Daughter, my love, do the same.
Strength in your hands, fire in your soul,
Walk as the females before you once told.
Mothers sing to their daughters. My mate straightens, her body swaying to the rhythm of their song. She claps, her hands moving in sync with the females around us. The warriors join. They stomp their paws. They pound the drums. The fire roars higher.
Mother, Mother, hear my vow,
I take your words, I know them now.
I’ll weave my fate, I’ll braid my hair,
I’ll carry your song everywhere.
The younger females release their grips, raising their hands to the open sky.
More females arrive, arms full of fabrics, objects, things I can’t name. One by one, they throw them into the fire.
A young female steps forward. “For the fucking bastard who took me young!” she shouts, hurling a pair of boots into the fire, boots that look just like my mate’s.
Another woman follows, her voice trembling. She’s furious. “For you, Soyer—for murdering my mother!”
More objects fly into the flames. More names are spoken, shouted, spat like poison. Their voices rise. Their rage turns to laughter, to screams, to release.
The fire devours their pasts, and the night becomes theirs.
I glance down at my mate, her eyes glisten. She doesn’t look like she is about to cry. She looks like she will burn the entire land to the ground. I gather the long sleeves of her dress, keeping them from dragging in the dirt, and set her straight on my lap. She is tense, her body vibrating with rage.
“This is why we’re doing this,” she whispers, her voice low, dangerous. I feel it.
Her soul burns like an unyielding flame.
“Yes.” I smile, nuzzling her face.
Daughter, my daughter, strong as stone,
Sing when you fight, sing when you roam.
With fire and heart, with love and with blade,
You are the flower that never will fade.
Both of us turn toward the fire. The flames dim, burning lower, as the females form pairs. One by one, gripping each other’s hands tight, they leap over the embers. A symbol.
My chest swells with pride. This is why we fight. This is why we will never stop.
60
FLOWERS BLOOM IN ASH
“The blood of the earth remembers. The bones of the old world still ache for your rage. Take it back.”
—Láda Veléša, Goddess of Leadership and War
Noël
