This was by far the best Eighthday Kamiéra had experienced since coming to the Academy, and that was saying a great deal.
On the Eighth Day, the Father and Mother had come to know each other again after seven days laboring apart, and so this was the day of rest; and, of course, also the day on which a disproportionate number of children were conceived. Kamiéra did not particularly care about the latter, but for the first few months he had been at his new home, he had enjoyed the mandated rest at the end of each Mark, happy to let his body and mind recover from the grueling events of the seven days before.
But after a particularly intense Spirit class early in his first year, he had realized his deep devotion to the Mother, which of course every novice should have; and so while he still enjoyed the break for body and mind, he relished the prayers and rites that led to the Liturgy of the Ending each Eighthday evening, which always spiritually sustained him through the new Mark.
For at the end of the Eighth Day, the Mother rejoiced in the Father, and found again the strength to bring forth the world again.
And every Matrian knows the joy of a good ending and a new beginning.
But today was sweeter than any before, because Jaira had rejoined them, just in time for the Canoness to begin the Song of Rejoining. Kamiéra did not feel the slightest shame in weeping for his sister’s return, which was clearly true for his other sisters as well.
After Liturgy concluded, they all gathered around Jaira to hug her gently until she laughed and told them she’d been up to rougher hugs a Mark ago, but the overprotective Schola Medica Mistresses had insisted she couldn’t possibly go back to her sisters just yet. They all laughed, because they’d all experienced the mothering they got out of those women when wounded or ill, even those who couldn’t be older than a sister.
“But,” Jaira said, still laughing but this time after deliberately rough hugs, “I owe you all thanks from my soul. I feared I would die out there, and would let you all down. You,” she paused, her throat clearly stuck. Tears leaked from her eyes. “You saved me.” A pause. “And you apparently absolutely tore those Ontim animals apart.”
Llaha, who was uncharacteristically nearly bawling, gave a sweet, short chuckle. “That was Kamiéra and Tesliain,” she said. “We had to pull Kamiéra off the largest one’s corpse. You should have heard her!” Laughter started among the other girls even as they wiped tears from their eyes.
“No one does that to my sister, you stupid animal!” They chanted in time, a more-than-passable imitation of their leader in perfect harmony. As one, they also began a downward slashing motion. “No one! I’m going to wear your corpse home! No one! I’ll dance on your pagan skull!” Samalla added, “And Tesliain was no better!”
Tesliain was as red as the moon on each End Day. “She brought us home,” she offered quietly, but was clearly holding back tears and laughter.
Jaira looked at Kamiéra with unabashed love in her eyes. “The Schola Medica Mistresses tell me if not for your quick thinking and skill with the Wind, I’d be without a womb or dead. Thank you, sister.” She was weeping again. “And my future husband and children and House thank you, too,” she chuckled.
Kamiéra said nothing. He simply hugged his sister and laughed and cried with the rest.
Best Eighthday ever.
