The Lost Tribe: Maliha the Wanderer (Book 1)

Tribal Tongues

                   

The grass tickled her toes as she wandered by the winding river that traversed throughout the land. The waters sloshing languidly and filling her ears with natures soothing noise.

The sun glided against her skin as she skirted along the bank, her hands plucking at weeds as she watched the children play.

Now that she didn't have to work the fields she wasn't sure what to do. Most of the women who had once worked the field not to long ago, seemed to have released that job to the hard worn warriors, while they continued the cleaning and preparation for the Sanfr Nafti.

The more she learnt of this tribe the more her views on them altered and the less she knew where she stood. It had been easy for her to see them as a tribe that spoke of revering women but didn't practice what they preached because that was what they had initially shown her but she was realising that wasn't entirely the reality and it left her dumbfounded.

It seemed that working the fields had been a temporary plight on the women, one they had to suffer through while a large chunk of the warriors trialed the newly training warriors in the uncultured wilderness of the Der surjaz land. Now they had returned, the warriors were resuming their jobs and the non warriors theirs, though the majority of non warriors were female.

There was a different atmosphere to the tribe now.

The tribe was light with excitement as they prepared for their yearly festival. Colourful flowers from the river beds were collected and twisted together to make large flower bouquets for their goddess. Oils were churned and soaps were entering their final stages, all in preparation for their communal purification in the holy waters before they entered their Goddesses temple. All sacrificial gifts were being prepared. Everyone had a purpose except Maliha.

Even Xiuri had found her place in basket making to carry the wreaths and other gifts they would bring to the temple.

Maliha wandered listlessly, feeling as if she were an outsider because Ujarak had made it abundantly clear that Maliha would be the only person not attending the main part of their festival.

The Sanfr Nafti was carried out over two sunrises and was in celebration and thanks for the life they were given. Ujarak had explained that the first and third stage was open up to everyone, even those who were not of the tribe but she would not be a part of the main stage. Only those who were accepted into the tribe were permitted.

Her isolation from the festival had her feeling disconcerted even though she knew their reasoning was justified. She had started the day wanting to help but with Ujarak's words it had become clear that she was perhaps unwanted.

Her feet crunched on the ground as she made her way to the fire pit where Xiuri sat with the women of the tribe making baskets and boiling something in pots, her feet hesitant as she approached them. The halting of Xiuri's basket making alerted the women to Maliha's presence.

"Sit," barked Ciur, her head rising as she met Maliha's cautious face.

Xiuri's sister looked so much like her, they had matching scars on their cheeks and deep black skin that rivalled the richest mud. Her full lips stretched wide as she rubbed at her burgeoning stomach, her belly button sticking out and and dark stretch marks lining her skin.

"Maliha, néh?" She questioned as she pulled out a stool for Maliha to sit on.

"Yes and you are Ciur, Xiuri's sister," the woman's kind eyes lit up at Maliha's acknowledgement of her name.

"Yes," she grinned, her teeth glistening in the sun and her scarred cheek stretching.

She stared at Maliha in wonder for a moment, her eyes alight as if she was beckoning Maliha to say something.