E Volvalja (( The Voluval ))
The Voluval is the defining moment in a Minmatar's life, the moment which marks the passage from adolescence to adulthood, which shows the wearer their path through the mark the ritual reveals. Up here, the Komak people, my sub-tribe, perform the Voluval ritual about a month before the Midsummer, so that those new to adulthood can find their footing, so to speak, as they begin their Walk, as they begin to follow their own path through life, guided by the mark so recently revealed. With luck, they will be used to their new path come Midsummer, and can find a mate, start a family.
We have to get through the ritual itself first, of course.
I had spent several days in preparation, and was now sitting inside my parent's kenkii, waiting for the moment of Marking; today was the day. My mother, Tarkja – yeah, that's where we get our surnames from – sat next to me, braiding my hair and doing her best to calm my nerves.
“You worry too much,” she said; “We all did it, we all came through just fine. And you've done the hard parts already, really... the climb, the vision-quest, the Night Alone.”
“I know...” I replied. “I'm just... I don't understand, why can't Kyllsa just do it? Why do we have to have this outsider come?” I looked out through the open door of their kenkii, to the open central area of their camp, and to the river beyond. Kyllsa stood next to an oddly marked, dark-skinned man, speaking and laughing, as though the two were old friends. They saw each other but once a year.
“Arju'kal is Vherokior, Avlænkaa,” Mom said, continuing to braid my hair. “They are the only ones who know how to correctly prepare the injections used in the ceremony. You can trust him, he did mine, Kyllsa's, your father's...”
“Alright, alright.” I replied, wrinkling my nose, something I suppose I do when I am not quite sure I believe what someone is saying. Whenever Mom uses my whole name like that, it means I am getting on her nerves. “I still wish it were not an outsider.”
The moment of Marking arrived, far quicker than I might have hoped, and I stood in that clearing by the river, waiting for my turn to stand in front of Arju'kal. Three of us were receiving the Voluval this year, and the whole clan watched, waited, as me and my age-mates went through it. Majki, my best friend since like forever, went first, and did admirably when the moment came for the injections, receiving her mark on her forearm, the Fourpeaks; a good mark. Majki hugged me as she walked back to sit with her family, and whispered “You'll be fine. It really didn't hurt that bad at all!”
“Ok... thanks. See you in a few.” I whispered. Majki hurried off.
Next went a young man who everyone knew and nobody liked, Fero. Unsurprisingly, he made a tremendous show of enduring the injections with no visible discomfort, nor help from Kyllsa, and unsurprising, he received the Bull, a not uncommon mark, on his chest. Fero had made it his mission in life to make Majki miserable since we were about seven years old, when Majki revealed that she was “woman-spirit”, or transgendered. She had lived as a girl, and now, as a woman, ever since. Today, though, he simply kept his mouth shut, and walked over to join his father and uncles for a beer.
Jon, the anthropologist, sat next to my parents, Tarkja and Olno, and with my younger sister Sukki, eagerly recording, writing, drawing, and photographing everything he could. Sukki had taken it upon herself to be his personal caretaker – he would probably drown if someone did not watch him closely – and he had become good friends with our parents.
All eyes were literally on me now. I hoped I didn't die.
I removed my tunic – the mystic had to see what he was doing, of course – and stood very still, while Kyllsa sang to the spirits and banged on a hand held drum. Kyllsa sang for a minute, perhaps a bit longer, and then abruptly stopped. Arju'kal placed his left hand flat against my chest, finding the exact site for the injection. Kyllsa stood behind me, holding me by the upper arms quite firmly. I think I closed my eyes, but at least I didn't scream when Arju'kal punched that damn needle into my chest, to deliver the first injection into my heart.
And yes, that feels about like you can probably imagine it feels. The pain was blinding, but it was over in but an instant, and Kyllsa stepped in front of me, to hold my arms again, while Arju'kal stepped behind me, and, a moment later, delivered the second injection into my lower spine. I would have cried out this time, were I able to draw a breath. That shot in my spine was by far the worst pain I have ever felt, but thankfully, it was over in a moment.
“I told you it wasn't so bad.” Kyllsa said quietly.
“Yeah.” I replied. “It only hurt like, you know... a lot.”
The mark appears quickly for most, so me, Kyllsa, and Arju'kal set about searching for it. I was getting pretty nervous, wondering why it had not appeared, why I couldn't find it, when I realized that Kyllsa and Arju'kal were both smiling and laughing at me. Mom actually bounced up and down with excitement, and Sukki ran forward with a small hand-held mirror.
I quickly grabbed at it, excited beyond words to see my mark. I had figured out by now that it must be on my face, which is exactly where it was, a smallish circular pattern of marks just between and above my eyebrows. I was now the third living member of my family to bear the Trickster's Moon, a shaman's mark, and I even had the fortune to receive it in the most coveted of locations, on my face. The fact that the mark came with some very strict social restrictions did not bother me a bit, and still doesn't, to this day.
For that moment, I was the proudest woman on Matar. I was sixteen years old.
I reclined in the chair at the parlor in White Point, relaxing while the artists – a husband and wife pair named Miki and Rano – worked on the intricate tattoo which wraps my right shoulder and upper right arm, my rank mark. My naming mark had already been finished, my new mark framing my Voluval perfectly. I was grinning from ear to ear. I was officially an adult.
“I can always adopt.” I said to Kyllsa, who was seated beside me, explaining some of the responsibilities and restrictions of the Trickster's Moon. “Lots of kids need good homes, right?”
“Absolutely.” Kyllsa replied, nodding. “And it is not like you were ever materialistic, at all. I cannot see you coveting large amounts of stuff.”
“Me either, really.”
The tattoo machines finally fell silent – I had been in the studio for nearly eight hours – and, after a good long look at myself in the mirror, and a round of bowing, hugging, and congratulations from the artists, Kyllsa and I left the shop, walking down the narrow streets of White Point.
“You'll travel between the clans, just like I did,” Kyllsa explained as they walked, “and of course, I will teach you whatever I know.”
“I can't wait.” I replied. I meant that. Like I mentioned before, I was the third living member of our family to bear that mark; Kyllsa, Ajko, my great uncle, who lived with the North-of-Winter Clan, and now me. Our family's profession had been that of tailors and leatherworkers, surianen, a fairly low-status position, since, well... forever. The status of shaman allowed us to perform something of an end-around on our caste, the chance to earn considerable prestige and political influence.
It did not take long for me to begin my studies, and I spent a year visiting the Clans, learning from every other shaman in Komak, and then another year working closely with Kyllsa back at home. In those two years, I grew up a lot. I went from being that nervous, whiny teenage girl, into a confident and dedicated young woman, though I was still green, new, inexperienced. Naive. Shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I decided that it would be a good experience to spend some time giving spiritual guidance to people who often needed it, and could rarely find it.
I enlisted in the Republic Fleet, with the Marines, where I would serve as a chaplain.
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Topic: In my land, full: A brief history of Ava Starfire (Read 1600 times)