Chapter 3:

The old woman was hovering over her face, breathing mint and chive breath over her. Lily awoke, coughing, “Whew... what did you do? Eat spices for breakfast?” she choked out between gasps. The woman frowned.

“Who was that man you found in the woods?” she asked.

“He was... important to me...” Lily muttered, her eyes looking pensive.

“And his name was...?”

Lily suddenly got a dark look on her face, “Why should I have to tell you? You never told me.” she said.

“That's hardly related--” the woman started.

“But it is.” said Lily. The old woman rolled her eyes comically. Lily would have laughed out loud if she'd said 'whatever'. “Fine.” said Lily, “his name's Henry. He was my fiancé. Now how about you?”

“Me? He... he was... his name was...” The woman seemed to be falling asleep, frizzed hair bobbing up and down while her eyes gradually closed. It was like watching a kitten nod off, and Lily found herself suppressing a giggle.

“Wake up!” Lily said, tapping the woman lightly on the shoulders.

“Oh... oh! Good morning.” she said, smiling.

“The man who gave you the necklace...? Who is he?”

“Dave was his met a long time ago, in San Francisco. I had come to the city for college, and he was a chef at a restaurant nearby. I think it was called 'Branchelli's Pizza and Pasta” He used to make such wonderful food-- angel hair in white sauce, scallops, pizza, artichokes, eggplant...”

“Okay, so we get it, he cooked well.” Lily said, “What else about him? What made him give you the necklace?”

“Oh, I was getting to that. By the way, he even made sushi for me once--” the woman continued, but stopped when she noticed Lily glaring at her. “If you move over I think I'll sit down too.” Lily obliged, and the woman sat on the edge of the prickly straw bed. “I'm warning you, this could take a while.” she said with a sigh.

“I'm not going anywhere.” Lily grinned.

“Okay... where was I?”

“You were telling me about Dave.”

“Oh! Yes, Dave and I became very close. We even considered moving in together, despite how unusual it would have been for a couple at the time. He would run down those bum-crowded streets of San Fran to come see me, and I'd finish my studies as quickly as I could so I'd be ready when he'd come over. What I liked about him the most was the way he appreciated the nature of everything. He loved the fleshy, wet texture of mushrooms and the sharp crunch of onions. He would use ingredients no one had ever tasted unless they had traveled all throughout the world – dragonfruits, scorpions, and he used it all the way it ought to be used. He never made a match on the plate that was the least unharmonious. The thing is, he never used spices or salt unless he absolutely had to. He loved the food just as it was. And he loved me just as I was...” the old woman paused, an odd cocktail of expressions on her face.

Throwing all self-consciousness aside, Lily propped herself up on her elbow and asked, “So what happened to him? He doesn't live here now, does he?” she looked around, but as she expected didn't see any signs of a man living there. She almost laughed aloud when she realized her idea of 'signs of a man living there' would have included a chair, tools, a big screen tv, and a few empty beer bottles, as if she'd find any of those things all the way out in a hole in the ground, anyway.

“No. He left-- went to France without me.”

“You didn't try to stop him? Or go with?”

“It was his dream. And plane tickets weren't cheap back in those days. I went to look him up later, but he must have changed his name to something more interesting-- it would have made sense. He always thought 'Dave' wasn't a very exciting name for a chef.”

“Oh-- that's a bummer.” Lily said. She wondered why she hardly felt anything from losing Henry. Granted, the old lady wasn't bawling her eyes out either, but she seemed like she was actually trying to hold something back. Unfortunately, Lily had no idea if she even had any emotion to hold back.

“Yep.” the woman croaked. She stood up. “I've—got to go look for dinner. You can stay in here, I won't be gone long.”

Lily sat on the bed, perplexed. It was really a strange way to lose a lover-- you'd think it would take more than ambition to make Dave forget about her like that, but Lily knew by experience love could be lost in very strange ways indeed. The woman was lucky to have something to remember him by, as Lily had nothing. Lily shook her head, hoping the crippling self-pity would fly out of her hair like a dog shaking off water droplets, but it stayed put like caked-on mud. She frowned and began to pace about the room, waiting for the woman to come back. She paced until she started to feel sore and sat down with her back to the wall. She yawned, and waited for the woman to come back.

The woman came through the snowy flap and down the ladder. She laid a large bushel of berries and roots by a rudimentary pot and fire pit on the floor. Lily stayed seated on the floor, and the woman came and extended a hand to help lift her up. To Lily's surprise, it was actually sort of a struggle. It was as if parts of her bones had become frozen while she had been sitting there. The woman grunted, “You okay?” and Lily nodded incredulously.

The woman began to make dinner, and Lily watched her lift the door flap, take a hunk of snow from outside, and wash the vegetables with it. She then put all the ingredients with more snow into the pot and went to the chest.

“Umm... I don't know why I haven't asked yet, but what is your name?” Lily asked.

“My name is Callie Thompson. I understand what you mean. Names seem to lose their meaning when one lives alone...” she said, and Lily peeked over her shoulder into the wooden box to see stacks of matchbooks piled up, enough for many winters to come.

“Well, my name's Shasta Daisy, but it used to be Lily Van Lear...” the old woman was silent and didn't look her way. “and before I married Henry I was Lily Andrews...in case you cared to know.” Lily said. Callie grunted and returned to lighting the fire. Lily was silent for the rest of the meal. She felt that she was getting on Callie's bad side, and from the looks of it, Callie didn't seem to be the kind of person who would let someone stay on her bad side and in her house.

The next morning was blurry and achy. Lily stumbled out of the straw bed and to the wall over the makeshift kitchen. She held herself up with one hand and waited for the hole to stop feeling like it was going to spiral in and bury her. When it didn't, she staggered up the ladder and promptly vomited on the snow near the entranceway. She wiped her mouth, all the while wondering what it was she had this time. It was odd to get sick two mornings in a row without hardly feeling it in between. The only thing she could think of at the time was-- impossible. She had been taking the pill every day, at least until the day she started the retreat. Oh no. she thought, that one night's come back to bite me.

Flashes of the first trial of initiation came flooding back into her mind. The cruel white bathtub on her back, Henry over her, the candlelight sponging his face in orange. She tried to shove it back into the libraries of her memory, but it just kept coming back. Someone had been waving wind out of the Levicine, the cerulean wind-cloth. And the crowd had been chanting-- some language, Latin she thought. All under the hole in the ceiling, revealing the all-knowing moon and a few stars that wavered and flickered as if they were merely reflections on the water.

What was she going to do if it was true? Who would she tell? Her sisters were never very helpful in anything, only criticism, and they definitely wouldn't accept her back after this one. The outlook wasn't good, to say the least.

“Hey!” she heard a voice coming from below the surface, “You okay up there?”

“Yeah.” Lily replied, relieved to hear Callie's voice again. Lily placed each foot carefully coming back down the ladder.

“What were you doing up there?” Callie asked. She popped her head out from under the snow-flap and grimaced. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Well, maybe, but I think I'm pregnant.” Lily said. The customary awkward silence followed. Lily glanced around innocently at the dirt walls.

“Wha... really?” Callie said incredulously. Lily nodded matter-of-factly. “So, what are you going to do? Stay here or go home?”

“Umm... I don't know. I might go further down the mountain for help.” Lily said, thinking hard as she chewed on her finger.

“Don't be silly!” Callie seemed almost insulted by the idea. “Going down the mountain in your condition would be suicide!”

“But I'm not that big yet...”

“It'll still be hell. It was rough getting up here without a car in the summer. And I wasn't pregnant!” said Callie. Lily said nothing, but cocked her head to the side in response. “You'll just have to stay here. Oh... this is so exciting!” Callie squealed, running to fluff the straw mattress.

What is it about babies that triggers that makes women trip over themselves trying to help? Lily wondered. “Have you ever...” she started to ask, then stopped. Last time she'd gotten nosy, it had annoyed Callie.

“Had a baby?” Callie finished tentatively. “No, but not for lack of wanting one. I just didn't have anyone up here to have one with.”

“Hm.” said Lily.

“I moved up here because I liked being a field researcher... but I didn't like all the paperwork that came along with it. I ended up spending more time in the office than in the field! At first I thought not having men around would be a plus, but it turned out otherwise.”

“Oh. I see...” said Lily. She was surprised Callie had become so open. The next day, Lily and Callie began digging a hole to bury Henry. Despite Callie's loud protests, Lily insisted on helping, and they buried him together with a small service.

“Henry was a wonderful friend, and a great husband. May he rest in peace.” Lily said somberly.

Callie paused for a bit and looked up from the ground, waiting to see if Lily would continue. When she didn't, Callie said, “Amen.” and they walked back to the hole.

The next few months passed slowly as a tiny caterpillar crawling over a massive mountain. Callie and Lily explored on their own during the day, then shared their findings at dinner that night. Lily went out for less and less time as the year wore on.

One day a few months later, Lily left the hole for her usual morning puke session, and was greeted by a strange atmosphere, glowing and bright with color. Confused, Lily tried to touch it, tried to thrust her hands into it to feel the reality or intangibility of it, but found herself blocked by something. The aurora wall rippled and said in a faint, all-knowing voice, “You will have six children...”

“Well, that explains a lot.” groaned Lily.

The aurora went on, “You shall name them after the elements in the order they are born: air, light, earth, water, fire, moon-- Ventana, Levisera, Terra, Aqua, Fira, Luna. Call them as such.” It said authoritatively before it's embers began to disperse.

“Wait! What are you?”

“Remember the order... call them as such...” it said, as it's last flicks of blue fire and pink puddles of water melted into the colorless snow.

Lily wandered around confusedly, trying to remember the names. “Ventara, Lenisera, Terra... what were the rest...” she muttered.

The colors flared up again, “VentaNA, LeVIsera, Terra, Fira, Luna. You got that?” it asked gruffly. Lily nodded as she ran the names through her head. The fire puffed out much faster this time, more like a bullet firing than honey pouring out of a pot. Lily stood there for a minute, thinking hard before the nausea took over and blurred her thinking.

The day Lily's water broke, she was poking through some huge-leafed plants, looking for food as the leaves crinkled under her feet, when she started to get cramps and had to sit down on the dirt. The contractions continued, and Lily found herself struggling and staggering towards the hole, calling for Callie, who came rushing around to the bottom of the ladder, helping Lily down and onto the bed. She lay down and waited, and the real contractions started almost immediately. Callie coached Lily, telling her to breathe, breathe.

And then one tiny head popped out. And another. And four more. Callie was frantic, rushing around, placing the babies on parts of mats, propped up against walls, swaddled in the thick, course blanket. Green fluid and blood coated the birthing blanket like slime on a fish. Then, for Lily at least, everything went black.