Ava's Chronicle - Naming
Winters on northern Matar hover just above the threshold of survivability for humans. The temperature rarely climbs above -20, the snow and wind are relentless, and day is a mere four hours long for most of the winter, which lasts almost three-fourths of the year. The northernmost continent on Matar, Mikramurka, is the ancestral home of the Sebiestor tribe, and on the northeast coast of Mikra-murka, the Star-Fire clan still maintains its nomadic existence.
The Star-Fire clan had set up their winter camp in a mountain valley, moving several hundred kilometers inland to escape the full fury of the fiercest storms in the shelter of the pines. Dozens of the long, low tents, called kenkii by the Sebiestor, marked the location of the camp; heavy canvas affairs, stretched tightly over a tubular steel frame, and tied tightly to resist the cold and wind. Once the snow had piled around the walls, they stayed warm and dry within, heated by a small fusion stove, illuminated by ion-battery lanterns, and inside, they would relax away the worst of the winter in relative comfort.
In one kenkii near the edge of the camp, a young couple lay on their heavy quilts and furs, snug and warm, with their infant daughter sleeping soundly between them. The young woman lay with her head propped up on her hands, watching her daughter, while her husband lay facing her, brushing his wife's hair out of her face with a finger. At that moment of serenity, of peace while the icy wind made the walls of their kenkii billow gently in and out, illuminated in the soft glow of the lantern, they had only a single concern; deciding on a name for their daughter.
“Tarja.” the young man said, smiling at his wife. “She should have your name. Tarja.”
Tarja smiled and looked up at him; “For her second name, maybe...but you should have some influence in her name as well, Olno.”
Olno laughed; “Well, we certainly cannot give her my name. So...back to work, I suppose.”
Tarja nodded and pulled one of the thick fur blankets up beneath her chin. “She looks so much like you, my love...especially her eyes.”
Olno brushed his wife's hair from her face again; “She has your spirit, I have a feeling. She will be a warrior, like her mother. She will fight for our people.”
“Perhaps.” Tarja murmured. “I hope she never has to, really.” Tarja had spent much of her teens as a slave in the Ammatar Mandate, having been captured during a raid-committed by corrupt Matari, sadly-on their village, and then freed several years later when the same sort of operation happened in reverse, the Minmatar raiding a plantation in the Mandate for the purpose of rescuing as many as they could; Tarja was among those freed in that raid. Few hated the Amarr more than Tarja Surionen, and even fewer had done more to fight them; following her Voluval, she enlisted in the Tribal Liberation Force, and had participated in several boarding actions and planetary raids for the purpose of freeing others, actions that earned her the right to wear many tattoos most Matari only dreamed of being marked with. To say Tarja Surionen was a warrior was like saying that the surface of a star is “sort of warm”. She had done much in her twenty-five years.
Olno gently kissed Tarja's forehead, leaning close gently, taking care to not disturb their daughter's rest. “I will be right back. I have an idea.” Olno was the polar opposite of his wife; he had grown up inside the clan, he had never been in so much as a fistfight, he had never set foot anywhere outside of Mikramurka, let alone left the surface of Matar. Olno was, however, smart, a skilled hunter, and a phenomenal musician, well respected in the clan. Tarja's parents had been very pleased when she announced that she and Olno were to marry; they said the two were a perfect match. While Olno may not have been able to claim the combat prowess of his wife, he could claim the number of hunts he had lead, the number of favorable trades he had negotiated, the number of vehicles he had repaired. He was every bit as critical to the survival of the clan as Tarja, every bit as well respected.
Tarja watched as Olno crawled from under the blankets and walked into the front room of their kenkii, and was on the verge of slipping off to sleep when he returned and sat back down, a book in his hand. Tarja blinked and watched quietly as he flipped through the pages, searching for something.
“Love?” she asked sleepily, “What are you doing?”
Olno just mumbled something and kept flipping through the pages for a few more moments, then smiled when he located what it was that he had been searching for. He looked at Tarja, smiled, and said, “Avlynka.”
Tarja propped herself up on her elbow, looked down at their daughter, and nodded. “Avlynka...I like that name.” She looked up at Olno and asked; “What does it mean?”
“Child of Winter.” Olno said quietly. He held up the book and smiled; “From the book.”
Tarja smiled brightly. The book Olno held was a book of Matari folklore, legendary tales of warriors, Gods, and Spirits that he would sometimes read her stories from, as she had never learned to read or write, things Olno was slowly teaching her to do, with the assistance of that very book.
“Avlynka Tarja Surionen, of the Star-Fire Clan.” Tarja whispered.
“Avlynka.” Olno repeated, looking down at their now-named daughter. “May the Spirits guide her path, all of her days.”
The couple slowly drifted off to sleep, Avlynka laying nestled between them. The young family was surrounded by their clan, a clan full of families, young and old, just like theirs, a clan full of people who would unhesitatingly lay down their lives for one another.
The following day, Olno and Tarja took Avlynka to see the shaman, who performed the naming ritual and then applied Avlynka's first tattoo, her temporary naming mark, a small green design on her forehead applied with inks that would fade, a mark that would have to be renewed every year until she received her permanent naming mark following her Voluval.
Kyllsa, the shaman, concentrated intensely as she carefully applied the mark. Tarja and Olno looked on and smiled; Avlynka was now officially a member of their clan. She never cried once, she simply watched, her icy blue eyes open wide, crossing as they attempted to focus on the shaman's hands as she carefully worked the tattoo gun.
Kyllsa stood up and gently lifted Avlynka from the table she was laying on and smiled down at her; Kyllsa was younger even than Tarja, the previous shaman having been killed in an ice collapse the previous winter, and had not yet married or had any children of her own. She smiled and cooed to young Avlynka, to the little girl she would help raise, to the little girl who's spirit she would guide, to the little girl who's sicknesses she would treat, who's marks she would apply, who's parents she had conducted the marriage rites for.
“Tarja, your daughter is beautiful.” Kyllsa said quietly as she gently handed Avlynka back to her mother. “She will make you both very proud, I am sure.”
Tarja nodded in approval as she took her daughter, carefully examining her new naming mark. Olno stood next to her; “She already has, Spirit-Guide.” he replied.
Avlynka Tarja Surionen was Matari, in every sense of the word, from the day she was born.