Chapter 4

I had long judged Feybraiha to be a wondrous -- if abrupt and uncomfortable -- process, something brought about by nature to bring us into the world of true hara. However, when I had to witness my own son go through it, my feelings changed; it became something from which I wanted to protect him.

Fafara and I released him from his daily lessons. He no longer was expected to accompany Fafara on his housecalls or attend any social functions -- not unless he wanted to, of course. We instructed Adelna to grant his brother a wide berth. We wanted to make it easy on him, to lighten his burden.

For the first few days, there was not much of a change. Ilafa continued to be tired, keeping to his room or lying on the couch with the curtains drawn, hiding in the shadows with his eyes closed or staring off into space. At mealtimes there was a light sheen of sweat on his face, even though the weather was mild and he had obviously not been exercising.

Finally, however, the Feybraiha began in earnest. Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke. At first I simply stared into the darkness, but gradually I began to wonder why I was awake. It was then that I heard it. A faint whimper, coming from somewhere in the house.

Silently I slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway. I turned the handle on my son's bedroom door and stepped inside.

"Ila," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are you all right?"

From the direction of the bed I heard another whimper and the thrashing of blankets and sheets.

I stepped over to the windows and drew the curtain back slightly, letting in the light of the moon. All harlings going through Feybraiha crave the moonlight, and now that I wanted some illumination, I thought it would be appropriate.

I approached the bed and took a seat in the space near my son's feet. His hair was tangled with sweat. "I understand," I said. "You feel terrible."

In the silver glow of the moon he shivered and nodded. "I-- I can't sleep," he moaned. "Inside I feel like... like there are snakes and insects... crawling, fighting with one another."

I understood. It had been the same for me, and I told him so. He told me how his skin had begun to itch. I explained to him how hair would spring up under his arms and between his legs, how he might feel feverish or burst out in tears. These things were all natural, I told him, and they would not last forever, just for a few short weeks.

I suspect he resented some of what I told him. In one corner of his mind, he appreciated that I was taking the time to explain things, but in a perhaps larger part of his mind, he thought, "Oh, but that's easy for you to say -- you're not living in my body!"

Still, Ilafa seemed grateful on that first night. I went to the kitchen and brought him a warm mug of tea. From Ilafa's pharmacy I brought him a dose of a medicine I knew would allow him to relax into dreams. When he showed me where the skin on his inner thigh had begun to chafe and burn, I brought him a cream and rubbed it on. By the time I was through with him, he had fallen asleep. There was sweat upon his brow, but at least his expression was peaceful.

Over the next two weeks, it became more and more difficult for me to induce in Ilafa that same peaceful expression. Fafara administered every manner of treatment and I'm sure each of them helped make my son's discomfort more bearable, but even so, the path Ilafa's body was forced to walk was far from easy.

Every night he would feel restless and lie in bed, unable to sleep, sometimes despite the soothing elixirs Fafara would prepare. When he did manage to catch a few hours, he spoke of nightmares. He was not afraid of aruna, he told us, but it was an unknown, and his mind wove together strange images and feelings that confused and frightened him.

Throughout those weeks, sweat poured out of him as fast as we could give him cooling, sweet water. Despite all the creams, his skin tingled and itched and there were patches of red, irritated skin, a kind of rash. From time to time, he was plagued by terrible, pounding headaches.

His appetite would come and go. Often he complained that his stomach hurt. Fafara and I knew that it was his soume-lam that were hurting him, not his stomach, but it had already been explained earlier and so we simply indulged him, offering him comfort without going into detail.

His moods were mercurial. Sometimes he would be so tired he barely put up a fuss except to whimper and, occasionally, cry. At other times he was filled with energy, talking non-stop. His attitude towards Feybraiha was constantly changing. At lunchtime he could be looking forward to the end of things, his expression warm with anticipation, and then at dinner he could be angry, complaining that he didn't want anything to change or that he wished everyone would quit fussing over him and leave him alone.

Fafara and I spoke to him of aruna, what he should expect. We told him that he would be soume the very first time, swallowing Arafa's fire. The pleasure he would feel would be like anything he had ever experienced. We explained to him, without going into too much detail, that afterward the roles might be reversed or that he and Arafa might experiment depending on the mood.

We also told him of the sharing of breath, how he would feel parts of Arafa that he did not know existed. This was the first step in his caste training, this new awareness. He had learned some of these things from his tutor and we had always been open about aruna before, but now that the Feybraiha was upon him, he took our words much more to heart.

For the most part, our household kept on operating as usual. Adelna was either at lessons or working on his sculptures. Fafara and I carried out our livelihoods. Of course we did take some time out to make preparations for the celebration. My parents and Ilana's were already scheduled to take holiday with us during that time -- timing was working out perfectly -- but even so, there were people who needed to be invited, friends and neighbors from town. Our housekeeper delighted in creating a menu for the big day. Fafara insisted on hiring musicians. We had had a good year and he wanted to be generous.

Finally Ilafa began to improve. His rashes faded and there was less whimpering. The black, angry moods began to drop off. By the end of the month, a few days before the celebration, he was smiling and seeming more like his old self. When I looked in his eyes, I knew was ready. He would now become a true har.