Siha and the Jaiska

This story identifies Senet’s people as the Imāsma, a primarily nomadic people in the arctic circle who share some territory and resources with the Sheedakla. The name Senet is a simpler form of Senēste̔̔, a common male name meaning “averter of evil.” One public document lists Senet’s nationality as Homori, although the name Senet means nothing in the language. Due to the reclusive nature of the Imāsma and their hostility towards the tesekhaira, a Karatha from Imāsma Territory might wish to draw less attention to himself. Senet’s incorporation into the collective must have been a very traumatic experience.

Seventeen documented versions of this story exist, but this is the shortest and most popularly available in Tveshi (even though better translations exist elsewhere). Eràsis would only have learned about the jaiska from Senet. The texts only came to attention following Eràsis’s death, and they corroborate similar stories of chaos from Malzmā texts that speak of a worlds-encompassing war following a period of great technological and social achievements. The story of Siha and the Jaiska is told in a very repetitive folk style, and in the original Imāsmi it is also alliterative.

The jaiska shares features with bogeymen from the region. While its conquest by Siha is celebrated in folk poetry, the jaiska creatures are well-documented in folk tradition. Mothers of young children will place mirrors around their children’s beds to ward them off and turn them into protective guardian spirits. A celebration of this transformation called Jaiskāhavu occurs on the Winter Solstice. Gifts are given on Jaiskāhavu, but they are not opened until the first sunrise after the winter darkness. On Jaiskāhavu, ice effigies of children are smashed to ensure the good fortune of living offspring.

It came out of the forest of ice,
the wandering one, the wanting one,
when our people first came to the icy North.
We called it a jaiska, a creature who was six,*
for six is close to seven and thus always lacking.
The jaiska had six legs to walk on,
six long fingers to grip the city walls,
and six sharp teeth to gobble up young children.
Many nights passed in horror when the people first came,
many nights waiting for the jaiska to do its evil work.
Many times the oldest among us thought we should flee
back to the South where the grasses grow high and the fruit
weighs down the branches, even if it meant death.
We all wished for freedom from the bloody warfare
to the South, where men who climbed to Heaven had been thrown
back into the dust where they belonged,
but we had traded terror and bloodshed
for our own blood spilling across the virgin snow.

Siha came with the blackness of winter,
the virgin from the ruined South,
to our people who shook with fear in the icy North.
We called her Shining One, the virgin with the bark crown,
for her sword shone at her waist and cried out for blood.
Shining One had seven strong warriors,
seven oarsmen who knew the waters well,
and seven gifts for the leaders of our people to open at dawn.
Many people came from their huts to look at her.
Many people thought her dark skin would blanch from the cold.
Many times the oldest among us wondered at her presence.
Anyone from the South should be weary of grief-bringing war,
even though bloodlust kindles bloodlust, even if they love the kill.
We all wished for our freedom to start life anew,
away from the South where men who climbed to Heaven had been thrown
back into the dust where they belonged,
but we had traded terror and bloodshed
for our own heartbreak in the frozen wastes.

First she went to the council, appearing
with her seven warriors and seven oarsmen,
and she offered the seven gifts with her head bowed.
I heard that your people had fled to the frozen North, she said,
and that something has come from the ice forests,
a jaiska who has six legs to walk on,
six long fingers to grip the city walls,
and six sharp teeth to gobble up young children.
And Iahēta, our leader, answered, Your words come hard upon our ears,
we who have lost so many children
we who dreamed of starting our lives anew,
we who wanted a livelihood from fishing with our spears
and gathering lichens and ice-flowers. What can you,
a girl from the South that wages grief-bringing war,
where men who climbed to Heaven have been thrown
back into the dust where they belong,
give to we who have traded swords
for family life in the blackness of winter?

And the Shining One replied: Your words ring true,
but the God of War does not dine at my table.
I am Siha, a noble from Mitrav, cast from my homeland, cruel war’s victim.
My father it threw from our towers into the churning seas,
my mother it slashed into quarters as she prayed for peace,
my brothers it seduced until the wounds drained their bodies of blood,
my sisters it coaxed to take poison or be taken as captives,
my relatives it turned against each other until none stands alive.
If you desire a strong warrior in the peaceful North,
let me shake my sword free of ice and slash the heart of this beast;
if you desire a peaceful end, let me go about it another way,
let me return to my boat where I may devise a stratagem,
closing my door to the God of War.
I, too, wish for freedom from the bloody conflict
to the South, where the deeds of the fallen endanger your people’s future,
dragging us back into the dust we abhor.
I have traded my bloodlust for trickery,
and I will quicken the blood of your lineages.

Iahēta laughed, and people’s faces shone with joy.
Here they had found a champion,
a quick-witted girl from Mitrav who shunned the God of War.
Women showered her with hot lichen broth.
Men kissed her strong, cunning hands.
Children cried for joy that they would not find death so soon.
The Shining One, Siha, the noble girl from Mitrav,
left the council then for her strong ship,
accompanied by the seven strong warriors,
seven oarsmen who longed for the safety of the water,
but she left the seven gifts for our leaders to open at dawn.
There she devised a stratagem, closing her door to the God of War,
for she, too, wished for freedom from bloodshed
reigning supreme in the South, where those who had reached for Heaven
fell, ruining all with their brashness.
She had traded her bloodlust for trickery
and promised to restore our people to greatness.

Siha returned that evening from her ship
hours before the jaiska would come
from its lair in the ice forests to destroy more life.
Her seven warriors brought with them
large objects wrapped in cloth, mirrors to hold the jaiska at bay.
This she had devised as a stratagem to ruin it.
In a semi-circle her warriors placed the mirrors.
In a semi-circle the people gathered around to watch.
They worked long and hard at her trick, fingers
numb from the deep cold of winter, until she tore the cloths
from the mirrors and stared at her own reflection.
We will trap it with mirrors, she said, bringing peace to the people,
achieving freedom from the veil of death that
holds the South captive, where the fallen men drag the world
into the dust of ignorance, breaking all hope.
Let’s show them all that cunning minds can win.
Let’s show them that it will restore your people to greatness.

The jaiska would come soon,
the wandering one, the wanting one,
a bane of our people from the icy North,
the one so named because six is close to seven.
The jaiska would come on its six spindly legs,
it would grip our walls with six-fingered hands
and gobble our children with six sharp teeth.
Siha promised the night would not pass in horror,
and this night the jaiska would not do its evil work.
Siha promised we would not have to flee our new home,
running back to the South where the grasses grow high,
because she would bring it death in a mirrored trap.
Gladdened, we hoped she could bring freedom from death,
for we had come from the South where Heaven-stripped men
wrought war after a proud civilization’s collapse.
But we had traded the old world for peace,
laying foundations on virgin arctic snow.

One more thing Siha needed:
a child to feed the jaiska’s hunger.
At the edge of the forest, Siha unsheathed her sword.
She carved a young child from a block of ice,
perfect down to the smile on its sleeping face,
and wrapped it in layers of cloth.
Mothers everywhere tightened their hearts, so alive it looked!
Fathers covered their eyes with shame, so childlike it seemed!
Brothers and sisters averted their eyes, thankful they would not die.
Siha and the God of Tricks had played together in her youth.
He had taught her the ways of deception,
wondrous and terrible things that would now aid the people.
She could make the child cry without breath or life.
With heavy hearts, we wished the form to cloud the jaiska’s mind,
for we had come from the South and took falsehood for granted.
The ones who keep breath** had lied to us all,
so we had traded intrigue for simplicity,
establishing a just rule in a faraway land.

Now the jaiska came out of the ice forest,
the wandering one, the hungry one,
whom our people hated in the frozen North.
This creature liked the name jaiska we had bestowed,
for it always wanted more of our people’s flesh and blood.
It galloped over the tundra on its six legs.
Its six-fingered hands dug into the packed snow.
It bared its six sharp teeth to the aurora light.
Tonight, the jaiska thought it would bring more horror,
another night to relish in its fate-ordained work.
The jaiska saw the crying ice child in the snow.
It licked its lips and came forward for the kill.
These jaws brought death, but no hot blood trickled.
The jaiska had wished for another child to sate its hunger,
one of the strong children of the South who had escaped war,
but instead found Siha’s trickery.
It had traded the warmth of its lair
for certain death on the long winter night.

The jaiska reared its back four legs.
The jaiska clawed at the air with its front two.
It lifted his eyes to the mirrors, and its fury was good.
This creature would slaughter more children tonight,
one for each horrible tooth in its evil mouth.
Suddenly it saw the girl behind it, Siha of Mitrav,
she who had shunned the bed of War.
It saw the bark crown sitting atop her head,
and beauty shone from her cold-ruddied face.
To slash at her now would end the miracle before it.
What wondrous beings the children grew into!
It closed its mouth and looked at its own reflection,
the fur-coated monster who lived in the ice forest.
The jaiska wished he could be as the girl was now,
one of the strong women of the South who had escaped war,
but found himself less perfect.
Instead of nimble hands, he had thin claws.
Instead of compassion, his face showed fury.

Siha stood without fear,
no matter how much the jaiska whined
or gnashed his murderous teeth in pain.
The noble from Mitrav knew he saw her in the mirror.
The noble from Mitrav knew her face captivated all things.
This creature would slaughter no more children tonight.
Look at what you destroy, you jaiska. What do you desire now?
Even ugly children grow into fine adults.
Think of how many you have torn apart with those claws.
Better to die now than know yourself a murderer.
Jaiska! How about ruiner of all things beautiful?
Jaiska! The word should make even you laugh,
a bumbling idiot with finely-sharpened claws.
The jaiska cried out and wished his tongue could make speech,
words like those Siha from the South spoke now,
but no apology could erase the deaths.
Instead of speaking, he tore himself away.
Instead of repenting, he ran to the ice forest.

The jaiska never came again,
the wandering one, the wanting one,
like when our people first came to the plentiful North.
Sometimes we hear the jaiska howl six times,
for six is close to seven and thus always lacking.
Some say he lies in wait for stray travelers.
He carries them to the city walls on his strong back.
He will save the people’s children from the pitiless cold.
Many good deeds must happen to erase his sins,
many nights of aiding the people in our good work.
Many times the oldest among us have found him kinder
than the beasts of the South where grasses grow high and fruit
weighs down the branches, even though he murdered our kin.
We all wish for freedom from bloody warfare,
even the jaiska who has never seen the proud South fall,
a chance to raise ourselves from the dust.
We have traded terror and bloodshed
for a prosperous life on the fertile tundra.

* Jais is the Imāsmi word for “six,” and the suffix -ka indicates an adjective.
** The Imāsmi word for a tesekhaira is omāka, contracted from omē wa a̔̔ kah, or “one [who] keeps limitless breaths.” Omāka is pronounced “ow-MAA-ka” (with a soft a), and omē wa a̔̔ kah is pronounced “ow-MEH wa ha KAAH.”