Path of the Whisper Woman

Within the Hundred Eyes' tree of the Seedling Palace, there was a place called the Third Ear. In fact, it encircled the trunk and covered the entire bottom layer of their tree. From what I overheard, most thought it looked like a giant spider's lair. The long pine needles were braided and tied together. They were anchored to railings and branches, which wasn't that unusual for the Seedling Palace since the pine needles were braided together into bridges and climbing ropes in other spots. Here, though, in the Third Ear, there seemed be no rhyme or reason for it. Needles were tied every which way, some in thick braids while others were only a single strand strong. In some places the pine needles twisted together to form interwoven nests, in others they spun away from each other, radiated out in half formed spirals and triangles and other shapes.

Sometimes, I'd start to see a pattern to the madness out of the corner of my eye, but once I'd turn to look it'd dissolve into meaningless parts. Just blue-black and purple pine needles stretching out into the distance and without any thought given to their spacing or position. It was chaotic, but it was also the perfect place to engage in a time honored tradition of the Hundred Eye sect.

Eavesdropping on prayers.

It was common knowledge that the goddess didn't hear or ignored most prayers sent to Her. Which was probably for the best, because if She did listen to each and every one She'd likely have wiped us all from Her territory long ago. Patience wasn't known to be one of Her strong suits and listening to the prayers was tedious at best. They were repetitive, desperate, and often not something someone should have risked getting the goddess's attention for. After my first hour, I was glad I couldn't hear the prayers all the time. The prayer makers should have been just as glad I couldn't respond to them or more than one would have been cut down a size for thinking that praying to the goddess for less snow was a good idea. As if the cold wasn't one of Her symbols.

I felt a fool for writing that particular wish down more than once but our job was to record. To make note of the prayers' common themes and where they might be originating from. So we could know when natural disasters occurred or unnatural things, like the festerlings causing trouble for a tribe. It helped us know where to send Beastwatchers or the Peace Keepers, if there was an attack from the sea or unrest. I learned that some people treated their prayers like reports: tattling on tribe members, speculating about rumors, and declaring anything of note that might make a goddess associated with death happy. There was a whole section of the Ear dedicated to catching the prayers from Grandmothers for funeral pyres, so that the request could be passed on the Scales to send the carved tree trunks and they could officiate the funerals. I wasn't sure how those prayers got funneled into one part of the web, but I did know those strands of the web gleamed with a tint of mourning yellow.

The goddess might not hear all the requests and pleas that poured in from every corner of Her territory, but we did. The needles thrummed with the voices of the tribes. And yet, the Third Ear was a silent place. The words weren't spoken out loud, but the prayers became clear as you connected with the place. No one knew how it worked though there was plenty of speculation such as if the prayers were carried on the wind like our whispers or if there was some other miracle of the goddess at play. The wind blew through the Third Eye constantly, just like it did everywhere else in the Seedling Palace, so that could be the correct answer. It certainly was the simplest one. But it didn't answer why the process to listen for the prayers was different from listening to a wind whisper. What I did know that there was one Seeker dedicated to figuring out the mysteries of the Ear, and that more than one of Ingrasia's group warned me to look very busy when she made her way through the Ear unless I wanted to answer more questions than I cared to count and still had to make up my time listening to the prayers after.

Most Hundred Eye members settled in the spots where the needles were thickest, because it was common knowledge that you'd hear more prayers if you picked one of those spots. That you heard the more pertinent prayers there too, rather than whatever might have been caught on the fringes of the web. However, it wasn't enough to just sit on some needles in the Third Ear to hear the prayers. No, you also had to prick your mark and offer a prayer of your own to get results.

I found my own little section to sit in. A large braid of pine needles dropped from somewhere overhead before opening up to become the walls for another section of needles that wove together to make up the floor of a little alcove area, though there were gaps between the strands. It reminded me of the hammocks some tribes used to sleep in rather than bedrolls. Really, the whole spot would have been perfect for Kaylan as a hideaway to nap in while it likely would have featured in Juniper's nightmares. If I wanted I could peer down through the gaps to see where only a handful more layers of needles stretched below me before it emptied out to open air. If I fell I'd have a cruel amount of time before I hit the Seedling Palace's roots. Enough time to realize what was happening, but likely not to stop my fall.

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Luckily, the needles felt as sturdy as a branch and I wasn't too worried about them breaking under me. The gaps also helped to prevent me from feeling claustrophobic. I didn't want to sit out in the open but some of the popular spots were little more than crawl spaces that me wonder how the whisper women using them didn't feel like they were crawling into their own carved funeral trunk. Instead, I spent longer than I was willing to admit looking for a spot that offered privacy without being uncomfortably small or closed off. However, now that I found it I could focus and complete my task in peace.

I pricked my mark, smeared my fingertips with my blood, gripped the needles on either side of me, and said the prayer, "May I hear what cannot be heard, the whisper of the soul, so that I may serve as your ears and ease your burden."

I winced as a prick of pain flashed from my thigh and one of the diamonds in my mark snapped open into the shape of the goddess's watching eye. The needles closest to my bloody fingers took on a red tinge that seeped outward until all the needles within half a foot of me took on the same color.

I swept my fingers along the outer edge of the new circle, locking it in with the remaining blood. The red tinge stayed as I took my hands away from the needles and got out the tablet and writing tool I was given to complete my work. At first I tried to write down everything as the prayers poured in—like the inanity about less snow—but I quickly realized there was too much information and not enough room to write. So I scrubbed away the lines with useless information and did my best to listen for the important bits.

Listening to the prayers wasn't really listening, though my ears strained to hear any little bit of sound. It was more like the few times I heard the goddess speak—a knowing without true hearing, something in my head than out loud. At first that knowing was a messy, convoluted blob that I couldn't parse. Just a weight on my chest and a headache waiting to happen full of conflicting wants and dreams and desires. It wasn't long before I learned to pull one prayer free of the rest as it felt similar in a way to feeling for the winds in the wind spirits home, except instead of trying to dodge them I was trying to focus on one piece of the whole at a time.

That was when I started to write everything down. A way to get the prayer out of my head and make room for the next piece and the next, but soon there wasn't any space on the tablet to make space in my head. So I had to get comfortable discarding prayers, tossing the unhelpful ones out my circle and back wherever they came from. Eventually, I had to do the same with the helpful ones too but I made sure to review those carefully before I released them so I didn't miss anything important before they were gone for good.

The way the needles turned red when doing the ritual also made me wonder if the delta would be a good place for collecting prayers now, but that was a theory I was saving to get the Seeker off my back if she came around and I didn't look busy enough.
I hadn't had to listen to the prayers as a new recruit, but I could see this becoming part of my normal routine, especially as I banned myself from visiting Esie's second home for now. It was secluded, quiet, and even if some the prayers were asinine they were still an interesting way to learn more about the world.

Prevna might find more interest in the people's prayers and dreams if she listened to them, but I found it interesting to pay attention to what the pray makers included, what they implied, and what they left out. It left more than one prayer open for interpretation and I doubted every interpretation was included in the reports that were made by those listening. Too tedious, too time consuming, too much space taken up on the tablet. I made a mental note to pay more attention to when decisions were made from information gathered from prayers. I wasn't exactly likely to attend a meeting about that, but if I did it'd be insightful to see what was said and things might have changed from I heard during my time in the Third Ear.

It also wouldn't be difficult to get more shifts listening to prayers. There were always more than enough to listen to and from what I gathered most of the Hundred Eyes sect preferred to spend their time elsewhere. Doing something that involved more active spy craft and didn't make them a glorified note taker, especially when listening to prayers for an extended period of time left…echoes. Remains of the prayers heard that lingered in the chest, so it was difficult to tell if it was your desire or someone else's and it often took a few hours to feel completely normal.

I, however, had plenty of practice identifying what was me and what words in my head belonged to someone else. My childhood made sure of that. Even when her words propelled me forward I knew who they belonged to. I knew what feelings were mine and I crushed any little thought that didn't belong. I didn't need more clutter in my memory tent and I certainly didn't need to feel worried about a son who never came home. The prayer maker could keep that worry all for themselves. I had enough to worry about with a fire starter I didn't want, a mentor too manipulative for her own good, and Prevna off doing her training with the Beastwatchers. She had managed to visit me in the delta, so I had tentative plans to surprise her in return, though I was still working through the logistics of that. I didn't want to harm her reputation with her own sect and pulling her away from her training or otherwise stepping out of a shadow at the wrong moment wouldn't be ideal. So I had to figure out when she might have a break without letting her know what I was planning during our chats. Another bit of tedious work, but I welcomed the chance to plan as I sorted through prayers.