Tsuubi and Baaken

Tsuubi and Baaken - a Caldari Folktale

Tsuubi gathered twigs for the fire. Baaken would not last the day, the fever now in its eleventh day and his body was spent. The winter’s day was bright but she could not bring her heart to delight upon its frosty beauty. Making fire was her task and to keep Baaken as comfortable as possible. Now, her heart, heavy with gloom, sensed his approaching death with an anguish that threatened to conquer her spirit and she could not allow that to disturb his passing. Baaken needed her strength. She refused to concede a troublesome brow and guarded this moment for his sake. Returning to the cabin, a small and modest home of wood at the mountain foothills, she cast off her dark cloak. Tresses of black hair fell about her shoulders and her snowy cheeks flushed pink in the warm air of their dwelling. She revived a fire in the hearth, set it to a gentle blaze and heat renewed the atmosphere. "Baaken?" she inquired gently. Her grey eyes examined hopefully for a sign of life. He stirred yet his eyes would not open and he could barely whisper her name. Soon, death would snatch him. “Baaken, my Love, I’ve gathered some snow berries, your favourite, try to eat.” Her words fell heavy and slow. She knew he would not eat; he would be dead soon and his spirit among the mountains. She placed the berries aside in a shallow bowl and wiped his brow. The fever had been a burden now for days. It would not relent and she wondered if he could even still see her through the delirium and half-open eyes. Could he even remember that she loved him? Did he regret that he had abandoned his tribe for her and pledged his devoted love amongst the sacred Kresh trees? Baaken murmered but the sounds were unintelligible. She arranged his hair, a sunny mane soaked now with the sweat of his pain upon the bed where the blood of their family would have been forged. She could barely breathe as she placed her hand gently upon his. It was frail and weak, the tenacity and vigour vanquished but she felt it faintly squeeze. It was the last movement Baaken ever made. Tsuubi kissed the sigh as his last breath vanished with his spirit into the mountains beyond. For an age she seemed to sit, holding the lifeless hand until the fire burnt low. Carefully, she lay Baaken’s hand upon his breast, gathered her robe and prepared the cabin, pouring the little lamp oil they had upon its frame. She fuelled the hearth-fire and setting her home alight faded into the snow outside, a dark forlorn figure against the blazing cabin receding behind and yet even now she shed no tears. She would not grieve, for she loved Baaken still and climbed higher into the mountain valleys along pathways she had known since childhood. The day fell into the glow of dusk and Cold Wind whispered from the high peaks. He spoke to her in compassionate tones, “Child, return to your home and hearth, only death awaits you in the freezing night.” She made a small fire in a tiny hollow amongst the rocks as the wind tumbled gently around. This was her gift to the world, the skill that had once been highly valued amongst her people. The fire sputtered low as she sat huddled with her knees drawn close and she answered, “My home and hearth burn, it is far behind now and death has taken all that I love.” Cold Wind murmured, “My breath will destroy you my child, the night approaches and I cannot protect you. Do not waste your life so frivolously.” She lay her head down. The evening swelled, night fell and slowly poured his melancholy ink stain upon the fragile, tiny blaze. She simply replied, ”My life has never been frivolous. K’vire will not have me return, and Deteaas shun me. Tsuubi and Baaken’s love was forbidden, I could not save him from the hot death and I am unworthy. I am already dead.” Her body froze in silence with only the gasping of the winds to accompany her. Cold Wind wept. His rage fell hard with snow and ice upon the face of the mountain rocks and did not wean until morning, such was his sorrow. The bright dawn sparkled, cheerfully upon the place where Tsuubi had sat. In her place, a small cluster of delicate flowers emerged from a space in the rock to greet the sunlight. The spirit of Tsuubi endured. Black and velvety, gracefully curled petals with a cup of three, the Black Tsuubaaki blossoms gaze ever skyward to capture the fire of the pale cool sun to keep alive the memory of those that have passed.