Cradle of Sea and Soil

by Bernie Anés Paz

  She didn’t shy from his embrace, no longer caring whether or not it was proper, and touched noses with him. He clutched her shoulders and gave her a solemn look.

  “If the worst happens, I want your spirit to rest easy knowing that I will care for Narune and Kisari.” He grimaced. “But, in case you do not back, I also want your spirit to suffer knowing that my heart will be wounded forever.”

  “Eh, I don’t think that’s going to weigh my spirit as much as you think.”

  “Oi! To the bone!”

  She grinned and gestured to her ears. “It’s in my blood, I think.” She touched noses with him again. “Thank you, Sanemoro. For everything.”

  He nodded, then turned with her to look at the cacica.

  “Would you have been willing to share a life with us had things been different?” she asked. It was a gentle nip, but she was curious.

  Sanemoro thought about it. “Without hesitation, if things had indeed been different. I have a great deal of respect for her, but I also struggle to forgive the pain she has caused you and Narune.” He left at it at that, and she didn’t press it.

  Colibrí left him and made her way to Yabisi’s side. It took a moment for the cacica to look down to her, and when she did she put her hands on her hips and huffed. She looked wonderful in her full headdress and adornments, and all her bared flesh was crowded with truth-marks in honor of the warriors fighting at her command.

  Warmaster Jhul turned to glance at her from behind Yabisi’s hips, and the ghost of a smile came to his face. “Sea and soil,” he said, nodding.

  Colibrí returned the greeting, then knelt beneath Yabisi and gave a warrior’s salute, fist against chest, symbolizing a single, unified beat of a war drum and her heart.

  “The Guardian?” Yabisi asked.

  “I don’t know, Cacica. She is likely to join us in the forest. The Guardian is… quite large.”

  “Well, if she doesn’t appear, then you’re all we have left,” Yabisi said. Then, in a lower voice, she added, “I’d rather you not fight at all, but if you do, I expect you to fight only as well as my other warriors and not a fang or claw more, eh?”

  There was some fire in her voice, prompting Colibrí to look up. The storm winds whipped the cacica’s hair around her face, and she did seem upset, but Colibrí couldn’t guess why.

  Yabisi stared back into her eyes.

  “May I carry your favor?” Colibrí asked daringly.

  Yabisi’s eyes narrowed and she was silent for a very long time, but she eventually whispered, “Well, I suppose I owe you that much, at least.”

  She hopped down and cradled Colibrí’s head with both hands, thumbs against her temple. “May my shadow shelter you as you prowl, my blood sustain you when yours is spilled, my breath the kindling for your warcry, my will the force behind your spear. Go, with my favor.”

  Colibrí stared up at Yabisi and, hesitantly, risked touching the back of her hand. “I will carry your favor with pride, hold on to it with honor, and bring it no shame,” she promised.

  Yabisi gently removed her hands and plucked a feather from her headdress, then offered it to her.

  Colibrí took the feather and carefully tucked it into her warrior braid. Once, she had always borne Yabisi’s feather, and her heart beat furiously at being allowed to do so again.

  “Thank you, Cacica,” Colibrí breathed, lowing her head.

  Yabisi laughed and turned away. “I wonder what it’ll take for you to stop being such an idiot,” she said, the words so soft and sad that even Colibrí barely caught them. Then, she straightened, glanced over at Warmaster Jhul who pointedly looked toward the warriors, and then sighed. “Go, both of you.”

  They walked toward the warriors and Warmaster Jhul took over the shouting of commands. Warleaders saluted and sprinted to their warbands, and their warriors obeyed without hesitation. The storm above them grew fiercer as the Islandborn surged across the grass up toward the tree line, spears readied, gaze already seeking the enemy.

  Colibrí moved as part of Jhul’s personal warband, which was larger than most. It was filled with a handful of veterans, scouts, runners, a sage, and his warband’s spiritseer, an elder of the Circle also who shared command of the spiritseers spread across their numbers with other elders. Two of Yabisi’s sentinels flanked her to either side, as promised, their eyes locked on Colibrí instead of the forest spanning around them.

  The foreigners, who were few, tailed behind Jhul’s warband. Within it were some of High Magus Jerrico’s lessor magi and a few handfuls of their overdressed warriors, each bearing poleaxes and swords. They followed so close that they might as well been part of Jhul’s warband. The storm seemed to unnerve them and the deepened gloom of the forest only seemed to make them even more nervous.

  The first rendezvous had already been set, and each warband left to reach it on their own. The warbands were all large enough to at least hold against anything they found. They also all had spiritseers and runners, as well as conch horns for communicating with the other warbands if needed.

  Those furthest out were also the sturdiest. They were mostly veteran warriors paired with spiritseers of the Unseen, Celestial, or Deep flows, which provided a thicker hide with which to catch any initial bites on.

  Peacemaker’s tricks were also old now, and he would no longer catch them by surprise.

  It took Jhul’s warband a little less than a notch to reach the rendezvous, which was at the furthest point where sentinels patrolled. Runners waited there for him, exactly as many as there were supposed to be, and they gave him hand signals in unison before rushing off into the gloom; the outer warbands had secured his perimeter.

  The warmaster raised a fist and warriors spread out along the root-roads and floating islands, their breaths soft. Thunder rang above, and water sprayed and streamed down from the canopy. Between the clatter of droplets, the booms above, the endless and deafening rustling of giant branches, and the deepened gloom, they were all but nonexistent.

  Warmaster Jhul glanced at Colibrí, then at the high magus when the old man moved up , leaning heavily on his staff. The warriors carrying the strange devices came with him.

  “Will this truly work?” Warmaster Jhul asked. He hadn’t been there when they had tested the artifacts, but he understood that the devices would be what allowed them to follow the path of the Unseen Flow.

  “It should, rencíte,” High Magus Jerrico answered.

  Colibrí had learned a little of their language while working with the magus, and now understood that both señrosa and rencíte seemed to imply respect, the first in reference to a woman and the second to a man. She had also learned that Jerrico rarely used the terms without sarcasm, so she was pleased to hear him voice them so solemnly.

  “We ran some tests with both Colibrí and some of your more sensitive spiritseers,” Jerrico continued with a glance at her.

  “Should?”

  “Well, we didn’t go all the way to the Saint-damned Primordial Wound.” The old man shrugged and tugged at his beard, which was dry. All of his warriors were dry thanks to his sorcery. “Really, it’s up to the señrosa and your spiritseers. Drawing allows me to pull from several Flows at once, but that means I’ve no affinity for any one of them in particular. Channeling, on the other hand, is the complete opposite.”

  Jhul frowned. “What does your artifact do, exactly?”

  “Well, it magnifies whatever Flows are in the immediate area, making them a little easier to examine. I’m honestly surprised I even managed that much.”

  “Yes, you were very doubtful the first time I spoke with you,” Colibrí nipped, arms crossing over her spear.

  Jerrico grinned. “Ah, but I had forgotten one crucial detail!”

  “Oh?”

  “Indeed, señrosa. I had forgotten that I was a fucking genius.” The other magi with him rolled their eyes behind his back, but Colibrí couldn’t help but mimic the old man’s grin.

  Warmaster Jhul nodded. “Then let’s ma
ke our final preparations. If Peacemaker’s nests form a pattern and become tracks, then we will proceed as planned—quick and fierce. We’ll sweep west toward the Primordial Wound. Once there, we’ll make sweeps across the other half of the forest while maintaining smaller patrols on the eastside.” He paused and shrugged. “Nothing changes if we end up empty-handed.”

  “We’re bound to miss Stillness and halja if we search blindly,” Colibrí said with a frown. There was simply too much forest to cover, even with their numbers. It’d be pointless.

  Warmaster Jhul nodded. “Yes, but we’ll do it anyway. So pray that Peacemaker is bound to the Unseen Flow’s path.” He waved his spear at her. “Speaking of prayers, where is—”

  “I am right here,” a voice rang out, echoing through the entire forest and startling everyone.

  Obsidian shards rippled down out of nowhere, surging like a sea tide, and wherever they passed they left behind the colorful, thorny scales of the Guardian. The shards continued to materialize her, peeling off like snakeskin before vanishing, until she was simply there. The Guardian’s head peered down at them from above, large amber eyes moving across the arrayed warriors to settle on Warmaster Jhul, her black wings spread halfway. She was wrapped several times around a tree-lord but there was so much of her left that her she continued on and vanished down into the forest.

  High Magus Jerrico shrieked and threw his beautifully carved staff up, as did several of the other magi, but she caught his wrist and lowered it with a shake of her head. He glanced between her and the Guardian, wide-eyed, before clearing his throat and collecting himself.

  Warriors threw themselves down, but Warmaster Jhul broke the hushed silence with a shout, his voice as booming as thunder and as harsh as the rustling canopy.

  “Don’t you dare!” Warmaster Jhul cried, his voice full of rage. “If you want to respect the first among warriors, then show proper warrior discipline!”

  His warriors paused, ashamed, and remained on their feet. Instead, they saluted the Guardian, who let out a chuckle that filled the air. Colibrí saluted her too, feeling a little embarrassed; she had thrown herself down too, when she had first met the Guardian, though she supposed that had been a different situation.

  “I am pleased to see that your warmasters remain as excellent as ever,” the Guardian said, and to this Warmaster Jhul gave her his own salute.

  “We were just readying to begin our hunt, Guardian,” Warmaster Jhul said, and said it as if he were talking to any other warrior. “I would like to pair your sensitivity to the Unseen Flow with Colibrí’s to form two major fangs, with spiritseers acting as the smaller, but no less sharp, teeth between.”

  “Very well, but know that I will not fight with you or shelter you from the forest; instead, I will watch for the opposing champion of the Stillness. You will know the halja when you see it, and, should the vile creature appear, I ask that you leave me to face it alone. If the halja does not appear, then, well, we can only hope for such a stormless day.” The Guardian’s eyes slid up and watched the water cascade down onto her scales. “Though perhaps it is too late for that.”

  Warmaster Jhul saluted again. “We would have it no other way; we are the drops falling like knives, swept to action by the winds of our rage and the will of the cacica. It’s Peacemaker who will not have a stormless day.”

  “Oh?” the Guardian said, amused, and other warriors sounded off by slamming fists against their chest. The Guardian laughed in delight, a beautiful and melodic sound. “Ah, how I missed you, my fellow warriors. Come, let us hunt!”

  Colibrí exchanged a look with a very shocked and confused Jerrico, thudded the man on the back, and then watched as he barked at his own stunned warriors to bring their devices forward.

  Colibrí followed, damp tail waving behind her, and thought of the moment when their jaws finally snapped around Peacemaker’s throat.

  Chapter 26

  Narune sat with Kisari in their bohío. His mother had left the day before, gone to war without him. Swallowed by the forest, and once again he would have to spend the days wondering if she would ever return. He sighed, caught himself licking his lips, and then scowled and thumped his tail instead.

  He glanced toward the window, which was covered by oiled wood and hide—stormward closed against the one that still raged outside. It was morning and the sun still prowled behind clouds, no less a threat. The stormwater only seemed to thicken the air, and in the bohío it was only a little cooler.

  “Did you ever tell Colibrí that you used your Flowing Blade during the ambush?”

  Narune turned away from the window back to Kisari and didn’t answer right away. She sat naked in a corner, working the venom out of cassava for tomorrow.

  She had already set aside some cooked maize flour to cool. Later, she would make thick arepa cakes and stuff them with whatever he managed to hunt or fished today. Narune already felt like he was being spoiled; in the villages and safeholds, it wasn’t uncommon for bohíos to have gardens that contributed to the entire tribe, and many wardens gathered fruits and vegetables from the edges of the forest.

  But neither Narune or his mother had the talent or patience for a garden, and they enjoyed the taste of meat enough that they maybe favored it more than they should.

  Kisari would have none of that, insisting that a warrior needed to balance themselves the way the sea and forest balanced each other. So, under her direction, Narune had cleared and prepared a garden for her. She had then planted jicotea to protect the soil from too much water and wind, but it’d still be some time before they could grow anything.

  It would take a lot of work to keep the jicotea from overwhelming the garden, not to mention all the effort needed to tend the garden itself, but he saw less time plucking things from the forest and more delicious meals in his future, so he didn’t mind.

  “No,” he finally said in response to her question. The rain pattered against the ceiling.

  Kisari continued with her work. “Oh.”

  “Don’t ‘oh’ me. There’s nothing she could have done, and out there she should be worrying about herself instead of me, anyway.” Or she could have brought me along and then it wouldn’t have mattered. He doubted the cacica would have made a fuss in front of his mother. Not while they needed her, at least.

  Then again, maybe the cacica didn’t know…

  He sighed and glanced back down at his own project, started on a whim. His mother’s carving knife and spare wood lay in his lap, but the ‘figurine’ was a botched mess. “Besides, Ixchel wouldn’t bite so hard that she would tell the cacica or Circle.”

  “Maybe,” Kisari said with a brief laugh that suggested what she thought of that. “But any of the others could have.”

  “I helped saved their lives, Kisari. We fought together. That bonds warriors in a way you don’t understand.”

  “And you don’t understand what it’s like to live with people who are told they’re supposed to hate you,” she snapped. She used the back of a hand to tuck away one of the vines woven through her hair.

  Narune kept his peace and settled back down to work on his figurine. It was supposed to be a coyote—the same alpha of the pack that had been tormenting him recently. He picked up the carving knife and tried to make it look less like a halja.

  Tessouat arrived through the storm several notches later and called to them.

  Kisari gave him a meaningful look, but Narune sighed and went to loosen the flaps. The spiritseer elder stepped through the curtain of seashells and nuts and turned to loop a few throngs of the door’s stormward around their pegs.

  He then faced them and bowed from the entrance. “Sea and soil.”

  Narune and Kisari returned the greeting in a whisper. Tessouat was drenched, but the stormwater might as well been part of his clothing. The elder’s hair was long, slick and a deep black, and he kept it in an elaborate warrior’s braid. His war garb was just as impressive, complete with beautiful sandals and a masterfully crafted poncho.
The poncho was lined with shadow feathers and covered in blue marks, the color of the Unbound Flow. An engraved bone knife sat in its harness while a carved Gourd held Tessouat’s Flowing Blade.

  All the other elders had gone with the warmaster, but Narune already knew that Tessouat had stayed behind to supervise the novices and advise the cacica on matters of the Flows of Creation should she need it.

  “I believe you know why I’m here?” Tessouat asked.

  Narune tensed and exchanged a look with Kisari, but he nodded. They knew this day would come eventually, and both Sanemoro and his mother had hoped to use all the favors owed to them to barter for mercy.

  Narune was afraid of facing the cacica now, alone—but he would. It had been his choice to break his oath, after all, and he still believed he had made the right choices. It also helped knowing that the Guardian herself had replaced it.

  “Good. Please dress as a warrior should, including your Flowing Blade and Gourd, and then accompany me to the village.”

  Narune nodded and dressed in his own warrior garb, wishing, for a moment, that he had a poncho too. He finished by slipping on his bone knife and his Gourd, this time in plain view so that the carving of the two coyotes on the hunt could be easily seen.

  He turned to face the spiritseer elder with a straight back, chin up, to find Tessouat smiling down at his Gourd.

  “Excellent work,” the spiritseer said. “Very beautiful carving. Did you make it?”

  “I had my mother carve it, Elder.” He glanced over at the remains of his own figurine. “I don’t have the same knack she does.”

  Tessouat nodded. “No shame in that. Even those who walk the same path will take different steps.” He turned and reopened the flaps to the storm. “Come.”

  Narune followed and Kisari went with him. She was dressed in a practical sarong that began at her waist and was made from sea linen and leaves, so it didn’t get soaked through by the storm. She held down the cloth as the wind fluttered around them, frowning the entire way to the village.