by B. Muze
She handed him back his bag and left with Gilix and the last of the Kolvas to return to the Kolvas village.
Chapter 32
Birth of Latohva
Jovai slept dreamlessly for a long time. When she awoke, the sun was high and warm, the fog burned away. People were quietly attending to daily tasks and the smell of cooking food filled the air. Jovai felt starved and, somehow, deeply satisfied. She looked for her friend and saw the Gicok soundly asleep, with an odd expression, akin to peace, on his face.
“Now it’s done,” she thought, not quite knowing what “it” was. “It’s done and well done.”
She stepped out into the bright, sunny day. People who passed by her smiled and nodded, the ever-cheerful Kolvas.
“Food?” she asked one nearby lady, using the Kolvas word. The lady smiled and started talking, fifty words a second, and pointing all around the camp. She laughed and patted Jovai’s arm, then she scurried away. A moment later Jovai saw her hurrying back with Difsat.
Jovai felt her stomach buckle. “It’s just hunger,” she told herself, but she knew she was afraid. She could not guess what the shaman might do to her for disobeying his orders. She pulled herself tall, forced a smile at the shaman, and greeted him politely with the proper Kolvas words.
“Well, a very good time,” he told her in the spirit’s tongue.
“What?” asked Jovai, taken aback.
The shaman laughed and hugged her with a hearty squeeze. “We’ll make a Kolvas of you after all if you can have good fun like that.”
“You mean the funeral?”
“Great power there,” he told her as an answer. “It was just what we were needing.”
He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her after him. “Come on,” he told her, “My family will feed you. You and I, we need to talk.”
He stopped, part way there, and pointed to a wide, deep pit dug into the ground and reinforced with wood around the sides.
“Do you know what that is?” he asked her.
Jovai shook her head.
“That will be my home. My home.” He repeated the words with a solemn joy that warmed Jovai to hear.
“May it be a happy one,” she wished him.
Difsat smiled and looked around him, at the giant trees, the root-gnarled earth, the sparkling of the river just visible in the distance.
“I do like it here,” he confided. “The spirits led us well. It is a very good place.”
He brought her to his current home — a tent, from the outside hardly distinguishable from any of the others. Inside it was carpeted with strange pelts and a thickly woven cloth of many vibrant colors. It was old and worn, but there was still a gayness about it. The sleeping palates were rolled and wrapped in pieces of woven cloth in bright, bold patterns and designs of animals and protection spirits. Along one wall a piece of wood hung suspended from hooks on two of the stays that supported the tent. From the board hung a couple knives, a pipe, and several various tools. On the floor in one corner was a box the size of a small child and carved in it were many magic symbols. Many were unfamiliar, but Jovai knew enough to recognize a few. That is where he would keep his magic tools, she guessed.
“The wife will be here soon,” he told her. “She rations the food, so we eat last, but she’s a good cook, so we eat well. Just one moment…” He took one of the knives and placed it before the door flap. “That will keep the children away until the food arrives. When food comes, they come, nothing you can do. There!” He threw himself on the soft floor pelts and leaned back comfortably against one of the bedrolls. He gestured for Jovai to do the same. “Now we can talk. Do you know what last night was?”
“It was many things,” answered Jovai, puzzled.
“It was the night of the full moon. Do you know what that means?”
“My people honor the moon goddess every full moon…”
“It’s the night we were supposed to name you,” he answered for her, waving away her irrelevant words. “I told you, on the night of the full moon we would give you a name and find you a family and welcome you as one of us.” He smiled, “It’s not flattering that you forgot.”
“Forgive the newborn,” she solemnly begged. Difsat laughed.
“Since we didn’t get around to it last night, what should we do? Do you want to be accepted as one of us?”
“Yes, shaman,” she answered.
“Will you leave behind you your former people and your former friends?”
“No, shaman.”
“Not even a moment’s thought?” he asked, annoyed.
“I cannot leave behind my people because I am tied to them by birth and blood, and I cannot forsake my friends because I am tied to them by honor.”
“But your friends are our enemies.”
“The Gicoks have always been my own people’s enemies.”
“Then you do doubly wrong,” he insisted.
“No. The Gicoks will not be our enemies much longer. Do you know what happened at the camp up the river? Do you know how they all died?”
“It is not interesting to me,” he replied.
“The Akarians killed them with treachery. Now the Akarians are the enemies of the Gicoks and my friend has sworn to kill them all, or as many as he can.”
Difsat laughed.
“One man against an empire,” he mocked.
“I don’t know how many the Akarians are, but I would not be one of them if they were a whole world full if it meant having such an enemy. The man is a warrior, brave, strong, and proud. There is no Akarian in this land who is now safe. And he is not one man alone.”
“There are other White Ones?” demanded Difsat, suddenly alarmed.
“I don’t know. What I meant is that he has me. What the Akarians did to your people, and now to his, they will soon be doing to my people.”
“Those who cast you out.” He was guessing. He watched her face for confirmation.
“And those who held me dear,” she answered with a nod. “Everyone is in danger.”
Difsat leaned forward, an anxious expression on his face.
“I will tell you something, newborn, and you must listen to me and understand. The Akarians are not just a few and not just many. They are multitudes. They are not a single race, but many races joined together under the dark-skinned ones. My people were many — a great empire covering many hills and wide, endless-seeming plains, but the Akarians were more. They are a whole world full. There are so many of them there is no more room for anyone else. That is why we had to flee, and even where we run they are there. Even in this land, given to us by the great spirits, they were here before us. How can you, a little woman, with no people, how can you even begin to be noticed by them, much less do them any significant harm?”
“It is true, Difsat,” she answered, “your people are not safe from the Akarians here. Only a matter of a day or two before you came an Akarian army was here. They slaughtered a whole people, and there is nothing to stop them from coming back.”
“That was not my question.”
“But it is true. You cut down trees and build dwellings. You burn areas and make room for crops. You cut canals for irrigation. You start a life here, and no sooner will it begin to take shape than the Akarians will come and do to you what they did to the White Ones. If they don’t kill you all, they’ll send you fleeing again and you’ll never be able to stop or rest…unless you stand and fight.”
“Then we will fight,” he told her, angrily. “We are not cowards. But we are weak now. We are tired and hungry and mourning the dead we know of and fearful for the friends and family separated from us. We need this rest before we can fight again.”
“I too need rest,” she told him, “and so does my friend. It is a difficult thing to lose everyone you love in one quick blow. But it is also horrible to know that your people are in danger. Even though you don’t know what you can do, you know you must do something. The Akarians could come back at any time. Any morning you might wake to the sound
of mothers screaming as their children are killed before their eyes. Are you ready for that?”
“How you speak!” he chided her. “You might make a good story teller. I could recommend you for that clan if you think you’ll stay with us.”
“The Gicok ghosts may still be restless. Do you believe me now?”
He nodded slowly. “I saw them dance,” he told her.
“They wish their deaths to be avenged.”
“But that means nothing to us. The White Ones and the Kolvas are not allies. We have been enemies since the beginning of this world. They are disgusting barbarians, living like animals without a home. They survive only by stealing what civilized people produce or, lately, by begging from Akarians. Such filthy beasts have no right to foul the earth.”
“They are proud and honorable warriors. Difsat, they are excellent fighters. And they know the ways of the Akarians — probably even better than your people do.”
“They did not know enough to save themselves,” he pointed out.
“They did not suspect treachery from their allies because they would not have betrayed their allies. That alone should make them allies worth having.”
“No,” he told her. “There is too much hatred between our people. Let the White Ones go and fight the Akarians if they want. When they have done all they can, and we are healed from the wounds which their people helped inflict, then we will fight our own war.”
“And you will fight it against a whole new generation of Akarians, young and strong where your people will be old and tired.”
Difsat laughed as if at the foolishness of a child. “You are young still,” he told her, “it will be many years before you can understand the art of war.”
A woman’s voice called from outside the door flap and the smell of freshly boiled meat and grain patties slipped through the tent to tease the people inside.
Difsat called his wife to come. She entered, brisk and cheerful, with two little boys and an older girl noisily following on her heels. The elder of the little boys immediately started talking, with animated gestures and excited eyes. He was telling the story, Jovai gathered, of adventures on the hunt. The little brother kept interrupting, wanting also to be part of the story. The older brother endured him with a patience Jovai found remarkable in one so young.
Meanwhile, the girl came beside Jovai. She touched her hair timidly, then quickly drew away. Her father turned on her angrily, and she answered him with words that were obviously not as meek as her manner would have suggested. Difsat laughed.
“Filani compliments you on your hair,” he told Jovai. “She would very much like to play with it if you would let her.”
“Play with hair?” asked Jovai, not sure that she understood.
“Braid things into it or shape it into styles. Our girls and women do that for each other. Don’t yours?”
Jovai shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She thought back, of the girls she had seen giggling and laughing together. “I guess they do.” She smiled at the little girl and nodded. “I would be pleased,” she told her in Kolvas.
The girl’s eyes lit, and again she reached out to stroke Jovai’s long hair. Yes, Jovai thought to herself, it felt good to be touched so.
The meal was simple but tasty and the conversation light. The children dominated most of it. Jovai did not understand the words but found herself happy at the sound of their voices. She felt awkward and unsure of herself, ignorant of the Kolvas niceties as well as their language, but the family chatted away happily and let her feel as if she were one of the crowd.
“You like my family?” Difsat asked her, seeing how her eyes sparkled.
“Very much,” she assured him.
“They are curious about you. I have told them I will bid with the other families to adopt you, but I’ve told them nothing else. They only know the general gossip.”
“And what does the general gossip say?”
“Many crazy stories,” he answered with a shrug. “There is one that you are a great warrior hero from our tales, returned to us now as he said he would return long ago. Some people say you are a spirit walking as a man to test us in our new home. There is even talk that you are a being from another world or a land farther away than we can imagine. But most people believe you are an escaped slave from the Akarians. We like crazy stories, but we believe the practical ones.”
Jovai saw the family watch her as she and their father spoke in the spirit’s tongue. Their gazes were frank. She met them with a smile and was answered by all with smiles. It felt very good.
After the meal, the family was ushered out again. Only the girl protested and argued to stay.
“She insists on braiding your hair now,” Difsat informed Jovai.
“I would enjoy that, if it is all right with you.”
“She promises not to listen, but she will,” he shrugged and told his daughter she could stay.
The little girl, with great solemnity, drew from a bag that was hers alone a beautifully crafted comb. She showed it to Jovai, holding it before her as if it were the finest piece of art in the world. With her eyes, Jovai traced the patterns carved into the wooden base of the comb. Someone had crafted it with great care and love, and there was a rightness in the way Filani carried it. It was hers — made for her probably — or else given to her by someone who loved her very much.
“You were supposed to take your name last night,” said Difsat to Jovai, “and so you have. Our people call you Latohva, Dancing Light, because of the way you wove the fire and the moonlight into your funeral dance. It is an honorable name. You can reject it if you choose, but then you must find your own name for yourself, and there will be many people who will still call you Latohva.”
Jovai winced in pain. Filani was now pulling at tangles in her hair that might have been there from birth for all she knew.
“I suggest you keep it,” Difsat continued. “Everything’s easier that way.”
“Yes. It’s a beautiful name,” said Jovai, wincing again. It was not a shaman name. There could be only small power in it at best. She was thankful for that.
“It is yours then, and you are ours, accepted by us as one of our own. The decision is yours if you want to stay or not. I’ll give you until the next full moon to decide — maybe even longer if you need it. Meanwhile, you can learn our language and get to know us better. When it comes time to choose a family for you everyone will have a better idea of where you belong.”
“Thank you, Difsat. And thank you for Gilix. She has been a very good teacher so far.”
At that the shaman frowned.
“You forget Gilix. It was a stupid idea of mine. I’ll find you someone better.”
“I don’t understand,” said Jovai. “What was wrong with Gilix? Doesn’t she want to teach us anymore?”
“She’s just too silly…”
“Is it because of last night?”
“It is because she does not teach you as you should be taught. You must learn not only our language but our ways, our structure, our laws. Instead of teaching you our laws she helped you break them.”
“How was she supposed to stop me?”
“She did not have to stop you, but she shouldn’t have helped you.”
“Then it is because of last night!”
“You could not know or understand, but she did.”
“Is she in trouble?”
Difsat shrugged.
“Bad trouble?” pressed Jovai.
“With an unmarried woman, trouble is always bad trouble. There are men who might have been husbands who will not want her now, but the world is wide and full of men.”
“What is her punishment?”
“It is not your concern.”
“How do your people punish a girl who follows her conscience instead of your judgment?”
“The law is made to protect the people. One who breaks the law betrays her people. How would you punish a traitor?”
“But no harm came of it…”
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br /> “Who knew what harm might have come of it? I knew better than she and she ignored me. It is my right to execute her. I could have her tortured to death. In a generous mood, I could merely exile her.”
“What did you do?” demanded Jovai.
“I like the girl. I have her shunned until the next full moon.”
“What does that mean, ‘shunned’?”
“It means no one will talk to her or hear anything she has to say or share food with her or touch her or help her or accept her help. It means that, although she can live among us still and claim her ration of food, in all other ways she no longer exists to us.”
“That is cruel!”
“That is nothing! A month is nothing! You are willful, Latohva. Do you think I haven’t seen? In times like these, a people need to stay together, to work together, to put the community first, before the self and to bow to the wisdom of those older and wiser. It doesn’t matter if what she did caused harm or not. What matters is that it could have. What matters is that the next time one acts in selfish pride like that it could mean the destruction of all our people. She has only one month of her life taken away from her — just a little time to think about what danger she might have caused. And in that time no one will acknowledge her. You will not acknowledge her, or your punishment will be far worse. This is our law, Latohva. If you will be one of us, you will accept it!”
Jovai bit her lip and lowered her head. She felt swept by a sudden fury, followed by guilt that her actions had caused this punishment for Gilix. Then lastly her heart was filled with shame.
“You are right, Shaman,” she said at last. “You are wiser than I, and I should accept your law. Please forgive my irrational anger.”
“We will see,” said Difsat, coolly. “I believe her punishment will be yours as well. I like you. I hope you can endure.”
Filani stepped between them and lifted Jovai’s chin to inspect her work with a critical eye. For a moment, she looked more like her mother than her father, but when she turned to Difsat and smiled, she was his child without a doubt. She said something to him in Kolvas, and suddenly he was laughing again.