The Serpent Dreamer
Page 32
“We will see what it means,” Hasei said, “but I will agree to it anyway. And you, Lopi-ka, you agree to it also.”
Lopi twitched; his good hand went to the arm bound against his side. Faskata stood behind him, between him and the waiting, watching men. Lopi’s face smoothed out suddenly, as if he sucked all his feelings inside.
He said, “I agree. We shall see what it means.”
“Now we’ll go into the village,” Hasei said, and the women stepped aside, to let them in the gate.
Ahanton got the baby from Sheanoy and took her back to the little round lodge. When she got there Corban was sitting in the sun in front of the lodge, his beard all tangled in with his hair, and his red and blue cloak spread under him.
She sat down next to him; she wondered if he knew of the dream. It seemed impossible he did not know. She watched him through the corner of her eye for signs of that.
He saw nothing save the baby. He reached out and took her, careful of his bad arm, lifting her into his lap. She gurgled at him. Still small, she was lively, sat up at once on his knees, and reached out with a soft intense bleat to take hold of his beard.
Ahanton said, “They have made Hasei the new sachem.”
“Good.” Corban said, and his head bobbed. “More poets should be kings.” He laughed down at the baby’s face, and she laughed back.
Ahanton said, “They have made Lopi something else, I did not understand it. Something about the war band.”
Corban grunted. He put his hands out, and the baby took hold of them and tried to draw herself to her feet.
Ahanton said, “Is that good?”
“Good,” Corban said. “What word is that? People made it. Nothing people make is all the way good.” He shot her a quick look from under his brows. “If they make it what they all want, it will work. Not for long.”
Ahanton said, “But how can we be sure of it, then? What will happen to us?”
Corban lowered his hands, the baby clinging to his fingers. “Why are you asking me this? How can I know what hasn’t happened yet? Who is sure of anything, and also right? Would it make it so different if you knew what was to happen? Tell me what’s important. What is her name? And where is Epashti?”
Ahanton said, “Her name is Blessing. Epashti is down by the oak tree, making sure the men don’t fight.”
“Aha.” Corban bent over the baby. “That’s very apt.” He bent to the baby again, laughing. Ahanton sat back in the soft warmth of the sun and shut her eyes and slept.
CECELIA HOLLAND is widely acknowledged as one of the finest historical novelists of our time. She is the author of more than twenty novels, including The Angel and the Sword, Jerusalem, Lily Nevada, and The Kings in Winter. Holland lives in Humboldt County, in Northern California, where she teaches creative writing. She is working on a new historical novel.