by D. Moonfire
Gichyòbi, bowed deeply and said, “Thank you, Great Wamifuko Gichyòbi. I’m glad to be back to your home.”
The warrior stepped forward and bowed to the rest of the clan. “I am Gichyòbi. I speak for Wamifūko.”
Desòchu stepped in front of Rutejìmo. He bowed to the warrior. “I am Desòchu, and I,” he almost spat out the word, “speak for Shimusògo.”
“Welcome back to the city, runners of Shimusògo. Have all of you been to our city before?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will just remind you of the more serious rules.” The armored warrior’s face didn’t crack from its seriousness. “No magic of your clan is allowed within these walls. Reasons are unimportant, and your purpose is irrelevant. If you use magic, we will respond harshly and violently. Start a fight and we will simply kill every single one of you.”
Rutejìmo’s stomach twisted at the harsh threat. The last time he entered the city, he saw how violently the Wamifūko responded when the two men chasing him used magic within the walls. The sight of the eviscerated corpses burned themselves into his memories and nightmares.
“Jìmo,” whispered Mapábyo, “are you okay? You just paled.”
Rutejìmo clutched himself and nodded.
Desòchu shot a glare at both of them before returning his attention to Gichyòbi. “We understand.”
Gichyòbi stepped aside and gestured for them to enter the city. “Welcome to Wamifuko City. May you enjoy yourself in safety.” He winked as Rutejìmo passed him.
After they entered, Mapábyo leaned over and whispered, “What was that about?”
He ducked his head. “Nothing.”
Chimípu came up on the other side and clapped his shoulder. “So, you only had a little trouble with that delivery, huh?” She smiled cheerfully, although her fingers gripped the joint of his shoulder and sparks of pain ran up his neck.
Rutejìmo blushed even hotter. “There… might have been a few problems.”
“Boy,” it was an insult not to use his name, “did someone try to kill you again?”
He almost lied but then nodded. “Yes, Great Shimusogo Chimípu.” He kept his tone deferential, knowing his trouble.
“Did you at least…” Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “…thank Gichyòbi for saving your feet?”
Rutejìmo smiled and nodded. After the attack, he had treated Gichyòbi and his family to the best meal he could cook. The night started with him being deferential and humble, but after the third bottle of wine they were laughing together. The hours passed with slurred stories of epic failures on both of their parts. He focused on the present and looked at her. “Yes, Great Shimusogo Chimípu.”
Chimípu’s hand relaxed and she leaned into him. “It’s important, little brother, that you stay safe.”
Rutejìmo tensed and glanced over at Mapábyo who watched with a look of curiosity.
“I don’t want to lose you, okay?”
He turned back and favored her with a smile. “Yes, big sister.”
Chimípu smiled and stepped away. Rutejìmo followed her with his eyes then noticed both Hyonèku and Kiríshi watching him. The burn on his cheeks intensified, and he turned away almost running into Mapábyo.
Mapábyo giggled. “Careful.”
“Sorry.”
She smiled and shook her hair to knock out the sand and gravel. “It wasn’t that bad.” Her smile widened before her eyes lifted toward her parents. Then, she glanced away herself.
Desòchu stopped near a fountain in a square. He turned around, rubbing his neck. As the hours passed, the itching and rubbing would grow worse. The most Desòchu and Chimípu could remain in the city was a couple of days before the resonance grew too much to bear.
Rutejìmo didn’t suffer in the city like the others. His feeble magic created little resonance. It also made him ideal for deliveries and the endless wait for treaties to be negotiated.
Desòchu pulled his two water-skins from his belt. “Boy, fill these and meet up with us at Higoryo Inn.” He pointed to a large stone building a half block from the fountain. “Since you came in last, you’re paying for dinner.”
Rutejìmo tensed but kept the frown from his expression.
Mapábyo stepped forward. “I can help—”
“You,” interrupted Desòchu, “can do what I say and let him do his job. Go with your parents and get our rooms.” Desòchu glared at Rutejìmo. “Three will be sufficient. I’ll share one with the sluggard.”
Mapábyo’s lips pressed into a thin line but she nodded.
Feeling sick to his stomach, Rutejìmo bowed. “Yes, Great Shimusogo Desòchu.”
A heartbeat later, Mapábyo bowed herself and repeated Rutejìmo’s words. As Desòchu walked away, she turned to Rutejìmo. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Rutejìmo sighed and shook his head. “He’s right. I was last.”
Mapábyo rested her hand on his forearm. “Maybe, after dinner…?”
He looked into her dark green eyes, unable to read her expression from her face.
“… you’ll tell me what happened? With the warrior at the gate? I’d like to know.”
Rutejìmo felt a smile quirking his lip. He nodded.
With a soft giggle, Mapábyo reached up and pulled his pack from his shoulder. She hiked the bag over her arm and jogged after Desòchu, Hyonèku, and Chimípu.
He didn’t know why he smiled.
“That was nice,” said Kiríshi. She handed the rest of the skins over.
Rutejìmo’s smile dropped instantly. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“You might want to thank her, though.”
“What? Why?”
“She stood up for you again. She seems to be doing that a lot, don’t you think?”
He started to say something, then something heavy slipped off one of the water skins and into his palm. Another weight clinked on the first. Frowning, he freed his hand and held up his palm. It was pair of twenty pyābi coins.
“Ríshi?” Rutejìmo looked up with confusion. “What is…?”
Kiríshi was already walking away before he could finish his sentence.
He watched her disappear in the crowds. When she didn’t come back, he looked down at the coins and tilted his palm so they shifted to the side. Forty pyābi was a lot of money just to hand someone, even someone in the same clan. Normally, they bought little trinkets as gifts for others, but he rarely spent more than ten on a single gift. But Kiríshi also mentioned Mapábyo. Rutejìmo smiled a little to himself. He could get something for the young woman, if anything to show his appreciation for coming back when he struggled to reach the camp. And for standing up to his brother.
Pocketing the coins, he set out to fill the skins as quickly as possible. He knew the perfect place to buy a gift, but they closed at sundown.
Indecision
A difficult decision means there are more questions to ask.
—Kyōti proverb
Uncomfortably aware that he had been agonizing over the feathered combs for an hour, Rutejìmo couldn’t walk away. He had gotten his choices down to three pieces, each one as beautiful as the others. They were arranged on a cheap white cloth spread out over a splintered board that made up the stall’s counter. Unfortunately, despite staring at them for an hour he couldn’t choose one or even two of them.
He tapped the cloth next to the first choice, a white comb with bright red feathers. He pictured Mapábyo wearing it, though he felt an uncomfortable pressure around his heart whenever he imagined her in any detail.
“A lovely choice,” said the older woman behind the counter. Sitting on an old crate, she spoke in the same flowery tone that she greeted him an hour before and, somehow, that made him feel guiltier for taking so long. “It will look lovely in your pretty girl’s hair.”
Rutejìmo pulled back his hand. He didn’t have a girl. He didn’t even have a female friend beyond Chimípu and maybe Mapábyo. He wasn’t even sure why he was standing at the stall, trying to make a choice over jewelry. Kir
íshi’s words echoed in his mind and he shook his head to clear it.
The second comb, a plain-looking one with brown teeth and feathers that reminded him of Shimusògo, would have been the obvious choice for Chimípu. Over the years, he had given her little gifts to show his appreciation for saving his life or simply running slow enough for him to keep up. It was small and insignificant, but Chimípu kept every gift he had ever given her on the shelves in her cave.
His lips pressed into a thin line. Chimípu had become his big sister when Desòchu stopped treating Rutejìmo as a brother years ago. It still left a sour taste in the back of his mouth, a reminder that he wasn’t good enough for his sibling. The event at the fountain was one more example of how Desòchu continued to pull away from Rutejìmo and treated him as a stranger instead of family.
He glanced at his last choice knowing he would never buy it. For three years now, he had seen it on the old lady’s table. The dark colors of the comb contrasted sharply with the white cloth and the other combs. The black and blue swirls along the bone ended with a single feather tied at one end with horse hair. It was the colors of the night, which ensured that very few people would even consider purchasing it. Whenever he saw it, though, he thought of Mikáryo.
“Excuse me, Great Shimusògo.”
Rutejìmo looked up.
“We are coming to sundown, and I need to pack up soon.” She waved to the stalls around her, most of them already partially disassembled. There were only a few final shoppers left strolling through the lane. In less than an hour, the street would be empty and hollow.
He sighed. “How much again?”
Her hazy, green eyes