by D. Moonfire
bowed her head. “Yes, Great Shimusogo Tejíko.”
Rutejìmo realized he was struggling with his own emotions. He was a stranger to his own clan, terribly alone in the crowded room. He glanced to the others. Chimípu and Desòchu both were standing rock-still, but Rutejìmo could see Chimípu’s eyes glistening with her own emotions. His brother, on the other hand, frowned as he stood there with one hand on his knife.
Tejíko pulled Mapábyo closer, and the younger woman fell into her arms, sobbing.
“I’m sorry, I just love him! I don’t want to ever lose him!”
Rutejìmo listened as Tejíko comforted his love, saying soft words that he couldn’t hear.
Minutes passed as Mapábyo sobbed. Rutejìmo wanted to join her, to let the tears fall, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t make a noise; it wasn’t his place anymore. He turned away to leave, but Gichyòbi had blocked the exit to the room. The powerful warrior stared forward, pointedly not looking at Rutejìmo.
With a sigh, Rutejìmo stepped away and leaned in the shadows, watching as his thoughts and stomach turned sour. If Mapábyo returned home, he would remain alone. Despair loomed over him as he tried to imagine life without her presence, even once every few weeks. He didn’t know if he could do it.
He knew he would. Gichyòbi’s words came back. Rutejìmo didn’t give up.
Tejíko kissed Mapábyo’s head. “There, there. Things will be better when you get home.”
Mapábyo sniffed and wiped her face. She nodded, but Rutejìmo could see that all the energy had fled her. She sniffed again. “Yes, Great Shimusogo Tejíko.”
Tejíko smiled and slipped to the side as Hyonèku stepped up. “Why don’t you take your parents to your room? We’ll have dinner with Great Wamifuko Gichyòbi and his family. They no doubt want to hear about your journey.”
Mapábyo nodded, but briefly shot a glare at Gichyòbi who just snorted. “Yes, Great Shimusogo Tejíko.”
Rutejìmo’s heart broke as he watched Mapábyo shuffle toward the back rooms, her head hanging low and her feet scraping on the ground. She leaned into her father and he saw tears sparkling in her eyes.
“Oh, Pábyo?” Tejíko said suddenly, her voice almost cheerful.
Mapábyo jerked and turned. “Yes, Great Shimusogo Tejíko.”
The rest of the room tensed also. Rutejìmo noticed his brother’s lip pulled back in a snarl just as Chimípu began to smile.
“Take Rutejìmo’s cave as your own. If there is some solace in his death, you’ll find it there.”
Mapábyo stared at Tejíko with a confused look.
Rutejìmo frowned himself, trying to understand the sudden shift in tone and subject.
“I heard that the best place to grieve for your shikāfu is in their former homes. Legend says if you reach out, you can almost touch them.” Tejíko smiled and held up her hands helplessly. “I’d always want to think my two husbands, may Shimusògo run with them forever, were haunting my cave,” her voice grew tense again, “instead of running around some sand-damn city where we couldn’t protect him even if we wanted to.”
It took a long moment for Rutejìmo to realize what she was saying. He inhaled sharply and stood up straight, a smile starting to stretch across his face.
Mapábyo, on the other hand, looked confused as she turned to her mother and father and back to Tejíko. Then, like a flower unfolding, realization blossomed, and she let out another sob, this time a happy one.
“Of course,” Tejíko said in a hard voice, “if the dead feel the need to speak up or be seen, I’ll make sure their bones bleach in the sands. So, if you happen to hear your shikāfu, make sure you are somewhere quiet and private or we’ll think you’re destined for death yourself, do you understand?”
Mapábyo let out a cry and flung herself over to Tejíko, holding her tightly. “Thank you! Thank you, Great Shimusogo Tejíko!”
Gichyòbi grunted and left the inn, a grin on his face.
Rutejìmo smiled and sank to the ground. He clapped his hands over his mouth to muffle his own sobs of joy. He was going home.
Second Thoughts
Closeness makes a punishment worse. It is one thing for a stranger to cut you down, another for your own brother.
—Tomas Saldar, Dalak and the Giants
Rutejìmo trudged up to the cliffs that marked the valley entrance. A hum of insects greeted him. As he walked, he scratched his palm and worked at the countless splinters embedded in his skin. Other abrasions called for his attention, but he forced himself to focus on the splinters.
Two days of hauling the remains of the eating area had taken their toll. It would have been easier if the pieces of scrap had been large, but when the clan’s oven collapsed from age, it rolled over one of the valley’s mechanical dogs. The alchemical device that powered it exploded. Thankfully, the injuries from the explosion were minor, but the devastation took days to clean. It would have taken only a few hours if anyone else had helped, but no one offered to relieve him of days of backbreaking work.
He turned and looked back over the sands. Opōgyo, the last of the mechanical dogs of the valley, followed after him. Made of iron and almost as old as Rutejìmo, it moved with slow, shuddering steps. When the right foot landed, the knee joint spewed out a cloud of steam. Tiny wisps rose around the plate on its back, framing the square opening that led to the sensitive alchemical core that powered it.
Opōgyo wasn’t intelligent or fast. It went in whatever direction someone turned its head, followed obvious trails, and then stopped when anything stood in front of it. Twenty-five years of abuse had left it scarred and dented, but still useful.
He smiled for the briefest of moments, remembering when Mapábyo was a little girl and bouncing on top of it, trying to get it to move faster.
The smile faded quickly, and Rutejìmo trudged after the mechanical dog. He had been back at the valley for just under a month. Even though there were only eight months in a year, it felt like an eternity. Knowing there were five months left until he was no longer dead stretched out each day until he thought he would snap.
When he first arrived, he hoped life would settle into the comfortable flow he had in Wamifuko City. Instead, he wasn’t given a chance to rest or relax. He woke up to tasks waiting for him and went to bed exhausted. He spent his days cleaning, repairing, and hauling. Chores he hated as a teenager were heaped on him. What he thought was an annoyance became a burden when he worked from sunrise to sunset and then well into the night. His directions came from silent cues: a shovel against the door, tools by the gate, or the occasional picture pinned to the blanket covering the cave entrance.
He couldn’t speak or touch people, not without risking anger from Desòchu or Tejíko. Every unwitting grunt brought a glare from someone. Every labored breath forced the people he grew up with to turn their backs. The only time he dared whisper was in the bedroom of Mapábyo’s cave, until someone made note of strange sounds coming from her cave a few days later.
It was one thing to be ignored by strangers in Wamifuko City, but to be afraid of his own clan tore at his heart. Rutejìmo turned and stared out across the dark desert. He had hoped returning home would be easier, but it wasn’t. He was just alone, more so since he intimately knew the people ignoring him.
He considered returning to the city, not the first time he contemplated it in the last few days. While it would mean turning his back on his clan forever, it wouldn’t hurt as much as seeing family look away whenever he came near.
Opōgyo lumbered past and the ground shook. A burst of steam stung Rutejìmo’s leg.
He stepped aside to avoid being burned further.
Something dropped from the mechanical’s chest and rolled across the way to bounce off the far wall.
Shaking his head, he pushed himself off the road and padded across the way to pick up the gear that Opōgyo dropped. He took one last look at the desert and then headed back in to guide Opōgyo up to Pidòhu’s forge where the dog could recharge for the morning.
&nbs
p; As soon as Opōgyo thumped against Pidòhu’s door, Rutejìmo turned his back and jogged away. Even though his friend had bonded with another clan spirit, Rutejìmo couldn’t ask for shelter or even acknowledgment from him.
He ran along the back end of the valley, though it was the last direction he wanted to go. The clan shrine stood along the further point from the entrance. Light glowed from the windows and doorway. He could hear chanting from all the adults who had gathered inside. He could hear them singing a dirge for those who died that year.
Bitterly, he wondered if they would include him among the others who died. He ran faster along a dark trail, using his memory to tell him where it dipped and rose and turned. It was a familiar route now, after six weeks, and he couldn’t wait to return home to wait for Mapábyo.
He came up to the highest point in the valley just in time to see the moon clear the horizon. The bright orb appeared to loom over him, and he came to a stumbling stop.
Somewhere out in the desert, Mikáryo would be letting out a soft coo of pleasure with her powers awaking. He had seen it only a few times, but it still brought a smile to his lips when he thought of her. He remembered how she rejected him and his smile faded. He shook his head. Mikáryo had the right idea, at least. Stay in the desert and far away from all of the clans. He longed to be where she was, out where being a banyosiōu didn’t matter.
He turned away from the moon and back to the edge of the valley.