Sand and Ash

by D. Moonfire

joined in the laughter.

  “Poor Jìmo, but he could never take a hint, could he?”

  Not feeling anger, Rutejìmo glared at both of them. He listened to them and began to second-guess leaving Mapábyo and the valley. He knew she loved him and it tore him in half to know she would be devastated by his disappearance.

  “So, where did he go wrong?”

  Rutejìmo tensed at Pidòhu’s question.

  Chimípu leaned forward and snatched two of the bottles of milk. Sitting back down, she shook her head. “He never went wrong. He really was doing the right thing.”

  Pidòhu grasped a bowl of soup, pushing one of the bottles of milk toward Rutejìmo as he did. He grabbed another and rested it on the tip of his knee. “Then where did we go wrong?” Setting the bottle down, he picked up the bowl again and slurped from it.

  She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. Every night, I ask myself that same question. We should have shown we loved him, I should have stood up to Desòchu more often when the blowhard started ranting about the Shimusogo Way.”

  “Great Shimusogo Desòchu was doing what he thought was right.”

  “Yes, but Rutejìmo is my little brother now.”

  Pidòhu held up his bowl. “Mine too, you know. I love him with all my heart.”

  Chimípu nodded and held up her bottle. “To Jìmo, may he live forever.”

  Grabbing his bottle, Pidòhu held up his own. “To Jìmo.”

  They held their bottles up for a long moment before Rutejìmo realized they were waiting for him. Fumbling, he grabbed his bottle and lifted it. He said nothing, but when the other two drank deeply, he brought his bottle to his lips.

  With a tear in his eye, he realized they were suffering as much as he was. And, there was no way he could ever leave them. They all had to play their parts out for the year.

  He drank in a silent toast to himself.

  Shifted Opinions

  You change in an instant. You grow over time.

  —Proverb

  She was back a month later, but only for a week. In that time, Rutejìmo’s despair had eroded under Chimípu’s and Pidòhu’s tactful companionship. But as much as he appreciated his friends’ company, he missed Mapábyo more than he thought possible. He couldn’t even consider leaving her anymore and struggled with the guilt of making the decision in the first place.

  The night after she returned, she was invited to her parent’s cave for dinner. Rutejìmo joined her, since his invitation was tactfully given. He remained silent as the dead and tried to stay out of all of their way to simply enjoy their presence.

  “I see you,” whispered Mapábyo, her voice too low to be heard by the others in the main room of Hyonèku’s and Kiríshi’s cave. Her shirt, a ruffled orange with the laces parted enough for him to see the tail of the tattoo on her breast.

  Mapábyo came out of the eating area with a platter of food.

  Stepping to the side, Rutejìmo pressed his back against the stone opening. A thrill coursed through his veins. He slipped further into the kitchen so she could finish bringing dessert out to the others.

  Mapábyo set down the tray, and her left hand automatically went to her belly.

  Rutejìmo’s heart beat faster in his chest, and he smiled broadly. Mapábyo’s monthly cycle was two months late, and already the signs of pregnancy were beginning to show, though only for those who knew to look. He was excited and terrified at the same time. Rutejìmo was about to be a father. The child would be born around the same time he would be allowed to rejoin the clan. Neither he nor Mapábyo knew how the news would be taken, so they decided to keep it quiet as long as possible.

  Kiríshi reached over to start serving dessert. She bumped against Mapábyo’s elbow.

  Mapábyo jerked and pulled her hand away from her belly and grabbed a fork. She smiled sheepishly.

  The central area had been cleared out for a large table. There were five chairs set out, but six plates on the table. Gemènyo and Faríhyo sat at one end; Hyonèku and his wife sat at the other. In the center was Mapábyo’s spot across from an empty spot for Rutejìmo, though no one ever admitted verbally to his position.

  The clan gave him a short respite by giving him no new tasks for a few days, but he continued to perform the duties that he already had. Looking around, he spotted a bucket with the remains of dinner. He picked it up and headed outside to the garbage heap.

  He jogged to the entrance of the valley while enjoying the cool air. There, a small pile of refuse and inedible food gathered for the night; he would deal with it in the morning.

  He stopped to set down the bucket next to the pile. A breeze kicked up around him, sending sand cascading over his feet. He kicked it off and turned back to the valley, his home.

  The two banners to Shimusògo fluttered in the wind, the heavy cloth rippling in the dark. The names glowed brightly from magical thread that took almost two years to adapt to the resonance of the valley before it could be brought home. From a distance, it looked like the words were burning.

  Above the sixty-foot banners was the lookout perch. At night, the netting protecting the sheer drop was invisible, but he could see the short metal rods sticking out of the cliff holding it in place.

  At the edge of the lookout stood Kiramíro, the eldest of the clan warriors. Next to her was the newest, the teenage girl who Rutejìmo chased off the shrine a few months ago. They were too far away for Rutejìmo to hear, but he could see Kiramíro miming cutting someone’s throat.

  He shuddered at the casual violence and headed back into the valley. His bare feet echoed loudly in the quiet. He followed the flickering lights and headed up the trail leading back to Hyonèku’s cave.

  Desòchu slammed him against the wall, his rough hands punching Rutejìmo right below the ribs. He brought his knee up to slam it into Rutejìmo’s groin.

  Rutejìmo tried to scream out, but the impact against the stone drove the air out of his lungs. The pain ripping through his nerves caused lights to explode across his vision. He gripped Desòchu’s wrists, but the tense muscles were too strong for him to push Desòchu away.

  “I will kill you, corpse.” Desòchu’s alcoholic breath washed against Rutejìmo’s face. His hands ground into Rutejìmo’s chest, the magic rippling off his body in waves of heat and light.

  Struggling to breathe, Rutejìmo shook his head.

  “You are dead to me, but you continue to be an irritation.” Desòchu’s hands slid up to Rutejìmo’s neck. “You are a poison, a rot. You are sickness and no one else sees it.”

  Rutejìmo tried to push him away, but couldn’t stop his brother.

  Desòchu gripped Rutejìmo’s neck, squeezing tightly. “You were supposed to take the easy way out, the way you always do. Or sit there and sob like a worm. But you keep coming back, no matter—”

  Gemènyo cleared his throat. A breeze washed over Rutejìmo, kicking up a few grains of sand to pepper his legs.

  Desòchu released Rutejìmo and stepped back. His eyes slid away from Rutejìmo to focus on Gemènyo and Kiríshi. A low growl rumbled in his chest.

  The two adults were standing next to each other, their clothes fluttering with wind and Kiríshi’s settling into place.

  “What are you doing here?” snapped Desòchu.

  “Oh, just enjoying a little stroll with my wife. You know what—”

  Desòchu’s face purpled. “Kiríshi isn’t your wife!”

  Gemènyo turned to Kiríshi with mock surprise on his face. “You aren’t!?”

  “No, I’m not.” Kiríshi rolled her eyes and smirked. Under her words, there was a hardness that Rutejìmo had never heard before.

  “Want to be?”

  “With your pipe?” Kiríshi made a disgusted look. “I’d rather sleep in the garbage. I still don’t know how Ríhyo can stand you.”

  Gemènyo stepped back, his hand on his chest and a dramatic look of horror on his face. “Oh, Great Shimusogo Kiríshi, you wound me!”

  “No,” she
said, “your wife is going to wound you if you make that offer again.”

  Desòchu snarled. “Stop it! Stop joking!”

  Kiríshi turned on Desòchu and gave him an innocent smile. “Stop what, Great Shimusogo Desòchu?”

  “Stop protecting him!”

  “Gemènyo? He doesn’t—” Kiríshi said tensely, the muscles in her neck tightening.

  “You know who!” Desòchu’s bellow echoed against the stone walls. The echoes reflected down the valley, breaking the silence.

  Kiríshi stood up straight, her face turning hard for a moment. “I’m doing what’s right.”

  Desòchu stepped up to her, his body igniting with flames. “No, you aren’t. He’s dead! Dead to you, dead to me, dead to everyone!”

  She didn’t flinch. Instead, she stepped up to him until the flames licked her skin and her hair began to curl. “That doesn’t mean we forget him.”

  “That isn’t the Shimusogo Way!”

  “Yes,” Kiríshi snapped, “it is.”

  She pulled her hands back and slammed them against Desòchu’s chest. The impact shot through the air, but Desòchu didn’t move. She pulled back and did it again, this time pushing him back an inch. “This is our way because we say it is.”

  Hyonèku, Faríhyo and Mapábyo raced up. The currents of air spiraled around everyone’s feet, kicking up dust devils.

  Desòchu shook his head and stepped back. “No, it isn’t. He is corrupting us, even… from death!” He pointed at Mapábyo, his finger shaking. “You’ve seen what she’s doing because of him. She wore that tooth around her neck, just like him. She’s marked her body like that horse bitch. Everything he