by Brian Braden
She glared at Sana, all softness vanished. “I overheard Atamoda say you threw your daggers into the sea.”
“I am now Lo,” Sana said defiantly. “I will be a patesi-le, an Isp.”
“Did you not hear anything I just said? Tossing away your daggers was stupid, the act of an emotional child.”
“That was my choice, and none of your business.”
“Is living your business? Do not let my people fool you. The Lo can be as vicious and cruel as any. Take it from one who has suffered a lifetime under their torments. Aizarg doesn’t need a Lo girl spouting mercy; he needs a woman with an edge as hard and sharp as a Scythian blade.” She poked Sana’s belly. “He needs Setenay’s granddaughter!”
Kirabol removed her shawl and unrolled something from a bulge in its middle.
“When you’ve spent as many years alone as I have, you think. I’ve prayed to the gods not to think so much. I’ve often wondered why some lead a life full of blessings and others are cursed through no fault of their own. Sometimes these thoughts make me angry, but I think them anyway. And sometimes I wonder why the gods give fools so many second chances.”
She withdrew a rolled leather strap with four daggers protruding from the ends.
Sana inhaled.
“These were your grandmother’s. She gave them to me the night before she departed for the Council of Boats. She never said it, but Setenay knew she wouldn’t return. I asked what she wanted me to do with them. She said I would know.”
Kirabol held them out and removed the Black Blades first, each with a slender, unadorned hilt. “You know their names, their purpose is well known.”
Then she pulled forth two Silver Blades, their thin shafts and bone handles indicative of Scythian craftsmanship. “Setenay called these...”
“Hope and Mercy,” Sana gasped. “Setenay was a Scythian queen. She carried a fifth blade. Tell me you have it!”
Kirabol grinned and withdrew a cloth-wrapped dagger from somewhere in her dress, and held it up. She slowly revealed a weapon unlike the others.
“Here.” She handed the large dagger to Sana hilt first. “If you know of it, then you know it has tasted blood.”
“Scythian blood.” Sana took the unexpectedly light weapon. “It’s called Sacrifice.” She turned it over, studying the holy blade; a weapon clearly not crafted by Scythian hands. A golden, serpent-like creature formed the hilt, which wrapped partway down the blade. The blood red metal blade, neither iron nor bronze, gleamed even in the darkness.
Kirabol returned the four other blades to the thong and rolled them up. She thrust the bundle at Sana. “They are rightfully yours. You will need them, perhaps sooner than you expect.”
Sana took them.
“Of all the people in the Minnow Arun-ki, Kus-ge was the cruelest to me. Setenay wouldn’t say her name if she didn’t have to, preferring to call her the Snake. She tried desperately to prevent her marriage to Ba-lok.” She snorted. “He’s endured the Eviscare, though not in the way I did. I think Setenay still held hope for him. And don’t forget, Scythian, Ba-lok is the only blood relative you still possess.”
Sana wrapped the thong around her thigh, not even attempting to conceal the blades under her loin flap. For a brief moment, she worried the thong may be too long or too short, but it tied perfectly, as if tailored just for her.
Too large and ungainly for the thong, she briefly wondered how Setenay carried Sacrifice.
“Thank you,” she said.
Kirabol cackled. “I give her a burden greater than she can imagine, and she thanks me!”
“These...” Sana held up the red blade. “...are sacred. You’ve honored me.”
“If you say so. If you want to thank me, make me a promise.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t go throwing them in the water.”
Sana smiled.
“And be a good Isp. Protect Aizarg. Protect the children. Don’t let Kus-ge hurt them.”
“I will, I promise.”
Kirabol’s shoulders sagged, and her head dipped, as if an enormous burden had been lifted.
Sana whirled about and took a few steps toward the canopy and the dim brazier light. “I want to see it in the light to see if it glows like fire as the legends say!”
“Dawn is coming, and your wedding,” Kirabol’s depleted voice whispered behind her. “Perhaps the rain will end today.”
Lighting flashed, and the dagger answered with a ruddy glow.
“I hope the children see the sun again.” Kirabol sounded weaker.
Sana briefly thought she should get the old woman out of the rain, but the blade captured her attention. “There is something familiar about the knife,” Sana called over her shoulder. “Something I’ve seen before.”
The glowing blade teased her, its truth hovering only a few inches from Sana’s grasp.
“It’s cold. So cold,” Kirabol croaked. Sticks on the storm wall snapped as Kirabol stood up. “I don’t think the sun will be waiting for me this time.”
Sana held it closer to the firelight, but needed more light. “Come, Kirabol...” She turned, but the Minnow woman had vanished.
Sana rushed to the storm wall in time to see a fox shawl slip beneath the waves.
44. The Wedding Barge
A chorus of cheers greeted the newlyweds as they emerged from the tent at dawn, their marriage consummated. A flotilla of boats and rafts laden with food, ropes, and heavy stones surrounded the wedding barge. Over the course of several days the clan prepared the wedding barge for the newlyweds’ journey.
First, they converted its heavy beams into the couple’s hut. The stones were used to sink and set the hut and dock pylons, the rest of the deck beams formed the floor and support posts. Family and friends brought more wood to finish the dock and ladder, as well as reeds for the walls and roof.
The wedding barge would always be with them, supporting them as they began a new family. They need only look under their feet or touch the walls to know they would forever be surrounded by their people’s love as they traveled together on the Longest Journey.
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
***
The sky still lingered gray as Atamoda supervised rearranging the Köy-lo-hely, reverting it to its original purpose. Today, it became a wedding barge once again. Aizarg’s stool now rested on the Supply Barge, and that is where she hoped it would stay. Atamoda wanted the canopies raised as high as possible to give the feeling of open air, but it only resulted in rips opening in the rotted portions and more rain leaking through. The patesi-le relented and instructed Okta and Ezra to restore the original pitch, which gave the barge a claustrophobic feel, but kept everyone dry.
Sana leaned against the mast with arms crossed, carefully watching the preparations. Atamoda eyed the four new daggers tied around Sana’s thigh. The mysterious red blade, larger than the rest, was secured tightly against Sana’s other thigh with a deerskin scrap. Another scrap, tightly bound, concealed the hilt. Sana would only say that they were once Setenay’s, but promised to tell Atamoda about her encounter with Kirabol after the wedding.
Okta stood beside her, arms crossed and tapping his foot impatiently. “There are only so many times we can rearrange an empty deck, patesi-le. It’s almost sunset.”
“It’s not ready. Something is wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it,” Atamoda replied.
Kus-ge strolled about, arms crossed, examining the deck. “I don’t think anything is missing. I think something is added.” She pointed to the Spine.
“That’s it!” Atamoda snapped her fingers.
Kus-ge smiled warmly. “And I have another observation, patesi-le. We should disperse the wedding party evenly across the barge, irrespective of clan.”
She stepped over the Spine to the Crane side and embraced Atamoda. “We’ve been divided for too long. Let this joyous event unite us.”
Atamoda didn’t know how to handle this new Kus-ge, the one who came to her in tears, apologizing f
or how she’d acted and begging for forgiveness. They talked on the Supply Barge until dawn. Kus-ge opened up to her about her own grief, the trials of being married to a man she didn’t love, and her fears about their survival.
Atamoda desperately wanted to believe Kus-ge’s intentions were genuine, but still harbored doubts. Those doubts were severely tested when Kus-ge showed up on Levidi’s raft with E’laa and Toma in hand.
She put their little hands in Alaya’s and departed without another word.
Kus-ge’s change of heart wasn’t as good as seeing the sun again, or the children’s bellies full, but it lifted the spirits of both clans nevertheless.
“Well then,” Atamoda exhaled with finality. “I suppose we’re ready.” She turned to Kus-ge. “Are you sure Ba-lok is comfortable proceeding with the wedding in the wake of Kirabol’s death?”
“Setenay cared for and loved Kirabol. I think both of them would want Setenay’s granddaughter to proceed with the wedding. We’ve all suffered so much; it’s time to make room for a little joy.”
Atamoda rubbed her neck and nodded. “As you wish.”
Sana snorted an icy laugh.
There will never be reconciliation between those two. That thought both gave Atamoda chills and left her frustrated. The hope of landfall, and if it were truly the Nameless God’s will, a promised land, sustained her people. Two patesi-le, two clans, at odds could destroy everything.
Atamoda took Sana’s arm. “Come. The wedding is almost upon us, time to prepare the bride.”
Kus-ge approached Sana, eyeing the blades around her thighs. “Let us not feud, sister. Forgiveness is Mercy’s silent sister, let us begin a new life without open wounds.”
Sana’s eyes narrowed as she turned away.
***
“I want to move everyone from my raft to the Supply Barge a day early,” Levidi whispered into Atamoda’s ears as they waited for the wedding ceremony to begin. “Do you and Aizarg mind the company?”
Atamoda shrugged. “Of course not, but why?”
Levidi grinned and nodded to Ghalen and Sana, who stood nervously side by side near the front of the Wedding Barge.
“Ah!” Atamoda laughed. “That is very kind of you. Yes, some privacy tonight might be nice.”
“Look at him. He’s terrified. I’ve never seen Ghalen afraid, even when the wave struck.”
Ghalen and Sana held hands and stared at one another as the crowd gathered. Ghalen looked pale, but Atamoda saw unmistakable tenderness in his eyes.
“If he passes out, I’ll never let him live it down.”
Alaya mockingly punched Levidi in the arm. “If he passes out, it’s because you’ve teased him unmercifully.”
“I didn’t tease him too badly.”
Alaya looked drawn and tired, but having E’laa and Toma, along with the wedding, clearly buoyed her spirits. Atamoda glanced at how well Alaya’s dress fitted.
She hasn’t lost as much weight as most of the women.
“Everyone else will move to the center rafts tomorrow night,” Levidi continued. “I’ll give Ghalen a day with his new bride before I drag him out of my boat and put him to work.”
“Shhh.” Atamoda held a finger to her lips. “Talk of work can wait. Let’s enjoy the wedding.”
A sense of peace and acceptance filled Atamoda’s soul, and she didn’t want anything to spoil it. They were alive and well enough to celebrate. That would have to be enough.
Even the rain seemed to cooperate. The downpour slackened to its lightest since the beginning of the Deluge. Aizarg said it was a good omen. Atamoda agreed.
Okta fretted about the deck like an old woman, shuffling people from the edges toward the raft’s center, contrary to the customary wedding party arrangement. Proper etiquette placed the couple and the patesi-le at one end, and the people at the other.
“We’re riding lower, the raft will be better balanced,” he had told Atamoda.
This ceremony lacks so many proper customs, one more change won’t matter.
As the presiding patesi-le, Atamoda had made many concessions regarding the wedding. Sana would have no beautiful wedding dress adorned with colorful shells and wildflower garlands. There would be no feast, or hut-raising tomorrow at dawn. After the wedding, there would be a night of bliss and then only survival awaiting the newlyweds.
It will have to be enough.
There were some areas, however, where Atamoda would not compromise.
Warmth, almost to the point of being uncomfortable, filled the spaces below the canopy. Atamoda demanded all the braziers be moved to the Wedding Barge for the ceremony, but Aizarg balked. Since the driftwood had vanished from the sea, the Lo had begun to burn the rotted hulls, and even those were beginning to run out.
“I want light!” she begged. “Please, for one night let us drive back the darkness and rejoice.”
Aizarg relented, and now the Wedding Barge blazed in the smoky glory of seven braziers. She knew they would have to hurry, as Aizarg only allowed enough reed bundles to complete the ceremony.
It isn’t home, but it will do.
Aizarg caught Atamoda’s eye. The time had come.
She took her place next to Xva, who hadn’t emerged from his boat in the days since Sahti’s death. Atamoda arranged for someone to always be with Xva, day and night, fearful he would throw himself into the sea out of grief.
Atamoda locked arms with him and rested her head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to be here, but I’m glad you are,” she whispered.
Xva looked down on her and managed a bittersweet smile. “I am Aizarg’s surrogate and Sahti loved weddings.”
Atamoda hugged his neck and pecked his cheek. “We love you.”
Aizarg clapped Xva’s back and stepped into the open area to address the people.
Okta took his place as Ghalen’s surrogate father. Kus-ge took her place next to Sana as her patesi-le. If Kus-ge’s role in the ceremony bothered her, Sana didn’t show it.
Ba-lok and Xva stood at the head of the raft, representing their Clans, while Atamoda would preside over the ceremony. Oddly, no official role existed for the Uros, as no one could remember a time when a wedding transpired in time of war. Aizarg thought it best they shouldn’t invent any new traditions. He would only say a few words before Atamoda officiated what should be a short ceremony.
Excited murmurs drifted through the crowd as Aizarg took his place before Ghalen and Sana. He kissed her on the cheek and hugged Ghalen around the neck.
Atamoda raised her hands and, except for a crying child and shushing adult, the crowd fell silent.
Aizarg rubbed the red orb on the staff, brow furrowed in thought as the rain drizzled on. As he often did before speaking, he paced in front of his people, everyone waiting for the Uros’s pronouncement.
In the bright light Atamoda finally got a good look at the Lo. Haggard and pale, their clothes sagged over gaunt frames. They were starving, but hope still flickered in their eyes. They still love Aizarg. They want to follow him.
They want to believe.
Aizarg cleared his throat. “Let us not say a prayer for tomorrow, it will only carry our fears to heaven. Those prayers are always answered with worry. Let us say a prayer for today, for those are lifted on wings of gratitude and will always be met with hope.” He stared as his hands. “My daughter said that. I thought it appropriate for today’s occasion.”
He paused and, for a moment, looked back at Atamoda. “Few of you met her, but by now most of you all know her story. Sarah’s spirit dwells among us in her brother, but it also lives in all who walked the g’an with me. It dwells in all the Lo, because she was one of us.” He turned to Sana. “She never gave up, and she never lost hope, even in the darkest moments.
“Her last moments were spent in joy.” He paused and raised a finger. “Let that be a lesson to us. Do not let joy die in your hearts. Keep it like a seed; nourish it beneath the cold soil of our suffering until the sun kisses it again.
; “We’ve endured so much pain, lost so many loved ones. Yet, in this moment we defy death. We defy pain. We defy the sea, and rain, and this damnable hunger gnawing at our bellies!”
He stood before the betrothed and rested his hands on the staff. “Through this wedding, we find new hope and lift up our gratitude on wings of joy.”
Aizarg returned to his place beside Ba-lok and Xva, but not before turning once more to his people. “The Nameless God decreed the sun will return. Whether joy returns, that is our choice.”
His last words reverberated more like warning than inspiration.
He nodded to Atamoda.
She looked at the braziers. A few had begun to wane. Atamoda took a deep breath and began to step forward, but Xva pulled her back, his smile kindled with genuine warmth.
“I will find my joy again, Atamoda. One day. Thank you for all you did for Sahti...and for me.”
She felt another burden lift from her spirit as she slipped from Xva’s arm and took her place before Sana and Ghalen.
Words. I only have to speak words, and they are married.
She had no sacrificial fish to burn, and they’re would be no prayers to Psatina. The brazier light would have to be enough.
Two of the seven were reduced to flickers.
What can I say that Aizarg has not already said?
A sudden impulse to hurry seized her, to pronounce them husband and wife and be done with it. Ultimately, the formation of a new family merely rested with her pronouncement. In the realm of the heart, the patesi-le ruled supreme.
Atamoda knew the marriage chant by heart, yet now felt the words were somehow insufficient.
Sana’s eyes were closed, mouth moving in some mysterious silent prayer.
“Please, Atamoda,” Ghalen pleaded. “I’d be joyful if we got this over with.”
Okta smiled warmly. “You better hurry,” he whispered. “Before the poor boy loses his nerve.”
Atamoda opened her mouth to begin the wedding chant when she caught Kus-ge staring at her.