IGMS Issue 24

by IGMS

  He evacuated the village closest to the one the Sopatke had just burned and constructed several hollow mounds there. The most skilled hunter-warriors hid in these mounds and rubbed blue dye into their skin so that their appearance was strange and frightening.

  These men stayed inside the mounds for two days while Otter and the other war-chiefs fought small battles to harry their enemy and drive them into place. When a large group of Sopatke came to camp at the abandoned village, the warriors inside the mounds waited until the darkest hour of night and burst forth. They killed many men, some asleep and some paralyzed with fear, but they also made certain that several escaped to spread panic.

  That very night, Otter was meeting with the Sopatke war leader, Jhinn-alt, acting as if he were offering the man conditions for a truce. They were meeting on neutral land, a grassy pasture with a hill that allowed both parties to watch for ambush. Though it was the middle of the night, the full moon provided ample light to see by. Jhinn-alt was full of pride as Otter prostrated himself on the ground before him, begging him to leave the Ka-akin alone. The night sounds of crickets and frogs provided a background for his empty words.

  When a Sopatke messenger came with news of the "demons from the ground," Jhinn-alt grew very still. "You have planned this," Jhinn-alt said to Otter. "You seek to win this war by deception. If I had such little honor, I would kill you right now." He kicked at the ground as if he were scuffing dust in Otter's direction, a Sopatke insult. Then he turned to leave, motioning for the messenger and the five warriors with him to follow.

  That was when Whiteface emerged from the side of the hill.

  He had been hiding there in a small hollow where he could hear what was going on, but it looked as if he appeared from the air. He was painted blue as the other warriors had been, but special care had been taken to make him appear not as a man, but as a beastly spirit. Rows of shark teeth protruded from his mouth at different angles. They had been scrounged from necklaces and fishing hooks alike and tied atop his normal teeth. With sap, the ridged scales of an alligator's back had been stuck to his cheeks and brow, his arms, his chest, and his back. These protrusions were painted blue also, so that they blended in and looked as if they were part of his skin. A black snake had been killed and coiled around his neck so that the head hung down onto his breastbone, and he held in one hand a dead buzzard and in the other a dead turtle, shorn of its shell.

  Otter did not have to try very hard to act scared, for his son's appearance was gruesome indeed in the moonlight. When Whiteface spoke, Jhinn-alt trembled. "Who is this who tramples my ground?" said Whiteface in the Sopatke tongue. The Curers had mixed a vile drink that made his voice scratchy and inhuman.

  Jhinn-alt didn't answer, and Whiteface took a step forward. He raised the dead shell-less turtle, and slung it at the man's feet. The war leader jumped as it hit the ground wetly. "Seek your omens, Wise One," said Whiteface. "What does the turtle without a shell say of your future?"

  In Sopatke lore, the turtle without its shell was a sign of unnatural evil. It was said that a Sopatke would starve before eating turtle meat. Jhinn-alt said nothing though. He stood there as if rooted, the five warriors with him looking around wildly for other evil spirits. Behind them, the messenger who had witnessed the warriors bursting from the mounds turned wordlessly and ran away.

  When the man was gone and all was silent for several moments, Whiteface lifted the buzzard by one of its legs, causing the neck to dangle freely. "Seek your omens, Wise One. Who shall eat the flesh of the buzzard when it falls from the sky? Will its own kind devour it?" The Sopatke believed that buzzards harvested the souls of the dead along with their meat. When a buzzard itself died, however, the first spirit to arrive at the corpse could eat all of the souls the buzzard had taken and thus gain physical form. To kill a buzzard was to release a physical spirit into the world.

  Otter resisted the urge to smile and took a shaking step back instead. His son was performing perfectly.

  Whiteface let the buzzard slide from his grip and onto the grass. Jhinn-alt watched with wide eyes as Whiteface took a stone from his belt and smashed the buzzard's head. Whiteface raised the rock. "This stone is yours," he said to Jhinn-alt, stepping closer. "You have crushed the head of the buzzard and its blood is on you." Whiteface stepped closer still, and Otter braced himself to jump forward, his eyes on Jhinn'alt's knife.

  Whiteface held the rock in front of the Jhinn-alt's face. "Take it," rasped Whiteface.

  Jhinn-alt stumbled back from him.

  "Take it," Whiteface said, louder. But the war leader shook his head. All of his five guards had their spears pointed at Whiteface now, but the arms holding them were shaky.

  "Take it!" Whiteface shouted, and his voice cracked, making it a deathly shriek. Jhinn-alt was trembling now. He worked his knife from its sheath and threw it to the ground, motioned for his guards to do the same with their spears. When Whiteface held up the rock again, Jhinn-alt backed away with his empty hands up in front of him. He and his guards walked like that until they were a faraway speck entering the forest line and they disappeared from view.

  Otter waited until they were out of sight for a count of ten hundreds before he turned to his son and finally allowed himself to smile.

  In two days the Sopatke were completely gone from Ka-akin lands. When the people returned to the evacuated villages, they found that the Sopatke had broken their spears and piled them atop the burial mounds. There were also heaps of braided hair, cut from their heads to show the spirits their remorse.

  The Ka-akin had won the war. Otter's war, however, was not yet done. "See how my son has acted admirably," he said to the full council of chiefs and sages. They were assembled in the meeting house, a low building with an earthen floor and a peaked roof that reached all the way to the ground. Though the night was warm, a small fire burned and all of the men and women of the council sat around it. "He did what no other man could do. It was he who defeated the Sopatke."

  One of the sages objected to this. "It was your plan, Otter-in-the-grass," she said.

  "Yes," agreed one of the war-chiefs. "You planned this in all its aspects. It was not the work of this boy. He was simply saying the words you put into his mouth."

  When the war-chief said this, Otter fought down a wave of panic. After all he had accomplished, would they still deny his request for his son? "Without knowing the language, he would not have been able to do as he did," said Otter. "Jhinn-alt would have seen him for a fraud."

  "And who taught him the language?" asked the Eldest chief. An enemy warrior had tried to scalp Eldest once and there was a faded scar across his forehead under his gray hair.

  "I did," said Otter, "but it was his quick mind that allowed him to learn it, the mind given him by the ancestors. He knows other languages too."

  "And why teach the boy these languages in the first place if not to go against the ancestors?" said Eldest. "A white needs no such knowledge."

  Otter had been thinking about this very night for over thirteen years. His heart pounded with fear, but he was ready for their questions. "I taught him the languages of the surrounding tribes so that he might better train the slaves of war that work alongside the unclean."

  Eldest shook his head and laughed in response. "Do you think you will fool us Otter? Do you think you are the only one with wisdom in him to discern when he is being led along? We know what you seek for your son. Your intentions are plain to us. Why not ask what you will, and wait on our response?"

  Otter took a deep breath to keep the words from gushing out of him. "You must see now that without an ambassador who knew the customs of the Sopatke, we would have perished at their hands. And yet when I die, who shall replace me? If you wait for another child to choose three colors it will not happen. Why not let my son take this position? Let him abandon the work than any man can do, and instead become an ambassador."

  One of the war-chiefs whose sons had all chosen blue and become crafters stood up, brushing his hea
d against the sloping thatch of the ceiling. His name was Blood-in-his-eyes, for when he was a baby he had a sickness that made his eyes red, and when he had chosen red as his color, the sages said the sickness had been a sign. "What you are asking is shameful and full of pride," said Blood-in-his-eyes. "I will not put my smile on it. We are not the Sopatke with their all-powerful Chieftain, or the Shell-people with their dynasties. And what insures this but the dyes? To change your son's color would destroy our whole society."

  Several in the meeting house agreed with him, and Otter rushed to defend himself. "Who then shall I teach the ways of an ambassador? Shall I teach you and keep you from the task you have been given? Shall I choose a peace-chief and take him away from governing his village? Or perhaps I should take a sage, and steal his counsel away from the people while I show him how to make battle plans and calculate trade agreements?"

  "Better that then spurning the dyes just so your son can have a job you approve of," said Blood-in-his-eyes.

  "This isn't about what I approve of," said Otter. "It's about what the tribe needs. And it needs another ambassador."

  Blood-in-his-eyes spat on the ground in front of Otter's crossed legs. "What of my firstborn? Shall I take his grinding bowl away and clean the dye off his hands and give him a spear? Will we call him a hunter-warrior then? Will we allow him to reenact the ceremony of the dyes as an adult, picking any color he desires?" The man turned in a circle, facing all the gathered chiefs and sages. "Would such a thing be fair in the sight of our ancestors?"

  Otter fought down rage. Blood-in-his-eyes had five sons and three daughters to carry on his line, and he spoke of fairness? How would he feel if he just had one son and him a white?

  Otter kept himself from displaying his anger. It was always better to appear as the calm one in negotiations. Being the tribe's ambassador had taught him that.

  "And where will the ancestors go if we all die because we are unwilling to change?" said Otter. "What will become of them?" He let the question sink in. This was the high point of his argument. "The ancestors need us as we need them. Without us they will be forgotten, their mounds grown over with palmettos. They need us to live and prosper. To do that there must be another ambassador to take my place when I die."

  "We do not know that," said one of the sages.

  "Don't we?" said Otter. "Could we have faced the Sopatke any other way? Could we have withstood their numbers?" Otter scanned the faces around him. "I tell you, when I chose my colors, nobody knew how to respond. The council picked the role for me that was best for the tribe. Will you now not do the same with my son, who has likewise shown himself to be exceptional?"

  Silence. Then everybody was talking at once. Eldest had to stand up to quiet them down. "We must debate this new teaching," he said to Otter. "But we must do so without you present to sway us one way or another."

  "But how can I defend myself if --"

  "You have presented your case Otter-in-the-grass," said Eldest. "Now let us discuss it."

  Otter left the meeting house that night with great fear in his throat. He had done all he could, and now there was nothing left but to wait. For two whole moons he waited. The chiefs spoke on the matter of his son whenever they met, but they refused to tell Otter of their progress.

  It came to pass though, that the chiefs reached an agreement. There would be a new color added to the circle for ambassadors, a mixture of green and blue that would be placed behind even the rare colors so that a child must reach over them to get to it. And when Whiteface entered manhood at the age of fourteen, he would be allowed to choose that color and be an ambassador himself.

  The pronouncement was made at night, as all important announcements were, and Otter rejoiced greatly. His wife, Lake-bloom, rejoiced as well, saying "the ancestors have surely heard our cry. Our line will continue."

  Whiteface himself seemed stunned at the news. As Otter and Lake-bloom prepared a special meal, he walked away into the forest. Otter let him go so he could come to terms with his new role in the tribe. There would be time to celebrate with him later. In the meantime, Otter and Lake-bloom prepared a great feast and many congregated around their chikhee.

  The next day Otter woke early, eager to see his son. Whiteface, however, was not at home. Otter didn't find him until midday, and when he did, Whiteface was among the corn, pressing feces into the ground with his hands.

  "Son," said Otter, "you no longer have to dirty yourself with work such as this."

  Whiteface didn't look up. "I don't have to," he said.

  His emphasis was strange. "Then why are you doing it still? You can set aside these tasks. The ancestors have rewarded your diligence. You have new tasks now."

  Whiteface muttered something that Otter could not make out. "Son?" asked Otter.

  "Nothing," said Whiteface, reaching into a wicker basket for a handful of filth and pressing it down into the ground so that it squished between his fingers. Why was he acting so strange? The pronouncement must have shaken him. He was reverting back to this because this was familiar to him and he was scared of the strange new life ahead.

  "Come son, purify yourself, and then we will catch fish and have a meal. We can talk about your new place in the tribe and ease your fears." Whiteface picked up his basket and moved to the next stalk of corn. "I know it's strange to have this new direction, son, but it's not as if you are unprepared for it. Look at how you dealt with Jhinn-alt. He will never threaten our lands again, and you are the reason for that."

  Whiteface ignored him, continuing to work feces into the soil at the base of the corn plants. Whiteface went through moods like this occasionally, and they always annoyed Otter. How could you help somebody if they were not willing to talk to you? "Speak to me son. Your silence is disrespectful."

  Whiteface said something as he picked up his basket and moved to the next corn stalk, but Otter missed it. "Speak clearly," Otter said.

  "I said: good."

  "Good?" Otter asked, but his son was once again kneading the soil, his head down. "You are making me angry, son," said Otter. "Stand and speak to me as a man."

  Whiteface bolted to his feet then and his face was full of anger. "I said: good. I am glad you feel disrespected. Now you know how I feel."

  Otter reeled back at the sudden outburst. What was this? "How do you feel disrespected?"

  Whiteface laughed then. "You can ask that question? You, who dressed me as a monster just so you could feel proud of me? You, who represented me in front of the council without even asking my opinion on the matter? How can you be so careful to avoid disrespect with other tribes and not see how you disrespect your own son?"

  Otter didn't understand these accusations, these biting words. How could his son speak to him so after all Otter had done?

  "You still don't see it do you?" said Whiteface, gesturing wildly with a hand so that a wet glop of feces flung off his fingertips. "You have heaped dishonor upon me and you don't even see! I chose a color and I accepted it, but you didn't. You never have."

  Someone had been putting ideas in his head, probably his tutor, Egret. Otter calmed himself. "Is it dishonor to want my son to have a wife, a family, a happy life? Is that dishonor?"

  "It is dishonor to make my choice for me," said Whiteface.

  "You are only a boy," Otter said. "My boy."

  "Not for long," said Whiteface. "Three moons and I will be a man. I will make my own decisions. And I will choose to honor the ancestors. I will choose white."

  "Son, let us calm down and speak of this with reason."

  "No," said Whiteface. "No. You use reason like a spear, goading people where they do not want to go. It may have worked with Jhinn-alt and with the council, but it will not work with me. There is no space left for reason. My decision is made."

  Otter's calm broke then. "I will not let my only son be castrated because he chose the wrong color as a child."

  "But you will let the sons of others be castrated? It's suitable for someone else's son but n
ot for yours? And who says it's the wrong color?"

  "But the ancestors would not choose to --"

  "Who are you to say what the ancestors would not do?" said Whiteface. "Are you in the ground with them to hear their words? Do you know their thoughts? No?Then look at me and tell me why it is you hate me so much, why it is you never speak my name, calling me 'son' or 'my boy' instead of 'Whiteface.' Tell me why you look down on the color I chose, look down on my place in the tribe. Tell me these things, Father, because I think this has nothing to do with the ancestors. I think this is you wanting me to be a great chief, so you can brag about me to your friends. Well, I'll tell you now, I'm not going to be an ornament in your ear. I won't be a tattoo, spread across your skin to tell of your great deeds. I'm not going to let every other boy that chooses white be castrated while I walk around taunting him with my very presence. I'm not going to do it and you are not only a bad chief for asking me to, you're a bad father."

  The words tore into Otter's flesh like arrows or knives or the teeth of an alligator. A bad father? A bad father for wanting the best for his son?

  Otter forced himself to take a deep breath, then another. He walked over to Whiteface and put his hands on his shoulders. They would calm down and they would get to the bottom of this and all would be well.

  "Son," said Otter, "listen to me for just a moment."

  Whiteface shrugged out from under his hands. "I'm done listening," he said. "I'm not a child any longer."

  "Then listen as a man." Otter replaced his hands on the boy's shoulders, but Whiteface batted them away, spattering Otter's arms with filth.

  "You think I don't know what my decision will mean for me?" asked Whiteface. "You think I can't see the consequences?"

  "You will never have children," Otter said. "Never. Do you know what that's like? You will work and work and work, and when you die you will leave nothing behind."

  "I know tha--"

  "No you don't. You don't know what it's like. You are young and having children seems like a responsibility better left to others. But will you feel like that in five years? In ten? Or will you think back to how you had a chance at a family and you gave it up forever? Don't you see? That's what you have now, a chance. Take it."