Authors: Brian Braden
“How can a leader listen to the hearts of his people if he is deaf to his own?”
– Conversations with the Uros
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
***
“Why?” Atamoda shouted above the roar.
“If we cannot control our food, we cannot survive.” Aizarg gripped his staff as if the wind would steal it away.
A fresh storm rolled in from the north, and with it a spectacular lightning display raged overhead. They leaned into the wind, enduring the pelting rain aboard the bow raft. She insisted they talk here, the only place in the arun-ki they could speak privately.
Why did he bring his staff here?
“You pronounce a punishment before a crime has been committed, and now you have no room for discretion.”
“There must be deterrents.”
“There must be compassion.”
“Unless the fish return, we will soon run out of food. We live on the edge. One slip and we will not make it. You must trust me in these matters.”
“Then trust enough to consult me!” Atamoda raised her voice, pointing toward the Minnow side of the Spine. “You consult with Ba-lok, but you have no time for me?
“I cannot always consult with you on everything. I’m trying to keep this arun-ki together!”
“I am trying to keep
our people
together,” she held her fist tightly clenched next to her chest. “And they are starting to tear themselves apart. Hunger may kill us, but distrust and fear will destroy us as surely as the strongest storm.” She slid closer to him and grasped his hand, careful to avoid the heat radiating from the staff. It felt like a third person, an interloper driving a wedge between them.
“Our people have never known famine. I must rule with absolute authority. Not only should my edicts be respected...” She saw doubt swimming behind Aizarg’s eyes with each lightning flash. “...they should be feared.”
She pulled away.
“Your edicts? Or your god’s edicts?”
She regretted the words the second they flew from her mouth. Aizarg’s head bowed, as if she’d placed another weight on his shoulders. Atamoda tried to keep the tenuous bridge between them open.
“The Nameless God doesn’t speak to my heart, though I wish he would. You still speak to my heart. I beg you, please talk to me. Let me carry some of your burden. Don’t shut me out.
“You no longer come to our bed. I miss you, and so do the children. The Nameless God spared us, yet you make no time for us. Levidi spends more time with the orphans than you make for Kol-ok and Ba-tor.
“You stare at the staff from nightfall till dawn. I am thankful to the Nameless God, but there are other voices,
loving voices.”
Aizarg leaned the staff against the pylon, reached out and took her hand. “The people are hungry. Fear begins to crawl along the decks like a water demon. Frightened people do things in the dark of night they would not do in the light. My rule must be firm.”
“Didn’t the Nameless God also promise the light will one day return?”
“He did.”
“Then rule firmly, but with
hope
.” Atamoda drew him close. “Save some hope for yourself.” At the edge of storm, sea and darkness, they sank to the deck in a lovers’ embrace.
***
Alaya had grown so used to E’laa and Toma, she couldn’t imagine life without them. Their little eyes heavy, she tucked the two Minnow orphans under the blanket.
“I don’t want to go to sleep,” Toma rubbed his eyes and yawned.
“Levidi is going to teach you a game tomorrow,” she whispered, “But only if you go to sleep.”
“What kind of game?” the boy asked.
“Levidi and Ghalen made a swing rope on the Supply Barge. Levidi swears it will swing all the way to the Köy-lo-hely, but told me he needs a brave boy to test it first.”
Toma’s eyes grew wide, and he tried to sit up. “I will test it! Please, let me try it.”
Alaya smiled. “I will tell him, but only if you go to sleep.”
Toma snuggled next to his twin sister, whose eyes were already shut. Alaya placed another blanket over the raven haired children and turned to join Levidi in the adjacent boat.
“Alaya,” E’laa timidly called after her.
Alaya turned to see deep brown eyes, loving and full of trepidation, peeking out from below the hem. “Will you lie down with me?”
Without a word, she curled up next to the child and placed her arms over the twins, drawing them to her bosom.
“Don’t leave us,” E’laa whispered.
“I won’t,” she said and prayed to the Nameless God the words would be truth.
Alaya listened to the rain and let the rocking deck sink into her bones. The children occasionally stirred at the nearby claps of thunder, but soon their small chests rose and fell in rhythm with the sea.
E’laa and Toma’s parents were snatched under by the demons while the twins looked on. Since then, they lived with the other orphans on the center rafts, taken care of by both Crane and Minnow women. Alaya felt herself drawn to them more than the other children. She developed a bond with them, to the point they began to eat and sleep with her and Levidi. Levidi welcomed the twins, treating them as his own children and giving them part of his own rations.
Atamoda promised her she would talk to the Uros about adopting the children. Alaya sensed hope fluttering in the darkness like a tiny moth, so fragile even a breath of joy upon its delicate wings may crush it. It gave her spirit enough light to find a song in the storm. She ran her fingers through E’laa’s long, midnight hair and began to hum.
***
They reclined in each other’s arms beneath the leading edge canopy, snuggling under a blanket Atamoda borrowed from a nearby Minnow family. Atamoda watched the lightning snake across the sky.
“You spend a great deal of time with the Scythian girl,” Aizarg said, the afterglow of their lovemaking loosening his tongue.
“I like her.”
“That’s natural, she saved our son.”
“I’m teaching her our ways. She’s already making rope and weaving. Alaya says Sana is good with the children, but...”
“But what?”
“Sana has secrets.” Atamoda rubbed the inside of her thigh. “She carries four daggers tucked in a band around her thigh, hidden under her loincloth.”
“It is the Scythian way.”
“I know, but it makes me uneasy.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“No, but I’m not sure I fully trust her yet.”
Aizarg paused for a moment. “Did she tell you anything about her past, about her parents?”
“She won’t open up, other than telling me about her brothers and sisters.”
“What does your heart tell you, patesi-le?”
“My heart says we should bring her into the Crane.”
“Setenay wished for her to be in the Turtle Clan.”
“She didn’t know Ghalen would
be
the Turtle Clan.” She sat up on her knees and giggled. “By the Goddess, Aizarg, they hate each other!”
Aizarg laughed, perhaps the first time she’d heard him laugh since he returned from the Valley of Beasts. “I know I shouldn’t think it’s funny, but it is.”
“A few nights ago he told her to ‘make herself useful’ and cook his ration. She gave his ration to the children!”
“Ghalen didn’t tell me about this,” Aizarg smirked.
“He made Levidi promise not to talk about it.”
“A promise never stopped Levidi from gossiping about anything. What did Ghalen do?”
“He tossed her into the lagoon. Alaya had to fish her out.”
Atamoda paused for a moment. “While we’re talking about this, the others should be placed, too. Ezra is easy, he is practically already Carp.”
Aizarg nodded. “He has formed quite a bond with Okta.”
“And then there are the orphans. They’ve mourned enough. Now they need homes. I believe the time for an adoption ceremony has come.”
“Agreed. We will discuss it further with the inner council.”
“Alaya and Levidi are particularly fond of the Minnow twins.”
“They’ve wanted children from some time,” Aizarg nodded. “You’ll have to discuss it with Kus-ge.”
Atamoda sank back down into his arms. “She raised no objections when Alaya took the twins from the Supply Barge; neither did anyone else in the Minnow.”
“Hmm,” Aizarg grunted.
Atamoda took a deep breath. “And then there is Virag...”
“Ba-lok has already approached me regarding the two a’gan. Virag and his henchman will be placed with the Minnow.”
Atamoda’s blood suddenly coursed hot. “No.”
“Ba-lok thought it best we keep a closer eye on them, and I agreed. As much as I despise Virag, they cannot remain isolated downstream. Virag and his giant must be brought into the fold. He is willing to bring them into the Minnow.”
She stood and paced back and forth beyond the canopy, arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders as the rain found her once again. “Kus-ge rules the Minnow. Kus-ge rules Ba-lok.” She turned and faced Aizarg. “Virag slinks on the opposite side of the Spine, no longer content to hide in his boat. Whispers fester there. If Ba-lok wants the a’gan closer, it is only because Kus-ge wills it.”
Aizarg stroked his beard. “She is a difficult woman; he is a difficult man. But he is my Second, and she is his patesi-le. They are part of our chain, as is Virag.”
“Aizarg, the Spine has become a wall between the clans. Ill will spreads through the Minnow against us, against you. There are too many whispers floating among Ba-lok’s people.”
“I’ve heard no whispers. The journey is hard, the people are hungry. Nerves are frayed.”
“It’s more than that. We need to consider new ways...” Atamoda closed her eyes, searching for the right words. She couldn’t, so she said what stirred in her heart. “Abolish the clans. Make us one.”
By the way he frowned, she knew the idea didn’t settle well with him.
“Integrate the clans, mix our peoples. That is the only way to build trust.”
“There are few foundations left to us, and you ask me to rip them from beneath our feet?”
“Isn’t that what you did with your decree? If you give Ba-lok’s council such weight, what of mine?”
Aizarg stood, donned his clothing, and picked up the staff. Atamoda followed, trying to keep touching him.
“If a wound turns the flesh sour, beyond the reach of root or tonic, would you not severe the limb to save the body? Rot has settled in on the Minnow side. It will spread if you don’t act.”
He turned and her hand slipped away. A cold gust embraced her, and she felt the wall between them reassert itself.
“I will consider what you’ve said.” If her plea met fertile soil or bounced off her husband’s heart, she did not know.
“I have much to attend to before I can sleep.” He peered over her shoulder into the darkness. “The storm is closer.” Aizarg turned to go.
“Your god does not speak to me,” Atamoda called desperately after him. “How does he speak to you?”
Aizarg stopped, but did not turn around. Atamoda feared she may have crossed a forbidden threshold, a wall the strange god erected between her and her husband.
“He consumes me.”
“I am afraid, not only for our people...but for you…
for us
.”
Aizarg stepped out from beneath the canopy, joining her in the rain. He tilted her head up and kissed her, rainwater pouring into her mouth. In the lightning she saw him smile.
“The inner council still has business, but I will come to bed tonight.”
He turned to go, but then hesitated and looked back at her. “Do not be afraid, my love.”
Atamoda watched her husband vanish among his people, huddled under the canopies. “I am afraid, but I will serve. I will wait. I will trust.”
She turned away from the arun-ki to face the wind and endless darkness. The rain washed away her tears as she remembered that night, an eternity ago, when Setenay sent her to fetch Aizarg’s boar spear. The same loneliness and isolation from that night filled her spirit now.
She gazed up at the spider web of silent lightning bolts crisscrossing the sky high above. “God of the Narim, is there room in his heart for both of us?”
She leaned against the storm wall, but then pulled away, repulsed by the slimy fungus coating the stacked timber. Atamoda frowned and wiped her hands off on her tunic.
She followed her husband into the canopy’s shelter and the warmth of the arun-ki. Unnoticed behind her, just inside the storm wall, the farthest forward binding rope on the bow raft snapped.
***
Alaya slid under the tarp into the boat next to Levidi, careful not to lift the blanket too much and wake her husband. She snuggled deep into the hull beside him, drawing warmth from his smooth skin.
She listened to Levidi’s breathing, her eyes unable to shut.
The rain is louder now.
“You’re thinking about something.” Levidi broke the silence. “I can always tell when you’re thinking.”