He should have returned to Chultunyu with the others. He should have given up this stupid mission. These people were too set in their ways, and there was no way they would turn to the old ways of the Gogepe. He should be on his way back to Nnenne, so they could have their dozen or so children. But he had kept going, and so had Tenok.
Tenok. Yes, hadn’t he just been thinking about Tenok? They had spoken, the last time they had been alone. Tenok had summoned him that day at Chub’al, and not just to tell Sha’di about his brother’s smiling face when he received news of his first son’s birth.
“It’s hard to see him with no serious face.” Sha’di had grinned at the thought of Tanuk cooing over his baby son. They had been standing at the entrance to the huitl’s home at the top of the pyramid, this one painted a dizzying bright and gaudy colour scheme. They had been facing north, knowing that somewhere beyond all that foliage, Chipetzuha was hidden.
They had sojourned in Chub’al too long. At first they stayed because after Tanuk’s death, everyone seemed at a loss as to what to do next. Tenok had been silent and spent days locked away in the dark rooms of the pyramid. They would have stayed even if they had known what direction they would go in simply because they were waiting for the rainy season to end. But the rains were nearly gone by then. There were no more excuses for them to stay.
“He was always stern like that, ever since we were little boys. Our own father left when we were even younger than Tanuk’s sons. I barely remember him—just a great big hand on my shoulder as he said goodbye.” He reached up for his own shoulder, placing his own hand where his father’s had been once. “He gave me his sling. Told me to practice hunting.”
Sha’di had seen the sling Tenok carried many times. It was a well-worn piece of leather that Tenok would often grip. Tenok had never mentioned his father before, and suddenly the comforting action of Tenok holding onto that gift from his father took on a new meaning for Sha’di.
“In a way, Tanuk became my father,” Tenok continued. “Of course, we had Mayek-tatcha, but he was always more interested in pleasing the other huitls than his nephews. No, it was Tanuk who had to raise me and become Chultunyatl when he did not even wear the colours of a man.”
Sha’di had looked at Tenok, the parlour of his skin, how his cheekbones had become sharper from not eating enough. They were probably the same age, but Tenok had seemed to age at Chub’al, to wither away and become a shadow of the youthful man he had first met. No longer was he eager to learn the Whisperer’s tongue or have fun when his older brother thought it was time to be serious.
He realized then he had been like Tenok once, before he had left his tribe, when Nnenne was still at his side every night. Now, the two of them seemed far too serious, far too different from the young men they had once been not long ago.
Sha’di’s head finally cleared as he gripped onto the tree, and he started making his way back to the clearing. They would pack up their camp soon and continue on their way, but Sha’di wished he could just go back to sleep. His head hurt now worse than when he’d first gotten up. He reached the clearing and sat down, quickly closing his eyes, trying to settle himself, remembering how this is what he had wanted, this is what he had convinced Tenok to do when they had spoken on the pyramid.
“We stand between the three lands of my people. Did you know that?” Tenok had asked that morning as they had looked north.
“No. I only know the jungle,” Sha’di had looked at the vast expanse of trees, taking a deep breath of the damp air. Just has he had begun to think all of the Grey Mist was the same dense jungle, he assumed strangers thought the land where the Whisperers lived was just endless sand, but he knew there were hidden oases, salt flats and sand dunes, high cliffs, and the Hatmahe Sea. There was always more to a land than any one person could see.
“Behind us is the land of the Nuktatl,” Tenok had pointed south. “That is where my people were first taught to build the pyramids to honour the gods. Before us,” he had pointed to the north, “is the land of the Chakachawnahuitl, but then, far from here,” he had pointed somewhere off to the northwest, “is where the great Achawnahuitl live. There they do not live as we do. They live on land free from the jungle, where they farm and raise animals. It is a strange world, one you must travel through to reach Chipetzuha.”
Sha’di had nodded. “I will go. Maybe Zera returns to Orope before I do, but I will.” His mastery of their language was still a long ways off, but he was improving every day.
“You’ve heard my brother’s remains will be returned to Chultunyu. It is the proper end for a huitl, to be buried at the pyramid where they were born…” Tenok studied his feet a moment before continuing. “Koyo and his brother will be reunited with their father—”
“So you mean to return to Chultunyu?” Sha’di had asked, crestfallen at the thought of continuing on alone, not knowing if he had the willpower to do so.
“I—” Tenok had sighed, lifting his head and looking to the north, looking to where Chipetzuha lay.
“You travel to Chipetzuha. Why go back? Your father is at Chipetzuha, true?
“True…but I should return. I should raise my nephews, as my brother helped raise me.”
“Your uncle do this.”
Tenok had laughed coldly. “And do as good a job as he did with us?”
“He did well with your brother. Tanuk was good man.”
“And if I went to Chipetzuha? What is there for me?” Tenok had looked at him hopefully, as though urging the Whisperer to convince him. “I mean, I want to be reunited with my father, but is that truly where my responsibilities lie?”
Sha’di had shrugged despondently. “I do not know this. I wish, but no…Only gods know. They do not tell me. But you should ask. What you want? In life in… response… responsibility?”
Tenok had turned towards Sha’di, standing to his full height. His slim face peered just slightly downward at Sha’di’s. “I want to continue towards Chipetzuha with you. Those who want should return to Chultunyu, but…My coming will not…” He cleared his throat, “will not be as welcome to my father as my brother’s would have been. He will only mourn at the sight of me.” He had wiped something from his eye before continuing, “It’s what I want, but—”
Sha’di felt someone shaking him and realized he wasn’t on the pyramid. It was just a memory, and he was again in the jungle. He must have drifted off as he sat against the tree. He winced in pain as he opened his eyes and saw Belam crouching next to him. Everyone else had begun to walk through the jungle; the camp had already been cleared of any signs they had slept there the night before.
“You look worse,” Belam held a hand out to help him up. Sha’di got up on shaky feet. Belam frowned. “Your hands are clammy.”
“The air clammy,” Sha’di replied dismissively, and they went after the other men.
As they walked through the jungle, Belam spoke to him but Sha’di wasn’t listening. He could still feel the eyes on him, and his gaze darted around the thick foliage, convinced a jaguar or something equally horrid would jump out and rip out his throat the way it had Tanuk’s. He still thought about how they had taken the bones, trying to burn the flesh. He had thought about that often, how the Petzuhallpa treated their dead the same as the Whisperers did. He had said much the same to Tenok, trying to convince the huitl the Whisperer’s ways were the old ways, something he had never successfully done with the older brother.
“My cloak is of few bones,” he had said, taking off his Ancestral Cloak, leaving himself completely naked in the chill morning mist atop the pyramid. “I have the rib bones of my father, and the leg bones of my grandfather.”
Tenok had looked confused for a moment. “It is…a strange custom your people have.”
“No, not strange,” he had wrapped the cloak around his shoulders once more. “Bones are important. Your people know this. You take bones of Tanuk; you give honour. My people do same, but we keep bones, we have no great pyramid for them. My people,
your people, came from sand. Your people make pyramids, and mine travel on camel, but still we are same.”
“I suppose…we are not so different.” Tenok seemed to like the idea of them being similar, and a soft smile had spread across his lips.
“The gods are angry.”
Tenok had sighed. “Yes, I know. I believe you, but with my brother…” he had shut his eyes tightly. “Of course I believe you.”
“No more sacrifice,” Sha’di had said sternly.
Tenok had looked at Sha’di, his face confused. “What? When we leave?”
“The gods hate it.”
Tenok had started to look annoyed. “Just because we both understand the importance of bones, doesn’t mean our gods have the same love or hate for sacrifice. The gods demand blood!”
“They took blood! The blood of Tanuk. He gave sacrifices, and gods said no. They wanted Tanuk’s blood and blood of men. If gods want lives, they take it! Your brother, your priests, you forgot old ways. But we…” He had reached out and grabbed Tenok’s arm just as the huitl was about to take a step away from the Whisperer, “we bring voice of gods to Chipetzuha. We convince them to follow old ways. We can save his sons—your people!”
Tenok’s face had been torn between anger and sadness. He had stood still, tense in Sha’di’s grip, staring him in the eye.
“You think…You really think the gods killed Tanuk because he ordered those sacrifices?”
Sha’di had felt at a loss. He let Tenok’s arm go. “I do not know mind of gods…But here, something is wrong—”
He had held out his hand. “Old ways belong to all people; we need find them. Taking bones, reaching to sky, speaking with gods…” The pyramid where they stood, the temple at the base of the Kerlra Hal’gepe, there had to be a connection. “…blood sacrifices. Appeasing gods. These are belong to both of us. We can make gods heard. At Chipetzuha. Together.”
“Together,” Sha’di repeated to the tree.
“Xa’ti? Are you well?” Belam asked. They had a hard time pronouncing his name properly, and said Xa’ti instead of Sha’di.
Sha’di realized he had stopped walking. He was staring at a tree, thinking for a moment it was Tenok. He laughed and the motion made him dizzy, and he reached out to grab the tree for support. Somehow he missed and felt himself falling, but before he hit the ground, arms wrapped around him.
“He has the bad air.” A woman’s accented voice spoke up. She sounded worried.
Sha’di looked up at the familiar face and smiled. “Qayset. We go to Chipetzuha together,” Sha’di muttered happily, and felt as though he were drifting away on the air.
KUWANA TAK
I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE MY FATE TO THE GODS
Kuwana Tak, or Sheep Grotto, was a large, rolling valley surrounded by black, snow-peaked mountains. A wide river ran down the middle of it. It emerged from caves on the north side of the valley, caves that Tuthalya explained to Tersh opened into a large brightly lit cavern—a grotto. The water had cut through the cave wall with several streams flowing between natural columns and culminating into the large river that divided the valley. The grotto had been naturally carved to look like a giant stone hand reaching into the valley, but it was far from a frightening image.
The large lake and river kept the valley floor rich with life, and from the height at which they stood, they could make out several small villages and many herds of tiny white animals—sheep, of course. The river made it all the way south of the valley, and there it fell over the side of a cliff and the water turned into a misty waterfall.
“The water joins the Hiperu,” Tuthalya explained, the mountain lion pelt covering his back. “They say the lake is the womb of the mountain, that she is the mother of the Hiperu. That mountain is our favourite goddess.”
“I can believe that,” Tersh nodded. “The gods must be close for such a beautiful place to exist. It must have taken such patience for the gods to carve the rocks only using water and wind.”
Tersh adjusted the mountain lion skull now covering her wild black hair. When she had first put it on, she’d worn her Ancestral Cloak with the bones showing, and Tuthalya said she’d looked rather intimidating, but she didn’t look all that menacing to him now. The skull kept sliding down to the bridge of her nose, blocking her sight until she’d push it back up. He wondered why she insisted on wearing it. Now that they were near Kuwana Tak, she’d hidden her cloak once more beneath her ratty skins, but she kept the skull on her head.
“Now, I am a true warrior of the Go’angrin,” was all she would say when Tuthalya had asked her about it.
They had to stop travelling for a few days while Tersh had recovered from her wounds, the worst being the deep cuts on her shoulders. She’d rubbed some of the salve she had made and brought with them and had wrapped strips of linen around her cuts to keep any infection away. She’d been in terrible pain for a few nights, unable to sleep, but the medicine worked fast. She walked now with a slight limp, but Tuthalya was sure it would be gone in a fortnight. He was amazed by how well her medicines worked. What secrets did the Gogepe hold?
They finally reached the end of the rocky path and found themselves on the valley floor. The fields were made of countless different wildflowers. Petals of white and kunzite, honey and sky, blush and sand, dotted the swaying stems and bristly bushes. Tuthalya was overwhelmed by the multitude of colours and smells welcoming him home. He took a moment to breathe in deeply and smiled. Although the sheep were happy to graze in the waist-high fields, the two travellers kept to the narrow path and made their way through the first village.
The houses were constructed from the dark stones of the mountains, and the roofs were thatch and mud. They stopped and a few friendly faces came out to offer fresh bread and mead. It was warmer here than it had been in the pass, and although the people wore thick wool clothes, their arms and faces were bare as a warm spring breeze came from the river.
Tersh could only watch as Tuthalya spoke with the locals, unable to understand a single word. The accent here was completely different from what was spoken in Hattute, and he knew whatever words she had picked up would be of little help among his people.
“Is your family here?” Tersh asked when they had a moment alone.
Tuthalya shook his head.
“No, I come from a different village farther along. We’ll be there before nightfall.”
The valley was wide enough that it would probably take over a day to cross its entirety on foot. They followed the river north, passing through another village where the river narrowed, and a stone bridge had been built over the gap. They crossed and by the time the sun was falling behind the mountain, they reached a third village.
“Here is my home,” Tuthalya said, his voice quiet. It sounded separate from himself, as if he was hearing someone else say these words, words he had longed to say for years…
They could make a few fires out in the fields, shepherds watching over their flocks as night fell. The rest of the people were cozying up in their homes, lighting the fires and cooking a final meal before bed. Smoke rose from thatched roofs.
They stopped at one house that looked like any other, and Tuthalya banged on the door quickly and loudly.
“Father, it’s me!” Tersh hung back as Tuthalya called out in his own tongue.
“Tuthalya?” an excited voice answered back before the door swung open, and an old man stood in the opening.
A stranger would know at once they were father and son. Other than the fact that the man’s hair and beard were completely grey, and there were far more lines around his eyes, the two men might have been each other’s reflections—same height, same strong arms, same wide smile and easy laugh. They embraced each other, and inside, Tuthalya could make out a few faces of children trying to peer past the old man, calling out in surprise and happiness.
“Come,” Tuthalya called to Tersh. “This is my father, Tallis.”
Tallis frowned when he saw Tersh standing there, the sku
ll of a lion on her head, a necklace of lizard skulls around her neck, several layers of skins on her back, and an old dirty tunic with several old wrappings around her arms and legs. Tersh took off her skull, bowing her head awkwardly. Tuthalya caught his sister in the house behind Tallis cover her mouth in an attempt to hide her laughter.
“Don’t worry,” Tuthalya laughed, slapping Tersh’s shoulder a little too hard, “they know you’re with me.”
Tuthalya introduced everyone quickly, but clearly Tersh had a hard time keeping track of everyone’s name. She couldn’t pronounce any of them correctly and kept mixing up who was who. His older sister, Estan, was the only woman there. She had taken care of their father since their mother had died. She had two sons who were on the cusp of being men, and they were rambunctiously wrestling with each other throughout most of the evening. Tuthalya’s younger brother, Ashur, was out with his flock.
Ashur had only known the life of a shepherd. He had lost his arm to a mountain lion in his youth, and so the army didn’t conscript him when the time came. He had married and now had three young sons. Tuthalya looked at the boys and wondered if he would be as lucky in his own marriage. Ashur’s eldest was desperate to play with Estan’s older boys, though they ignored him, and the youngest was mewling in his wicker basket most of the evening. His mother had died in childbirth, and to console the child whenever it started to make a fuss, Estan would take a cloth soaked with sheep milk and let the babe suckle on it.
Tersh watched, not understanding anything, but smiling politely every time she was offered more roast mutton or sweet-milk. She fell asleep early with the children, while Tuthalya stayed up late speaking with his father and Estan.
In the morning the village was nearly as quiet as the evening before, only now there were birds tweeting and the low sun was reflecting off the river, making a stream of gold. Tuthalya went out early with his father and the boys to work.
Pekari -The Azure Fish Page 7
