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| w: Thursday, November 10, 2005 | |
Chapter 2 They had not done much work in fixing the wall by the time the sun’s descent encouraged them to go home, and when Madrul got back to his family’s compound he was scolded for the state of his clothes and forced to wash them in the small room at the back of the house. As he crouched by the tub wrapped in little more than a spare tunic, sullenly pushing the sodden toga around with a stick and scrubbing it under the supervision of Pedrac, he reflected a little sourly on the other boys. Jorreked was bigger than he was and responsible for most of the good ideas of the group--at least the ones that got used, because he was older than each of them by at least a year and could make them do what he said. It wasn’t fair. At last the toga was relatively clean of dirt and plant stains, and he gathered up the heavy sodden cloth and took it outside to dry on the baking warmth of the adobe wall of the compound in the last few hours of sunlight. Supper was spent in the silence of the overworked and weary--Waef chewed without saying anything, and even among the children there was little chattering. Tenari reprimanded them infrequently, her eyes betraying how tired she was after a long day’s work at the weaver’s. After dinner Madrul was once again enlisted to help with the dishes, and his unhappy grumbling earned him a swipe or two from Niruy, who had no patience for his wounded pride. When the sun had almost set the call finally arose for community time. Waef, who had been relaxing in the bedroom with his arms around Tenari got to his feet so quickly that he almost let her fall, and she recovered with as much dignity as she could muster. Rebe, who had only awoken just before supper from the afternoon peacebreak, screamed giddily until Niruy shushed him, and took him by the hand. Madrul ran and got the now cold, though not entirely dry toga from the wall and dressed himself hurriedly. They gathered in the entrance room and Waef smiled to see his family all assembled. They left the compound at about the same time as Vestinire and his family, from across the street, left theirs, and exchanged cordial greetings. Waef embraced Vestinire and the two men walked ahead of the mingling of children and the two wives who exchanged embraces as well. They made their way to the square at the center of the town where the Siqan was already waiting. A village as small as Lohien needed only one Siqan, and in Lohien the person they turned to was Siqan Drema. Madrul remember that once when he had been Rebe’s age, she had come to their compound to speak with Waef and Tenari about something he hadn’t fully understood, and when his father had found him trying to listen to their conversation he had been very angry. Madrul’s memories of how Siqan Drema had looked then were quite different from the Siqan Drema he saw every other day at sunset. She had been a normal woman during the day when she visited--but at night she was something else, something powerful and huge. The community fire was lit, tongues of flaming licking heat into air that had not yet entirely lost its overhanging midday humidity to the night’s chill, making beads of sweat appear on Madrul’s forehead. The square was filled with people, and Rebe clung tightly to Niruy’s hand. Madrul felt like doing much of the same to keep from being trampled underfoot, and then fought down that nervousness with a swell of self-disgust. He was nearly twelve years old now--he was almost a man. Men did not get stepped on in ignorance. He drew himself away from Pedrac and Tenari and almost darted off into the crowd, but then Tenari caught hold of his elbow and dragged him back to her side, and in the process his toes were trod on and he yelped slightly. “Now you behave,” Tenari admonished him, giving him a good shake. “And do not get your toga dirty again, you hear?” They made their way to the two circles of benches that surrounded the community fire and wedged their way onto an available bench, all one family. Once they had been seated, Madrul peeled himself from the bench. Tenari hissed at him. “What are you doing?” “I was just--“ he pointed in the general direction of two or three other boys, none of those from his close group that worked on a compound in the forest, who were standing to one side and laughing and talking. “No,” she said firmly. “You’ll stay here.” “But for the telling, could I not--“ “I said no. We will sit together as a family--not apart like strangers.” Madrul sank unhappily back to the bench. It wasn’t fair! Tenari treated him like he was Rebe’s age. And all the other boys were allowed to go where they wanted, and not have to sit squashed between their eldest sister and their younger brother for the telling. He leaned back on the bench, trying to get comfortable while they waited for the telling to begin. He did not have long to wait. The rest of the families in the village were all but completely accumulated on the benches, and a swift breeze rustled the trees in the forest and gave relief to upturned faces. The final hints of sun-burnt gold, tracing glorious outlines against the palm fronds, hovered on the edge of the horizon, temporarily bringing shades of vivid crimson and honey colored light in rays across the square. The last person sat down. An expectant hush fell over the bench rows, and Madrul felt within him the first stirrings of excitement that the telling always seemed to bring. It didn’t matter how frequently the telling was called--he could not help but enjoy it, even if it was a story he had heard before, because there was always some new aspect to it, some adventure twist or unique character. A large part of this was in Siqan Drema, whose voice could imitate the cry of a macaw or the sound of palm leaves rubbing together or the hiss of lava into the sea, or even the heavy beats of the dragon’s wings. But it also seemed as if the stories themselves seemed to evolve, to transmute. Like Tenari said, the rain never fell in the same way twice, xxeven if it fell on the same part of the forestxx. Stories changed because every nuance of the environment and manner in which they were told affected them. Siqan Drema, wearing a long red abaya robe open over a woman’s toga, appeared at the far edge of the square, the last rays of sunlight framing her outline and casting her actual form into shadow. She screamed, then, her voice a sudden rush of shrill sound that raised the hair on the back of Madrul’s neck. The noise lifted and soared out over the village and the trees, and the palm fronds rattled in the wind, the shivery sound of the rustling leaves raising and joining with the Siqan’s voice until the two sounds were blended and the same. “Oh!” she screamed. “Oh friends, can you see the sky?” Surprised, they lifted their faces to where the trees broke off against the cobalt and indigo tinted night, then turned back, puzzled, to focus on the Siqan. “Oh,” said she, now in a slightly calmer tone as she took a step or two into the circle. “Oh friends, can you see the stars? For they are shining, they are listening to tonight’s telling.” For some reason this peculiar thought warmed Madrul slightly--that even the stars had gathered to hear the telling. She took a number of slow, stalking steps past the rows of benches, and all eyes were on her. Madrul could feel Rebe breathing against his ribcage, and then realized that his own breaths were as short and as excited as his brother’s were. He quickly jerked his eyes back to Siqan Drema as she continued her stealthy dance past them. “Tonight,” she said in a low tone that carried over the snap of the fire and the whir of insects, and with each word she hunched her back over a little and lifted her hands, the fingers bent like rough talons, a little higher, “We speak about the dragon.” And with the last word she straightened her spine and spread her arms to the stars above to include them in the introduction as well. Madrul felt his blood stir again. The telling of the dragon’s origins and why he was due such respect was not so common a tale, and it had been a while since they had heard the thrumming of Siqan Drema’s voice in perfect imitation of the dragon’s wings. Step by slow step she circled the ring of benches, from the inside, her bare feet making no noise over the earth. “Not so long ago, when my father’s father and my mother’s mother were still only children themselves, there was no dragon who passed overhead. Why did he come here?” She shot one hand up towards the sky. “We do not know. We do not have to know. All we do know is when he came and what he did.” Her breath trembled in her throat like the sound of the waves on the shoreline, rising and falling, beating the sand like the inexorable hammer of time. They listened to her telling--of the wingbeats of the dragon over the ocean, casting the waves high up into the air so that their water fell back to earth like rain, as the dragon came for the first time to the island. “The townspeople saw him,” she said. “The village people. People of Buoka and people of Lohien... everyone saw him. You couldn’t not see him--oh! How big his wingspan was. It seemed to blot out the sky. “At first they were afraid, they were, they trembled like skeletons. The sound of their bones rattling filled the air. But the man who was the leader of Sevaye--“ This was the largest city on the island, a good two week’s journey from Lohien-- “He said that they should not attack without knowing the dragon’s purpose. So he went, with a group of strong men, to test the dragon’s intent.” She had made a full circle of the inside of the ring of benches and now she moved outside the ring. They did not turn around--her voice came to them through the rising darkness, mingled with the flames of the community fire. “They traveled, and they traveled. They traveled for days and nights, deep into the forest, tracking the dragon. It was not a difficult thing to do, for though he flew and left no tracks, he was bleeding--a viscous dark blood that boiled as it fell and left its mark through the canopy and heavy upon the earth. No one knew why he was bleeding. But at last they came to the volcano--to the sacred hot mountain from which the gods first brought forth lifexxdunnoifIwantmythologytobeafocusherexx.” She came back into the ring. “They climbed,” she said simply, and then she hiked her abaya up a bit and made the motions of scaling a mountain, a gesture that brought smiles and laughter. “They climbed, they climbed. They followed the trail of his blood and they found where he had landed. Inside a cave up the side of the mountain, in a place nearly accessible. The ledge was streaked with that dark blood, and they advanced cautiously, as if into the lair of the beast.” There was some shock amongst the villagers that the dragon had been compared to a violent animal. Siqan Drema hurriedly went on, “But they were of course ignorant of the dragon’s nature, as they had never met him before. How were they to know? How were they to know what and who he was? They did not, and in their ignorance they thought unworthy thoughts about him. But when they stood upon the ledge that was the entrance to his home, he spoke to them.” Her words, once quick and vicious, now faded off in wonder. “He told them that he was wounded, that he was weary, and that he was saddened beyond any sadness that could consume mere men, and he begged them that if they were to kill him, if they would do it quickly.” Tears gathered in her eyes, and her voice trembled slightly with the infinite graceful sadness of the dragon. “So moved was my father’s father’s leader that he forgot his initial purpose, and sent his men back down the slope to gather herbs and roots and boil huge pots of water. In a day’s time he had medicine for the grave wound of the dragon--and in a week of time, the dragon had healed completely.” She took a deep breath. “And so it was formed--a bond, as it were, between the people and the dragon. He with wings was grateful and he--the leader--was awed by the magnificent.” She went on to talk about how, almost twenty years later, when her mother and her father were only children, the Naritian invaders had come and tried to conquer the island, and how the dragon had burned their ships and protected the villagers. How he had ever since been forging weapons so that the villagers could henceforth protect themselves. “Yes, the dragon is our defender,” she said, her tone now almost scathing. “So if he asks us for a few goats now and again, or an amount of wood, or something of that kind--we will give it to him, yes, without question.” The world fell silent--even the chirruping of insects was relatively dimmed now that Siqan Drema’s voice had stopped. A cold wind made them shiver, and the fire snapped and sparked. It was full night now, and Madrul felt Rebe yawn against his ribs. The Siqan drew her abaya robe against her and shivered slightly. “That is tonight’s telling,” she said, and all the power had gone out of her tone once more. The villagers stirred on their benches, released from the spell of her strong voice at last. One by one they began to move and speak once more, until the benches were empty and the ring was filled with talking people. Siqan Drema stood to one side, silently gazing into the fire, and she smiled a little when people spoke to her and thanked her, but did not answer them. The stars had begun to burn pinpricks in the night sky when Tenari and Waef finally accompanied their yawning family back to their compound. Niruy carried Rebe, who had long since fallen asleep, and as she tucked him into his bedroll, she glanced over at Madrul. “Best get to bed yourself, brother,” she said. “Tomorrow’s likely to be a busy day for you.” Madrul grinned. “Sleep well, sister,” he said, and then she went out and closed the door. He lay for a long, silent moment in the darkness of their room listening to Rebe’s steady breathing, and then he fell asleep. It was hardly dawn when Tenari woke him the next morning. She held a hand against his mouth and shushed him as he startled himself from slumber, and then nodded silently at the door. “Get ready,” she whispered, and then she was gone. Excitement made his blood race. He got dressed quickly, rolled up his mat, and brushed off his new sandals. He wore them so infrequently around town that it took him a moment to remember how they tied on, and by that time Waef was waiting in the doorway. He hurriedly followed his father out to the front of the compound, where Tenari was waiting with a bag of foodstuffs and a dried piece of fish for his breakfast. He took the fish and she caught him in a quick embrace, then kissed his forehead. “Be careful, and obey your father,” she admonished. Surprised at that show of affection, he nodded but said nothing. Then Tenari turned to Waef. “And you be careful too,” she said, her voice a little thick. Waef grunted, and then he smiled quickly at her and kissed her soundly. “For you, I will be,” he promised, and then he bent and picked up the large bag of dried fish and hauled it onto his shoulder. In the other hand he held his short sword, the blade unsheathed. Madrul had not seen the sword in a long time--not since there had been signs of a panther on the outskirts of town. Then his father had sat up all night above the compound entrance for three days running, until it was announced that a farmer on the other side of the village had killed the panther that night before. The sight of it now made him shiver, and he hesitated only a moment before picking up the smaller sack, accepting the bag of food from his mother, and striding after his father. The two made their way through the village to the path that led to the main road. Madrul hesitated once again right outside the village. The palm fronds shivered in a slight breeze, filling the air with their hollow sound, and the path behind him seemed to lead only to darkened, lonely houses. Then at a sharp word from Waef, he turned and hurried after his father. Waef strode along the path, avoiding creepers and roots without any difficulty. Madrul, however, seemed to find himself tripping over something every other step, and with each passing moment he found himself listening more carefully to the forest surrounding him, as if anticipating an animal of some sort. But nothing came bursting through the bush except for a thrush that made his heart leap with surprise and fright as it sped off, wings buzzing in the early morning silence. Even the insects hardly made any noise in that temporal changeover between night and day--those that came out under the moon were now sleeping, and those that rose with the sun had not yet come awake. A cool breeze touched the trees and made Madrul shivered. The bag of fish was heavy on his shoulder and the strap of the sack dug into his flesh. No matter how he tried to adjust them, neither would get more comfortable. They walked on in the interminable half darkness, Madrul stumbling almost blindly and shrugging against the burden of the bag on his shoulder, until long after the sun had risen. At sometime around noon, when they came across a clearing and a stream, Waef lowered his bag onto the ground and followed it with a weary sigh. Madrul, who had lagged behind his father, now finally caught up and collapsed on the ground next to him. The older man thrust a hand in his general direction--it held an orange fruit. Surprised and grateful, he took the fruit and dug his fingernail into the thick skin. He pierced the rind and peeled it, inch by faintly scented inch, from the wedges of fruit underneath. When he glanced up, once, at his father, he saw Waef was doing the same thing. In no time at all they had their fruits open. Madrul pulled from the top and split the sliced ball down the middle, then removed a section at a time and shoved each dripping wedge into his mouth. The juice stung at his cracked lips but he ate the pieces one by one regardless, licking his fingers. Waef did not split the fruit down the middle--he took one big bite at a time, his large square white teeth cutting easily into the fruit’s flesh. As he tore into the fruit and pulled it away from his mouth a line of spittle linked his lips and what was left of the ravaged fruity globe before he turned and spat the seeds onto the ground next to him. They ate in relative silence, until Waef at last said, “How are you holding up, Madrul?” Madrul swallowed his bite of orange and said quickly, “Just fine, father.” Waef smiled down at him. “Good. We are almost to the main road--I think we’ve made pretty good time. Let us rest for another ten minutes or so and then we’ll get on our way again.” Madrul nodded and leaned back against a nearby tree trunk. An ant crawled up his leg and he slapped irritably at it. The insects had begun their interminable buzz long ago, and by now they were a maddening rush of chittering noise, raucous and vibrant. Somewhere in the distance a bird called out a sharp, repetitive tune, the sound prolonged by echoes in the surrounding woods. Waef pushed himself to his feet and went to the stream where he first examined the water and then drank a few handfuls at a time. When he had finished he scrubbed his large, stained fisherman’s hands on his toga and got to his feet. Madrul hurriedly took a drink himself, and then they both hefted their bags and were on their way again. Their trek continued until the sun had almost set, and then finally they reached Buoka--a thriving port city, though not the ‘capital’ city of the island. They stayed in a farmer’s shed at the cost of a few coins that Waef produced mysteriously from the depths of one of the pouches on his belt and ate a frugal meal of the bread, fruits, and dried fish in Madrul’s pack, and then they both laid down to sleep. Waef was soon snoring but Madrul could not sleep--the shed smelled of goats and there were no windows to let in the moonlight or even a breeze. He tossed and turned uncomfortably, trying not to think about what would happen tomorrow and also trying to ignore the blisters his new sandals had given him--they were just slightly too small. After an hour or so of restlessness he at last fell into a fitful slumber in which he dreamed of a road--an eternal road whose end he sought but could not find, no matter how hard he ran, and the further he went along it the heavier the bag on his shoulder got and the farther away the end seemed. He woke an hour before dawn, shaken into life by his father, and under Waef’s careful eyes he dressed, tied on his sandals, and followed the man from the shed. They went into town. It had been a long time since Madrul had been to Buoka--almost four years. It had changed little except to perhaps grow a little more crowded and a little more dirty. They followed the roads through the depths of the town until they came to a market square where other merchants were beginning to display their goods, and in no time at all they had the small dried fish and the larger, fresher smoked trout or whatever other sort of fish one might find around a tropical island--maybe tuna--all spread out and displayed. Waef sighed contentedly and folded his legs down onto the hard wooden bench behind the stall, and Madrul gathered the bags into a ball and sat down on that. No sooner had they settled in than the sun began to peek over the horizon, its rays passing the tightly packed houses and falling across the land, and the market square began to grow busy. XXelaborate on somescene here where Madrul encounters thief if he doesxx The rest of Madrul’s day was spent in a frenzy of selling fish and crying out to customers about their quality. By the time the sun had set there were hardly half of the dried fish left and very few of the fresher large fish. So they stayed over night in the farmer’s shed again, and Waef slept with his hand on his short sword in case of thieves. Madrul, exhausted, could not sleep--his mind was racing with all the people he had seen. So many of them! All living together and crammed in such a little space. The sea had been dirty with their garbage when he had wandered off from the stall to find amusement elsewhere--not like the coast by the village, where the water was kept clean. Somehow he fell asleep. The next day was passed in a similar manner and the fish sold out by late afternoon. Contentedly, the man and the boy wandered the town and stopped at an inn to eat and stock up, for their own supplies had all but run out. They made the return trip early the following morning, and though the load on Madrul’s shoulder was lighter the road was no more easier or shorter than it had been on the way there.
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1 Comments:
Yay updates!
Are you going to get as tired of fish as I did of trees last year?
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