Wind Follower. Carole McDonnell
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him as my brother.”
Ravens winged towards some unseen carcass, cawing as they went.
“Does that matter? The boy has a kind heart and has drawn a circle, which includes you. He’ll turn you into his brother soon enough. At least, that is his hope.”
“He’s young. I hope he’ll lose that hope when he grows older.”
“When you were younger, you loved him as a brother.”
“Yes, when I was young and understood as little as he does. But young minds change when they grow older.”
Father started laughing. “Are you one to speak about young people’s minds? You who fell in love with a woman you don’t know? A woman who is obviously reluctant to marry you? You who hold onto hurt—my hurt—as if it were your own: you dare speak to me about—”
“About Krika, Father!” I said raising my voice. “I was speaking of Krika. My true brother. Not of Sio.”
He clasped his hands together in front of his face, a thing he always did when he was losing his patience. “How often have you asked me to order a ceremony for Krika? And how often have I told you that is the one thing I cannot do? The Arkhai stronghold is powerful and they see all. If I—”
I pushed him away, wiping my tears. “They’re powerful only because we don’t understand the Creator’s love.”
He stared at me. “And do you know the Creator’s love?”
“He’s far away,” I admitted. “How can I know one who is unlike me and so far above us?”
“True words.” He sounded relieved. “In this at least, you’re not arrogant. The Creator is high above, yes, and because of this, he cannot tend to small matters or small persons. For this reason, he has given us the Arkhai, the shaman, and the holy ones to teach us how to live holy lives.”
“The Arkhai? Those shadow princes? Those posers, deceivers, and boasters? Father, it shames me that you bend to such beggarly and evil spirits! Jobara! Your stupidity in all things—Sio, the Third Wife, Okiak—shames me.”
Across the field was the armory where the guns and cannons of the invaders were kept. I pointed at its latched doorway. “You understand the workings of all these weapons, Father. You have conquered many cities. Yet you leave the sharpest weapons unsheathed and out in the open for anyone to fall upon.”
“You’re speaking of my wife, Loic.” He pointed in my face. “Don’t let your anger take you into a battle you cannot win.”
“Did you see how your wife behaved today? Sitting opposite mine and dressed in costly array and covered in pearls! She’s still acting as if she’s Arhe here.” I clasped my hands together and pleaded with him. “Even now you can divorce her, Father. So, what if the town calls you a cuckold? It’s not as if the thing isn’t known already outside our clan.”
“Perhaps you should remember that as you love Satha so I once loved the Third Wife. Could you repudiate Satha if she wounded you?”
“Satha would never wound me.”
“So you say.” He touched the fuzzy growth on my chin. “What if after the year-mark she decides not to go ahead with the full marriage?”
His words made my head throb and my heartstrings tighten, but I did not show my fear.
“No answer?”
“Satha will enter the full marriage.”
“Kwelku. So you say. Even so. Learn to live with my mistakes as I’ve learned to live with yours. Your wife will be Arhe over all these households. Is that not enough? There is no need to repudiate my wife. Her lack of status in this household is repudiation enough.”
“Kill the whore, Father!” I shouted and suddenly the sting of an open-handed blow silenced me. I had gone too far. Blood streaked from my nose and through my lips. My hand trembled with the urge to return the strike. His scorn-filled eyes dared me to return the blow. I lowered my hand. My head, but not my heart, was bowed, and we stood silently facing each other.
“I should not have hit you, my child,” he said at last. “But one so young should not be so unforgiving. Especially if he isn’t the wounded one.”
I pushed him away, and wiped my bloody nose with the sleeve of my gyuilta. I walked away, throwing my gyuilta to the ground.
When I went to my room, I could not sleep. Love and hate bounced through my mind. I hated the Arkhai most of all because they had caused me to become estranged from father and my clan and were the source of all my distress. As I lay covered in furs, dread began to rise within me, an anticipation of some nameless terror. I began to wonder, Perhaps Okiak has bound me with a love spell. Love-spells were charms he did not dabble in, but he liked to control matters. Making me love someone who would betray me as the Third Wife had betrayed Father would not be beyond him. Suddenly unsure of the reason for my abrupt love for a strange woman, I considered dissolving the marriage. At the same time, other thoughts bounced in my mind: perhaps the love I had for Satha was indeed true. Perhaps it was the Arkhai who wished me to doubt it. Perhaps they wanted to be solitary in the world without friend or ally.
If Satha proved to be my true ally, all was safe. But if she did not, what was I to do? My heart had no desire to search the countryside for a priest to free me from the love-spell. Fear of losing her made me conceive a plan. I resolved to ask Father to hasten the full marriage and to allow us to marry within a week instead of at the customary year-mark ceremony. I resolved, too, that I would convince Satha to couch with me. A child would tie her to me and, however unworthy she found me to be, she would not risk losing the child by divorcing me.
My plan conceived, but not birthed, I fell asleep and dreamed of our full marriage. In the dream, I seemed older. The man who took Satha to bed was myself yet not myself. Older he was, and wounds scarred his body. Instead of lying on a bed we lay on a hard jagged rock which slowly, over a long time, softened beneath us into fur.
While I pondered this strange vision, a voice called out to me, “Loic, Loic.” I knew it was the Wind, the Creator, the Uncaused Causer of all things.
I said, “Here am I.”
All at once, a great sword descended from the sky. Its blade pointing downward, it fluttered like a ribbon of flayed skin in the wind. Of paper the sword was, rather than metal. Words covered its blade, words I could read yet which nonetheless I could not understand.
“Loic,” the Wind said, “behold your sword.”
“Great Chief,” I said, “I shall make my own sword.” The sword ascended back into heaven.
But it descended again and the Wind spoke. “Loic, here is your sword.”
Again, I refused it and again it was received up into heaven.
Then the voice spoke again. Again the sword descended, but this time it turned itself—its hilt now directly above my hand. “Loic, here is your sword.”
Relenting, I agreed to take it. Quickly it descended, and how sharp, straight and powerful it became as it fell from the sky! Its blade seemed alive and the words written on it living words. The sword whirled wildly, smashing Father’s armory, and scattered his weapons to the four winds. Finished, it flew towards me, its hilt at last in the palm of my hand.
I awoke from the dream, not understanding it. Nor did I ask Okiak or any of the clan elders to interpret it. I leaned on the window as moonlight shone through, and looked across the fields towards the room where my beloved lay. I could not return to sleep. At last, I put on my soft leather shoes and walked outside, intent on reaching her door and fulfilling my fear-born plan.
SATHA: The Little Taste
Mamya Jontay, Loic’s Little Mother, the noblewoman who had raised him since his birth, led me to my rooms in the women’s section of the guest quarters. With her were other Pagatsu noblewomen. After greeting me with dancing and singing,