The Totem-Maker (part fifty-seven)

The Totem-Maker

Chapter Six

A First Road

(part fifty-seven)

This, while animated, was all too speedy for Egdoah’s grasp. Jute explained, in a slow, condescending way, that Escmar was ashamed to bear her own form, and made herself a bird once more, a plain grey kite. She took the name Cimbel, meaning, from an old verb: to cut, or in the vernacular, unadorned.

What my pride would have borne with a grudge, Egdoah seemed to take as rare honor. He thanked Jute with downcast eyes, calling her Princess. I believe so.

Now, Ami, father of gods, cast Escmar into the sea, and the waters doused her flames. The moon, so wounded, must die. They expected this, and it felt to the people of those times unendurable, their nights forever dark. A terrible age of cold and famine passed over the land, while the people threw their dead into the sea, and prayed the Father of Oceans surrender them Escmar.

Escmar met her grandmother. Alone among the dead, would the grandmother speak to the outcast. But, “Cimbel,” she said in greeting, and Escmar knew herself unforgiven.

“If it is the will of the people, send me to them! Why should I live? I do not wish it.”

These words Jute spoke as though they were her own.

Escmar and her love went severed still. Ships were cried by the lookouts, my audience sent dashing to their posts. We few passengers squinted at the setting sun and made out hulks, masts spiking black against the orange sky, sails reefed. Ous ships approached shore with the wind, but our escort dragged to the meeting place under oars. A great traffic passed my shelter, those of Monsecchers crouching to drop coins in the little shrine I’d made…

Which was to Aeixiea, goddess of crossroads and comeuppance. When passing a place of destiny, the wise will appease her. And what, among the Alëenon, was I to do with so many coins?

An open boat drew ahead, having six rowers and lamps in festival numbers. A tent was aboard, but officers in mail and robes, four, stood near the prow. Each helmet was capped with a beast’s swinging tail. Two in less regalia rose, unfurling flags—of the nation, the Alëenon, and the city of Hezhnia.

Our sailors bore their weight on the ropes, shortening the sails to slow our progress. The Emperor’s men discussed this, that the northerners would let their ships be boarded, piloted by foreigners to a strange harbor.

I said to Jute: “The Prince’s wife, who journeys too…”

She sat with an air, as though I offended or trespassed.

“I was told by others…”

“By Egdoah, admit it. You don’t know any others.”

“That if the Prince were killed, the army would take her for their general.”

“Because her father was Wolgan.”

61

A First Road

The Totem-Maker (part fifty-eight)

(2018, Stephanie Foster)