The Totem-Maker (part sixty-six)

The Totem-Maker

Chapter Seven

Winter Alone

(part sixty-six)

I gave my floors a thorough sweeping. Cuerpha could circle the yard for this warm day or two, and sleep in his stall. When sunset was done, I dozed, wondering if I ought to pursue a different trade. Notwithstanding the Emperor’s army, I was free to go. The caravans of the citadel, when met, could carry me beyond the mountains.

In a language I had yet to be taught, I would carve above my lintel, in the city of the Citadel: “Nur-elom, seller of…”

Good Fates.

Bad fates… My little shrine filled with Aeixiea’s coins began to rattle, making a musical noise, until the shrine itself rocked, and the music became a jangle. Afraid to insult her, to sit and stare while her sanctity was breached, I flung off my covers and caught it up. The fire, stirred by this shaking, lit the room, shooting brown puffs of smoke, my precious wood burning over-quick.

Some tool stored in the stable clattered down. Cuerpha whinnied and stomped.

I coughed, and fanned, held the offering box steady on my lap, looked wildly here and there, had a moment’s worry the roof might crash on me and leave me…

Helpless. Shelterless.

Then, calm.

My pony I found at peace in his stall, for Lotoq often had expressed himself with such rumblings. When I had patted him, and told him he was a fine brave boy, he wanted only a mouthful of hay. But how had I offended? With so much I could not do, what thing had I failed to do? Would these mountain gods not bear with me until spring?

I went outdoors, under starlight, looking for a sign in their shrouded faces. A crescent moon struck one peak, glinting there like an evil, narrowed eye. My gaze shied to earth, where the ashes sat black.

This place I’d meant for my garden was fissured, split at the middle.

I saw some shining thing…on my knees, peering, I saw three or four others.

Now a wind rose, gusting strong. Prudence warned me to go inside and see to the fire.

I stayed. If the objects were not living, it was impossible they should vanish. Yet I felt so tested, it seemed every choice would speed my doom. Leave them for daylight, I told myself. Leave them forever.

The fire was fine. My sleep, too, after I forced my mind on only the War-Maker’s game.

Warm winds blew through the night. In the morning the road from the plain again streaked the meadow, and when I turned to the mountains, ramped beyond sight.

I saw travelers.

70

Winter Alone

The Totem-Maker (part sixty-seven)

(2018, Stephanie Foster)