The Totem-Maker (part seventy-nine)

The Totem-Maker

Chapter Nine

The Recalcitrant One

(part seventy-nine)

On that ninth day when the peddler was to leave me, though I did not know it, Moth, after a rap at my door, walked in.

“Is it you?” I said.

“Totem-Maker. I was sent to stay.” He bowed round-eyed, made signs with his hands, and stared at the Seeds.

I had tried a new thought the night before. No rock or blade could mar them, no fire could burn them. If they were the strongest of all things, could the Seeds mar one another? When the peddler went to his wagon, I climbed on my table and dropped one, striking the victim I’d placed on the floor.

I failed. I believed I had.

But that morning…I had been examining it when Moth appeared…I could not miss the eye. This one’s countenance had formed that it seemed curled on its side asleep.

Moth was come in pilgrimage with the Balbaecans, whom I’d seen winding afoot in a long column. I perched at Cliff-Head, as I called this spot. (Caepfod, I give you the word, in my first language.) The road was gentle in descent beyond the gate, doglegged then four times; from above, the way looked impossibly tight. But with distance the road expanded as the slope shallowed. How did the traders get their wagons round? For curiosity I’d followed once to watch. The answer: they took the wheels off. They gave to their vehicles, even the very tall ones, human legs. Teams of two…sport for the traders, I judged from cheers and laughter, rolled the wheels down behind.

They would not return until the last of summer. What riches did they find along the coast to carry home to Taqtan?

I sighed with wanderlust.

Balbaecans piled the goddess’s coins at my door, pitched their tents in the meadow. They scavenged everywhere. They dug my wildflowers and roasted the roots over fires. They sang and played nightlong. I found a Balbaecan pair taking wood from my stores.

Here I put Moth to the test, to learn if he were good for this, a mild guardianship of my property. “Go warn them not to trespass, and not to take without asking, please.”

Moth shouted from the door. The Balbaecans stood off from the woodpile, but knew Moth, so brandished their kindling to mock him. He looked at me, looked at my table with the Seeds, unwilling; he walked to the others and pointed the garden plot where the fourth Seed showed its head, and would not emerge. The talk was quiet now, but the strangers dropped the kindling.

“No, take it,” I called.

They swung to me, seeing me at the threshold, and ran.

83

Use for Use

The Totem-Maker (part eighty)

(2018, Stephanie Foster)