The Totem-Maker (part ninety-eight)

The Totem-Maker

Chapter Ten

Crafter Becomes Maker

(part ninety-eight)

I explored the garden’s squares-within-squares, thick-needled shrubs outermost, their branches appealing to the heavens, hearts chopped. These were Lord Ei’s supply of firewood. Tracing the path to the very wall, I found that alongside this were berrying brambles. Nearer than the shrubs were vines that climbed wooden posts, each threaded into a carved notch, to fruit below the netting. Then were the household grains, as much altogether as a small field might supply. Then beans, rooting vegetables, herbs, and in the center square an orchard, where I counted sixteen hard-pruned trees, four each of four sorts.

It was not a pleasure garden; it was a siege garden, from which Lord Ei’s household could sustain itself. But so arranged, it pleased the eye. Stones gave seating at the center plot’s corners; I sat, and withdrew my totem. If it would manifest, tell me it preferred a garden, I would happily surrender my office.

Or if it would portend for me the Prince’s fortunes in war…

Under the lucence of pale clouds swept from the sea not far away, the totem was lovely. The purple showed a depth, a maturing. The eyes were closed, and I braced to see them open. I sought to know my error, of course…it seemed my totem helped me only upon this theme.

You are not right. Solve your problem.

And I had sworn to choose my own path. Who would I be to the Zhatabe, arriving at his great Citadel?

Not alone. I saw that I must have an entourage, my importance be impressed upon these people. Then, what costume? Did my dress matter? I had been embarrassed before the women; while not feeling this in the least, I knew the apparency of it. My clothing was bad, my hygiene was not excellent.  I guessed that Noakale, dressing me in Jute’s collar, had been teaching me too.

Bodies clustered at the edge of vision. When I turned to them, I saw Lord Ei’s cook and servants. But I sat grasping the Cannot-Be-Named, and even the phlegmatic cook showed a dread of it.

“Here, there is nothing to trouble you.”

I stood, patting the object into its pouch. The little group met with a new pressure. Wosogo strode down the path, an old man in a plain tunic at his side…falling behind for not quickening his pace.

Wosogo gave me his two hands. I did not miss, in greeting him, the old man’s signal to the cook. Taking the jugs of wine, he lowered himself to the flags, his back to the sitting stone, the jugs at his feet.

“Lavish!” I smiled down.

Wosogo, circumspect, praised the hospitality of Lord Ei.

“Why, all the house and grounds are splendid! This Kinship of Ei, Wosogo, what besides duty do they owe the Prince? Will it be a cousin marrying Jute?”

I discomfited my friend, but felt I had reason for it.

Wosogo said: “Those things I do not know.”

102

The Recalcitrant One

The Totem-Maker (part one)

(2018, Stephanie Foster)