The Totem-Maker (part one hundred six)

The Totem-Maker

Chapter Ten

Crafter Becomes Maker

(part one hundred six)

“Yes, A’an.”

“Tell him he will go to the lake, at the mountaintop. He will see for himself.”

“But, A’an…”

“They give no instruction to children of the shantytown.”

This was a question. The child knew it to contain a snare which agreement or disagreement would spring alike. Such were the comments of adults.

“No learning, no, Lord.”

“No. You do not call me lord.”

The child fell to a wary silence.

“I make a mild point. You will carry a message from me to the Emperor. You will give it to the guard at the gate, by this token.” The blind man went to a basket; he did so with not a pace more or less than needed. He gave the child a tile. “The message is that he must send to me an emissary and…you will hear more of it later. You.”

He tapped the child on the shoulder.

“I will hear more.”

“That is a business of my own,” the old man said. “I digress. Your lesson is this: when a child is given a chore he performs it. He does not say ‘but’ to an elder. What will you tell your father?”

“That he must go to the lake.”

“That also he must carry his knife. His two companions shall wait below the ridge that encircles the lake. Your father will in great stealth approach. With speed and in secret he will descend, and likewise return to tell what he has seen.”

Some of these words were new to the child, while the priest’s diction made even the familiar obscure, but the things assigned he carried out. He later learned himself recommended to that quarter of the city where only the holy dwelt, to be educated there. In old age he had authored this tale I paraphrase to you; this child, Bani.

He told the reader so in preamble, a dedication to his savior.

The father and his companions discovered the bowl with its sulphurous waters, its spined encircling ridge, had become a camping place. Strange works were underway, handcarts brought to the lake’s edge by gangways, natural in their courses but widened and smoothed. The labor, which seemed the hauling of many rocks, proceeded without a shout. The rocks were placed, not thrown.

The carters made off at a pace deliberate, zigzagging to what looked a tunnelway. Why should they do it? There was some good in the rocks that made them worth stealing…? Bani’s father and his men discussed this, speaking low, glancing often over their shoulders. Like maggots, the strangers would eat away at the sacred mountain, leaving bones. Until some evil were awakened.

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Crafter Becomes Maker

The Totem-Maker (part one hundred seven)

(2018, Stephanie Foster)