The Totem-Maker (part one hundred nineteen)

The Totem-Maker

Chapter Eleven

Lore and Lessons

(part one hundred nineteen)

Noakale spoke to him. She shot me a glance, that said you and I have a secret. To ward speculation from myself, then, I brought out the Totem and meditated. The secret was that her tutorials had broadened my understanding of the northern speech…

I knew what they said.

She told him that by the will of the gods, I could not be possessed or controlled. That I was patient, but that I need not be. That I would return and bring news, but that I need not return.

And while I kept my face preoccupied, the Prince said in reply, this emissary I would lose gladly enough. All our conversations have been a thwarting of my plans. Now I am to be on tenterhooks, unable to act…and she I rely on for counsel, counsels ignorance.

Oh, does she?

Please, peace. Do not pretend.

There are those I count wiser than myself. In the legends of my own people—

She cut herself short. Disquieting. Bravehearted, ever sensible Noakale, had thought of words she feared to speak. I came close to lifting my eyes and asking her: What legend?

But I asked this instead of the Totem in my hands. Its color, for a moment, shimmered green.

“Totem-Maker, accept my apology. Now. I was careful of my state, and descended by the road, and a company of my father’s men marched behind. I felt the showing was good…for the girl’s sake. I recalled her scorning me.”

“Your memory played you false.”

“I recalled I’d thought it. My memory plays in a simple key, my love. And if it were not for simplicity you chose me…”

“Ha. It was your face. And that your pride needed breaking, or you would do yourself an injury.”

Hach’kale Liben knew the soldiers stood for threat, and gave orders for a grand hospitality, rivers of wine. In his own house, with his wife and daughters, he feted Samatho more circumspectly.

“One coin for a thousand, two coins for two thousand, eh? Four coins, and not five? How much above the purchase does your brother want? When you eat under my roof you are family. I expect frankness between you and me, Samatho.”

Samatho did not lie, in his bewilderment. He understood of this negotiation only one thing, that Liben expected profit.

The gong sounded. The means of climbing to the lower stage of this manor, sprawled over its forest of legs, was a cage of rope. Below much village living took place. Berries grew in pots, flowering vines in baskets, singing birds were kept in cages. Sellers of crafts sat on cushions, their wares at their feet. A trio played longnecked instruments, a fisherman emptied his net for Liben’s cook, and two at a jogging pace—readily seen, for the Kale Kale constructed flights of open decks with moveable walls of reed—left the road returning and made for Liben’s entry.

123

Lore and Lessons

The Totem-Maker (part one)

(2018, Stephanie Foster)