The Totem-Maker (part one hundred twenty-two)

The Totem-Maker

Chapter Twelve

A Land So Perilous

(part one hundred twenty-two)

I knew the scouts would report the way passable, that I would sleep my first night in a third country. We could not hope, though with a dawn beginning, to make more than seven leagues. Visible from where I stood were the sentinel stones marking the border.

To my eyes visible, while the sky remained clouded and moonless, the hour of sunrise scarce heralded by birdsong. I had my strong Totem in my right hand, one of the lesser in my left. Mine had declared itself for wisdom…my good counsellor, my annoyance. It warned me in hints, augured for me I should never again set foot on the Balbaecan plain, never see Moth, which grieved me. Never Lord Ei, Jute, Pravor Tnoch (I had known this already), nor never the forbearing Lady Darsale.

I would not return to Monsecchers.

I sensed no parting complete from the Prince and Noakale. But the Totem spoke of a troubling fate, of a power to undo a world, even a world of one heart, which I doubted could be. The power, I believed in—but I did not want to face it and discover its nature.

At this thought, my Totem said, and yet.

“Courage. But courage can’t be the name for this virtue I seek. Say resolve. Resolve with…”

Was there a word for it? Resolve, carried by the vengeance of the gods.

My vision was a legend, how the great flood came to overrun the earth.

The gods had invited their enemy Iokka to feast with them, to accept their gifts and to offer his. For Ami, despairing of his bickering children, would endure no more.

Each had a province and a people, who prayed to them and burnt the entrails: six daughters and six sons equal in wealth and honor. But Iokka, seventh and last son, had no province, as none remained. He sought endlessly to harm his elders.

“Is it a horse you’ve brought? A fine animal…how do you propose, little brother, to divide it in twelfths?” This, from the firstborn, Amira.

“Why, Amira, you know my poverty. You would not care for such trinkets from my house as I could spare. You must be wise, and make trade among yourselves. I have sacrificed the best thing I have, which is more than the least of you can say.”

And Iokka, saying least, looked at his youngest sister Zaza. He saw her bridle and blush, cast eyes at the little purses she had woven from dews and sun-sparkle. Amira had given each a magical egg, each to hatch a wish.

“Zaza, break your egg and wish you had made better gifts,” Iokka whispered to her. She snatched up her treasure instead, cradling the egg safe as though he might steal it.

To his brother slowest of wit, Iokka whispered next: “Amira poses us a puzzle, does he not? I confess myself too dull to solve it. Shall I take back the horse?”

He willed his sister Bisha to speak. She, inclined by her nature to tally what others made use of, said, “Now? At the end of the feast when the meat and bread are gone and the wineskins emptied? Congratulations! To have played such a trick on the honor of your hosts!”

126

Lore and Lessons

The Totem-Maker (part one hundred twenty-three)

(2018, Stephanie Foster)