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

The Totem-Maker

Chapter Twelve

A Land So Perilous

(part one hundred twenty-nine)

Bani writes how the fathers of the tribe bemoaned that warfare should come upon them. “Such belongs to the Emperor. He has catapults and engines of fire, and we have only our axes and arrows.”

Another replied: “No poor man sees the Emperor. In his courtyard petitioners wait for days, granted audience only when he takes a whim to it. The god cares nothing for the vanity of a foreign conqueror, and will not forgive this delay. When his flames fall from the sky, they fall on us. Even at times, do they spare the great men of the city! Yet, how much do we deserve this fate, if we tell ourselves we have conceived a great result, we have discussed it; and as we sit, we intend it?”

Fifteen men went, where five had gone before, armed with weapons of three sorts: a weighted net to tangle feet; a light, feathered spear, that from a height could arc in silence to its target; and a short axe for fighting hand-to-hand. Wrapped again in their dusty cloths, prepared for vigil or for combat, they padded onto the flank of Lotoq with a greater confidence, and a greater fear.

The day was cloudy. The lake of Lotoq danced with plumes of steam. Hours passed, while the orb that now and then pierced the haze rose to its midday post. The Kale Kale watched, and the tunnel mouth yawned. A small mounted company at last nosed into view, their ponies’ hooves picking through the rough stone and ash. These men wore breastplates, and bound to their saddles carried casques and lances. With a lance, the halfwit was prodded ahead.

Some order came from the headman, the poor fellow able to take only a step or two. The headman commanded others, now filing to the lake on foot, to seize him and walk him forth. The halfwit shook his head in a waking fashion, and spoke to his escorts. They dropped his arms.

He bent to the wagon, drawing out a stone. Did it glow in daylight, for surely it was the green and evil one? To Bani’s father, and to a man called Rathinihama, the elder who led them, the halfwit’s task became apparent. He carried the stone slowly to the lake’s edge. He would submerge it, and the proof they needed to gain the Emperor’s ear be lost.

Rathinihama stood, and cried, “Halt!”

The man let the stone fall. Split in full, it exposed a wondrous faceting, in yellows and emeralds. Steam rose and obscured the sight of it for seconds, then vanished on a sharp breeze. The legs of the halfwit gave, his body landing face to the sky, eyes astare. He seemed in some way stunned or overcome, for it was clear he was conscious.

The headman, his pony reined back to the tunnel mouth, his cloak held to shelter him, changed the start he’d given to a smile. He made an obeisant move, a lowering of his head, hand to heart. He spoke, and gestured, and his men put their weapons away, while the workers sat crosslegged—what must be this people’s offering of peace to a stranger.

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Lore and Lessons

The Totem-Maker (part one)

(2018, Stephanie Foster)