That evening we sat round the fire. LoPa massaged mother’s back and legs while HoPa crushed coriander and cumin seeds, cinnamon, and dried ginger and peppers in a pestle and mortar. It smelled amazing as it mixed with the comforting smoke of the moss fire. Saknis roasted above the fire. When they were soft and hot, HoPa cut them up and coated them with the spices he mixed together.
Never heard of Saknis? They’re like potatoes but they grow in the forest where we lived. We used them for nearly everything. Fermented into alcohol, milled into a grain for breads, and eaten like you’d eat a potato.
They were too hot to eat so we waited. Medis whittled sticks into points and Akmuo hummed Elya the DragonQueen softly to himself. LoPa picked up the humming and then HoPa was humming, tapping a beat on his lap. Even mother hummed, then sang only vowels to the melody.
The visions danced in the sky. The stars twisted to conform to my dreams thrown up into the endlessness. The constellations became dragons and queens. Every lyric of the song came alive to me once more so high above in those bright stars already visible in the twilight.
Mother got up from her massage and sat beside me, threw an arm round me, “Smells so good!”
I nodded, salivating. HoPa smiled and LoPa strummed his lute.
Akmuo said, “Why don’t the others play lutes?”
LoPa stopped for a moment and looked to mother. She shrugged with her eyebrows and he sighed, “It’s forbidden.”
Medis stopped whittling and stared hard at the lute. So did I. It was round and smooth, like a turtle shell. But instead of six holes on the sides, there was just one in the center. The neck was long and slightly bowed as well. I still don’t know if LoPa had a special kind of lute or just one that had been warped by the weather or the years of abuse. It was an elegant instrument, even so, with sixteen strings.
“Why?” My voice was a whisper, intended for no one, but everyone heard.
LoPa spun the lute in his hands, then clapped it to a stop and strummed it once, holding the notes long while he extended his arm out. “The Wolf Clan doesn’t use lutes. They’re more the drum and stomp type. Dance is more important here, but where I’m from the opposite is true. Or, it’s not that dancing is unimportant, but it’s different. And we use a variety of instruments.”
I cocked my head to the side. I knew the words he spoke but they felt distant.
Akmuo’s gaze darted between mother and LoPa, “You’re from—you’re not…”
LoPa clapped a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. He turned to mother but she only smiled. “It’d come out eventually, Dain.”
She waved Akmuo over, but he stayed where he was. Medis stabbed his new sharp point into the ground. He said, “They hate us for this too.” He folded his arms and scowled.
HoPa shook his head, “Vilka—”
Mother raised a hand to silence him, “Come here, my sons.”
They stared at the ground and didn’t move. I climbed onto mother’s lap. She folded her arms over me and said, “I will not repeat myself.” Her voice was like her sword. Sharp and cold.
Akmuo looked to Medis who got up with great effort. Each step was a stomp and his shoulders slumped. Akmuo imitated him but made the mistake of looking at mother. I couldn’t see her face but Akmuo’s posture and behavior immediately changed. He hurried to her side and we waited for Medis who finally sat heavily beside Akmuo, on the far side from mother.
“I’m going to tell you a story,” her voice was soft. “It’s about when I found your LoPa.”
HoPa put the cut up saknis on big lettuce leaves and handed them to each of us. Steam rose from them and they were hot in my palms, but the smell was so good. I nibbled, afraid of burning my tongue, and the spices danced through my mouth and down my throat. HoPa was always good at timing things, and the food broke the tension my brothers brought to the night. We ate as mother spoke and Medis and Akmuo both lost their attitude. Eventually, Medis moved to mother’s otherside and leaned into her, feeling her skin against his. I felt his breath on my arm. It was hot and when he burped it smelled like the spices HoPa cooked with.
LoPa strummed idly on his lute as mother spoke but made little flourishes occasionally.
“The story starts with your HoPa and me. We had come to the end of our Meadow days. I was to be a warrior and HoPa was to be my first husband. He had trained in the ways of love, cooking, pottery, childcare, and healing. He was an exceptional man. Every family wanted him for their daughter. Every woman in the clan wanted your HoPa for a husband. Families offered quite a lot to have him.
“The choice was an easy one. HoPa’s family didn’t like me. They were afraid of me, like most of the clan was, even then. Even when my mother still lived. I’ll tell you about her sometime. She kept me safe and gave me status. My mother was well loved by the clan, though they began to trust her less and less. Because of me. I was a wild child, always disappearing into the forest. But my mother loved me most for that, I think.
“Anyway, HoPa was every woman’s first choice and I was every family’s last choice. No one would agree to bind their sons to me, so I had no husbands. Just like Upe. I was destined to grow old and alone. But your HoPa refused everyone and everything.
“He came to me under all seven moons, under the boughs of the MotherTree. He took my hands in his and said, ‘I cannot live even a day without you. I belong to you. I belonged to you when we first met in the Meadow with only 30 seasons behind us. You are my heart and I want no other.’
“I was afraid, I’ll admit.” She laughed, “Not afraid of a thousand enemies at my back but your HoPa’s love frightened me, it’s true. I was afraid I’d disappoint him. Afraid, too, that I’d never be able to have children.” Her voice slackened, “Several had already ended in blood. My mother told me that some women just can’t, that her own sisters were that way.
“I told your HoPa all this but he wanted me anyway.
“My mother performed the ceremony the next day. No one came to watch or celebrate, not even HoPa’s parents or siblings. Together we planted a tree at the edge of the forest.
“My mother died ten seasons later and we were still childless. I had resigned myself to it. Then the current First Mother was elected and sent me to the edge of the forest. It’s what everyone wanted, including HoPa’s family. First Mother hated me then. She said many things to me that day. Hurtful things. Cruel ones. And I believed her.
“I couldn’t face your HoPa. Couldn’t tell him that all our status was being stripped from us. That we would never be allowed to have another husband with us. So I left. I ran away.
“My true hope was that your HoPa would be allowed to become the second husband of someone else. He had lost status by binding himself to me. He would never be a first husband again, but many families and many women still wanted him.
“But I left with my spear and armor in hand. I had no destination in mind. I just knew that the clan had rejected me and I needed to free HoPa. Needed to give up his love, his touch, and our bond. It was more difficult than the first time I took an enemy’s life. Harder than watching my mother die.
“I wandered through the forest that is the world for three entire seasons. I spent the Twilight Days alone, deep in the forest. Every morning, I turned to where MotherTree grew and made my thanks. But I began to slide away from the village and the clan. I didn’t hear the music of the forest, which I always hunted after, which I lost long before that journey. I hoped to find it out there. More than that, I hoped to find my mother out there, whispering to me from wherever the Deathwalkers take us when we die. I thought I could find it in the world beyond the clan and the village, or even beyond the forest itself. Perhaps there were other worlds. Better ones.
“I didn’t find them. But I came to discover the rhythms of the forest. Its heartbeats. Its murmurs that came from the thousands of animals who filled the forest. The insects chirping, the birds singing, the deer running, the monkeys playing, and the thousands of other kinds of creatures that called the forest home. I wandered through the forest, discovering the many other clans who make their home in the forest. Dozens of clans, all taking the name of some forest creature. The Fox Clan, the Boar Clan, the Bear Clan, the Deer Clan, The Dragonfly Clan, and on and on.
“Many of them opened their homes to me. They made their homes differently than we do. Rather than create a hill and hollow it out, they slept under the stars or they cut down trees to make their homes, or they formed them with mud and other material. Some even made shelter from the bones of their dead. They cleared out fields to plant food rather than grow their own gardens on top of their homes. Some didn’t garden at all. Our languages were slightly different. Their customs and behaviors were strange. Some of them were easier to talk to than others. Some were friendlier than others, and some chased me away, following me with spears in hand.
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“Eventually, I came to an opening so wide I couldn’t see more forest in the distance. It was the end of the forest. Something I had heard existed but honestly never expected to see. People had cut so much away from the forest that there were long stretches of land without trees, full of so many people. It hurt my heart to know that so many trees had been cut down. It was like a shriek inside my head. But there were so many people. Countless people. More people than stars you can see in the sky. It was astounding and shocking. And loud. So loud. As if the world itself were screaming through the lungs of all these countless people. People of different types and colors. Some were dark like us, while others were even darker. Others were shades of brown. A thousand different shades. Others were so pale they burned like candles in the night. There are so many people on Saol.
“Out there, beyond the forest, people build cities. They’re like the village but it goes on for days in all directions. They make huge structures to live in or worship the gods. They even call some of their people gods or kings, and these people are given extra power over the rest. They live in structures even bigger than MotherTree. In cities, people trade little bits of metal. They call it money. It’s very important to them to have these bits of metal. But some places have no money. Instead, they follow complicated lines of trust and debt. But that doesn’t matter and even if I knew how it worked I doubt I could describe it in any detail.
“It was very complicated living out there. I had no money and nothing to trade. People don’t share space and food either. Some people starve right in the streets while others throw away food they don’t eat instead of sharing it with those who need it.
“I struggled for a while. Even begging some for food or a place to sleep. But people just don’t share. They keep what they receive for themselves, even if someone is suffering. If one person is hungry and another has ten chickens, they won’t share even one egg unless they’re given money or something in exchange.
“It’s a cruel, cruel world.”
She sighed heavily before continuing, “The only way for me to earn money to get food and a place to sleep was by fighting. And so I fought. I fought in public for crowds, and when I fought well enough, I was offered better work. I protected caravans and merchants. Merchants are people who sell food or cloth or animals or even people at a market, which is a place where all the merchants gather to sell what they have to people like us. Some merchants travel from city to city or even over long distances to other groups of people. Like, a merchant would trade with our clan and then travel to another clan to trade, and on and on.
“A caravan—there are big animals called horses. They’re like big deer but without antlers. People ride them and use them to pull heavy things. A caravan is like a market that travels by being pulled by horses. They need protection because they have lots of things to trade. Like spices or food or other kinds of metal that people want. Thieves try to kill caravans to steal what they have. No different from thieves here.
“I was hungry and alone and didn’t speak the language well, but I still had my spear. A fat man with beautiful, long clothes came up to me and spoke in a quick, fluidlike language. It rolled so fast and the sounds were like a river—neverending. Eventually, he made me understand. He wanted me to come with his caravan. These merchants gave me money to keep them safe, so I did. I spent eight seasons doing just that. It’s how I got my sword—maybe I’ll tell you that story another time.
“In my last season with the caravans that traveled between the clans of Lapsa and Bauruk, I was hired by a caravan who traveled with a group of musicians and artists. They called themselves a troupe. They had actors, contortionists—people who bend their bodies into new shapes—firebreathers, dwarves, giants, women with hair on their faces, a boy who grew hair over his whole body, acrobats—people who flip through the air doing amazing things—and then a big group of musicians. The artists made scenes for the plays and even stitched the clothes for the entire troupe. The musicians played songs for the plays and the various performances of the troupe, but they also performed by themselves. A dozen musicians creating stories and melodies that never existed before.
“Your LoPa was among them. He was thin and beautiful. I noticed him the moment he joined the caravan. He was dressed in bright reds. It made him shine like the sun. Every time he saw me, my heart fluttered. I wanted to hold him and make him mine. Just being close to him burned me up inside! But he was always with other men. He made love to them so I believed he was already someone’s second husband, even though the world beyond our clan is different. Women don’t take two men for themselves, but sometimes take a man and several women. I knew that but seeing your LoPa made me forget.
“I followed him around the caravan and always chose to sleep close enough to hear him. I listened to him make love to many men, imagining they were me.
“And then I heard him sing and my heart bloomed like a flower in spring. It expanded and unfolded and kept unfolding the longer he sang. You know his voice. But I had never heard anything like it. The way it climbed into the air but also rattled inside my stomach. Shivers ran down through my bones, even though it was summer. That was when I first heard Elya the DragonQueen. Your LoPa performed it for a crowd of people in a city. People who all paid metal bits just to listen to your LoPa and his companions. His troupe.
“He sang many songs that night. Dancers performed for some of them and actors for others. Sometimes your LoPa didn’t sing, but only played his lute, strumming so hard and so fast that his hand became a blur. Other times he plucked at the strings lazily.
“Your LoPa was stunning. Beautiful. That night, I wanted him, needed him to be mine. I thought of HoPa. I thought that if HoPa were with me, he would fall in love with your LoPa too. Then I remembered how I had left him, how I hoped he had bound himself to another. He was lost to me out there, so I shoved the memories away. Sad memories from a broken life.
“But I never could forget your HoPa. He was right. We shared a heart. I carried his with me and he held mine, way back at MotherTree. No matter how far I went, I was still bound to him. I thought of him often those long seasons away, in the world beyond the forest. Every night, he filled my eyes and dreams. But then I saw your LoPa that night and needed him. Needed to feel his heart beat against mine. Needed to feel his love.
“I approached him after we made camp that night.
“I didn’t speak his language well but he spoke ours. He speaks a hundred languages. You should teach them sometime, Dain. But he spoke our language and we got to talking. He knew of the clans in the forest, had even performed for some of them. He told me how one clan chased him away, called him a demon! I laughed then like we do now. He touched my hand and my head was swimming with desire. I took him away from the caravan and lay with him and he loved me and I loved him. I even saved his life a few times.” LoPa’s expression fell at that and his eyes were wet as he stared into the trees, plucking his lute.
“Your LoPa was a troublemaker. Every town we stopped in gave him a thousand opportunities to find trouble and meet people who would come to hate him. Hate him for his beauty, his wit, his genius, but mostly because he invited trouble. Many women chased him out of their homes the morning after a performance, screaming of how he lay with their husbands! LoPa ran naked down the streets back to the caravan. It was my job to protect him, to save him from women who wished him harm or from the soldiers who would hurt him.
“After one such night, LoPa was nowhere to be found. The caravan was so frustrated. The morning was getting late. The suns were near the peak of the sky and still your LoPa was gone. The merchants decided to leave once the suns crossed one another in the sky if he didn’t show up. My heart ached and beat like I had been running all day.
“I ran into the village—it was a village smaller than ours—and found him trapped. His face dark with bruises and he spit blood. I asked him what happened, but the soldier interrupted.
“The soldier was an older man. He was not the leader of the village but believed that he should have been. He refused to let your LoPa speak. He refused to let me take your LoPa back unless I gave him a great deal of money. I knew the merchants wouldn’t pay, no matter how talented LoPa was. The troupe would try, but even together they wouldn’t have enough. I demanded that he free your LoPa and the man smirked. He put the blade of his spear to your LoPa’s neck and opened his mouth to speak. No sounds came. So angered and afraid, my heart beating so fast that my vision blurred like I was underwater, my sword was in my hand and slicing through the man’s neck.
“I freed your LoPa and carried him back to the caravan.
“Your LoPa and I spent an entire season together in love. And though my heart soared, it also hurt. I was thinking of your HoPa. I missed him. I missed him every day. Your LoPa’s love helped me forget but also reminded me of what I had left behind.
“One night I told him that I needed to return to the village. I told him of your HoPa and my mother. I told him about how I was sent to the edge of the forest as a disgrace. You know what he said? He said, ‘People have been telling me to be ashamed my whole life, but I never have been. I love myself and who I’ve become. No one else is proud of me, but I’m proud of me. That’s enough. That’s what you need. You need to learn to love yourself. I’ll help you.’ And he did. He came with me. No questions asked about how he would fit into the clan or if he’d be accepted. He loved me and wanted me to love myself.
“On the long journey back, I couldn’t stop talking. I told him all about the clan and the village. I told him what it meant to be somewhere between exiled and tolerated, which he understood all too well, but those are stories for him to tell. Maybe someday he will. I told him more about your HoPa. I told him HoPa would likely have another love by now, a new woman and man to share his life with, but I needed to know. I needed to see him again. Needed to touch him, even if only one last time.
“But when I came through the trees, your HoPa was standing by our home, alone at the edge of the forest. He had built this home we now live in. Built it all by himself. When he saw me coming through the trees, his mouth dropped and his eyes went wider than I’ve ever seen them. He ran to me and lifted me with his big arms. I was crying and our hearts hammered rapidly until they found one another, learned to beat together again after so long apart. He showered me with his love. Then he saw your LoPa and even before I introduced him, your HoPa was already embracing him, kissing him!
“And then I chose to make you, Akmuo and Medis. I told your fathers that they were now going to be bound to two more lives, and they accepted this. And after the joy of watching you two grow, I told them that I would make another child. It took several tries. There were many tears and sorrowful seasons, but then you came. My Luna. It’s a word in a language LoPa knows. A language spoken far from here. It means moon. The people who speak that language also made my sword. I told LoPa to make a beautiful name for the beautiful daughter I would make. And he did.”
We were all huddled into mother, nuzzling. She laughed and called us little squirrels.
LoPa kept strumming, his eyes far away, wet with tears. HoPa sat beside him and LoPa lowered his head into his lap. HoPa stroked his face and LoPa smiled, whispered something that made HoPa grin like a little boy.
The suns were getting low and my heart felt so warm. So full of love and gratitude. I leaned back into my mother and listened to her heart, feeling it teach mine how to beat to its rhythm. She flowed through me and I knew that my heart belonged to her. That it always would. That the same was true for all of us.
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