I was in a fine mood that evening, when I followed the scent of roasted meat to the cheldzan, the only building large enough for both clans to congregate… and even then, a handful of people had spilled from its entrance onto the road, where a second stewpot was sending delectable scents toward the lavender sky. I stopped beside it to receive a bowl and a flatbread scoop and wandered among the Jokka, listening to various conversations. A good half of the people there were eperu, which surprised me; somehow I thought of the third sex as the least populous. If I asked Winoña, would I discover that she’d counted all the sexes in the clans she’d met? I smiled.
The Jokka of Clan Edla recognized me, and wanted to talk—about injuries and sickness, yes, but also about recoveries and births—so the sky had set out stars before I finally made my way to the back of the cheldzan, where I found Daridil, Seper, and Koish in consultation. The lore-knower of Clan Edla, a spindly eperu named Dlona, made up the fourth in their discussion, and Winoña was listening behind the counter, wiping bowls.
“We are blessed here,” Daridil said. “Game is plentiful… the forest gives both fish and beasts, and water is for the taking. I once questioned the wisdom of staying, but the gods have made their will clear.”
“There’s enough for your clan,” Koish allowed. “I fear what would happen if we overburdened the area. The stories say that when we linger, we use up the sap of the land.”
“That won’t happen here,” Seper said. “We will be good stewards.”
“Do you even know what that will entail?” Koish said. “If you have too many mouths to feed….”
“Then, we find another way,” Daridil said.
“Probably by selling our excess members to clans who are failing,” Seper said briskly. “You know as well as we do, ke Koish, that many clans are hurting for labor and breeders. Particularly breeders. The nomadic ways are hard on us.”
Behind Koish, Dlona murmured, “Ke Seper has this right.”
Joining them, I said, “Are you trying to talk them into staying?” I smiled at Koish. “You know they have to make their argument.”
“They’re eloquent,” Koish said. “And if it were up to the clan, I’d probably have to move into that empty building tomorrow. But I have to do what’s right for them, whether it’s popular or not. And I’m not convinced. Although, I’ve heard something about a shrine?”
Daridil’s ears pricked. “Yes. To honor the gods and thank them for the gift of this place.”
“You can’t buy the favor of the gods,” Dlona said.
“Of course not,” Daridil said. “One honors the gods, one does not bribe them.”
“I like the idea.” Koish leaned over the counter and plunked his clay cup on it. “Give me a refill, ke anadi, and then Daridil and I will go talk. About fate and food, among other things.”
Winoña chuckled and filled the cup from a leather bag. “And so much useful discussion will be had after your… third, I believe? Cup of this?”
Koish snorted. “I brew my own spirits, ke Winoña. Your mild-tempered spirits will have to work harder to cloud my thoughts.” Raising his new serving, he gestured toward the door. “Daridil?”
“With you, ke emodo.”
Dlona watched them go with a long face, ears twitched backward. Then it sighed. “Do you have a spare cup, ke anadi? I think I may need it.”
“Trouble?” I asked.
The eperu eyed me, dour. “Everything under the sun and stars is trouble. It’s just a matter of how it arrives.”
Seper chuckled. “I’ll enjoy having you among us for the haul, Dlona.”
I looked from one to the other and canted my head. “It didn’t sound like Koish had made a decision.”
“Koish will make the right choice for the breeders, as he should,” Dlona said. “And the right choice is finding out if they do better here than abroad. And we know how they do abroad, so all that’s left is to discover how they do in one place. But I won’t take our wagon apart. In the case that we might need it.”
“I wouldn’t suggest anything else,” Seper said. “Let me take you to the new eperu. You’ll want to meet them. Then we can discuss the buildings, and our plans for the granary.”
Dlona’s eyes sharpened. “A granary, is it? Is that what the bricks are for?”
“Yes,” Seper said.
The other eperu grinned, showing blunted teeth. “Is it round?”
Seper laughed. “Yes, like in the stories. As you could probably tell me.” It canted its head. “You can tell me, can’t you? Nudet lost its lore-knower before it could pass on all that it knew to me….”
“We should write those things down from now on,” Winoña interrupted, earning stares from all of us. “We can,” she said. “We don’t need to be limited to tallies on knots, which makes sense for roving clans that can’t store anything permanently. We have space here to keep records. We should keep records.”
“On what, though?” Dlona asked, frowning… but not objecting. Thinking, from its expression.
“Leaves?” Seper said. “Bark, maybe?”
“The stories speak of clay tablets….” Dlona plucked at its braided arm ruffs, as if counting knots on a tally blanket. "They also speak of paper, but not how it was made.”
“Clay we have in plenty,” Seper said.
“We should make clay tablets, then,” Winoña said. “So that what happened to Nudet doesn’t happen again.”
Seper’s grin had a challenging air. “And will you have us carve you out a new cavern to keep these clay tablets in?”
“Why not?” Her chin rose. “I already have to keep records to run a cheldzan and a storeroom. Or haven’t you noticed me using paint on the walls for it?”
“I haven’t,” I said, startled.
Seper chuckled. “Have her show you, Kediil. Dlona, if you like? We’ll make the way easy for ke Koish.”
“By all means, introduce me. You’ve hired some new eperu since Clan Edla came through last.”
They departed, leaving me with a spinning head. “That is what it looks like, isn’t it? Koish doesn’t think he’s made a decision, but he has.” I thought of his concerns. “Or maybe he’s just saying what we want to hear?”
“I doubt it.”
Did he even know he’d changed his mind? I rubbed my brow. “Do things always happen that quickly?”
“When they do,” Winoña said, “it’s usually because the conditions favorable to those changes were already developing, unseen.” She threaded her fingers together and rested her chin on them, smiling up at me. “You have that look again, like I’ve said something you didn’t expect and you admire me for it.”
“And if I said… yes… would you be disappointed?”
She giggled. “No! I want you to look at me like that all the time! Come here behind the counter, I’ll teach you to serve drinks.”
“Is that hard?”
“No, which means we’ll have plenty of time to enjoy one another’s company.” She glanced past me at the people crowding her hall. “Look at them, Kediil. How often have you seen so many Jokka in one place?”
“Rarely,” I said. “It’s noisy and hot.”
“But alive,” she said. “It’s so good to see so much life in one place.”
I’d expected her to laugh. But this comment, stated with such fervor, made me look again, and see, for just a moment, through her eyes. The eyes that counted and saw fewer people too often. The eyes that looked now and saw vitality and promise and hope of some different, better future.
I longed for the wind on my cheeks and the horizon before my eyes. But how much of that longing had been shaped by my desire to escape the captivity designed for me by fate, or the gods, or my family… all of them?
I stepped behind the counter and bumped her hip until she moved over. “Teach me how to pour things.”
“Is this an excuse to let me teach you something you already know?”
“Yes?”
She laughed. “Well, if you love the sound of my voice that much….”
***
I did not have to seek out Koish; he found me behind the Nudet building, settling my rikka for the night. I straightened, tucking my loosened hair back behind my shoulders, and waited.
“Derra’s caught a child.”
He didn’t need to say anything else. I knew Derra, a fragile, easily tired anadi who longed for children and had only been able to bear one so far. If Derra had conceived, Clan Edla would stay where the risks to her pregnancy could be minimized. Two anadi pregnant and another with a toddler would make traveling difficult… and, coincidentally, give Koish and Edla status in the new settlement. Fruitfulness was admired, no matter where on Ke Bakil you traveled, and clans rich in breeding anadi were granted a deference that no other Jokkad could claim.
“Will you stay?” he asked. When I hesitated, he said, “Or come back to check on Derra through her pregnancy?” I could hear his smile in the dark. “You’ll know exactly where to find us.”
“Ke emodo…” I sighed. “Yes. I’ll check on her. I won’t promise to live here, but I’ll come back from time to time.”
“Thank you. I knew you would, just as I know you understand why I’ve changed my mind.”
“We all serve the breeders,” I said, as if I had scooped the words out of Mardin’s mouth.
“Yes. Good night to you, ke anadi.”
Melon shuffled toward the end of his stall to bump my shoulder with his muzzle, and I petted it idly, watching Koish’s body until I could neither see nor hear him.
Yes, I understood. And I feared that I had my own reasons to change my mind, because I was not ready for the future. Are we ever?
