Kippler squinted in frustration, then
hawked and spat on the ground. The cracked tawny earth sucked up his
saliva on contact. It was impressive that he had any spit left.
“Look, I promise I won’t bother
this ‘maggot father’ of yours,” he said.
The kurzu eyed him, then the damp spot
on the ground. She said nothing. She was a fine one to judge, thought
Kippler, wrapped in her odds and ends of rags, with her seedy pouch and
drum. How could he appeal to such a creature?
“I’ll give you silk.”
The kurzu laughed without smiling. “I
take nothing from you. You do not know the Fathers. You do not respect
the Fathers. You have no song.”
Kippler gave her an imploring look.
How was he going to get back to civilization if this blasted native
refused to barter? He couldn’t re-cross the mountains, the rock fall
had seen to that. He couldn’t follow the trade route, as it
looped too far around the wastes for one man to walk alone. His only
hope was to rest here on this barely tentable patch of ground and find
some water before he finished crossing the wastes.
“Please, can I just have a guide
through your land?” It was reasonable, and a guide would have to feed
both of them.
“It’s not ‘my’ land,”
snapped the kurzu, “and if you are not gone by morning, the tribe will
kill you. I am sorry, but it is the way now. We cannot let you disturb
the Fathers. You have no song.”
She turned to leave and Kippler
grabbed her arm. “Can I earn a song?”
The kurzu pursed her lips. “You
cannot buy a song.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The kurzu looked him dead in the eye
and weighed him pound for pound. Kippler found himself sucking in his
stomach and squaring his shoulders.
“It is possible, the Fathers
willing,” she said at last. Kippler relaxed and felt slightly
ridiculous for worrying about his physique. All his wives said he was a
fine specimen of a man, and they were right. After all, he had made it
across part of the wastes alone.
The kurzu rummaged through her pouch
and produced a shriveled red berry. “Eat this. Walk back the way you
came. If you are given a song, come back tomorrow. If not, keep walking.”
Kippler took the berry and stared at
it. “Isn’t this poisonous?”
The kurzu smiled at him for the first
time, full white teeth radiant in her caramel colored face. “Two
berries are poisonous. Do not be greedy, Sitta man, and life will treat
you well.”
Kippler gave her a scathing look. How
dare she poke fun at him? He was right. The ignorant little savage knew
nothing of the wealth, power, and cunning he possessed.
“That’s City man,” he corrected.
Her pronunciation was horrible.
“Yes, Sitta man, farewell,” she
said.
Kippler watched her depart with a
snarl. He wanted to pick up a rock and brain her with it, just the way
he should have brained Garret with a rock.
“It was a mercy,” he muttered to
himself, then turned around and faced the setting sun.
He gave Garrett’s canteen a slosh and
fingered the name embroidered on the side of it. It was a little over
half full, enough for this idiotic adventure tonight, but not enough to
get fully across the wastes. He popped the berry into his mouth. It was
bitter, so instead of chewing, he washed it down with a quick gulp. He
hadn’t had any sort of hallucinogenic since he was just a snotty kid.
It could even be fun, tonight. He just had to come up with some little
ditty to serenade the kurzu with when he came back tomorrow. And how
hard could that be? He knew dozens of songs they had likely never heard
of in their semi-isolated state. Kippler wandered into the wastes with
confidence.
~
Mya walked home without looking back.
She tried to calm herself before she reached her home, but it was
impossible. The arrogance of the Sitta man made her angry, to her shame.
She struggled with the anger, to bite it back and hold it down, so that
it might not escape onto her face. She had no right to judge the man.
The Fathers would do that for her.
As soon as the little girl saw her,
she ran up and asked, “Mya, what has made you so angry?”
Mya smiled. “Forgive me, Toddy, for
showing my anger. I met a Sitta man today who was trying to cross the
land.”
Toddy’s face lit up in excitement.
“A Sitta man! What did he look like? Did he have silk? Did he have
books? Did he have chocolate?”
Mya sat down outside her tent and
gathered the little girl into her lap.
“Well, he was red and fat and he had
brown eyes and brown hair everywhere except for the top of his head. He
wore a shirt and pants of silk and shoes of leather and wood, and he had
many canteens dangling all over him. He wanted to cut through the land
to get back to the low ground and the City. I’m afraid he had no books
or chocolate.”
Toddy looked disappointed, then said,
“I know shoes.” Her own bare feet wiggled. “But what’s pants?”
“Pants are something that only Sitta
men wear,” said Mya. She took her symbol stick out of her pouch and
drew a picture of the Sitta man on the ground for Toddy. “These are
pants.”
“Oh. Why wouldn’t you let the
Sitta man cross the land, Mya?”
“Because it was the Sitta who first
disturbed the Father of Maggots.”
Toddy snuggled closer. “I don’t
know that story. Is it like when Lizard Father woke Turtle Father to ask
him a riddle, and Turtle Father got so mad he took off his shell and
scooped up all the water and took it to the east?”
“No, Toddy, it’s not like that at
all. It’s a story for adults, but I will tell you a version of it so
that you will understand.
A long time ago, the Sitta disturbed
the sleeping place of the maggots. They cut up the hill the Maggot
Father was sleeping under because they wanted to build a City there.”
“I bet Maggot Father was mad.”
“He was so mad the anger blackened
his face. And the Maggot Father came out and all his maggots came and
they covered the world in a cloud and almost everyone died. When the
maggots finally went back into the ground, little was left.”
“All the people died? All the plants
and animals?”
“Yes, Toddy, there was almost
nothing left.”
“What about the other Fathers?”
“They were still sleeping under the
ground. I don’t know if they could have stopped the maggots, but they
didn’t. I think the maggots knew that there would be no one left to
sing about them if the Kurzu all were dead, and so they left just enough
of us to survive. Look at the wastes. Still the land has not healed
there.”
Toddy shivered. “That’s scary.”
“That is why no more Sitta can come
to this place where most of the Fathers sleep. That is one of the
reasons we travel, so we can guard the Fathers at all the borderlands. I
think if the maggots are disturbed again, there would be no one left.”
“That won’t happen will it?”
Toddy’s clear gray eyes were wide with fear.
“Of course not. I gave the Sitta man
an allaya berry and sent him back into the wastes. The berry will open
his mind so that the Fathers can communicate with him, and give him a
song.”
“How will we know it’s a good
song?”
“We will know. We will toss our
drums down and sing with him.”
“What if it’s a bad song?”
“Then we beat our drums before we
kill him.”
“What if the Fathers don’t give
him a song, or don’t talk to him?”
“Nothing, if he doesn’t come back.
If he does come back, it’s the same as singing a bad song, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.” Toddy wiggled. “I
want an allaya berry. I want to talk to Turtle Father and Jumping Mouse
Father and Blue Wings Father.”
“You can eat berries when you’re
older. It’s time you went to sleep.”
Toddy began to protest, but Mya sang
her a lulling song about Jumping Mouse Father, and the child soon
drifted off. Mya carried her to bed, and then sat in quiet
contemplation.
She wasn’t sure what to expect from
the Sitta man. He had to be more than what he seemed, or he would not
have survived thus far. Mya wondered if she was wise to tell Toddy as
much as she had. While Toddy always seemed to have a very strong natural
curiosity, it would be bad for her to become too interested in the
Sitta. Chocolates and books were worthless, and Mya wished the girl hadn’t
mentioned them. She would have to keep a closer eye on her from now on.
Mya wondered if she was properly fulfilling her obligation to help rear
the child.
She sighed. The girl was precocious,
and Mya was doing the best she could. For now, that would have to be
enough. Clear of conscience, Mya drifted off to sleep.
~
Kippler sat shivering on a rock. He
rubbed his arms and legs to try to rid them of gooseflesh. As he rubbed
his legs, he found that the texture of his pants was the most amazing
feeling his fingers had ever experienced. After a few minutes of happy
rubbing, he reasoned that he couldn’t very well sit around all night
rubbing his legs, so he stood and stretched. Above him, the stars
glistened. In the waste they shone like the eyes of his wives. He felt
that they were watching him. This at first made him warm and happy, but
slowly the happiness gave way to discomfort, until he took refuge by a
large rock pile. Shaking, he hid from the watching night as best he
could. Soon he became too scared to shake.
He sat there, utterly frozen, for so
long that a little brown mouse hopped out of the rock pile and landed on
his foot.
Kippler grinned. “A mouse,” he
said.
“A Sitta man,” said the mouse.
Kippler gave a little squeal of
delight. “A smart mouse! You like to talk? Will you talk to me? Will
you teach me a song?” He offered his hand, and the mouse leapt into it
and sniffed his skin.
“There will be no Jumping Mouse song
for you,” said the mouse, and leapt back into a crevice in the rock
pile.
Enraged, Kippler began to dig through
the rocks, tossing them over his shoulders. Mice should respect men, and
he had great plans to teach the mouse just that. He uncovered something
white and spongy. He stared at it. It was a hand.
Kippler backed away from the hand. All
around him were fallen rocks and half-crushed wagons. Again he heard
horses screaming, and felt the vibration of the rock slide hitting the
wagon train.
He was in the pass again. He couldn’t
make it across the waste without any water. He’d have to raid the
corpses. He felt his tongue become heavy in his mouth, like a piece of
dried out liver. Everyone was dead. Everyone was dead.
“Leave me alone!” Kippler
screamed, brushing at his clothes. He was covered in dust from the fall,
and it wouldn’t come off. It was a bad trick, a mean trick, and he
needed water or he’d die. He turned to run, and tripped. He fell hard
onto his belly, and when he opened his eyes again, there was a green
turtle in front of him.
“What do you believe in?” asked
the turtle.
“What?”
Do you believe in water?”
“Yes, Kippler panted just thinking
of it.
The turtle climbed out of his shell.
“Then have a drink.”
Still lying flat on his belly, Kippler
grasped the shell in sweaty palms and lifted it to his mouth. The water
was cool and sweet and he drank his fill. As his belly filled with
water, fear emptied from his soul.
He set the shell back down in front of
the turtle. “Will you teach me a song?” He felt returned to himself.
“No,” said the turtle. “You are
not right for the Turtle song.”
“Kippler,” called a voice. Kippler
looked questioningly at the turtle.
“Go,” said the turtle.
The voice called him again by name,
and he clambered over rocks and boulders and death until he reached the
voice’s source.
“Garret!” Kippler was surprised.
“I didn’t think you were still alive. It’s been two weeks.”
Garret lay twisted under a pile of
rocks. His eyes glowed up at Kippler.
“Men are large and maggots are
small,” he said, “but I can teach you a song. After all, you didn’t
kill me.”
“I told you.” Kippler couldn’t
contain his excitement. “Murder is an evil sin. I had to protect my
soul. Yours too.”
“Even though I begged you.”
“You were wrong.” Kippler frowned.
“I wasn’t sure up until now, but now I’m sure. And it has all
worked out. If I had killed you, you wouldn’t be here to sing me a
song.”
“You are perceptive, Kippler.”
Garret paused to smile up at Kippler. His lips looked strange, as if the
muscles were smiling instead of the man. “Listen to this song I
learned. It’s a song of maggots.”
Garret began to sing tones. They
started low and grew higher, discordant and off pitch. Kippler’s neck
hairs stood on end, but he listened very carefully.
When Garret finished singing, he
opened his mouth wider and wider, until tendons and bones snapped. A
cloud of flies boiled out of Garrett’s throat. They blocked out the
stars in the sky. Kippler closed his eyes, so he wouldn’t have to
watch. When he opened them, he was back in the waste and the sun was
rising.
~
Mya
wasn’t surprised when she saw the figure of the Sitta man trudging
closer and closer to where she stood. She heard a little sneeze behind
her. Mya stalked towards the bush that had sneezed and yanked out Toddy.
“Toddy, go home.”
“But I want to see the Sitta.”
Toddy was on the verge of tears.
Mya was all set to give the girl a
good dressing down when the man interrupted her.
“The fathers came to me. They gave
me a song. Just wait until you hear it.”
“Sing,” said Mya.
~
Kippler had her. He knew he did. When
the first notes emerged from his mouth, and the first flies came dancing
from his lips, he knew he had bested the kurzu. The shocked expression
on her face said it all.
The little girl took off running,
probably to bring the rest of the tribe to hear the City man sing. They
would give him gifts and feed him, and guide him through their
territory. And they would apologize for how shabbily they had treated
him. Kippler swelled, he saw the song in his eyes and he heard from a
faraway place the beating of his heart. When he looked at the kurzu he
saw she was playing her drum, so hard and furiously she shook. It was a
rhythm to accompany his song. He opened his arms ,in blessing and
forgiveness like a saint, as he heard the sound of other drums moving
closer.
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