grandfathers of the oldest men but …” Suddenly, he looked directly into Aku’s eyes. “Maybe the Uktena has come back. Maybe he lives by the sea now, not in the mountains.”
“You’d be losing an unmarried woman every year,” said Shonan.
Aku squeezed Iona’s hand.
Oghi seemed to draw his head back into his body. “Maybe the Brown Leaf people steal women each year from different neighbors.”
“If it is the Uktena, what will happen?”
Oghi shuffled his feet in the sand. Aku noticed for the first time how odd they were, short and wide, with big toenails. “They won’t kill her right away,” he said. “It’s a ceremony, it takes a couple of days. Then the Uktena doesn’t eat her body—he sucks out her spirit. He uses her life force to make himself stronger.”
“Her body goes to the Darkening Land?”
“Without a spirit.”
Shonan turned to Chalu and let his disgust curl his words. “This is childish talk.”
The Amaso chief glared back. He had thoughts, but he didn’t speak them.
“A chief who is a true ally would warn us before inviting us to live here.”
Chalu had nothing to say. Aku knew he held himself back out of sympathy for Shonan’s grief.
“What do you think we should do?”
Chalu pieced words out. “You can send a runner to your nearest village and get enough men to go against the Brown Leaves.”
“My daughter would be dead before they started.”
No one had anything to say.
Shonan turned back to Aku. “My son and I will leave at first light. We need to know where to go.”
“Come eat at my hut,” Oghi said, “and our men will tell you what we know.”
Aku saw a flicker in his eyes, the eyes that were old and young at once, serious and funny at once. He wondered what this meant.
Outside the council lodge Iona wrapped both her arms around Aku and looked at him with love. “I’ll miss you tomorrow evening.” At every sunset they slipped away and took pleasure in each others’ bodies.
“Every evening,” he mumbled.
“I better kiss you good-bye now.”
Oghi gave everyone roasted chestnuts and tea. His uncles and cousins had to crowd into the small hut.
Aku nibbled at his chestnuts. Shonan waited hardly longer than he could have held his breath, while the Amaso men spoke of where the Brown Leaf village was, how many people the Brown Leaves had, and how many fighters. At the first pause Shonan asked in the Galayi language, “What way will they go?”
Feeling embarrassed for his father, who resisted learning the Amaso tongue, Aku signed the words haltingly. Though Oghi understood some Galayi, a host had a right to use his own language.
Taking his time, Oghi got a hairless deer hide from a pile at the back of the round hut and took a half-burnt stick from the fire. He sketched a very irregular first line and said, signing his own words, “This is the shoreline.” He drew lines to show two streams flowing to the sea. “Two wide rivers. There’s a trail here that warriors use sometimes,” he said. “It’s shorter, but you’d get lost. There are big stretches to swim. For sure they won’t take a captive on a litter this way.”
He kept drawing until he made a third stream. “This is Big River,” he said. “Along it a path runs back inland to the main trail.”
Now he changed burned sticks and made a thick, weaving line that led from the Amaso village away from the coastline. He sketched in bumps to show where it went through the hills, long lines to show creeks. “This is the main trail. The streams are not too deep or wide,” he said. “Women and children can use this trail.”
He brought the main trail to Big River. “The two trails meet here.”
Then he extended the thick line much further north and drew a huge inlet protected by an arc of land. “Brown Leaf Bay,” said.
He fishhooked the trail line toward the sea and drew a circle. “The Brown Leaf village, near the shore.” He ran his finger along the thick line. “This trail is
“You’d be losing an unmarried woman every year,” said Shonan.
Aku squeezed Iona’s hand.
Oghi seemed to draw his head back into his body. “Maybe the Brown Leaf people steal women each year from different neighbors.”
“If it is the Uktena, what will happen?”
Oghi shuffled his feet in the sand. Aku noticed for the first time how odd they were, short and wide, with big toenails. “They won’t kill her right away,” he said. “It’s a ceremony, it takes a couple of days. Then the Uktena doesn’t eat her body—he sucks out her spirit. He uses her life force to make himself stronger.”
“Her body goes to the Darkening Land?”
“Without a spirit.”
Shonan turned to Chalu and let his disgust curl his words. “This is childish talk.”
The Amaso chief glared back. He had thoughts, but he didn’t speak them.
“A chief who is a true ally would warn us before inviting us to live here.”
Chalu had nothing to say. Aku knew he held himself back out of sympathy for Shonan’s grief.
“What do you think we should do?”
Chalu pieced words out. “You can send a runner to your nearest village and get enough men to go against the Brown Leaves.”
“My daughter would be dead before they started.”
No one had anything to say.
Shonan turned back to Aku. “My son and I will leave at first light. We need to know where to go.”
“Come eat at my hut,” Oghi said, “and our men will tell you what we know.”
Aku saw a flicker in his eyes, the eyes that were old and young at once, serious and funny at once. He wondered what this meant.
Outside the council lodge Iona wrapped both her arms around Aku and looked at him with love. “I’ll miss you tomorrow evening.” At every sunset they slipped away and took pleasure in each others’ bodies.
“Every evening,” he mumbled.
“I better kiss you good-bye now.”
Oghi gave everyone roasted chestnuts and tea. His uncles and cousins had to crowd into the small hut.
Aku nibbled at his chestnuts. Shonan waited hardly longer than he could have held his breath, while the Amaso men spoke of where the Brown Leaf village was, how many people the Brown Leaves had, and how many fighters. At the first pause Shonan asked in the Galayi language, “What way will they go?”
Feeling embarrassed for his father, who resisted learning the Amaso tongue, Aku signed the words haltingly. Though Oghi understood some Galayi, a host had a right to use his own language.
Taking his time, Oghi got a hairless deer hide from a pile at the back of the round hut and took a half-burnt stick from the fire. He sketched a very irregular first line and said, signing his own words, “This is the shoreline.” He drew lines to show two streams flowing to the sea. “Two wide rivers. There’s a trail here that warriors use sometimes,” he said. “It’s shorter, but you’d get lost. There are big stretches to swim. For sure they won’t take a captive on a litter this way.”
He kept drawing until he made a third stream. “This is Big River,” he said. “Along it a path runs back inland to the main trail.”
Now he changed burned sticks and made a thick, weaving line that led from the Amaso village away from the coastline. He sketched in bumps to show where it went through the hills, long lines to show creeks. “This is the main trail. The streams are not too deep or wide,” he said. “Women and children can use this trail.”
He brought the main trail to Big River. “The two trails meet here.”
Then he extended the thick line much further north and drew a huge inlet protected by an arc of land. “Brown Leaf Bay,” said.
He fishhooked the trail line toward the sea and drew a circle. “The Brown Leaf village, near the shore.” He ran his finger along the thick line. “This trail is
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