Ars Hyrannor: Book of the Bloodcallers

CHAPTER 6: GUEST-FRIENDSHIP

Laus

Laus stepped off his corpse-boat onto the lichen-covered docks. Designed to take in mass amounts of boats, they were broad and tough, packed sand fenced in with bamboo and tied in hemp. They felt oversized, at this time of year. They didn’t need to migrate eastward for another month, and there were already so few fisherwomen in the wake of the recent issues.

Atleast, that’s the sentiment he usually got.

Right now, they were packed.

Like fields of moss, women were packed densely on the dock. Looking at him. Laus.

Though, it felt as if they looked at someone else. Some hero, some story.

Laus was just filling in. He was caught in the net.

His welcome party was chock-full of everyone, from the adult to the youthful to the elderly. Across castes, there were even some men. Their gazes riddled him, prodded him, the burning heat of stares dwarfing the dimming sun.

It was, to put it in succinct terms, his worst nightmare.

Stupid, really, to think so in the wake of such immense, immense awe.

He tried, first, to force his way through the crowd, back home, back away from people and their demands. His very presence seemed to have a weight to it, and space was made at first. And quickly occupied with anticipation. Damn it.

The children were the first to swarm, young ones with beaming eyes, all inspired. A few tried to give him bracelets or dice or beads, ivory and marble and bamboo, all of which he took, not knowing what to say to them. Quickly after, a woman with the decorated, beaded clothes of a record-keeper came up to him, looking up from her lesser stature.

“What happened?”

Laus hesitated, before speaking curtly, “they were right, there was a leviathan eating everyone. So I killed it.”

“How?” There was an eagerness in the voice, and a disbelief.

“With my harpoon.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he elaborated: “I threw it very hard through its head.”

There was awe, but the crowd quickly went silent, as if a candle blown out. Laus felt he said something wrong, did he not need to explain himself too much? Maybe they were here for the mystery, as a myth is told in vague voices.

But, then he saw the crowd part, and the true reason for silence revealing herself.

“May I borrow the woman of the hour for a moment?” Her voice projected.

The record-keeper bowed and scuttled off, as the decorated woman made her way through the crowd.

Mother Farrisana. Leader of the Migration, and High Priestess of the Moon.

Her hair in neat, beaded locs. Her neck-covering and corset in all the colours of the earth. Her arms in detailed tattoos. Aides at her side, her tall presence demanded attention.

Laus let her take him, the duo cutting through the crowd as a keel does waves, but he would be stupid to miss how he was being examined.

As the Leader of the Migration, it was her responsibility and her responsibility alone to guide the daughters of the sea around the barnacle islands, as they came further east for the dry season, and west to the current island for the wet season.

Of course, that was tradition, to have just one. As it was, there had to be atleast three, but the other two were both fighting for the west islands, so nobody in the east particularly knew what was happening there.

When they did not need to sail, her role was still to guide, just never physically.

Mother Farrisana gestured behind them, to the crowd now milling around the leviathan corpse, calling men over to fish it out of the water, and spoke, “Do you not see how you’ve inspired them, young daughter?”

The word was a harpoon in her chest, but he answered truthfully, “I see it. I don’t think I earned it.”

“And how is that?” She projected kindness, caring. A listening ear, a wise voice.

Laus was… not very moved to be really clear. “I did my job, really?”

He had to admit, it was alot. Maybe he was still in battle-rush.

“You are too humble, young daughter! You are strong and beautiful!” Her hand went to rest on Laus’ shoulder. “I have much to ask of you, if you would allow me in your home.”

Not one to spit on the laws of hospitality, or one to deny the Moon’s Priestess, Laus lead the woman through the village on the coast.

Like the docks they were rebuilt on year by year, they were mainly bamboo. Families of men and farmers lived in pyramid houses, moved often, making a border against the fields of mycellium, mushrooms. Then, as bamboo shoots began to dot the pathways, houses with stone or thatching came. The biggest of these were already being disassembled, men set to swarm them like a beached whale.

Laus lived in one of these, his station somewhat high and his family elevated as such. This time of sun, his father and brothers would be working, and his mother observing the fields. As Laus liked it.

But, he still snatched a look at the temple of the High Priestess. Farrisana’s dwelling was crowded with fast-growing bamboo, replanted every migration on both islands, and made of two whole stories of stone. Her aides and consorts buzzed around it, and brilliant, prize rabbits were being wrangled and tamed.

Regardless, Laus lead his guests into his home, and knelt at the table at the centre of the hall. He recalled needing to bow, so he did. Gracefully, his guest followed suit, her two young aides standing to her side, hands at their backs.

“Ah, where are my manners,” Mother Farrisana spoke with possibly affected realisation, “a gift for my oh-so gracious host.”

Sugared words brought with them hands, bearing a torus of marble, worked precisely and polished so no fracture-lines showed. A macehead. It was almost perfectly made, no doubt would last one years of use, a fine weapon, and a marked improvement from the bamboo rungu he wielded currently. Not something to replace his harpoon though.

As if she had read his thoughts, she brought forth an aide holding a fine, thick harpoon of raw ivory and marble. Hooked point, it was as long as his height to his nose, and inlaid with green and white striped marble. It fell naturally in his hand, built for a deft grip.

A third gift hit the table. The second aide brought out a compass. Remarkably compact, it was only half the table wide, its lodestones suspended by sinews and pointing with perfect precision to the north point of the island.

Now Laus remembered!

Taking the gifts with practised grace, he stepped back, and fetched a jar of wine and a jar of water. And bowls! The gifts overwhelmed him somewhat, and he inspected the pottery to make precisely sure it was as elaborate and worthy as he could for his privileged guest. Stepping back to the table, he placed them down and the aides began to mix the two their own bowls.

“This wine was made with mushrooms from my family’s field 2 years ago, and has been kept since.” He volunteered.

The guest protocols were, in his estimation, very stupid. But he was too, and he’d rather never entertain guests.

“You are a truly gracious host! You do so know your ways, brave daughter.” The words felt practised, as was her smile.

It was like the broad, shelled animals on the east island. There was simply no way to pierce her. Her poise, atleast.

But noone could be that sure, right?

She cleared her throat, and got to her business coming, “Dmu’Laus. You are, as of your feat today, the most accomplished sail-hunter in our histories.”

Was he?

Laus had never felt very accomplished.

Accolade after accolade fell under a false person, noone saw who he was, just feats.

Farrisana continued, “Leviathans always symbolise challenge. Changes. The wise creatures never act as animals, but act to direct you. She was not a predator, but a sign.” She took a controlled sip of wine, and placed the bowl back down. Ripples rose, and she traced them with a finger above the bowl. “Blood pools in the west. We don’t hear much, but bats still fly from the west and so does lore. The False-Mothers’ conflict is violent, and it will come for us.”

She raised the hand to point to Laus.

“What the Moon asks is a more warlike stance. Us most faithful daughters of the sea must stand ready to defend ourselves. You are clearly what we need.”

“I am?”

“Yes!” She sounded pleased, but there was force in her voice. Effort in her lips. “A talented hunter, tall and strong as the mountains, expert in wayfinding, and from such an auspicious family. And humble! All on the same boat.” She beckoned to her gifts, “it would be wise to listen to me, and I think you would make great use of yourself as the next Leader of the Migration. How does that sound, imagine ‘Mother Lausinne’?”

Laus felt nausea creeping up his gut.

Before it could show in his face, he muttered “excuse me for one moment, Honoured Mother.”

Scrambling off, he flew to a side room, clinging to the wall.

He pulled his rungu out, and gripped it with nauseous hand.

This was the best offer in the world. It was the worst thing in the world.

He really felt sick. He should be so happy.

It was amazing. He was stupid.

Mother Farrisana was so graceous. Laus was so stupid.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He tried to breathe

Stupid

It didn’t work so mantled his power.

Stupid

It was comforting.

His power and his weapon. He could be sure in them. They were safe.

Stupid to think so. They were for hurting.

Why did this hurt?

Why did it hurt so, so much just to hear those words.

He was shaking, but it shouldn’t show through the walls.

He didn’t want to be a bad post.

No.

No.

No. He just killed a leviathan.

He didn’t get to do this.

If that couldn’t kill him, this wouldn’t.

Get it together, Laus.

She will be gone soon.

Laus walked with the shoulders forced high and face held in a smile back to the table.

“My apologies, Honoured Mother.”

“It really is no problem, brave daughter!” Mother Farrisana responded, “it was quite much to put to you, really. Allow me to attend to my duties, and you can see how you feel after a night. It has been an eventful whalefall already, I do not mean to overburden. Just know, it takes great women to lead change.”

For a second, Laus feared his moment had been noticed, His thoughts spoken? But, the High Priestess left, and did not look back.

And for that, he was glad.

So, there he was left. In blessed, sacred silence. Himself, alone.

The sounds of waves beat at his ears, bats chirped and adzes hit at cane and mushroom outside. It was peaceful, he couldn’t make out any voices.

Laus had always preferred to be alone, even before he embraced sailing. He didn’t know why.

Maybe it was something about people. Their demands, their expectations, their games. Noone could be straightforward. Maybe Mother Farisanna was. But then, like her, when they were it was because they wanted something.

Maybe it was that with noone around, noone thought he was a woman. He didn’t have to fill a role, and he didn’t have to live up to some ideal. Noone was making sauna chatter about men, and noone was making everything a constant tit-measuring contest.

Maybe it was that, when he was alone, he did his best work. On the seas, even just this noon, he always sailed best alone, hunted his strongest and fished most precisely. A person’s Power was only in themselves, after all.

But, many people sailed and hunted together. The migration was a feat only accomplished with everyone. Whilst your Power is in you, there is a power in numbers.

And, surely, his very body was reminding him he was supposed to be a woman. And his very body was making those comments seem agreeable. How did it make sense his sex only became a problem with people around him?

Or, people could be kind. His brothers were loving. There were shipwrights he got along with. Mother Farisanna was quite cordial.

Laus eyed up the gifts, still left on the table.

They were gifts, but she’d made it out like a trade. These tools, his allegiance.

Or, maybe, he misread it?

He could be stupid like that, at times.

Hefting the harpoon, it felt amazing to hold. Weighted just right, its tail was carved to ensure stable flight, and it had enough heft to cut through water for cubits! Throwing it must be…

He shot it out, his arm flicking with perfect motion.

Like lightning, the white bolt flew and pierced a wall to his left.

Parting a bead tapestry, it embedded itself with the third hook, an inlet of marble peeking through.

And so, he yet again found solace in what he could trust.

The design of a damn good harpoon.