Post by Bannanachair on May 17, 2019 20:01:12 GMT -4
Soraino woke up to sunshine for the eighth day in a row. The Nasakt people marked the end of the monsoon on the sixth, and the Pétah on the eleventh, but for Soraino and everyone else in Sanoral the dry season began on the eighth day in a row without rain. He put his ankle-length trousers on and headed to the dining room of his family’s hut, a wide grin across his face.
“It looks like the weather’s finally gotten better,” Kaidze, Soraino’s younger brother, said. “It looks like it’s time for your wedding.”
“It should have been days ago, but there was a light drizzle a few days ago,” Their father, Miwoilo, said between mouthfuls of food. “It barely counted as rain, and I tried explaining that to Chépauto, but he was insistent that it reset the timer on the monsoon season. ‘If you’re wrong, it’s best to not tempt the spirits with a monsoon wedding’, he said.”
“It was only three extra days anyway, father,” Soraino responded. “I’d side with Chépauto on this argument – there’s nothing to gain by getting me married a few days sooner, anyway.”
“Are you having second thoughts about it?” Samési, Soraino’s mother, asked. “It’s not too late to ask to postpone the wedding or to even back out.”
“I’m absolutely not having second thoughts,” Soraino said. “I love her with all my heart, I truly do, but what’s three days of waiting compared to a lifetime of happiness?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to become a priest?” Kaidze said jokingly. “They’re generally the ones to give out wisdom like that.”
“There were parts of my training that I couldn’t do. I’m better off as a fisherman, little brother.”
***
After eating his breakfast of bananas, mangoes and rice, Soraino made his way to the Porasép. It was one of two religious buildings that Soraino would need to go to for his wedding ceremony, and where he would get his tattoos. There was no road like if he were to travel to a farm, just the sand beneath his feet. Sainodz was just a small fishing village, after all.
Once he arrived, he found that Jari had arrived before him. She was beautiful – about a thumb’s length shorter than him, with gorgeous brown eyes and long black hair, braided intricately. Her nose was small and her lips were the kind that Soraino couldn’t help but want to kiss.
“You slept in, my love,” She said. “I’ve been waiting here since the sun rose.”
“You wake up too early, Jari,” Soraino replied. “You can’t possibly be sleeping well if you’re up that early.”
“Maybe you’ll need to keep me up later at night,” She replied teasingly. “Are you ready to go in?”
“I am,” Soraino said, and they entered.
The Porasép is where everyone in the village goes to get tattoos for major parts of their life – For education, for marriage, for becoming a parent and for many other important events. You could tell almost everything about the life of someone from Sanoral if you know how to read the tattoos.
There were only three others inside once the couple entered. Ba’u, the porasin, a type of religious tattoo artist, happened to be Jari’s aunt. Boroiné, the porason, and Chépauto, the priest, wearing his ceremonial gold knife at his hip, were also there.
“Jari, daughter of Pécha and Kau’e, and Soraino, son of Miwoilo and Samési, you two are here today to begin the process of your marriage. Once you begin getting your tattoos, you will no longer be allowed to refuse the other’s embrace or marriage – now is your last chance to leave unmarried,” The elderly Chépauto said ritualistically. “Do both of you wish to marry?”
“I, Jari, daughter of Pécha and Kau’e, wish to marry Soraino, son of Miwoilo and Samési,” Jari replied.
“I, Soraino, son of Miwoilo and Samési, wish to marry Jari, daughter of Pécha and Kau’e” Soraino replied. His heart raced as the two of them took their seats and the tattooing began. He spared a glance at Jari and smiled, sure that he was doing the right thing.
Ba’u began planning where the ink would go on Soraino’s right shoulder while Boroiné did the same for Jari. Both were under the supervision of Chépauto, who would occasionally make suggestions or improvements. The design was of square spirals, red and black, interconnected as if a maze, as it is for all from Sanoral. Soraino couldn’t see his own wedding design, but he knew it described Jari, her family and the events leading up to the wedding. They’d be back here afterwards to fill in the gaps with occurrences at the wedding, and the predictions made of the future.
The tattoos of the Sanoralan go in specific places. Those relating to family, childhood and learning go on the left shoulder and arm, and those relating to marriage, in-laws and love go on the right. Soraino was never able to figure out why that’s the case, but he did understand the reason that tattoos related to parentage go on the chest – the breasts are where babies feed. Why tattoos describing rank and status went on one’s belly eluded him too.
On older people, like Chépauto, barely a trace of original skin is visible between the neck and waist, and the shirt of tattoos tells an elaborate story. Unlike traders from the northern empires, the Sanoralan don’t wear shirts of silk or cloth that can be changed day-to-day, but wear only their shirt of tattoos so that all can see the truth of who they are. Jari’s bare breasts show that she’s not a parent, while Ba’u’s tattoos show that she has three children, their sexes, her age at their births, their names and likely much more that Soraino just couldn’t read. The same for their education tattoos – Soraino’s show that he trained for a few years to be a priest, then trained to learn to be a fisherman, while Jari’s show that she was always dedicated to the craft of weaving, which she excelled at.
***
The five of them were in the Porasép until noontime, their tattoos now describing eachother’s families and their courtship until their wedding. Chépauto led the lovers to the Naupoih, the main temple of worship for Sainodz. Soraino took his seat at the right-hand of Kau’e, Jari’s father, and across the hall Jari took her seat at the right-hand of his mother.
“You’re going to be my new brother,” said Koléri, one of Jari’s sisters. “I’m really happy for you. I wanted to congratulate Jari this morning, but she was out of the house before I woke up.”
“I’m sure that she was just as excited as I was,” Soraino said. The conversation stayed on the topic of Soraino and Jari for a while, and then eventually drifted off.
“You know, I was speaking with a trader from one of the Nasakt nations, from Angon or Takor or something, just the other day,” Kau’e said. “Did you know that they have their own prophecies about Piha’o? They’re very different to the way that we think of him.”
“That’s hardly appropriate conversation for a wedding,” Pécha, Jari’s mother, said in reply.
“No, it’s fine,” Soraino said. “I’m curious. What did they say about Piha’o?” Piha’o was a legendary figure, a great king who lived a thousand years ago. While most spirits leave to the afterlife within a century of their mortal deaths, Piha’o supposedly lingers, waiting to be born again in mortal form so that he may bring about a new age of prosperity for Sanoral.
“They’re afraid of him. They think that when he’s reborn as Nachor that he’ll be a violent conqueror, more like Ngapato than Piha’o. Then again, they also thought that Piha’o was a tyrant, so that makes some sense.”
“Those are things much better left unsaid at any time, especially a wedding!” Pécha said furiously, barely not shouting. “Chépauto would throw a fit if he heard you speaking like that!”
“I’m done eating anyway,” Soraino said. “I’ll probably get more food later, but for now, I’m thinking that I’ll dance – Dzochu, Koléri, would either of you like to be my first dance?” It was forbidden for a man to dance with his bride on the wedding day until after the priest had done the foretelling, so the wedding couple traditionally danced with everyone but their spouse, starting with their spouse’s siblings.
And so Soraino danced with Dzochu and Koléri, and then Pécha and Ba’u. As he danced, he spied Jari dancing with Kaidze and Miwoilo and even old Chépauto. The festivities stretched on for hours, with people getting up from their tables to join in.
Soraino didn’t spend the whole time dancing, though. He also spent a fair amount of time talking with his friends and mingling with Jari’s friends. Eventually, he found his brother in the festivities.
“Soraino, what do you think your future will be?” Kaidze asked.
“I don’t think it’s wise to guess what Chépauto will predict,” Soraino replied. “I’m hoping I have a couple happy years with Jari and then a few children.”
“That seems to be what everyone wants, and gets,” Kaidze said.
“I’m the only one who gets a few happy years with Jari,” Soraino replied jokingly. “She’s my wife.”
“That’s beside the point. I meant, how many boys and how many girls, and when?”
“And that’s what it’s wisest not to talk about,” Soraino said. “It is a bad idea to do anything that might upset the spirits – even guessing at what they’ll say. I wasn’t a good enough student to be a priest, but even I’m smart enough to know that.”
***
As the day progressed, the festivities continued. Kaidze had managed to get himself drunk on Kasiki, a foamy drink made from fermented bananas. Kau’e was barely sober and would likely be as drunk as Kaidze within a few hours. Soraino, in contrast, hadn’t had a drop of alcohol yet that evening, deciding that he wanted to be able to remember everything that happened on his wedding day.
Chépauto spoke loudly from the front of the hall. “If everyone can be quiet for just a few minutes, I’m going to see if we can figure out what the future has in store for the married couple.” That was met with an even louder cheer, and Soraino knew that that was his and Jari’s cue to head towards Chépauto.
The priest had with him two thin ceramic plates, called Laros, with detailed patterns on them. They had large pictures around the edge of a snake, a tiger, a chicken and a pig, on the bottom, top, left and right ends of the plates respectively. Additionally, there were intricate spiraling patterns towards the centre of the plate, decorated with flowers.
“Jari, you may go first,” Chépauto said, handing one of the Laros to Jari. She threw it on the ground, and the priest and the couple looked at the fragments – the snake remained whole, but the tiger, pig and chicken were broken at the neck, the head of each separate from the rest of the body.
Soraino couldn’t figure out how to read those fragments, and so looked at Chépauto. The priest’s face gave away nothing, however, and so Soraino could only guess at what it all meant.
“Soraino, you may now go,” Chépauto said, and handed the second Laros to the groom. Soraino similarly threw it on the ground, and again the pieces were observed. The snake was still whole, and was on the largest fragment alongside half a flower. The pig was shattered into many tiny pieces, and the chicken into three. Soraino had no idea where the tiger went, though many pieces seemed to be upside-down, so those could have had it.
“This is very odd…” Chépauto said. “I need a fruit of some kind, one with lots of seeds. Someone get me one.” Once the priest got a fruit, he threw it on the ground, and looked at where the seeds scattered.
“This isn’t good…” Chépauto muttered under his breath. Most people wouldn’t have heard, but Soraino was close enough to have made it out. Then the priest unsheathed his golden ceremonial knife and pricked his palm with it, letting a small amount of blood swell up in his fist before shaking that onto the ground as well.
“I need to think about what these signs mean,” Chépauto said. “I will be back by nightfall.”
That caused a commotion, and when the couple tried to mingle back in with their friends and family, they were met by a barrage of questions.
“What symbols did you get?”
“What was up with the fruits? And the blood? I’ve never seen that before at a wedding.”
“What’s Chépauto doing?”
It wasn’t until after an hour of that torture that the priest returned. His return quelled no rumours, however. “Soraino, Jari, I need to speak with the two of you in private,” He said. “And I think I’m going to need a larger knife. Come with me.”
***
“Chépauto, what in the world is going on?” Soraino asked when the three of them were alone. “I couldn’t figure out what happened with the Laros, and nobody understands what you wanted a fruit for.”
“The fruit was for me to see if I was reading the Laros properly, and the blood to further clarify the fruit.”
“So what does it mean?” Jari demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean I don’t know. I have an idea, but even if that’s right it doesn’t account for much.”
“Well, what are we meant to do now?” Soraino asked. “Are we married? Do we just not know our future?”
“I know a woman who might know, but if you want to see her, you will need to prepare to leave now,” Chépauto said.
“What’s this woman’s name?”
“Her name is Ngoichi, and she’s a Haruspex.”
“What’s a Haruspex?” Jari asked.
It wasn’t Chépauto who answered, but Soraino. “It means she sacrifices animals to the spirits and ancestors and looks at them to see the future. I thought they were only in cities, though, not small villages like Sainodz.”
“Ngoichi is in neither,” Chépauto said. “She lives alone, in a hut in the rainforest. If we leave now, we can reach her by daybreak tomorrow. But we need to leave now.”
“Then we’ll go,” Jari said.
***
The trek to the rainforest took three hours, all uphill, and the moon was shining by the time they arrived.
“It will be dark within,” Chépauto said. “One of you should hold this.” He unsheathed his golden knife and handed it to Soraino. Then he said a prayer and it began to glow with a faint light.
“Follow my lead, and be careful.” He then used the larger knife, almost a sword, that he had with him to begin clearing out a path through the foliage. The trek through the jungle was even more arduous than the trek towards it, with leaves and branches scratching at the three travelers. The sky was no longer visible through the trees, and it began to rain – Soraino knew it was a monsoon wedding.
***
After several hours of travel, the three came upon a small hut in a clearing that seemed to be barely winning a war to keep the jungle at bay. There was a chicken coop next to the hut, and a pigsty behind it, though what the animals ate Soraino could not figure out.
Chépauto knocked on the door. “Ngoichi, open the door. It’s me. I need your help.”
The door opened, and the woman who stood inside was very different to any that Soraino had seen before. She had a look of ancient wisdom about her, like she had lived a hundred years, but at the same time a youthfulness that made her seem like she could live a hundred more. She was covered in tattoos without a hint of skin visible even on her hands. Though she wore trousers to just below her knee, the tattoos continued to her ankle, and Soraino knew that they must be contiguous with the ones on her upper body.
“Come in, all three of you,” Ngoichi said. “Chépauto, I want you to explain what happened and what you need my help for.” And so he told her, about the Laros and the fruit and his blood, describing parts of it that Soraino would never have thought to look at.
“Have either of you been having any recurring dreams?” Ngoichi asked after Chépauto’s explanation. “Once you fall asleep or when you’re close to awakening, about eachother or about something else?”
“I’ve been having nightmares early in the morning,” Jari said. “I thought they were just bad dreams, but… Well, they are recurring, and they’re similar each time.”
“Chépauto, go and get me a chicken, two hens and a hog from outside,” Ngoichi said. “Perhaps that second Laros is just that straightforward. Girl, while he’s outside, I want you to tell me what the dreams were about.”
“A fire breaks out somewhere, be it on a fishing boat or in the village or somewhere else. I run away, or swim away in case of when it was on the boat, but I’m always being chased. There’s both love and hatred that are chasing me, but the fire is always what scares me the most, for some reason.”
Ngoichi didn’t respond to Jari’s dream, but did act upon seeing Chépauto return. She used a gold knife similar to the priest’s knife and gutted each of the animals in turn, starting with the chickens and ending with the pig. Each time she looked at what spilled out for several minutes, noting parts of its shape, though what for Soraino couldn’t figure out – and, from the look on Chépauto’s face, even he didn’t quite know either. After looking at the pig, Ngoichi spoke and gave her prophecy.
“You will have three children. You must name your eldest son Abodzé, and he will be a cruel man, a tyrant and a monster. In spite of that, you must love him anyway. Your youngest child will be a daughter, who you must name Toréhi, and she will be the opposite of her eldest brother – a great healer, full of kindness of love. Your middle child will be a conqueror, a man to be feared and respected as he will unite all of Sanoral and Nasakt and Pétah under his banner. Men will love him and men will hate him, and he will be the king of all the islands of the world. You must name him Nachor, for he will be Piha’o the Great come again.”
“It looks like the weather’s finally gotten better,” Kaidze, Soraino’s younger brother, said. “It looks like it’s time for your wedding.”
“It should have been days ago, but there was a light drizzle a few days ago,” Their father, Miwoilo, said between mouthfuls of food. “It barely counted as rain, and I tried explaining that to Chépauto, but he was insistent that it reset the timer on the monsoon season. ‘If you’re wrong, it’s best to not tempt the spirits with a monsoon wedding’, he said.”
“It was only three extra days anyway, father,” Soraino responded. “I’d side with Chépauto on this argument – there’s nothing to gain by getting me married a few days sooner, anyway.”
“Are you having second thoughts about it?” Samési, Soraino’s mother, asked. “It’s not too late to ask to postpone the wedding or to even back out.”
“I’m absolutely not having second thoughts,” Soraino said. “I love her with all my heart, I truly do, but what’s three days of waiting compared to a lifetime of happiness?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to become a priest?” Kaidze said jokingly. “They’re generally the ones to give out wisdom like that.”
“There were parts of my training that I couldn’t do. I’m better off as a fisherman, little brother.”
***
After eating his breakfast of bananas, mangoes and rice, Soraino made his way to the Porasép. It was one of two religious buildings that Soraino would need to go to for his wedding ceremony, and where he would get his tattoos. There was no road like if he were to travel to a farm, just the sand beneath his feet. Sainodz was just a small fishing village, after all.
Once he arrived, he found that Jari had arrived before him. She was beautiful – about a thumb’s length shorter than him, with gorgeous brown eyes and long black hair, braided intricately. Her nose was small and her lips were the kind that Soraino couldn’t help but want to kiss.
“You slept in, my love,” She said. “I’ve been waiting here since the sun rose.”
“You wake up too early, Jari,” Soraino replied. “You can’t possibly be sleeping well if you’re up that early.”
“Maybe you’ll need to keep me up later at night,” She replied teasingly. “Are you ready to go in?”
“I am,” Soraino said, and they entered.
The Porasép is where everyone in the village goes to get tattoos for major parts of their life – For education, for marriage, for becoming a parent and for many other important events. You could tell almost everything about the life of someone from Sanoral if you know how to read the tattoos.
There were only three others inside once the couple entered. Ba’u, the porasin, a type of religious tattoo artist, happened to be Jari’s aunt. Boroiné, the porason, and Chépauto, the priest, wearing his ceremonial gold knife at his hip, were also there.
“Jari, daughter of Pécha and Kau’e, and Soraino, son of Miwoilo and Samési, you two are here today to begin the process of your marriage. Once you begin getting your tattoos, you will no longer be allowed to refuse the other’s embrace or marriage – now is your last chance to leave unmarried,” The elderly Chépauto said ritualistically. “Do both of you wish to marry?”
“I, Jari, daughter of Pécha and Kau’e, wish to marry Soraino, son of Miwoilo and Samési,” Jari replied.
“I, Soraino, son of Miwoilo and Samési, wish to marry Jari, daughter of Pécha and Kau’e” Soraino replied. His heart raced as the two of them took their seats and the tattooing began. He spared a glance at Jari and smiled, sure that he was doing the right thing.
Ba’u began planning where the ink would go on Soraino’s right shoulder while Boroiné did the same for Jari. Both were under the supervision of Chépauto, who would occasionally make suggestions or improvements. The design was of square spirals, red and black, interconnected as if a maze, as it is for all from Sanoral. Soraino couldn’t see his own wedding design, but he knew it described Jari, her family and the events leading up to the wedding. They’d be back here afterwards to fill in the gaps with occurrences at the wedding, and the predictions made of the future.
The tattoos of the Sanoralan go in specific places. Those relating to family, childhood and learning go on the left shoulder and arm, and those relating to marriage, in-laws and love go on the right. Soraino was never able to figure out why that’s the case, but he did understand the reason that tattoos related to parentage go on the chest – the breasts are where babies feed. Why tattoos describing rank and status went on one’s belly eluded him too.
On older people, like Chépauto, barely a trace of original skin is visible between the neck and waist, and the shirt of tattoos tells an elaborate story. Unlike traders from the northern empires, the Sanoralan don’t wear shirts of silk or cloth that can be changed day-to-day, but wear only their shirt of tattoos so that all can see the truth of who they are. Jari’s bare breasts show that she’s not a parent, while Ba’u’s tattoos show that she has three children, their sexes, her age at their births, their names and likely much more that Soraino just couldn’t read. The same for their education tattoos – Soraino’s show that he trained for a few years to be a priest, then trained to learn to be a fisherman, while Jari’s show that she was always dedicated to the craft of weaving, which she excelled at.
***
The five of them were in the Porasép until noontime, their tattoos now describing eachother’s families and their courtship until their wedding. Chépauto led the lovers to the Naupoih, the main temple of worship for Sainodz. Soraino took his seat at the right-hand of Kau’e, Jari’s father, and across the hall Jari took her seat at the right-hand of his mother.
“You’re going to be my new brother,” said Koléri, one of Jari’s sisters. “I’m really happy for you. I wanted to congratulate Jari this morning, but she was out of the house before I woke up.”
“I’m sure that she was just as excited as I was,” Soraino said. The conversation stayed on the topic of Soraino and Jari for a while, and then eventually drifted off.
“You know, I was speaking with a trader from one of the Nasakt nations, from Angon or Takor or something, just the other day,” Kau’e said. “Did you know that they have their own prophecies about Piha’o? They’re very different to the way that we think of him.”
“That’s hardly appropriate conversation for a wedding,” Pécha, Jari’s mother, said in reply.
“No, it’s fine,” Soraino said. “I’m curious. What did they say about Piha’o?” Piha’o was a legendary figure, a great king who lived a thousand years ago. While most spirits leave to the afterlife within a century of their mortal deaths, Piha’o supposedly lingers, waiting to be born again in mortal form so that he may bring about a new age of prosperity for Sanoral.
“They’re afraid of him. They think that when he’s reborn as Nachor that he’ll be a violent conqueror, more like Ngapato than Piha’o. Then again, they also thought that Piha’o was a tyrant, so that makes some sense.”
“Those are things much better left unsaid at any time, especially a wedding!” Pécha said furiously, barely not shouting. “Chépauto would throw a fit if he heard you speaking like that!”
“I’m done eating anyway,” Soraino said. “I’ll probably get more food later, but for now, I’m thinking that I’ll dance – Dzochu, Koléri, would either of you like to be my first dance?” It was forbidden for a man to dance with his bride on the wedding day until after the priest had done the foretelling, so the wedding couple traditionally danced with everyone but their spouse, starting with their spouse’s siblings.
And so Soraino danced with Dzochu and Koléri, and then Pécha and Ba’u. As he danced, he spied Jari dancing with Kaidze and Miwoilo and even old Chépauto. The festivities stretched on for hours, with people getting up from their tables to join in.
Soraino didn’t spend the whole time dancing, though. He also spent a fair amount of time talking with his friends and mingling with Jari’s friends. Eventually, he found his brother in the festivities.
“Soraino, what do you think your future will be?” Kaidze asked.
“I don’t think it’s wise to guess what Chépauto will predict,” Soraino replied. “I’m hoping I have a couple happy years with Jari and then a few children.”
“That seems to be what everyone wants, and gets,” Kaidze said.
“I’m the only one who gets a few happy years with Jari,” Soraino replied jokingly. “She’s my wife.”
“That’s beside the point. I meant, how many boys and how many girls, and when?”
“And that’s what it’s wisest not to talk about,” Soraino said. “It is a bad idea to do anything that might upset the spirits – even guessing at what they’ll say. I wasn’t a good enough student to be a priest, but even I’m smart enough to know that.”
***
As the day progressed, the festivities continued. Kaidze had managed to get himself drunk on Kasiki, a foamy drink made from fermented bananas. Kau’e was barely sober and would likely be as drunk as Kaidze within a few hours. Soraino, in contrast, hadn’t had a drop of alcohol yet that evening, deciding that he wanted to be able to remember everything that happened on his wedding day.
Chépauto spoke loudly from the front of the hall. “If everyone can be quiet for just a few minutes, I’m going to see if we can figure out what the future has in store for the married couple.” That was met with an even louder cheer, and Soraino knew that that was his and Jari’s cue to head towards Chépauto.
The priest had with him two thin ceramic plates, called Laros, with detailed patterns on them. They had large pictures around the edge of a snake, a tiger, a chicken and a pig, on the bottom, top, left and right ends of the plates respectively. Additionally, there were intricate spiraling patterns towards the centre of the plate, decorated with flowers.
“Jari, you may go first,” Chépauto said, handing one of the Laros to Jari. She threw it on the ground, and the priest and the couple looked at the fragments – the snake remained whole, but the tiger, pig and chicken were broken at the neck, the head of each separate from the rest of the body.
Soraino couldn’t figure out how to read those fragments, and so looked at Chépauto. The priest’s face gave away nothing, however, and so Soraino could only guess at what it all meant.
“Soraino, you may now go,” Chépauto said, and handed the second Laros to the groom. Soraino similarly threw it on the ground, and again the pieces were observed. The snake was still whole, and was on the largest fragment alongside half a flower. The pig was shattered into many tiny pieces, and the chicken into three. Soraino had no idea where the tiger went, though many pieces seemed to be upside-down, so those could have had it.
“This is very odd…” Chépauto said. “I need a fruit of some kind, one with lots of seeds. Someone get me one.” Once the priest got a fruit, he threw it on the ground, and looked at where the seeds scattered.
“This isn’t good…” Chépauto muttered under his breath. Most people wouldn’t have heard, but Soraino was close enough to have made it out. Then the priest unsheathed his golden ceremonial knife and pricked his palm with it, letting a small amount of blood swell up in his fist before shaking that onto the ground as well.
“I need to think about what these signs mean,” Chépauto said. “I will be back by nightfall.”
That caused a commotion, and when the couple tried to mingle back in with their friends and family, they were met by a barrage of questions.
“What symbols did you get?”
“What was up with the fruits? And the blood? I’ve never seen that before at a wedding.”
“What’s Chépauto doing?”
It wasn’t until after an hour of that torture that the priest returned. His return quelled no rumours, however. “Soraino, Jari, I need to speak with the two of you in private,” He said. “And I think I’m going to need a larger knife. Come with me.”
***
“Chépauto, what in the world is going on?” Soraino asked when the three of them were alone. “I couldn’t figure out what happened with the Laros, and nobody understands what you wanted a fruit for.”
“The fruit was for me to see if I was reading the Laros properly, and the blood to further clarify the fruit.”
“So what does it mean?” Jari demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean I don’t know. I have an idea, but even if that’s right it doesn’t account for much.”
“Well, what are we meant to do now?” Soraino asked. “Are we married? Do we just not know our future?”
“I know a woman who might know, but if you want to see her, you will need to prepare to leave now,” Chépauto said.
“What’s this woman’s name?”
“Her name is Ngoichi, and she’s a Haruspex.”
“What’s a Haruspex?” Jari asked.
It wasn’t Chépauto who answered, but Soraino. “It means she sacrifices animals to the spirits and ancestors and looks at them to see the future. I thought they were only in cities, though, not small villages like Sainodz.”
“Ngoichi is in neither,” Chépauto said. “She lives alone, in a hut in the rainforest. If we leave now, we can reach her by daybreak tomorrow. But we need to leave now.”
“Then we’ll go,” Jari said.
***
The trek to the rainforest took three hours, all uphill, and the moon was shining by the time they arrived.
“It will be dark within,” Chépauto said. “One of you should hold this.” He unsheathed his golden knife and handed it to Soraino. Then he said a prayer and it began to glow with a faint light.
“Follow my lead, and be careful.” He then used the larger knife, almost a sword, that he had with him to begin clearing out a path through the foliage. The trek through the jungle was even more arduous than the trek towards it, with leaves and branches scratching at the three travelers. The sky was no longer visible through the trees, and it began to rain – Soraino knew it was a monsoon wedding.
***
After several hours of travel, the three came upon a small hut in a clearing that seemed to be barely winning a war to keep the jungle at bay. There was a chicken coop next to the hut, and a pigsty behind it, though what the animals ate Soraino could not figure out.
Chépauto knocked on the door. “Ngoichi, open the door. It’s me. I need your help.”
The door opened, and the woman who stood inside was very different to any that Soraino had seen before. She had a look of ancient wisdom about her, like she had lived a hundred years, but at the same time a youthfulness that made her seem like she could live a hundred more. She was covered in tattoos without a hint of skin visible even on her hands. Though she wore trousers to just below her knee, the tattoos continued to her ankle, and Soraino knew that they must be contiguous with the ones on her upper body.
“Come in, all three of you,” Ngoichi said. “Chépauto, I want you to explain what happened and what you need my help for.” And so he told her, about the Laros and the fruit and his blood, describing parts of it that Soraino would never have thought to look at.
“Have either of you been having any recurring dreams?” Ngoichi asked after Chépauto’s explanation. “Once you fall asleep or when you’re close to awakening, about eachother or about something else?”
“I’ve been having nightmares early in the morning,” Jari said. “I thought they were just bad dreams, but… Well, they are recurring, and they’re similar each time.”
“Chépauto, go and get me a chicken, two hens and a hog from outside,” Ngoichi said. “Perhaps that second Laros is just that straightforward. Girl, while he’s outside, I want you to tell me what the dreams were about.”
“A fire breaks out somewhere, be it on a fishing boat or in the village or somewhere else. I run away, or swim away in case of when it was on the boat, but I’m always being chased. There’s both love and hatred that are chasing me, but the fire is always what scares me the most, for some reason.”
Ngoichi didn’t respond to Jari’s dream, but did act upon seeing Chépauto return. She used a gold knife similar to the priest’s knife and gutted each of the animals in turn, starting with the chickens and ending with the pig. Each time she looked at what spilled out for several minutes, noting parts of its shape, though what for Soraino couldn’t figure out – and, from the look on Chépauto’s face, even he didn’t quite know either. After looking at the pig, Ngoichi spoke and gave her prophecy.
“You will have three children. You must name your eldest son Abodzé, and he will be a cruel man, a tyrant and a monster. In spite of that, you must love him anyway. Your youngest child will be a daughter, who you must name Toréhi, and she will be the opposite of her eldest brother – a great healer, full of kindness of love. Your middle child will be a conqueror, a man to be feared and respected as he will unite all of Sanoral and Nasakt and Pétah under his banner. Men will love him and men will hate him, and he will be the king of all the islands of the world. You must name him Nachor, for he will be Piha’o the Great come again.”