“I don’t know. But I’ll tell you this; it was foul-tasting stuff. I nearly spat it out.”
“Be wary of him,” Geoff cautioned. “I don’t trust him.”
Neither did Leaf Hopper. And he hadn’t been completely honest with Geoff. Leaf Hopper did remember the dreams. Dreams of himself and Anya, dreams so wild he could barely face them himself, never mind share them with his best friend.
Finally, with an aching head and cloudy vision, Leaf Hopper lowered his bow for the day. He realized he was unable to make a clean shot. The mountain people believed an animal asked to give its life should be killed as painlessly as possible. He looked at Geoff and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have the strength today.”
“Never mind.” Geoff tried to hide his annoyance. “There’s tomorrow.”
The hunters returned early and empty-handed. “I better tell Emmah that we didn’t catch anything today,” Leaf Hopper said as he shuffled off.
Emmah stopped stringing berries and stood as Leaf Hopper approached. “I have the new slippers. Let’s see how they fit.”
Leaf Hopper tried them on. “They’re perfect. Thanks, Emmah.” He held the old slippers in his hand. “I came to tell you that we didn’t get any game today.”
Emmah shrugged as she smiled. “We have some food in store.”
“Good.” Leaf Hopper waved as he moved off. “Give Dagny my greetings.”
Geoff looked for Bog. He was annoyed with the man. Bog had given Leaf Hopper some mysterious potion that had left him sick for the day. With several of the villagers depending on them for meat, they couldn’t take a day off for having a headache or being sleepy. Some of the villagers would be hungry tonight.
“What did you give young Leaf Hopper?” he demanded after he’d found the man.
Bog laughed. “Why? Do you want some?”
Geoff made a threatening fist. “What was it?”
Bog shrugged. “Nothing bad, just the juice of the devil frog.”
“I never heard of it, and it doesn’t sound good.”
“They’re not from around here. They come from across the Vast.” Bog smiled slyly. “Did Leaf Hopper tell you about the wonderful dreams he had?”
Geoff was caught off guard. No, Leaf Hopper had not confided any dreams, although, he had been unusually distracted. Geoff wasn’t about to admit this to Bog though. “Don’t give him any more of that stuff,” he ordered. And as Geoff stalked off, he could hear Bog laughing behind him.
Chapter 5
“There’s a Tribal Council tonight,” Geoff remarked to Leaf Hopper on their way home from hunting the following day.
“Yes,” Leaf Hopper said, shifting the small wild boar from one shoulder to the other. He remembered that Bog had asked him to bid on Anya and had been rather forceful in his request. And yet, she had barely spoken to him, and Leaf Hopper wasn’t convinced that he knew her any better than when she’d first arrived. But then, his body argued, she was knee-weakening beautiful, almost goddess-like. And he felt a tug of surrender.
When the two hunters reached the village, they cut and distributed their catch. Leaf Hopper headed to his hut, preoccupied with his thoughts, when Bog called to him.
“Leaf Hopper, greetings. You’ll be attending the Tribal Circle tonight?” he asked.
Leaf Hopper stepped back, uneasy. “Yes.”
“My sister is anxious that you should bid on her tonight. Otherwise, I will have to take her with me when I leave.”
Leaf Hopper didn’t answer. He was an instinctive man and had misgivings. This state of indecision was unfamiliar to him.
“Is she not the most beautiful you have ever seen?” Bog’s soft voice hypnotized . “I see your thoughts. You’re uncertain. You think to yourself, you don’t know her. Look, she sits over there so shy…. But once you know each other, there will be…real dreams.”
Leaf Hopper weakened as he looked at her again. She was more beautiful than real. He made one last objection. “I have nothing to bid, none of the trinkets that women like.”
“Don’t worry. I see you have new slippers. They’ll work.”
So at the Tribal Circle, Leaf Hopper bid his slippers for the beautiful woman and coolly she accepted. The villagers were surprised and disappointed at the binding. None had liked the visiting couple, but they were too courteous to object to Leap Hopper’s choice. And despite their reservations, the women of the village would try to embrace the newcomer and make her feel welcome.
Leaf Hopper’s hut was well maintained, simple, and clean. Inside, his thick fur sleeping mat doubled as a sitting mat during the day. His tools and reserve supplies were stacked neatly along the curved walls.
He looked at Anya and noticed her expression of disdain. “We can make changes to suit you,” he offered. But she didn’t respond.
Leaf Hopper put his arms around her. “Anya, you’re the most beautiful—” he started, but she moved stiffly away and lay down on the sleeping mat.
Their binding was not what Leaf Hopper had expected. She had been remote and lifeless. Somewhat disenchanted, Leaf Hopper realized he may have made a hasty mistake.
The morning turned out to be just as awkward. When Leaf Hopper spoke to Anya, she closed her eyes to him. At a loss, he got himself ready for his day. “I’m going hunting. Any of the village women will be happy to help you—” But before he could finish, Anya burst out of the hut where she doubled over, sick. In a panic, Leaf Hopper ran to the Healer.
The Healer was tending her herbs when he arrived. “Please, come quick,” he said urgently. “It’s Anya. She’s ill.” With many annums of experience behind her, the Healer was revered for her wise knowledge of the psyche as well as the body. She hadn’t liked the visiting couple, there had been an uncomfortable slyness about them. But she was obligated to care for the woman. Solemnly, she followed Leaf Hopper back to his hut.
By the time they arrived, Anya had returned to the sleeping mat and was lying down again. “Wait outside,” the Healer instructed him.
The Healer emerged after a short time. She looked sideways at Leaf Hopper. “There’s nothing wrong that a little time won’t cure,” she said. “Anya’s going to have a child.”
“Already?” he asked in joyous disbelief.
The Healer raised an eyebrow. “Not already. She’s been this way for some time, maybe, three or four smiling moons.”
“What?!” Leaf Hopper’s body shook. He entered the hut and confronted Anya. “What fraud are you trying to pull on me?” he cried. Anya ignored him. “You owe me some explanation!” She rolled to her side. Facing the wall, she showed Leaf Hopper her back. Leaf Hopper balled his fists; he didn’t know how to deal with this woman. “We’ll talk to Bog about this. Does he know? Did he plan it?”
Leaf Hopper raced out and found Pocheao. But all the Wise One could tell him was that Bog had left the night before, right after the Tribal Circle. And, no, he didn’t know where Bog planned to wander next.
Leaf Hopper panicked; he and Geoff would track down that ground crawler and, and…what? Bring him back? Make him take the girl? Spirits! He ground his teeth then sighed. Years of tracking and hunting experience had taught Leaf Hopper to calm himself. An adrenaline rush to the body did not necessarily translate into sensible solutions. There were times when a situation must be faced with slow deliberation.
Leaf Hopper wandered into the pines. He closed his eyes and let his other senses take over. The aroma of pine scent was strong, fresh, and clean. The sounds of the forest calmed him—the soft wind, the birds calling. Now he was ready to consider the matter of Anya. His first thought was, how had she become in this condition? But it didn’t really matter. More importantly, could he love a child that was not his own? Yes. Anya was his bonded now, and he was obligated to love her and the children she bore.
He shouldn’t have yelled at her. He would go back, apologize. He couldn’t expect her to confide in him if he berated her. They would discuss their expectations together, in a quie
t, amicable way.
Leaf Hopper returned to his hut and looked at the back of Anya. He didn’t think she was sleeping, so he addressed her softly. “Anya, I’m sorry. Can we start over? I want our binding to be happy.” He stepped closer. “I’ll love the child and accept it as my own.” She was silent, so he struggled on. “I’ll be home four hands before the sun disappears. Maybe you’d like me to show you some of the valley.” Nothing. He raised his hands in a helpless gesture, and then left for the day.
When the young hunter returned that afternoon, he was pleasantly surprised to find that Anya had prepared a stew. Silently, she handed him a bowl of meat and gravy. The flavor needed help, but he wasn’t going to criticize her first effort.
“Were you able to meet any women in the village today?” Leaf Hopper asked.
Anya busied herself over the fire without answering.
Mystified, Leaf Hopper chewed on the flavorless supper; maybe she was still feeling unwell. He gave her what he thought was a supportive smile and returned to his meal. After the third mouthful, he snagged a long strand of hair. Ugh. Surreptitiously—he hoped—he pulled the hair from his mouth; he didn’t want to embarrass her. Unfortunately, the second, third, and fourth nights followed the same pattern. On the fifth night, the bowl had many hairs mixed in with the food. Pained at the knowledge that this was deliberate, Leaf Hopper put the bowl aside. He looked at Anya confused and disappointed. Why had she agreed to his bid if she held him is such contempt? It must have something to do with the child. But he had already told her he would accept the child, and love and raise it as his own.
He rose from the log and began a listless walk around the village. As he made his way around the huts, many of the inhabitants called out a friendly greeting to him.
He arrived at the home of Pocheao, the Wise One, and stopped to watch him. Pocheao was whittling. He used a piece of sharp stone on a fresh piece of limb. Newly cut green wood was softer, easier to work than the well-dried hard wood. “Welcome, Leaf Hopper,” Pocheao greeted the younger man.
Leaf Hopper grunted a limp response. Silently, he watched as the old hands trimmed bits from the hand size piece of wood.
“Something bothers you perhaps,” Pocheao said, his hands still working.
“How are you able to predict the future? I’ve seen you do it,” Leaf Hopper said.
Pocheao was slow in replying. He continued chipping away at his figure before saying, “I don’t predict the future. Using past knowledge I consider tomorrow. There’s no trick to it, just age and experience.”
Somewhere, Leaf Hopper already knew this, but he was hoping for a different answer.
“What do you think of my chances for a good life with Anya?”
This time the pause was much longer before Pocheao answered. “I don’t know her yet. But by the time Bog left, I didn’t think he was a solid standing man.” He blew the loose chips off the piece he was working on, smoothed it with his finger, and handed it to Leaf Hopper.
It was a tiny replica of a fang snake.
Chapter 6
Anya’s early morning upheavals continued. Maybe, Leaf Hopper rationalized, her ill temper was caused by the morning sickness and she would feel better after the child was born. She must be anxious about the baby and the new environment she found herself in. Leaf Hopper convinced himself that once the baby arrived both their lives would improve. Before he left every morning, he would go to Shallow Water and fill a jug so she would have water when she woke.
One night Leaf Hopper reverently placed a hand on Anya’s growing stomach. He marveled at the miracle. There was life in there, a child. Not his, but one he would love and raise. The prospect awed him, the privilege, the responsibility. He smiled and looked at the face of the beautiful woman he had bonded with, but her eyes were flat and empty. He felt coldly shuttered out.
The time for the child was getting close, and Leaf Hopper found himself looking forward to the event. If Anya produced a girl, he would shower her with baskets of flowers and colorful hair ornaments. He would take her on walks amongst the trees. And they would discuss things like life and the gods. But, if the child turned out to be a boy…well, now…Leaf Hopper would take the boy hunting, show him how to make tools, teach him all the secrets of the forest. He would share the values of manhood. He wrung his hands in anticipation.
The happy day arrived, and Leaf Hopper eagerly summoned the Healer. The sun passed over the sky. It was well into the night before the Healer emerged with the child. Stillborn. Leaf Hopper bowed his head in sadness. He hiked deep into the forest, where he dug a hole; he wrapped the boy child in his cape and kissed its brow before lowering him into the grave. Leaf Hopper knelt over the sight many hands of time before he returned to his hut. Anya was lying on the sleeping mat with her eyes closed. She must feel the grief too. It would be right that they could comfort each other, but when he put his arms around her, it was like hugging a piece of carrion. He left his hut and returned to the forest, where he mourned alone.
After what Leaf Hopper thought was a suitable grieving period, he kindly asked Anya to help with the chores of the living. A village this size needed everybody’s help with the burdens of survival. In addition to filling the daily needs, stores must be built up and saved for the natural scarcities that occasionally occurred.
Anya looked at Leaf Hopper coldly and asked, “What kind of labor do you expect me to do?”
“Well.” Leaf Hopper gazed into the empty water jug. There were no rules on what she should do, but there was a never-ending cycle of work to be done. He’d ask her to do just a few things, and maybe she’d do more as time progressed. “You could fill the water jug every day. Maybe pick and dry some berries. The other women will show you how.”
Her face hardened in loathing. “You should provide enough so that I don’t have to do this work.”
“Anya,” Leaf Hopper said patiently, “the village can’t support idle people.”
Two mornings later, as he was leaving the village to hunt, Leaf Hopper ran into the old woman, Dagny, carrying a jug of water.
“Good morning, Dagny. That’s a heavy jug. Let me help you,” he said as he took it from her. She was far from her own hut, so he asked, “Where are you taking it?”
Dagny looked at him curiously. “To your hut.”
Oh, no. Leaf Hopper had an uneasy feeling. “Why?” he asked cautiously.
Dagny’s brow furrowed. “Your bonded said you wanted payment for the meat you delivered to us. She suggested bringing water every morning and some dried berries.”
Leaf Hopper wondered if he had ever felt more shame. Anya was demanding that this frail old woman bring water while she still relaxed in bed.
“I’ll take it from here,” he said. “You needn’t come any further.”
It was fortunate that Leaf Hopper still had a way to go before reaching his hut. He had time to curb his anger and compose himself before he confronted Anya. When he entered the hut, he found her lounging comfortably on the sleeping mat. “Leaf Hopper, I thought you’d already left. Why are you still here?”
Leaf Hopper deliberately softened his voice. “Anya, please get up.” Slowly, she got to her feet and gave him a catlike glare. “Anya, from now on, you will work every day, just like every other villager. You’re well enough to do it for yourself.”
“Or what?” she hissed.
“No one is going to wait on you, Anya.”
He turned away, and she said to his retreating back, “And I might just leave with the next traveling merchant who visits.”
Surprise made him break stride. Although he would like to have been able to turn back time, he wasn’t the type of man to abandon his responsibilities once he had chosen a path. His emotions warred. The happy relief that she might leave fought against the honor of his promised obligation to her.
Reluctantly, Anya made small efforts. Leaf Hopper would never know when he arrived home if the water jug would be full or if she would have roused herself enough
to start a late-day meal. He made do for himself. He decided it was enough that she didn’t demand other women to do chores for her.
Chapter 7
Emmah straightened up from the cooking fire as Leaf Hopper approached. The young hunter still brought game to her and her mother, and they were grateful. He was such a pleasant man; she ignored the whispered gossip about him.
He carried a string of rabbits and handed one to Emmah. “How’s your mother today?” he asked.
Emmah smiled. “She’s good.” Although she didn’t admit it outloud, Dagny was slowing down. In the morning there were a several moments of creeking pain when the old woman woke and Emmah brought her tea.
She put the rabbit aside. “That’s a good size. Thank you.” It was the season of growing and the young animal had been well fed. Emmah would make a delicious rabbit stew tomorrow. She picked up the tongs she’d been using and indicated the days cooking. “I’ve just made some crawfish cakes. Would you like to take some home?”
Leaf Hopper gave her a cheeky grin as he grabbed one off the hot cooking rock and popped it in his mouth. “Mmm. Delicious.” He licked his fingers. “I’d love to take some home. Thanks, Emmah,” he said as she placed several in a basket for him.
Leaf Hopper wandered off, eating the cakes as he went. As Emmah watched, an errant stick hoop, from a game of circles that the young boys were playing, rolled out of bounds toward him. Effortlessly, his feet righted the hoop and sent it flying back into the game. Emmah smiled and shook her head at his youthful, athletic agility.
Chapter 8
Weapon making, usually an individual occupation, was sometimes completed as a group, especially before an important hunt. The men from the village sat in a circle as they labored using soft, respectful voices for the reverent occasion. Leaf Hopper sat between Geoff and Harl as he finished scrapping the bark off a branch he was working on. He found arrow making a pleasant task at any time, but the arrows made today were for the upcoming wisent hunt. Leaf Hopper held the barkless stick along his arm and sighted down its length checking its alignment. The branch curved in the middle, so he twisted and bent the wood until he was satisfied that he had straightened it.