“How’s the woman?” Harl asked as he worked on his own arrows.
Leaf Hopper picked up an eagle feather and examined its curve. He was too honorable to disrespect Anya with gossip, yet he’d be uncomfortable telling an out and out lie. “I still think she’s the most beautiful woman,” he answered truthfully.
“Hmp.” Geoff grunted. He held the suspicion that Leaf Hopper wasn’t happy.
Leaf Hopper placed the feather on a piece of bark and carefully cut it in half lengthwise along its spine. He then cut three pieces the length of his finger to be used as fletching on the back end of the arrow. “And how’s your family?” he asked in return.
“Good,” Harl answered, now preoccupied with his own arrow. The men were quiet for a while as they concentrated on their work.
Geoff picked up a string of sinew and ran it through his mouth to wet it. He wound the damp piece of animal tendon around a wood shaft and arrowhead; it would shrink as it dried, holding the stone arrowhead securely in place. Geoff inspected his work critically before he put the finished arrow in a pile to be painted and blessed later.
The sun was just dipping past the mountains as Geoff and Leaf Hopper sauntered home. “It should be good weather for the hunt tomorrow,” Geoff said. Leaf Hopper nodded. He felt pleased with the privilege of being a man and joining the others to provide heavy fur blankets for the villagers. They paused as they reached Leaf Hopper’s hut; thirsty, Leaf Hopper looked in the water jug that stood by the door. Bone-dry.
With a grimace, he set the arrows down and picked up the empty jug. It embarrassed him that others knew how poorly Anya treated him. It was a slight to Leaf Hopper that she didn’t have water for him at the end of his workday and that if he were thirsty he would have to retrieve the water himself.
Geoff picked up a second jug. “I’ll come with you.”
The men were silent as they walked.
Leaf Hopper was hungry too, but there had been no sign of Anya preparing a meal for him. It was a surprise then that after getting the water and returning home Anya had a fire started. Leaf Hopper smiled to himself. At least Geoff would see that she had started a late meal. “Thanks, Geoff, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He lowered the jug of water and a look of concern crossed his face. His quivers were empty! “Anya! What happened to my arrows?” he asked in alarm.
She wore an artfully guileless expression. “What arrows? Oh, you mean those sticks?” she asked innocently, looking at the fire.
With dawning awareness, Leaf Hopper looked to the fire. He quickly picked up the jug of water and dumped it over the flames. The hot coals sizzled and steam billowed up, but all that was left were bits and pieces of arrow shafts and rock spearheads.
It took Geoff a moment to realize what had just happened; then his eyes blazed. “Woman!” he roared. “What have you done? That took many days of work.” He raised his hand as if to strike her, but Leaf Hopper jumped between them.
“No, Geoff. I will handle this.”
Geoff stepped back from his friend. “This is bigger than you, Leaf Hopper. The viper should be banished.” He stomped off.
For the first time in their acquaintance, Anya used a sincerely contrite voice, and was maybe even scared. “What’s he talking about?” she asked.
“Banishment—when someone is sent away from the village.”
Anya recovered herself and said with a curled lip, “I’m leaving with the next traveling merchant anyway.”
Chapter 9
Life at the village might have continued on the same way if it hadn’t been for the rain.
The sweet, juicy berries that grew in the valley liked to grow near water, so the rain was welcomed and prayed for by the Berry Pickers. After a short cold season, the sun would shine, new growth would sprout, and life in the forest would multiply. The gentle showers were necessary for the Berry Pickers successful livelihood.
And the rain came. Not the usual passing sprinkles, but days of torrential, never-ceasing waves. Cold and wet had permeated the interior of every hut. Anything left of the floor wicked up water and became damp. Bedding, foodstuffs, clothes—nothing was safe from the wrath of the Weather God. Outside the ground turned to a deep, sticky mud and paths submerged.
After the moon and sun had traded places several times, some of the villagers could no longer stand the prison of their small huts and slogged their way to the Tribal Lodge to gossip about the possibility of a season without berries.
Geoff worked his way to the Tribal Lodge. His feet sank deep with every step. He was exhausted by the time he reached his destination.
Pocheao stood at the door, assessing the weather.
“How long will this rain last?” Geoff asked as he shook the water off himself.
“I don’t know,” Pocheao asswered Aphil’s here. She said the rain burst a hole through their hut. I don’t see how we can fix it until the rain stops.”
Geoff nodded. “I stopped to check on Emmah and Dagny. The inside of their hut is so wet it’s like they had no roof.”
A figure out in the rain made its way toward them. One step at a time struggling out of the muck, then sinking in, over and over—the progress was slow. Finally, Harl arrived at the Tribal Lodge. Soaked by sweat and rain, his leather rain cape had been useless.
Panting from the effort, Harl wiped his face. “I came to warn you. The stream has left its path at the lower end of the village.”
Pocheao grimaced. “I’ve been worried about that. I’ve been watching the stream, and it’s grown larger than I’ve ever seen before.”
Geoff and Harl followed his gaze. The meek stream that supplied the villagers with water had turned into an angry serpent widening and slithering farther and farther off course.
“If the river comes much higher, we’ll be underwater,” Harl said.
“Yes,” Pocheao responded.
“What can we do?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Pocheao said with a resigned voice. “We should leave here and go up to the Cave of Our Ancestors.”
The place Pocheao referred to was a deep, openmouthed cave, high in the mountainside. Geoff realized it was the best answer to their problem; the entire village would be able to fit inside and stay dry.
Just as Geoff opened his mouth to ask when they should go, the liquid serpent whipped its tail, and water flooded the village ankle high.
“Spirits!” Pocheao cried, and he turned to the interior of the lodge and raised his hands for attention. “My people, listen to me.” The lodge became quiet. “The rains have started flooding the village. We must leave and get to higher ground! Go home. Get your families and necessities. We will meet at the Cave of Our Ancestors.”
The Tribal Lodge emptied as the inhabitants hurried to carry out the orders given by the Wise One. Excited commotion carried through the village as the Berry Pickers evacuated in a hurried muddle.
Every villager, muskrat wet, arrived safely at the cave. Though damp from the misty air, the cave was still comparatively dry. With a collective sense of relief, the villagers gave thanks and settled themselves comfortably into family units.
Emmah and her mother worked their way to the back of the cave with the small pile of blankets and foodstuffs they had been able to carry.
Leaf Hopper helped Anya carry all the items she had demanded. As soon as he was sure that she was safely placed, he took his sleeping mat to the rear of the cave, as far as he could get from her foul mood.
A small fire had been started, and already the cave felt drier. Conversations in low tones centered on how long the rain would last, and if any of the huts would survive. Most agreed coming to the cave had been the best plan. Some men moved to the mouth of the cave and watched rain-soaked mud slither down the mountain. Even the sides of the mountain were eroding away.
Eventually, evening turned late, and the villagers started to settle for the night. “I’m a little chilly,” Dagny said. So Emmah moved her mother’s sleeping mat over to the fire. Drained by th
e excitement of the day, the villagers laid down and fell into disturbed sleep.
Chapter 10
If there were a warning, no one heard or felt it. A sudden cacophony of noise and thunderous vibrations encased the cave. And before the villagers could move, it was over.
At the back of the cave, Leaf Hopper was thrust roughly from his sleep. Confusion and darkness engulfed him. The crashing noise was replaced by the hysterical frenzied screams of a woman.
“Quiet, quiet,” he yelled above the screaming.
The screams turned to frantic questions. “What’s happening? What’s happening? Oh, spirits. What’s happening?” There was continued sobbing.
The earth’s shudders lessened, but Leaf Hopper was confused by the total absence of light. There should have been light from the fire’s coals or at least some reflection from the sky. Even a moonless night provided some defused visibility.
“Shh. Quiet, Mother, be calm….” Leaf Hopper addressed the unknown woman formally, hoping to calm her.
The sobbing lowered to a frightened whimper.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“Emmah. Is that Leaf Hopper?”
“Yes.”
“What’s happened?”
Leaf Hopper had already started to explore their surroundings. He spread his arms. As expected, to the back of him, he felt the rock wall of the cave, but toward the front, a wall of mud, filled with roots, stones, and debris barred their way. The inevitable reality struck him with a suffocating force. He was frozen silent.
“Are you still there? All this mud. What’s going on…?” she trailed off.
He sighed, reluctant to share the truth. “Emmah, I think the cave’s ceiling fell in.”
“What! Then that means…no! No!” She started sobbing again. “No. The others! Mama! Were they…” It didn’t bear thinking. Squashed? He let her cry until she asked, “I don’t understand—how could this happen?”
“I think the constant rain soaked the mountain, and a portion slid down. You and I are at the back of the cave; we’ve been protected by this overhang of rock.”
She started sobbing again.
He tried to distract her. “Emmah, Emmah, listen. Are you hurt? Feel your arms and legs.”
He heard a sniffling rustle as she complied. “I’m not hurt. Are you?” Soft sobbing.
“No. You sit quietly. I’m going to feel around; I want to see how big an area we’re in. Maybe there’s a tunnel or some sort of exit.”
The search didn’t take long. The area seemed to be three body lengths long, with no escape. He cupped his hands; maybe he could scoop their way out. But as he disturbed the mud, even more spilled back toward him.
Resigned that he couldn’t dig out, he sat with his back against the wall. Spirits…
“Are we going to die?” It didn’t sound like her voice.
“No,” he lied. “No, no. We may sleep, but the others will dig us out.” After a pause, he asked, “Are you afraid?”
“Yes. No.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “That answer covers everything.”
“How long? I mean for the others to dig us out.” She had calmed.
It might take some time. If there’s a lot of mud…
They were silent for a while.
“If the spirits come, who do you want to take you?” she asked.
So she’d figured it out. “Someone from the forest,” he said, “plant or animal. What about you?”
“If I could choose, I’d go with the sky, so I could look down and see everything.”
“That’s a good choice. I wouldn’t mind that either.”
They listened for a while, but all they could hear was their own breathing. Even the slide had become still.
“It’s dark,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And quiet.”
“Yes.”
They were silent again.
“I don’t think the others are coming. I think they were…” She couldn’t say what she thought; it was just too horrible. She hiccupped.
Thankfully, she wasn’t hysterical again. Leaf Hopper wished he could say something to comfort her. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.
“About passing?” She sighed. “I guess. There’s just, regret, you know.”
Oh, he knew regret. “What do you regret?” He wasn’t really interested but thought talking might keep her mind off the inevitable.
She didn’t answer immediately. “I never bound with a man. I never had children.”
Leaf Hopper curled a lip derisively. Binding did not necessarily bring happiness.
Unaware of his opinion, she continued softly. “I would like to have had a man love me.”
Unable to prevent it, Leaf Hopper felt a shrouding pain, maybe the knowledge of coming death had weakened him. He silently admitted he too would like to have been loved. He had never been able to confide in anyone the unhappiness Anya caused him. A tear sneaked down his face. All this time he had been too honor-bound to disparage her, but her rejection had cut a wicked hole in him. And once open, she had filled it with a poultice of torment. He wiped the wetness from his cheek.
There was a soft groan as the earth shifted. Emmah held her breath. Was it her turn? Silence. They waited. Finally, Emmah requested, “Tell me some hunting stories.”
Yes, he realized it would help pass the time. They talked back and forth, trying to keep each other’s courage up.
“I brought some food with me,” Emmah said. She crawled over the floor and felt around until she found her bag. “Here it is,” she said in small triumph. Emmah’s shift rustled as she returned. “Where’s your hand?” she asked.
“Here.” He waved his hand in the air until he met hers. She held his hand as she filled it with nuts and berries. It felt nice, her warm hand holding his.
The intimacy of the darkness made it easy to ask a personal question. “Emmah, if you wanted a family, why didn’t you leave your mother?”
“I wanted to.” In the anonymity of the blackness, Emmah found she could confess honestly. “When I was young, some hunters from Sol came to our village. There was a boy with them. After spending several days together, I thought we loved each other, but he left without good-bye. I hoped for a long time that he might return.” She paused. “But he never did.”
Each pondered thoughts of their own for a while.
Time passed.
Emmah shivered. “It’s getting chilly.”
Leaf Hopper patted the ground. “There’s a flat spot next to me. Come over here, and we’ll share our warmth.”
Emmah moved to sit next to him. The warmth felt nice. He put an arm around her, and she moved in closer. His arm tightened.
Leaf Hopper dropped his head. During their entire binding, Anya had submitted her body but never affection and certainly not love. She had denied him the emotional warmth of being bound. He had never felt the comfort of a woman leaning close; Anya had responded to his embrace with stony coldness. A lump of a frog sat in the back of his throat.
Leaf Hopper searched his mind for something cheerful to say. “If we were bats, maybe we could see.”
Emmah laughed.
How soft her voice was. He forgot what she looked like. He raised a hand to her face; maybe if he felt it he would remember. He ran his hand over her face, and she turned toward him. What possessed him? Perhaps the knowledge that there wasn’t much time? He leaned down and kissed her; she didn’t move away but put her own arms around him.
Their embrace heated each other, and for a while they both found something they’d been missing. Leaf Hopper was seized by a strong sense of belonging and comfort. For the first time in his life, he felt…wanted. The pleasing sense that this was right overwhelmed him.
Eventually, Emmah laid a weak head on his shoulder.
Breathing became harder.
“I’m cold,” she admitted.
Leaf Hopper started to remove his cape. “Here, take my cape.”
r /> “No.” She stopped him. “Please, let me sleep first. I know it’s cowardly, but if you go first, I’ll be alone, and I’m afraid to be alone.” He tightened his arm again.
“Leaf Hopper.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
They embraced again. And slowly, she drifted off to sleep. Leaf Hopper wept. He railed at the injustice. If he had been born a few years sooner, he might have known her in a different way. Their lives might have been blissfully happy together. Instead, they had led lonely lives within sight of each other. He bowed his head and cried.
Leaf Hopper held her body. Now that she was gone, he noticed the dark and the quiet.
So dark.
So quiet.
He was sleepy.
He began to feel the cold.
His head drooped. His body shivered.
Leaf Hopper…was…sleepy…and cold…
Dark.
Darker than before.
So much darkness.
Leaf Hopper saw a pinprick of light, and he was moving toward it, almost floating. And then out of the shadow came a round glow, and it spoke in a language he had never heard before, but he understood.
“Leaf Hopper, it’s me, Emmah. I waited for you. Do you mind?”
“No, I’m glad.” The two glows touched and started toward the light together.
Endnotes
Thanks for reading. Please visit my website https://PangeaLegends.com. for DIY craft ideas.
Books by L. Christina
Kaelah
Angry Hands
Leaf Hopper
Talon ( Summer 2014)
A special thanks to my cover model Kristy M. from California.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends