Path of the Wind

Two chapters for you seeing as 7 is so short.


8
It’s midday when the community suddenly flurries into activity. Gerdon had been spending his time with Tihikia talking and listening. The quiet is suddenly shattered by calls outside and dogs barking. They run through the inn out into the street. Gerdon notice people looking at him and then turning their attention back down to the plains. Although they are standing at the back of the small crowd Gerdon has no problem seeing what the source of the commotion is. He shares his observations with Tihikia, taking care to watch her face for hints of what they mean. A group of people are approaching up the path. Four broad men are carrying a makeshift stretcher. As they get closer he can see that there are actually two groups of people the first is heavily armed and moves around the second, much smaller group. Upon hearing this Tihikia pales and whispers the word “survivors”. The crowd waits, quiet now, showing the same strain on their faces as Tihikia.

When the group stops in front of the people some men and women bearing blue headbands move forward. Four take the stretcher and move back into the town the rest move to talk to an old man, also wearing the blue headband, in the group. Two more break away, carrying a small boy with them. After a while the old man steps forward, he stops, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Gerdon finds himself kneeling with the Gerenti.

“Let it be known to the people. Our goya was overtaken by the Pakrash.” Around Gerdon the people react with indrawn breaths and small wails of fear and sorrow. “We fought but we were too few. Hear now the names of those no longer walking with us and the names of those carried away to the south. Kuriyana Kuriken, Kendro Kuriken, Kukenda Tihina, Denkur Dontenko…” Gerdon listens as the list of names gets longer noting the tears and sorrow that comes to different sections of the crowd as they recognise the names of friends, family and clan members. When the list is finished, Gerdon knows that he is the only person present who is not affected. His mentor’s words return unbidden, “The Gerenti is like a single, large, extended family. They are all connected and all dependent on one another. To touch one is to anger all; to befriend one is to befriend a people”. This had sounded like heaven to a lonely boy who grew up on the streets of Terestiun. Looking at the crying women and stern faced men around him he feels anger stirring in his heart. What kind of monster can cause such pain and sorrow with such impunity? He had heard of the Pakrash from Jasco never believing that they were the devils described to him. But now he has met the Gerenti, he has seen their sorrow, he has talked with Tihikia and now he is angry. This must not happen again, he will…

Gerdon forces himself to take a deep breath, hold it and slowly let it out again. As the anger seeps out of him he shakes his head in wonder. Where on earth did that come from? He is not one given to emotional outbursts and anybody who had served with him would have vouched for that. He had spent the Kompanje’s two years of public service in the army and had stayed on for another two as an officer. Never in those four years had he reacted like this.

The young man is still perplexed by this strange occurrence as he climbs to his feet with the rest of the people. He falls in step with Tihikia as she makes her way to the small group of survivors. As they approach he studies them, the old Mentyhe, a woman carrying a Tihina belt and a little girl holding the hand of a young woman.

Sariandra looks up and finds her eyes drawn to a towering young man in the crowd. She has seen other easterners, and they had been tall, but next to this man they looked like children. She stiffens as their eyes meet over the heads of the people between them. They gazes hold as he moves closer, then little Miro tugs her hand demanding attention. The little girl points at a woman approaching through the crowd, her aunt, her closest remaining family. As they make their way towards each other Sariandra is unsettled to find that the tall young man moves in step with the woman they are approaching.

Gerdon and the young woman watch as Tahikia bends down to gather the little girl in her arms. As he listens to the soothing words another emotion overcomes him, sorrow. When he had been left standing alone there had been no-one to turn to, nobody had cared.

Sariandra watches as a cloud moves into his eyes that are no longer watching the people in front of him. He looks up and again their eyes meet, they study each other, each recognising in the other something familiar, an oldness in the eyes that comes from having experienced great pain.

Tihikia looks up from her niece’s face as she feels a wind twisting around her. The two people in front of her seem unaware of the ribbons of wind that bind them together as they regard one another. She looks back at the little girl, takes her hand and rise to her feet. “Kinde, Marahandra, come, it is time for the midday meal.” She turns, walks off to her home and hears with satisfaction their following footsteps. At the inn she quickly organises her guests, Miro is to set the table, Gerdon kinde is to cut wood and if the Marahandra mahiya could please cut and roast some meat?

They share the meal around the table. Little Miro is talking incessantly now that she feels safe. She has lost her mother, father and two brothers in the attack and now begins the long process of coming to terms with it. Almost breathlessly she recounts their flight and the fight. Realising that the mahiya had saved her niece from certain death Tahikia inclines her head to the woman, a thank you, that doesn’t interrupt the young girl. The young boy listens in rapture, this is better than any Gampo’s story and he can’t wait to recount it to all his friends. He will miss his family, but like all young boys his hunger for excitement is much stronger than even the fear of death.

As they start to clear the table the girl’s talking turns to questions. What will become of her, will she stay with her aunt, where will she stay and will Sariandra stay with her? When all these questions have been fielded she turns her attention to the stranger. The women smiles ruefully at his bemused look as the questions wash over him. Who is he, why is he so big, why does his eyes look like pieces of sky, is he a monster or maybe a ghost? While they drink their tea she decides that he is probably human and definitely friendly and so crawls onto his lap where she proceeds to talk herself into an exhausted sleep. He smiles down onto the tiny form feeling a deep contentment. After a while he follows Tihikia to a room where he puts the tiny creature into a bed, reluctant to part with her friendly warmth. Never has he felt so accepted, not even in Jasco’s home. They return to the kitchen to find the boy gone and the other guest nearly asleep in her chair. “Sariandra, you are more than welcome to a bed. Our family owes you a debt for returning Miro to us; it would be an honour if you would stay with us until you follow the wind again.” The woman nods tiredly and follows Tihikia up the stairs.

Gerdon stands by the door looking out over the woods that cover the slopes of the mountains behind the inn. He tries to sort out his heart for it has been in turmoil since the group of survivors have arrived. He has come so far without knowing exactly why and now he has to decide upon a course of action. He feels lost, more than ever before in his life, yet with a driving passion to do…something.

He turns as he hears Tihikia’s footsteps behind him. She asks “Gerdon kinde what will you do now?” She laughs at his bemused face, “Come, I will take you to somebody who can help you to decide”.