The Color of Distance (40 page)

“I missed my village at first, but the work is interesting,” Ukatonen told her. “It keeps me involved in the world. There are so many older village elders who can’t see beyond the boundaries of their own village. It makes me glad of the choice I made. As an enkar, I see everything. Every village is different. I’ve lived up in the mists with the mountain people, and in the sea with the lyali-Tendu. I’m never bored. Lonely sometimes, but never bored.”

Anito squeezed Ukatonen’s shoulder, and held out her wrists for allu-a. “Please, en, let me help with the loneliness.”

A ripple of gentle fondness flowed over Ukatonen’s body. “You already have, kene.”

Juna slid along the branch toward the ooloo, adjusting her skin coloration to match the changing shadow patterns. Her nostrils flared, taking in the lizards’ musky, vaguely sweet scent. She had asked Anito and Uka-tonen to improve her sense of smell. The world had acquired a new dimension as a result. Traces of other creatures clung to every surface of the forest like invisible footprints.

Preoccupied by a fight for dominance, the ooloo never noticed her gradual approach. The two largest males squawked at each other, neck ruffs extended. When Juna was close enough for a clear shot, she slowly slid her blowpipe up along her body, then extracted a poison-tipped dart from a bamboo container and stuffed it into the flared end of the pipe.

Bringing the loaded blowpipe up to her mouth, she considered her possible targets. At this distance, the dart would glance off the scales of the squabbling males. Of the four remaining lizards, two were females carrying young, and one was an immature male, half-screened by a leafy branch. Juna’s best target was the fourth lizard, another young female, who sat facing her, engrossed in the fight between the males. Juna put the blowgun to her lips and took aim. The ooloo stretched out a foreleg to draw a fruit-laden branch close, exposing the soft, vulnerable skin of her chest. Juna puffed hard through the blowgun. The dart buried itself in the ooloo’s underarm, exactly where she had aimed it. The ooloo jumped, whistling in alarm. It pulled out the dart and turned to follow the others as they fled through the trees.

Juna watched, sure something had gone wrong. The dart hadn’t been tipped with enough poison, or hadn’t struck deeply enough to drive the poison into the bloodstream. Then in midstride, the lizard crumpled and fell.

Moki leapt out into space, caught the lizard as it fell, grabbed a branch with his free hand and swung around, letting the momentum of his swing carry him back to the tree where Juna waited. He handed her the dead ooloo.

She hefted the limp weight of it in her hand and smiled, flushing turquoise with pleasure. It was her first kill. She had never thought a dead animal could please her this much, but then, this meant much more than a meal to her. It meant she was no longer as dependent on the goodwill of the villagers for food. She could provide meat for herself and Moki, and contribute more than just fruit to the village feasts. This dead lizard symbolized her own self-sufficiency. She slit its throat and let the blood patter down onto the distant forest floor, her nostrils flaring at the smell of fresh blood.

“Don’t forget to cut out the scent glands before they taint the meat,” Moki reminded her.

He helped her slice the glands out from under the base of the tail and the forelegs. The rest of the butchering could wait until they got back to the village.

“Let’s go home and show Anito,” Moki said. “She really likes ooloo meat. She’ll be so pleased.”

Juna rippled agreement. “I wish Ukatonen were here to see this as well.”

“He’ll be back by the end of the month,” Moki said. “We can catch another ooloo for him then, or maybe something even more difficult.”

They swung into the village tree, bearing the lizard aloft.

“Her first kill,” Moki bragged to the villagers, as proud as if he had done it.

A wave of disquiet passed over the elders.

“What’s the matter?” Juna asked Moki. “They don’t seem pleased.”

“I’m not sure, but I think maybe we weren’t supposed to be hunting ooloo.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know. You’re my sitik; you’re supposed to be telling me these things,” Moki reminded her. “Besides, people ate ooloo all the time in Lyanan.”

Anito pushed her way past the elders to Juna. “Baha came and got me. What’s the matter?”

“I made my first kill,” Juna said, holding out the dead ooloo. “It seems to have upset the elders. What have I done wrong?”

A grey mist of regret, shot through with yellow flickers of irritation, passed over Anito’s skin. “Ooloo are protected. We’ll have to make restitution to whoever is responsible for that atwa,” Anito said.

“I don’t understand. We ate them all the time in Lyanan, and when we were traveling.”

“Ooloo aren’t protected in the wild lands and in Lyanan. They are here in Narmolom.”

Another elder pushed through the crowd. It was Johito, a senior elder, but not one Juna knew well. She saw a small flicker of concern fork down Anito’s back. That was probably not a good sign.

“Kene, I understand that your atwa is in conflict with mine,” Johito said. “I ask for resolution to this.”

“Eerin killed an ooloo. It was her first kill. She didn’t realize that it was protected. I will help her make restitution, kene.”

Johito looked at Eerin for a long moment, disapproval flaring on her skin. “The new creature must learn what can be hunted and when. It is disrupting the harmony of Narmolom. We should hold a council about this,” she said. “I’ll speak to Miato. He’ll help us bring the village into harmony, and decide on the restitution to be made.”

“That would be best,” Anito agreed. She turned and motioned for Juna and Moki to follow her to their room.

“I’m sorry, Anito,” Juna said when they got there. “I didn’t know.”

Anito touched her shoulder. “It’s all right. You’ll learn.” She flickered briefly grey. “You’ll have to, and so will Moki.”

Juna held up the ooloo she had killed. “What should we do about this?” she asked, deep brown with shame.

“We eat it. It is your first kill, after all. I’m proud of you, even if it was a protected animal.”

Juna looked away, suddenly fighting back tears. Anito’s praise pleased her more than she could adequately express.

“Thank you,” she said, whispering the words aloud as she said them in skin speech. “Thank you.”

Anito brushed her shoulder affectionately. “Will you finish butchering it while Moki and I get the rest of the meal ready?”

The ooloo was really too small to be shared among three people, but somehow they managed to make it enough.

That night Miato came by to see them.

“Johito was very unhappy about the ooloo,” Miato began. “She wants some form of restitution. What would you suggest?”

“We could have Eerin and Moki help Johito for a while,” Anito of fered. “She could teach them her atwa so that they can learn how not to interfere with it.”

“I will suggest that, but she may want more than that.”

“Then we will discuss that in the council, kene,” Anito replied.

Miato flickered agreement. “We must also find some way to teach Eerin what she can and cannot hunt.”

Juna touched Miato on the shoulder to get his attention. “Excuse me, kene, but I can speak for myself in this matter.”

Miato’s ears widened in surprise, and Juna was briefly afraid that she had somehow insulted the chief elder. “Well, then,” Miato said, lowering his ears. “What do you have to say?”

“I am sorry about killing the ooloo, and interfering with Johito’s atwa. It was done out of ignorance. I want to be responsible for repaying Johito myself, since it was my own mistake, not Anito’s.”

Miato’s ears lifted again and he glanced at Anito. “How do you feel about this, kene?” he asked her.

“I am willing to let her repay Johito, but I must bargain on Eerin’s behalf to make sure that the arrangement is fair.”

Miato looked at Juna.

“That’s fine with me, kene,” Juna told the chief elder. “I trust Anito to bargain well for me, but I also need to learn what I can hunt and what I can’t hunt. I don’t want to make another mistake like this.”

“We’ll need the help of the entire village,” Anito added. “It’s just like training a bami. She and Moki can learn at the same time. I’ll help them both.”

“I’ll need to consult with the other elders before I can agree to this,” Miato said. “Some of them are complaining about the new creature. They think she’s interfering with the harmony of the village.” Frustration flared on his skin. “If someone’s bami had killed a protected animal, this would be a small problem, quickly resolved. It’s because Eerin is an outsider and a new creature that Johito is making such a big issue of it.”

Juna felt her stomach tighten, remembering the hostility of the villagers of Lyanan. Was that going to happen here?

“I am sorry, kene. I did not mean to interfere with the harmony of Narmolom. Please tell me how I can restore it.”

Miato rippled a mild negation. “For some, the only cure will be time and familiarity. For others, nothing would be enough.” He turned to Anito. “You were not the only one who blamed your sitik’s death on Eerin. Others did as well; some of them are senior members of the village council. They are also angry about the death of Kihato’s sitik, even though she knew what she was doing was dangerous.”

“And you,” Juna asked him. “How do you feel about me?”

Miato looked at her a long time. Juna was suddenly aware of the vast, yawning gulf between herself and the Tendu. “Anito’s sitik was healed of your taint before he died. I was one of the elders who helped heal him. He died because he had finished your transformation, and his life was complete. It was time for him to die. His death was not your fault, Eerin, and I don’t blame you for it. Most of the village doesn’t either, but some still do. It causes a rift in the harmony of the village, one that will not be cured until either you or they leave.” Regret flowed over his body like a grey mist.

“I spoke to UkatoneH about these concerns,” Miato told Anito. “He told me that you will be leaving to become an enkar soon. I am willing to endure the disharmony until then, but you must try very hard not to disrupt things.”

“I’ll try, kene,” Anito told the chief elder. “I’ll try.”

Anito sat back against the smooth, curved wall of her room, her hands covering her face, her ears clamped tightly to the side of her head. She could feel her skin darkening with grief, more grief than she had felt since Ilto’s death. The village’s disharmony was a wound deep inside her, one she could not heal. She wanted to hide her shame, flee to the wild lands, and become a hermit.

Yet she was angry too. Despite her strangeness and ignorance, Eerin was trustworthy, useful, and even possessed a strange wisdom. Anito had come to like the new creature, and to trust her, within the limits of her knowledge. Eerin had become like a bami to her. Anito wanted to protect her from the anger and hatred of the other villagers.

Someone touched her on the shoulder. It was Eerin, ochre with concern.

“Anito?” she asked. She held her arms out. “Would linking help?”

Anito shook her head. She didn’t want to link with the new creature right now. She was too angry at her.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Juna asked.

Anito shook her head again.

“Is it the other villagers? We managed to win them over in Lyanan. We can do the same here.”

Anito looked away for a moment, searching for words. “This is different. This is Narmolom. I belong to this village. It…” She trailed off, not knowing how to express the wordless pain she felt at being responsible for the disharmony in the village. “If only Ukatonen were here. He could help. I can’t—I’m part of the village.”

“But the village isn’t you. I know that you don’t hate me,” Eerin said.

Anito got up and paced across the room. “You don’t understand. T village is me, I am the village. When we are in harmony, that is how should be. Now—” She paused again, searching for words. “Now, tj village is out of harmony because of me. I feel— It hurts. I—I don’t [[ha
¹
]] balance.”

“Please let me help,” Eerin implored. “This is partly my fault.”

Anito looked into Eerin’s small, deep-set alien eyes. “There is nothing that you can do. I am responsible for you.”

“No, kene,” Eerin disagreed. “I am responsible for myself. You [[helt]] me. You keep me from causing trouble, but I am responsible for my own actions.”

“You are my atwa,” Anito insisted. “I am responsible for you. If you cause problems, they are my fault. The village blames me. I blame myself.”

“But I don’t blame you. I want to undo the damage I have caused. It is my responsibility, but I need your help.”

“You are still my atwa. The village holds me responsible. It is my fault.”

“I wish Ukatonen was here,” Eerin said. “He would know what to do.”

“Maybe we should be glad he isn’t here,” Anito said. “He might be called upon to render a judgment, and we might not like his decision. This is better decided among ourselves.”

“What should I do?” Eerin said.

“Go to the council meeting,” Anito told her. “Apologize. Offer to make restitution, ask to be taught properly about atwas. Then let me bargain for you. I’ll try to work out the most lenient punishment I can.” Her skin clouded momentarily, the skin-speech equivalent of a sigh. “It’s all we can do.”

Juna took a deep breath, reaching inward to ease her nervousness as she stood before the village council. “Kene, I am here to acknowledge the wrong that I have done, and to offer to do what I can to repair the damage to Johito’s atwa. I acted in ignorance, and I apologize. I wish to be taught enough to avoid such mistakes in the future. Because I am new to these councils, I ask Anito to speak further on my behalf.”