Draft, Chapter 1, The Lone Man

He came from the South, with war behind him and an interlude of peace ahead. Walking alone, self-consciously iconic, a barbed spear at his shoulder and a harsh sun slanting his shadow to the right. This was a business move for him. He wasn’t expecting to feel a sense of the occasion, to feel like this was going to change him forever no matter how it ended. But as his destination came into sight he realized that the changes were already starting. A man who has spent a lifetime following the gods of war can’t spend several weeks submitting to the Goddess of All then go right back to war as if that never happened. He hadn’t departed on a pilgrimage, but it seemed that he had arrived on one.

He was walking a road well worn by human, beast, and cart. The fields along the river below were sunk deep in winter. Animals that spent much of the year in the mountains above were allowed to browse the stubble. The farmers were off in some sheltered place, keeping warm and probably starting to think about what the coming season would require. The town ahead was largeish but quiet. It was late enough and cold enough that anyone who had been out and about earlier had found a warm fire to be near. Early enough that he couldn’t see the light of those fires, although he could smell them.  

As he came closer, the lack of ostentation in the buildings was notable. No one place announced, “I’m important, look at me!” The road was still clear enough to follow though. And based on the number of ladders and doors in sight, maybe a hundred people would hear him if he called out asking for directions. The buildings were square-edged and thick-walled. Most were large and low, although a few were two or three levels tall. Lots of mud and wood, a little bit of stone. No bright color, but a bit of carving or mosaic here and there prettied things up a bit.

The end of the road. A building much like the others, but with a stone arch over the doorway older than any other human structure in Gaia’s Rest. He knew that arch. Everyone knew that arch.  Two women were waiting for him outside the door. Had they seen him themselves or been alerted by a messenger? He glanced back down the road he had come up and realized that his current position commanded a view of much of the valley below. Somewhat obstructed by the nearby buildings, but no doubt there were better positions nearby. He would want to find out whether they mounted a constant watch or merely relied on chance sightings. Either way, he had been expected for an hour or more - since his singular form grew large enough to be distinguished against the sere backdrop of the valley below.

The first thing he realized as he came nearer was that one of the women was of his own people. Not just from the eastern lands over the mountains, but specifically Badaki. She was dressed in the warm woolen robe of the Gaias but her crown-styled hair, exposed leather-strapped arms, and the modest necklace on her breast identified her clearly enough. His own necklace was… immodest. But she was living a settled life, a non-Badaki life, and his life was equally non-Badaki in how unsettled it was. His necklace was all that he had. If she was highly valued in this place, she might be wealthier than him. Although she was younger than him, her knowledge as a Gaia was probably of equal value to his knowledge as a warrior. More valuable if she was as good as her position at the side of the other woman would suggest. He wondered whether her presence here - her influence here - would help him or hurt him.

The other woman was the one in charge here. Not just in charge of this meeting, in charge of all of Gaia’s Rest. Which meant that he already knew her name. Tan Shanli. An elder but a fit one. Considering him carefully while giving almost nothing away herself. Well enough. In fact, exactly as it should be.

He broached the invisible wall about 20 ft away from the women and paused to make his first bow. A very nearly abject bow. He was nothing in this place and he wanted Tan Shanli to know that he knew it. When he broached the second wall about 5 ft away, he stopped and they all bowed. This time, he matched the depth of his bow to that of the Badaki woman, reflecting his assessment that his value was similar to hers. He was also showing Tan Shanli that he understood the ways of the South, but that gained him nothing. Given how long he had lived there, it would be a minimum qualification for the position he was seeking.

Tan Shanli held her silence longer than she should have. It bordered on rude. She was testing him, he thought. She wanted to know whether the respect he had communicated would survive the first trial. This, too, was a bare minimum qualification. He huffed, almost a laugh, and she sparkled, almost a smile. He would stand and wait while the sun set and until it was so dark he couldn’t see her rather than break this silence before she did. Fortunately, this point was established within seconds instead of hours and they were ready to proceed.

“Welcome, Warrior,” she said, initiating another round of bows. “If you are here for the Midwinter celebrations, you are early. Midwinter is still more than two weeks away.”

“I hope to stay for Midwinter, but I am here to seek healing and respite of the Goddess, and to pray at the site of Daaraadhi.” He had planned this answer carefully to cover for his early arrival, but at some point it had become the truth. He was now piously resolved that he would give no thought to the coming competition for the first week of his visit.

“Do you have any specific wounds or pains to present to the Goddess?”

Her medical concern was unexpected and he was relieved that he didn’t fumble over the answer. “Wounds of the spirit, Gaia.” He considered, then continued. “I have been fighting or looking for a fight continuously since I came of age. I… don’t think that I can continue on that path any more… without changing my approach. I…”

He had been starkly honest, he realized. This was not a sound tactic, but if the truth did not serve him here… maybe he had been chasing the wrong goal anyway. “I have already been walking away from war for a month. I am already grateful to the Goddess for putting me on that path for a time. I would like to stay here until I’m sure that she’s done with me, even if…” His face was twisted into an expression he didn’t recognize and finishing that sentence seemed like a bad idea. Fortunately, this seemed to be more familiar territory to the Gaias than it was to him. Tan Shanli saved him from himself, speaking gently.

“I would like to talk more tomorrow, or perhaps later in the week as my responsibilities allow. For now I suggest that you focus on the needs of the body. Eat, sleep… bathe?” The sparkle was back as she dropped that hint, and that subtle flash of humor restored him more than anything else could have in that moment.

“Thank you, Gaia.”

“Please, call me Shanli.”

“Thank you, Shanli. My name is Kitandi.” The Badaki woman had been watchful and blank-faced throughout the conversation, but she had a subtle reaction to that. Still no sign whether she had any allegiances that would affect him, but he’d bet the best strand of his necklace that she knew who he was now.

“You will stay with Gaia Mbala tonight.” Shanli nodded at the Badaki woman as she spoke. “Gaia” was both the woman’s title and her name, then.

“Please come with me,” Gaia Mbala said. Kitandi bowed to Shanli again. Deeply, about half-way between the depth of his two previous bows. Then he turned and followed Gaia Mbala further into Gaia’s Rest.

***

Twilight was gaining a firm grip as Mbala led the stranger to the guest baths. Kitandi, or so he claimed… it would be a very stupid thing to say if it wasn’t true. Kitandi, then. There might be other Kitandi over the mountains to the East, but surely there was only one Ndaki Kitandi who would be walking away from the wars in the South. That Kitandi, then. Well. This was going to be interesting.

“Refresh yourself.” She indicated the proper door. “I will fetch food.” It would be absurd for two Wadaki to bow to each other, but their own people provided scant guidance for a man and woman left alone together as strangers. It was something that would never happen among the Badaki. She was already halfway to the cookpots before she realized that she had fallen back on the ways of the Gaias. In their official capacity, Gaias said nothing when there was nothing important to say. It was supposed to facilitate listening… although Gaias were only human and the simple formula didn’t always work. What did he think when she, in effect, commanded him, then walked away in silence? She smiled, almost cheerful in anticipation of his reaction. The Midwinter festival was starting early this year and it had fallen to her to be the first trial of the first entrant in the competition. That was a task to be enjoyed.

The cookpots were located under an open-sided temporary shelter, which released the heat freely and was easily replaced in case it caught fire. During the day, the shade would keep off the sun’s warmth. In twilight, it created a patch of night darkness. The cookfires provided enough light to see where to walk, but the contents of the ceramic cauldrons were impossible to see. Most of the fires were banked for the night and most of the cauldrons were simmering the next morning’s meal. After some fumbling and more than one burn, Mbala identified the two pots that held the leftovers from the day. The forager’s porridge was almost gone - already removed from the heat and slightly scorched. Heavy on field grains flavored with a mix of foraged seeds, nuts, and dried fruit. She scooped what she could into two small bowls and left the remainder. In the morning, the children would peel the dried crust from the sides of the cauldron and enjoy it as if it were candy. Putting the two bowls aside, she turned to the cauldron of stew. During the day, each cauldron of stew would be tasted and adjusted with seasonings to give it a distinct flavor. There might be one stew with goat meat, one that was mostly root vegetables, one that was mostly legumes. The stew cauldron now was quite full because the leftovers of all of these different concoctions had been mixed together willy nilly. The results were not always pleasing. She smelled warily, then tasted carefully, then sighed with some relief. Someone had added water and dried peppers, creating a stew that was respectable in its own right. She ladled a generous helping into a pot. If Kitandi didn’t eat it all, she would eat the remainer herself. If Kitandi wanted more, that would be easy to obtain. The most important requirement of her duty as unexpected hostess would be fulfilled satisfactorily.

Kitandi had not lingered over his own bath. When she returned to him, he was cleaning and tinkering over some aspect of his gear. He muttered a rather nasty oath - had he forgotten she would understand him? - and stood to meet her as he slung the item over his shoulder. It was fully dark by now. She couldn’t see the results of his bath, but the fresh smell of him suggested that he had been thorough. Not that he had had a bad smell before - just dusty and sweaty and… well, she liked how he smelled. At that moment, it occurred to her… food was important, but there was other hospitality a woman could offer a man. And she was more than a little tempted.

His stomach growled a demand, and she silently handed him the pot of stew. As they walked back to the Elder Arch, he was focused entirely on the stew. He drank what he could, then scooped up the rest with flatbread that she had provided. The pot was empty by the time they returned to the spot where they first met. Mbala’s room was through the Arch, but she paused. “Do you want to eat more? There’s plenty.”

“No, thank you. I am full. I appreciate you.“ She had spoken Kibero-adhala, the language of the Ka-Ndaki queen and of the Badaki. His formal reply was a reminder of home and her temptation grew.

***

Kitandi felt surprisingly good the next morning. Or not so surprising. It was almost the longest day of the year, so staying up half the night with talk and lovemaking still left plenty of time for sleep. And he was refreshed in body and mind in ways that sleep alone could never accomplish. Furthermore, he was firmly established in Mbala’s quarters for the next week.

The air was cold and dry and Gaia’s Rest was well into the traditional bustle of activity leading up to Midwinter’s Day. In his homeland over the mountains it was warmer because of the low altitude, but the dry season was well underway. In the northern forests, winters were harsher and the fight for survival was more intense. While each for their own reasons, this Midwinter holiday was celebrated with similar traditions across the three regions. It was a time to take stock of the community and in particular to supply the needs of those who were struggling - or who would be, by winter’s end.

Mbala was the center of serious inventories that were underway. How many residents, how many patients, how many animals must be sustained through the coming months? How many jars of grain were on hand, how many jars of dried fruits, how many jars of dried meat? Which ones were keeping poorly and must be eaten or prepared into heavy fruitcakes preserved with alcohol? A town with thousands of residents did not happen on its own. It took a steady hand to make sure that so many people came through the winter without undue hardship.

With Mbala busy and Shanli overseeing the inventories, Kitandi must find his own way. He had meant to spend the day in communion with the Goddess, but found that his curiosity overwhelmed his piety. He found the cooking area and a meal very similar to what he had had the night before, then stayed to watch the flurry of activity around the ovens nearby. Sure enough, the product was brick-like fruit cakes. The edible fruits out of jars that were spoiling, wine that was too vinegary to drink, the last of the summer’s honey, flour made from the oldest grains in storage, any remnants of dried meat leftover from the year before. The worst ingredients available brought together into a form that, properly prepared, would keep for years. By winter’s end, they would all be hoping to never see a fruit cake again, but the first baking at Midwinter always brought on a sort of nostalgia. He soaked up the smell of it while finishing his breakfast, then went to join the people who were assembling the cooled cakes into packages.

The oldest of them nodded at him and said, “Ah, I’d heard one of the contestants arrived early.” This was obviously more question than statement and Kitandi replied as such.

“I am from the South. The battle season is about done there and I might as well be here as anywhere.”

“From the South,” the man said frowning.

“From the East originally, but I’ve been South more than 12 years.”

“How are you called?”

“My name is Kitandi.” Maybe it was just a manner of speaking, but Kitandi didn’t appreciate the implication that he might not want to identify himself. How much information about him had already spread this morning? How many people other than Mbala recognized his name? Damn the Queen for the notoriety she had given him. He had expected to be known, in a large community this close to home, but he had been shocked by what Mbala told him the night before. He was either a hero or a devil, depending on who you talked to, and rarely anything in between. Leaving had seemed like the best option at the time and probably it was, but he shouldn’t have stayed away for so long. Instead of dying down in his absence, the stories had gotten more and more colorful. The reality was quite simple, and not very interesting. The Queen of Dahomey had offered him marriage. He had said no.

The pile of leaf-wrapped cakes had grown before the man spoke again.

“If you’re Kitandi, I think you know what it means to have females in charge.”

The man was somewhat disliked, judging from the subtle reactions of others around him. Kitandi weighed his response momentarily, then went with instinct. He spoke lightly, but caught the man’s eyes as he said, “Much of the East knows what it means to have females in charge.”

The man was not overly foolish. He understood this for a warning. He nodded and said “Mmmm.” Like Kitandi, his true meaning was in the non-verbal signal, a partial submission.

Others in the group relaxed as subtly as they had tensed. Then, after a sufficient pause, the oldest woman started a new topic that released Kitandi from the center of attention. As he also relaxed, he realized that this was more what he had hoped for. The lazy flow of conversation was educational in its own way. He learned that the cakes were being sent to the field houses, currently occupied by shepards and surrounded by their flocks. He learned that the weather was relatively warm, and that there was some competition over who would make the deliveries. Apparently it was a good day to get away from the Rest and go for a light run. He learned that the harvest and forage had both been good, that spirits were high and the children and flocks were robust. Everyone had known years when none of those things were true, and everyone was appreciating the good fortune.

Kitandi would have attempted runner duty if there were need. However, given how far he had walked in the past month, sitting around Gaia’s Rest was perfectly welcome to him. As the runners left with their packages, he stayed on through the ebb and flow of workers, wrapped cakes, and listened to the banter with which they amused themselves.

The work of Gaia’s Rest was not very different from what he would see anywhere. In fact, this particular task, he could imagine playing out the same way all over the world right now. He had seen it with his own eyes across half the world! The people, however… knowing what the Rest was, he could see that reflected in the people. The man who had started out prodding him had an uneven gait and a permanently furrowed brow. The woman who had taken over the conversation had a strained, overly bright manner that concealed some sort of discomfort, whether physical or emotional. He had heard several people speaking with slow, unrefined voices that suggested developmental disabilities. He had a cousin like that back in Dahomey, but it wasn’t something he had ever known to be as common as it was here. Even more surprising was the number of queer people. Many of these were actually Gaias, with no sign that they had ever been patients or in need of refuge. But he had never seen so many in one place at one time before. He would need to learn what it was about the Rest that attracted them.

Because if he succeeded in the competition, and he had some expectation of success, these people would be his people, his responsibility. He had come here hoping to earn the right to be protector to some of the weakest, neediest people in the world. What he found was a community more robust and more complicated than he had expected. He was less sure than he had been what they needed from him, but he was also intrigued. He was looking forward to learning some answers.