She attempted to hide her bewilderment. But as the lifts carried her up, she found herself firmly clutching the supports of the lift cage and cursing under her breath. It was much faster than she expected and her destination so steep and high above the flat expanse of the plains. As the young Shu’halo stepped off onto the bridge, a Shu’halo Bull who had ridden alongside her gave her a reassuring smile as he passed.
“Welcome to Thunder Bluff,” he greeted, sure to speak in the Mother’s Tongue.
So much for hiding her ignorance of the place. But she shook off her trepidation as she crossed the bridge and started walking the firm earth paths of this amazing city. Her first time in Thunder Bluff, what this young huntress from a small, isolationist nomadic village found was all a bit overwhelming.
But exciting as well. It was why she had so eagerly volunteered to make the trip to visit this now supposed center of Shu’halo civilation. Her curious nature had gotten the best of her. And to her satisfaction, it was immediately being sated. Strange people and Shu’halo all around her speaking to each other in the strange, gruff language of the orcs. Or even other languages she also did not know. Homes and shops though certainly made with traditional materials, were built with permanence in mind, not ready to be taken up when the seasons called to move. The streets were well tamped and worn. And of all she sensed around her it was the smells which caught her attention the most. Everything from baking bread to drying fish; stabled animals to burning fires; tanning leathers to the sweat of the skin of the people around her. A cacophony of scents both brilliantly alive and stale at the same time. She was sure she could spend many hours exploring the streets of this odd place, and she wanted to. But she had come here with a task to perform.
She approached one of the nearby Shu’halo merchants, trying her best to limit her concerns of his latest customer, a walking dead man. Her rather wide berth of him as she sidestepped to allow him to pass, was obscured from his vision by the tall stack of kodo hide leather he carried before him. Walking dead. The thought made her shiver. She’d heard of them from the stories the Walker would tell when she came to visit the village, but to actually see one in person. It almost didn’t seem real.
“Most of them aren’t so bad once you get to know them. At least the ones that come around here,” the merchant assured her, noticing she was staring at the Forsaken as he walked down the street.
An embarrassed quirk in her smile exposed her guilt. “Is it really that obvious that I am a stranger to this place?”
“It’s nothing to worry about. We get all sorts around here who don’t know their way and are trying to find something. I am Brother Ahanu, by the way. Ish-ne-alo.”
He offered her a drink from his waterskin, which she accepted obligingly, grateful to be welcomed so comfortably. Returning the gift, she then introduced herself, “Flying Bear. Of the Swifthorn Tribe.”
“Well, Sister Flying Bear, what brings you to the Bluffs?”
“I’ve come to deliver a message from my tribe to someone who might be here. Red Earth of the Blackhide. I’m told she is the Chief of a clan called the Ishnu Por Ah. Do you know where I might find them or her?”
Ahanu smiled again. “Of course. Trade with a few of them often enough. They have a small lodge on Spirit Rise. Just take the bridge over there to the north. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding it. Just look for the old Bull named Mishkwaki who keeps the place. He’s usually sitting outside the door.”
The words of Ahanu reassured her. She knew Brother Mishkwaki, though she had not seen him in many years. Her delivery would be an easy one and then she could relax and perhaps take a little time to explore this newly discovered world of the city before returning to the village.
She bounced a little as she crossed the long bridge, enthralled by the sturdiness of the structure made of nothing but wood and rope that allowed her and even wagons and mounted kodos to cross over the deep gap between the rises. Already in the brief time she’d been here, she had seen enough to fill her friend’s minds back home with wonderful images when she would tell them about her visit. Someday soon maybe they too would be coming to see it themselves if all went well with her delivery.
The lodge was indeed easy to find. She found an old Bull knelt by a line of potted herbs he was tending by a small and unusual longhouse. Built and painted similar to the other buildings nearby, it also had strange mechanical contraptions hanging from the roofbeams, clinking and whirring, pumping out steam from small exhausts while metallic tubes leading into the side of the lodge shivered.
“Brother Mishkwaki?”
The Bull turned his head to see who had hailed him and then he rose to give her a proper greeting, offering his hand and a small plate of snacks he had set on a small stool nearby. He then tilted his head a moment, hearing something she could not. His smile then brightened as he turned his attention to her again. “I think I should know you. They at least say I should,” he remarked, pointing to the birds singing in the trees.
“I am Flying Bear. But you may not remember me. I was very small the last time you saw me. I am Swifthorn. I come bearing news.”
“News? Good news, I hope. We could always use more.”
“Is The Walker here? I was told to deliver my message to her.”
“Today may be your lucky day,” Mishkwaki replied, brightly. “Come.”
He beckoned her to follow him into the lodge. Pulling open the door for her, she felt a waft of chilled air escape the building and when she stepped in she noticed it was much cooler inside than out. She reflexively reached over to rub her arms.
“Apologies for the condition of the air,” Mishkwaki said as he pointed in the direction of where the metal pipes she had seen outside were leading into the lodge. “The Matriarch. . .mmm, excuse me, the Walker has been complaining it’s been too warm. We’ve been trying to keep her comfortable.”
“Who’s this? Oh!” exclaimed a young Shu’halo woman. She was not much older than Flying Bear and like MIshkwaki, a familiar face. Kickfeather pointed at her intently. “I know you! You’re from. . . .wait, WAIT, don’t tell me. . . ! Shining Trees! Mama’s village! Flyyyyyyyyyyyyying Bear!”
Kickfeather snapped her fingers, proud she’d been able to recall and making Flying Bear chuckle.
“Good to see you, Sister. What you doing here?”
“I come bearing a message from the Council. They asked me to talk to your sister. Is she here?”
“Yup! Though. . . .you can’t talk to her right now.” Kickfeather turned her attention to Mishkwaki. “She just woke up again for a little bit. Held my hand and tried to tell me about a dream she had. She called me by name this time. That’s a good thing! She knows who I am! But then she got tired again.
“So, you’ll have to wait a bit,” she informed Flying Bear. “But don’t you worry. You’ll be able to tell her what the Cou-
“Heeeeeeey, what? The Council sent you?”
Flying Bear nodded. But her attention was much less on her message now. She was leaning curiously to try and get a better look past Kickfeather at the figure lying upon the bed mats at the other end of the room. “Is she. . .sick?”
“Por Ah, I hope not,” Kickfeather said, worriedly.
“No, no. Merely asleep,” Mishkwaki reassured. He took a hold of Flying Bear’s arm and lead her towards the bedside as he continued. “Many months ago she was very seriously injured. Close to death. But she survived. It was only recently that she first woke up. So she’s weak and can only stay awake for short periods. But each time it’s a little more. Her words are coming back slowly as well. And it is good she called Kickfeather’s name. It means she remembers things. Por Ah has kept her spirit strong.”
“A gift from the Ancestors! They decided to bring her back with them while they visit during Winter’s Veil,” Kickfeather beamed. “Don’t be shy. Come take a look. You won’t disturb her, she’s always slept like a rock.”
Going to the other side of the bed, Kickfeather bent over her sister and began to straighten her blankets, opening them up a little so she would not get too warm. She then reached over and started pushing wild strands of her mane away from her sleeping face. “I think I’ll have to start her braids for her soon.”
Flying Bear approached tentatively to get a better look at Red Earth, unsure what to think or what to do. Red Earth was not just a Blackhide shaman, but a Kodo Walker as well. Someone whose connection with Por Ah had set her on a prophetic path that few could endure. Flying Bear had been ready to pay the greatest respect to her, deliver her message to her and be impressed by the grace of her reply. She had not expected to find this, the shaman she had grown up knowing to revere being bedridden, thin from weakness and. . . .
Flying Bear gasped. She knelt down by the bed and looked Red Earth over carefully, blinking a few times to be sure she was seeing correctly. Reaching down, she ran her fingers along the soft fur of Red Earth’s arm, then looked between Mishkwaki and Kickfeather in disbelief.
“This. . .this is her?” She looked between Mishkwaki and Kickfeather, both of them nodding. “But-“
“But nothing. Don’t question a miracle. I don’t. Not anymore anyway. HA!” Kickfeather laughed. At that moment, Kickfeather then decided that perhaps it was a good time to start her sister’s braids. “She doesn’t know. Haven’t gotten around to showing her. Maybe when she wakes up next time YOU can tell her!”
_________________ I am not the strong cord. I am not the ropes that bind.
I am what brings them together. I am the knot.
I am a shaman.
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