Page 39 of The Witch who Trades with Death

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Despite the recent battle, the festival of the spring and summer goddess Garmiva went on as planned. Khana expected the inn to be packed all day and was all for hiding behind the stone walls. But to her surprise, Heimili closed the dining hall before noon.

“The festival is at the main center of town, and everyone brings something to the feast,” he explained, stirring the massive pot of soup he’d been working on since dawn. “You and Haz will carry this there.”

“Joy,” she said.

It was not a joy. She and Haz each gripped one handle of the covered pot, which was easily the size of Heimili’s round torso and several pounds heavier, and hauled it into town, Heimili and Amati joining them. The grandmother was, thankfully, strong enough.

Khana asked Heimili to hold onto the threadbare sack she kept her gifts in.

“What’s in here?” he asked, poking at the knot she’d tied at the top.

“No peeking!” she scolded between breaths, grateful he had only filled the pot four fifths full. “Those are your presents.”

“A new pair of arms?” Haz huffed, toddling behind her. He wore a short pair of antlers on his brow, which would look ridiculous if the rest of town weren’t doing the same. The headband attached to the antlers brought some order to his messy black hair that now almost reached his shoulders.

When Khana had asked, he’d explained that they were a symbol of Garmiva, whose summer brought the herds back to their side of the tundra. Khana had politely declined the purchase of a pair for herself.

“You’re both soldiers. How are you complaining this much?” Amati demanded. She carried the four big bowls that they’d use throughout the evening.

“It’s a skill.”

They finally reached the town square. The town hall was open, allowing people in and out. Most people stayed out, clustered around the dozens of mats and blankets on the ground that offered some protection for the food. They found a good spot for the soup between a tower of stacked chuta, a tray of seasoned river fish, and a roasted moose. Khana shook out her hands. The pot hadn’t been as heavy as she’d feared, despite Haz’s complaints, just big and awkward. Neta’s strength training really was divine.

Haz now started poking at Khana’s sack with his father, the two of them puppies pawing at a bag of treats. “Can we have our presents now?”

Khana sighed again, more good-natured this time. “Fine. Give it here.”

She dug through it until she found what she was looking for. She hadn’t wanted to spend any money, but she hadn’t wanted to come empty-handed, and supplies for homemade gifts were limited. So, she’d eaten the cost and bought colorful wool cloth and thread, which she then used to sew thick ribbons that could be used for headbands, necklaces, bracelets, or decoration for weapons.

Amati squinted at the birds and flowers Khana had stitched onto her black ribbon, Heimili laughed at the horns of mead and cups of tea on his brown one, and Haz tied his orange ribbon to one of his antlers. The frogs for his – and the other Poison Darts – had been particularly difficult, but after doing nine frogs per ribbon, she’d gotten it down.

Amati tutted. “This is far too nice to wear. You should’ve gotten me something cheap that I wouldn’t feel bad about spilling food on.”

Khana recognized it for the oddly-colored praise it was. “Probably. You’re welcome anyway.”

The old woman carefully folded the ribbon and tucked it away in her pocket before handing out the bowls. “Heimili and I made the same mistake. You’ll both find new furs in your rooms. They’re moose, not those cheaper, sensible goat and yak pelts.”

“Your whole hand will disappear when you touch it,” Heimili added. “We might lose Khana completely.”

“If it keeps me warm, don’t fish me out. Thank you,” she said, taking her empty bowl gratefully. She glanced around the festival as more and more people trickled into the square with crowns, headbands, and headdresses. A trio of musicians played flutes and drums nearby, their hats out to accept coins. Farther away she could hear a competing lute.

Haz all but dragged her across the food spread and she pulled him to the musicians, giving them what little coin she could spare as she clapped along with the rest of the crowd. She had every intention of giving her friends their gifts, staying for a few songs, and then disappearing into that new fur blanket back at the inn. Even when she was a child without a care in the world in the desert, she didn’t do festivals.

The food, though, was excellent. Someone had made something called panca , which Haz explained was meat – usually goat – cooked for hours in an oven with herbs, spices, and vegetables. It looked half-burnt, but that crunchy exterior gave way to an explosion of flavor that had Khana moaning. Haz cackled. “Do you two need a minute alone?”

“Haz! Khana!”

Lueti ran up to join them, a dark pink sash wrapped around her skinny waist. Working tonight, of course. A crown of small, simple, carved-up antlers woven and tied together rested on her gray head. Even though the air was warmer than it had been since last fall, Khana was still amazed at how much skin the woman showed, baring her arms to the lick of spring, the wrinkles hidden by the sheer amount of muscle she’d earned over winter training. Khana herself couldn’t leave the house without at least a wool sweater.

“Lueti!” Haz cheered. “Is the rest of the unit here?”

“Heading for the stage. Xopil’s wife is competing, remember?”

“In what?” Khana asked.

“She’s in group dance, I believe. Then it’ll be solo dance, and then music,” Lueti explained. “We should go. Come, come!”

She took their hands and pulled them deeper into the crowd. I’ll stay long enough to see Tlastisti and Sava perform, Khana decided. She did have a present for Sava, after all. Although maybe she shouldn’t have? They were friendly with each other, of course, but were they friends ? She could barely have a conversation with the man before getting so nervous she fled.

They found Xopil holding his toddler, talking to Yxe, Itehua, and Neta. With Xopil’s other hand, he scratched a goat behind the ears. Livestock frequently walked the streets of Pahuuda, tied to stakes while their owners visited businesses and homes. She seriously doubted the goat belonged to him, but it made happy bleating sounds as he petted it.

“Found them!” Lueti cheered. Haz immediately started making faces at the toddler, made even more ridiculous by the food spilling out of his mouth. Khana cooed at the goat; it was surprisingly cute, and perfectly docile in Xopil’s hands. Like her, most of them went without antlers. Only Neta and Yxe indulged, and he’d squeezed his over his yellow wool cap. Hers was carved with outstanding details of leopards; Khana had a hazy memory of Athicha carving in front of the inn’s fireplace, carefully sweeping their debris into the flames.

“Good. I can finally stop carrying these around,” Itehua grumbled, pulling a handful of knives and, confusingly, a teapot out of the bag hanging from his shoulder. “I got you all weapons.”

Lueti laughed when he gave her the teapot, which was sturdy enough that she could easily kill another would-be child-rapist. Khana handed out her ribbons, all of them different colors and stitched with frogs. To her relief, they all enjoyed them, especially Lueti, who got two: a pink one for work, and a light blue one for time off. She immediately braided the pink one into her antler crown.

From the pack on his back, Haz gave everyone an empty mead horn from the inn, polished to a shine. Neta had splurged on blocks of tea. One brick was enough to last a whole family a year, and from the looks of the others’ faces it was an expensive type, too. She’d also gotten the wooden box to give to Athicha to carve. Yxe’s gift was wool socks he’d made himself, Xopil’s was sweet cornbread, and Lueti’s was phallic-shaped stone sculptures that she assured with a wink could be “safely used.”

Except for Khana. She didn’t get any of Itehua’s knives, or Neta’s tea, or Haz’s horns. Nothing.

She tried to swallow back her disappointment and confusion. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she wasn’t actually a part of –

“Don’t make that face, Khana,” Itehua scolded. He nudged Yxe. “Give it to her.”

“Give me what?” she asked, still confused.

Lueti’s eyes brightened. “We decided to pool our money together to get you one big gift rather than a bunch of little ones. It was Haz’s idea.”

“Actually Sava’s,” he admitted as Yxe gave Khana something wrapped in thick wool. “Baba and Mimi pitched in, too.”

Intrigued, Khana unwrapped the wool. Her hand froze when she brushed against the familiar strings of a lute.

“You didn’t,” she gasped, revealing the rest of the instrument. It was gorgeous, the wood painted a midnight black and trimmed with star-silver paint. Given the smell, it was brand new.

“Sava helped me find it. Even contributed to the pot,” Yxe admitted, then added under his breath, “Significantly.”

Khana couldn’t wrap her head around that. Could barely comprehend the reality of holding a lute for the first time in over a year. Had it really been that long since she’d played music?

They’d given this to her. Given her the ability to make music again.

“Oh, please don’t cry,” Itehua pleaded. “I hate it when women cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she sobbed, wiping the tears from her face. “Thank you. This is… thank you .”

Haz hugged her, sideways so he wouldn’t crush the precious instrument. Neta cleared her throat. “I hate to break the mood, but someone’s making eyes at Lueti.”

The old whore craned her neck. Khana had to peek around Haz to see an old man who lifted his horn of mead with a wink.

“Well, time to make up the money I spent spoiling you darlings,” Lueti said, adjusting her outfit and new ribbon. She gathered her gifts, leaning over in a way that presented her bottom directly in her hopeful-client’s eyesight, kissed Khana’s cheek, and said, “See you around.”

“Stay safe,” Khana called after her.

“Come on,” Haz urged. “Let’s go watch Xopil’s wife dominate the stage.”

The sun disappearing on the horizon heralded the start of the competition. Torches were lit, giving the dancers a warm, eerie glow. Despite the others urging her to dance in the competition, or even test out the lute, Khana refused to get on that stage. Even the lure of a big bag of coins as prize money couldn’t get her to join the line of hopeful performers. She’d performed before – private performances with Yamueto never ended well. But public performances for the entire court were always done in a group, where mistakes could be easily covered by those around her. And she was so out of practice.

Those were her excuses, and her friends didn’t push. Instead, they watched the competitors perform, first the solo dancers, none of whom Khana knew, then the ensembles. Tlastisti did a rather impressive ribbon dance with a couple of friends. Not court-quality, but enough that she should’ve landed at least third place rather than fifth, an opinion that Khana grumbled into Haz’s ear well into the music competition.

“They even landed a coordinated flag-spin and catch. Do you know how hard that is?” she whisper-ranted.

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Haz muttered. “Oh, look, Sava’s next.”

Khana – embarrassingly – shut right up and focused on the stage, an elevated stone platform that Pahuuda sometimes used for major speeches.

Sava stepped onto the stage to a round of cheers and applause, with his father, too. Thriman held a lute not unlike Khana’s new one in his massive hands, and Sava wielded his bone flute. The father and son duo launched into a tune Khana didn’t know but was familiar to the other townsfolk, since the crowd immediately began clapping along to the beat. Thriman also sang – very well, with a deep baritone – though Khana could barely pay attention to him. Her eyes were glued to Sava, the way his fingers darted across the flute that whistled like the sweetest songbird.

It was a travesty that they didn’t get first place, instead placing second behind a trio of singers. Sava took it well, nodding with the judges’ decision, clapping with the rest of the crowd, and even shaking hands and hugging each of the singers. Honestly, how could a man be so humble?

Haz nudged her arm, pulling her attention away. “Baba and Mimi are going home. The rest of us are getting more food, and there’s usually some dancing going on, too. You coming?”

“In a minute. I need to thank Sava.” She held up the lute. Haz nodded and left with the rest of the unit.

It took a long while to get to the chief’s son. It seemed everyone in town wanted to talk to him about his performance or wish him a happy festival or share their life story. Khana eventually managed to wiggle her way through enough to catch his eye. He politely broke off his conversation with one of the judges and made his way to her, brightening as soon as he saw the lute. “You got it!”

The strap had kept the lute safely on her back since she’d received it, a comforting weight against her spine. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. You certainly didn’t have to…”

He shrugged. His short antlers were so carefully pinned to his dark hair that they looked to be sprouting right from his head. “I know. But you missed being able to play, and I’m always looking to throw money at the instrument makers around here.”

“I have something for you, too,” Khana said shyly, pulling the last ribbon out of her bag. It felt so insignificant compared to what he’d given her.

She’d considered a wolf design on the ribbon, but that felt trite, despite their symbolic importance. Arrows felt too simple and war-like for such a peaceful soul. So, she’d settled on music, food, and snow, which held their happiest moments – at least to her. Little blue and white musical notes were on the edges; she’d squinted at the sewn flute for hours to make the stitches look like an instrument rather than a rod, and a pair of snowmen danced in the middle with teacups in hand.

Sava laughed when he saw that. “That’s adorable!”

She beamed. He carefully folded it up and put it away. She blinked. “You’re not going to wear it?”

“It is far too nice for me to risk losing. I’ll save it for special occasions.” He smiled. “Thank you, Khana.”

Around them, the crowd seemed to be gravitating back to the food, and Khana could hear more music emerging from down the street. “I thought Garmiva was the goddess of summer, not music.”

“Eh. Bunakk is goddess of all things music and art. She’s Garmiva’s youngest child, so it makes sense for her to be present.” He held out his arm. “Join me for a dance?”

I shouldn’t. I should get to bed. We’ll be marching back into the mountains any day now , is what Khana wanted to say. It was on the tip of her tongue.

But one look at Sava’s earnest eyes, and she crumpled, admitting, “I don’t know any Ghuran dances.”

“They’re easy,” he promised. “And this isn’t a royal court. Most people know even less about dancing than you do.”

Khana looped her arm through his and let him lead her into the night.