The Festival of Fertility

Chapter Eleven

From his vantage point, concealed from view behind dense layers of thick foliage, Tenoch of the Aiwaha watched the foreigners with a mixture of condescending bemusement and mild curiosity. The one in the lead, the older woman--Harwood, he reminded himself, her name is Harwood-- seemed to at least know a little of what she was doing, but the rest of them looked comically out-of-place. They grunted and sweated with those ludicrous bulky things on their backs, lurching and tramping and even half-slipping in the wet loam underfoot.

Why encumber themselves so? he wondered. He himself carried little save for a small pouch on the belt of his loincloth and the quiver of arrows and bow on his back. It was impossible for him to fathom why anyone would require anything else. Moving through the dense jungle came as naturally to him breathing. He needed no oversized knife to hack through it, or any other such foreign nonsense.

And yet, he reflected, were I to visit their homeland, I do not think I would fit in well there either. He'd listened to Dr. Harwood, the foreign woman who'd become such a steadfast friend of his people, tell stories about it during her last visit. Much of it was utterly, terrifyingly alien. Towers of glass and metal, roads of flat stone stretching beyond the horizon...he found it hard to even imagine such a place. I would not like to visit there, even if I could. It is too big, too loud, too...much.

He shifted his weight a little. Like most young men of the tribe, he was tall, broad-shouldered and fit, his muscles well-defined and clearly visible against his dark bronze complexion. Brightly colored tattoos of a tribal sort marked his pectorals, forearms and cheeks, as well as the skin just beneath his eyes.

<"These must be the ones we were told to watch for,"> he said aloud in his native tongue.

Metztli, standing beside him, curled her lip. Her grip on her long-hafted, flint-tipped spear tightened visibly. <"It is a good thing we were not sent out to gather meat, because they have surely frightened off all the game with the racket they are making. A rampaging boar makes less noise and leaves less of a trail. Foreigners."> Disgust colored the words. <"I had hoped that perhaps one of their men might be worthy of siring another child on me. I was foolish. Truly, I do not understand why Naka-Mur has allowed them to come here. They will only be a burden to us.">

<"I am sure he has his reasons,"> he replied. <"Naka-Mur is a wise and strong High Chief, fair and just. I have never seen him err in judgment.">

Metztli folded her arms over her bare breasts. Like all Aiwaha women, she didn't bother with clothes. Her body was sleek and well-shaped, with an athlete's toned, curvaceous form. There was very little about her physical shape which hinted at the four children she'd borne, a fact that many of the other women in Tlacloban viewed with envy. She also sported tattoos in shades of crimson, yellow and verdant green, but they were different from Tenoch's own. Every member of the tribe was marked differently, for each tattoo told part of a person's life and every person's path was different. Metztli's markings were harsh, angular and sharp. Tenoch's swirled and coiled like tendrils of smoke.

<"There's always a first time,"> she said. <"No man is all-knowing.">

<"No, but actions speak louder than words,"> he countered. <"Was it not the leader of these foreigners, the knowledge-woman, who spoke on our behalf? Were it not for her, others might have come to take our lands away from us. Now, we are protected by the foreigners' own law. And as for being useless, I think that remains to be seen. They have journeyed far, very far, in order to meet us. The journey alone must have been very hard. Surely that alone counts for something?">

<"We will see,"> Metztli said, her tone terse. <"I still do not trust them fully. Who is to say the knowledge woman is not merely trying to gain our trust in service of some hidden cause? I do not trust the foreigners, Tenoch, and will not until they give me reason to. And I will believe in their usefulness when they demonstrate it with their deeds. Perhaps, if they are blessed by the gods, I will judge one of their men worthy of giving me his seed. But I doubt it. The weakness of foreigners is well-known, and these are no different. I think--and hope--they will leave soon.">