Tlacelel was only too aware of his enemies' eyes staring in horrified surprise as he approached the village, but he was not to be deterred now. He had already journeyed for weeks, sleeping beneath overhangs of rocks to shield himself from the rain, eating berries in a futile effort to satisfy his hunger, for he had carried no weapons to hunt game.
Among his people, after a king had reigned for half a year, it was his duty to find a queen. To do so, he must wander through the wilderness barefoot, going from village to village with neither weapons nor provisions. Having proven his courage and intelligence, thus ensuring his right to rule, he would choose the woman that he deemed most suitable.
Sometimes a king would be captured by enemies or perish from his inability to find food. In such cases, the crown would be passed to the first young noble who captured a live Marauder. Many men, who were either overly brave or exceedingly foolish, had lost their lives in this attempt.
When the previous king had failed to return, Tlacelel had refrained from joining other noblemen in what seemed to him a futile quest. However, when a Marauder had attempted to rob the young man's home, he fought back rather than shouting for his warriors. In the struggle, the Marauder was knocked unconscious, and Tlacelel had been declared king.
Time was running short. He must find his queen soon, or he would be considered lost, and the anarchy would continue, but now he had wandered into an enemy village. The people didn't seem to be Marauders. Their slender limbs seemed to indicate a tribe who prided themselves on agility and speed.
The young king's mind began to turn. Such qualities combined with his own tribe's brute strength would produce a fine heir. Somehow, he must take his wife from among this tribe. He would know no rest until then.
A young man approached him. "Have you come to make trouble?! I know from your bulging upper arms and your long hair that you are an Adversary!"
"It is true that the men of my tribe never cut their hair or beards," Tlacelel answered, "and we are proud of our strength, but I am not your enemy. I have come to make peace."
The man crossed his arms. "How can I believe you?"
"See for yourself. I have no weapons."
"Then what are you doing here?!"
"I have come to choose my bride."
Sensing the other's confusion, he explained the custom of his tribe and the idea that had formed in his head.
"It would benefit you as well," he concluded. "We stand against the Marauders with remarkable success, and my tribe would no longer attack yours. More of your children would survive to adulthood."
"We will consult the Wise One on this matter," the other man decided. "In the meantime, you may stay for our festival. I'll let the others know you're here, but if you betray our hospitality…!"
"Not at all!" After a pause, he added, "I am called Tlacelel."
"I am Ekundayo."
As the young men prepared for the festival, Tlacelel casually observed the women. What manner of tribe considered plaited hair to be beautiful? Among his own tribe, men always wore their hair and beards long, sometimes braiding them at night so they would appear fuller the next day. He who had the thickest hair on both sides of his head had the most female admirers, although the cheeks and area around the lips were kept clean-shaven for the sake of kissing young admirers without hinderance.
By contrast, the women allowed no hair to grow on their heads, for it was a sign of masculinity. Upon her smooth head, a woman might paint intricate designs or wear a garland of flowers, a sign of her social status as well as a way to enhance her natural beauty. If a woman was unmarried, her head was not completely smooth; she maintained hair that grew just past her ears to show she searched for a mate. If a married woman had failed to bear children after several years of marriage, she allowed her hair to grow, not cutting it until a child was born into her family, for a woman who was unable to bring forth heirs was no better than a man. Indeed, she was worse, for she lacked a male's physical strength.
At the sound of air blown through a conch shell, the men of Ekundayo's village lined up for the race. The first man who reached the tree at the top of the nearest hill and returned would be declared victor. The following day would bring bouts of jumping, matching wits, and wrestling, but the most important event, the test of speed, was held on its own day.
The signal was given, and the competitors sprinted away, cheered on by their families and young women hoping to find a match. Ekundayo loved the feeling of the soft grass beneath his feet. He had long since grown accustomed to the occasional stone or twig, and he was able to ignore all distractions.
Before the first man behind him had even reached the top of the hill, Ekundayo was rushing away from the tree as if it were a deadly foe. He knew many young ladies admired his athleticism, but he had met only one who could see past his low status, and she was waiting at the finish line for him.
Ekundayo barely heard the elders of the village declare him victor. He saw only the most beautiful woman in the tribe, her hair dappled with sunlight as the wind played with a few strands that had come loose from her braids, her warm eyes gazing at him affectionately. She placed her hands in his, and they stood lost in their own world.
"I'm not the man you want," he whispered. "I barely make enough to support myself. We'd starve."
"Let me starve with you rather than feast with another," she replied softly. "We'll make it somehow." Tinashe reached up to touch his face. "I know what man I want."
Before any protests could be made, the childhood friends sealed their love with their first kiss.
"I'm not going to ask you here." Ekundayo stroked her hair. "I'm going to wait and ask you properly, the way you deserve to be asked."
Tinashe no longer cared about her family's approval. Let them disown her if they wished. Ekundayo loved her not because she was marriageable, but because he truly cared about who she was, and he had proven himself worthy of her love in return, not by racing, but by simply being himself.
Tlacelel, meanwhile, had found a woman who appeared to be in distress. He approached her and asked what the trouble was.
"My sister's making a fool of herself in front of the entire village!" the young woman retorted. "We are members of a respectable family, a wealthy family! We should catch the attention of merchants' sons, not farmers!"
The visitor's interest was piqued. "You're a merchant's daughter then?"
"I am." She frowned. "What is it to an Adversary?"
"My people also value peace among tribes, although it seems impossible with our mutual enemy, the Marauders, and like you, we understand the importance of a good match being more important than romantic feelings in matrimony."
Despite her better judgment, Zeltzin found herself drawn to this stranger. For an Adversary, he seemed reasonable, even intelligent. She would definitely consult the Wise One before passing judgment on this unusual enemy.