Chapter 2
"You're not taking that to the coronation, are you?"
Hugo shrugged at Luce from where he sat cross-legged on the ground, holding his dagger up to the sun to catch its gleam, but there was only rust.
Luce shook her head, clucking her tongue like a disapproving mother.
Mother...
"Why don't you go talk to Beecham and see if he can't help you get it to shine?"
Hugo nodded, barely listening as he stared at the blade, finally letting his hand fall slowly into his lap.
Luce sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before joining him, taking a seat on the warm grass. "You're going to do fine, you know."
"I don't know anything about being a chief. I'm only fifte--"
"You'll be sixteen tomorrow," Luce smiled, draping an arm around his shoulders and holding him to her chest. "You're a man now, and your mother would be proud. I'm proud."
Normally one to shy away from being held, Hugo now let himself relax in his mother's old friend. "But...what if I--"
"Don't worry, Hugo." Luce turned to the side to grip his shoulders and give him a gentle shake. "I have faith in you. The spirits choose the guardian of our people: they have chosen you."
(==)
Feeling at least resigned to his purpose, if not enthused, Hugo wandered over to Beecham's tent. As a young child he'd avoided the area surrounding the old man's hovel; he and his friends had been weary of its darkness and its stench, not to mention the crazy old man who occupied the space. The young man supposed he had grown out of that fear, and no longer believed the stories of the tent having a skull-lined interior, but he felt his pulse quicken as he stiffly approached.
The tent flap was open, and when Hugo neared the entrance he could already smell something quite rancid. Heads! his mind gasped, but he gave himself a rough mental shake, and called inside.
"Hello!" By the afternoon sunlight that spilled into the dim shelter, Hugo could make out a figure sitting in the shadows. "Are you Beecham?"
"....Yes."
The reply was practically a growl.
"I'm Hugo, Chief--Lucia's son." The boy took a step into the tent. "I need help cleaning my dagger." He laughed, nervously. "There's a lot of rust on it."
Silence.
Hugo took another step inside, the stench almost overpowering, even with fresh air behind him. "Can you take care of it?"
"....Yes."
"....Can you tell me when?"
"When, what?"
Hugo frowned, getting irritated. "When are you going to take care of my coronation dagger?"
"....After."
"After what?"
"After after."
Hugo waited a few minutes more, staring at the shadowy figure of the old man, who sat silently and still, as though in meditation. Then he turned with an exhasperated sigh and stalked out. He really is mad, he thought.
And his blade was still rusted. Now what was he to do?
(==)
Hugo was still scrubbing and wiping at the dagger that night when he heard the timid sound of someone clearing his throat. He looked up from his task, the sweat dripping from his bangs glistening in the firelight.
"Come on in, Lulu," he welcomed his friend, returning immediately to his task.
Lulu, a quiet boy who was a little smaller in stature than Hugo, crept slowly into the large tent, having a seat on the floor a little away from his friend. He hadn't been here for a visit since before Lucia had died; it felt strange to do so now.
"So you didn't let Beecham clean your knife up, after all." He sounded relieved.
"What, that old geezer? No way. He's crazy."
"I know. I didn't think you'd be dumb enough to take it to him. I was just a little worried when my mom told me she'd suggested it to you."
Hugo sighed, giving up his futile task and tossing the dagger and rag to the floor. "Actually, I asked him, but he said he was busy."
"Busy?" Lulu stared at his friend with wide eyes. "Too busy to prepare the most sacred part of the ceremony for the coronation of the chief? He must be insane!"
"Yeah, well.... Maybe I can ask somebody else."
Lulu frowned. "....Who?"
The two friends looked at each other, each feeling a little helpless. "This would be so much easier if my mother were here," Hugo sighed a little sadly.
"She is," Lulu murmured. "She's here with you, Hugo. Didn't she say she would be? In the wind, in the water, in the earth--you can feel her, the same as I, the same as we all can."
Hugo closed his eyes, listening to the crackle of the wood in the fire. He felt the heat of the flames, could see them through his shut lids. He felt power there, an overwhelming power that he knew could burn him.
"I feel nothing!" he sneered. "My mother is dead. And I am alone."
When the young man rose from his seat on the floor and disappeared into the back of his home, Lulu didn't follow. He didn't leave immediately, either. But by the time dawn's first rays came peeking through the clouds, he realized that the blade just wasn't going to get any shinier or any sharper with his kind of help.
"You're not taking that to the coronation, are you?"
Hugo shrugged at Luce from where he sat cross-legged on the ground, holding his dagger up to the sun to catch its gleam, but there was only rust.
Luce shook her head, clucking her tongue like a disapproving mother.
Mother...
"Why don't you go talk to Beecham and see if he can't help you get it to shine?"
Hugo nodded, barely listening as he stared at the blade, finally letting his hand fall slowly into his lap.
Luce sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before joining him, taking a seat on the warm grass. "You're going to do fine, you know."
"I don't know anything about being a chief. I'm only fifte--"
"You'll be sixteen tomorrow," Luce smiled, draping an arm around his shoulders and holding him to her chest. "You're a man now, and your mother would be proud. I'm proud."
Normally one to shy away from being held, Hugo now let himself relax in his mother's old friend. "But...what if I--"
"Don't worry, Hugo." Luce turned to the side to grip his shoulders and give him a gentle shake. "I have faith in you. The spirits choose the guardian of our people: they have chosen you."
(==)
Feeling at least resigned to his purpose, if not enthused, Hugo wandered over to Beecham's tent. As a young child he'd avoided the area surrounding the old man's hovel; he and his friends had been weary of its darkness and its stench, not to mention the crazy old man who occupied the space. The young man supposed he had grown out of that fear, and no longer believed the stories of the tent having a skull-lined interior, but he felt his pulse quicken as he stiffly approached.
The tent flap was open, and when Hugo neared the entrance he could already smell something quite rancid. Heads! his mind gasped, but he gave himself a rough mental shake, and called inside.
"Hello!" By the afternoon sunlight that spilled into the dim shelter, Hugo could make out a figure sitting in the shadows. "Are you Beecham?"
"....Yes."
The reply was practically a growl.
"I'm Hugo, Chief--Lucia's son." The boy took a step into the tent. "I need help cleaning my dagger." He laughed, nervously. "There's a lot of rust on it."
Silence.
Hugo took another step inside, the stench almost overpowering, even with fresh air behind him. "Can you take care of it?"
"....Yes."
"....Can you tell me when?"
"When, what?"
Hugo frowned, getting irritated. "When are you going to take care of my coronation dagger?"
"....After."
"After what?"
"After after."
Hugo waited a few minutes more, staring at the shadowy figure of the old man, who sat silently and still, as though in meditation. Then he turned with an exhasperated sigh and stalked out. He really is mad, he thought.
And his blade was still rusted. Now what was he to do?
(==)
Hugo was still scrubbing and wiping at the dagger that night when he heard the timid sound of someone clearing his throat. He looked up from his task, the sweat dripping from his bangs glistening in the firelight.
"Come on in, Lulu," he welcomed his friend, returning immediately to his task.
Lulu, a quiet boy who was a little smaller in stature than Hugo, crept slowly into the large tent, having a seat on the floor a little away from his friend. He hadn't been here for a visit since before Lucia had died; it felt strange to do so now.
"So you didn't let Beecham clean your knife up, after all." He sounded relieved.
"What, that old geezer? No way. He's crazy."
"I know. I didn't think you'd be dumb enough to take it to him. I was just a little worried when my mom told me she'd suggested it to you."
Hugo sighed, giving up his futile task and tossing the dagger and rag to the floor. "Actually, I asked him, but he said he was busy."
"Busy?" Lulu stared at his friend with wide eyes. "Too busy to prepare the most sacred part of the ceremony for the coronation of the chief? He must be insane!"
"Yeah, well.... Maybe I can ask somebody else."
Lulu frowned. "....Who?"
The two friends looked at each other, each feeling a little helpless. "This would be so much easier if my mother were here," Hugo sighed a little sadly.
"She is," Lulu murmured. "She's here with you, Hugo. Didn't she say she would be? In the wind, in the water, in the earth--you can feel her, the same as I, the same as we all can."
Hugo closed his eyes, listening to the crackle of the wood in the fire. He felt the heat of the flames, could see them through his shut lids. He felt power there, an overwhelming power that he knew could burn him.
"I feel nothing!" he sneered. "My mother is dead. And I am alone."
When the young man rose from his seat on the floor and disappeared into the back of his home, Lulu didn't follow. He didn't leave immediately, either. But by the time dawn's first rays came peeking through the clouds, he realized that the blade just wasn't going to get any shinier or any sharper with his kind of help.