Mighty on the Earth
by aishuu
Part 2:
The next morning, Kurapica woke up to the sound of his father's voice, lifted in song.
Lying on his pallet, he listened to his father sing. Anoke's voice was a pleasant tenor, nothing spectacular, but it was reassuring to him. Kurapica knew the melody like the back of his hand, a simple chant-like song that could carry different lyrics, depending on the mood of the tribe. Their mourning songs were the same as the ones they used to placate the winter weather, while the marriage songs sounded similar to the summer solstice ones.
Under his breath, he mouthed the words, the song rising in his throat, familiar and loved. Finally the song came to an end on a long, trilling note, and Kurapica smiled to himself. One day, he would sing the world awake as well.
It took a few more minutes before he found the energy to rise. He liked lying in bed early in the morning, reflecting on what the day would bring. There would be a festival tonight, celebrating the season and thanking God for his kindness. It had rained steadily yesterday, and there would be more work to do before they could celebrate.
The soil in Rukuso Valley wasn't the best, and it took a lot effort to manage the small plots each family kept. Hunting supplemented the sheep and goats the tribe raised, with the young men of the village alternating between shepherd duties and scouring the forests for prey. Kurapica wasn't old enough to accompany the hunts, which meant he spent a lot of time working the gardens.
Procrastinating would only mean he'd have to work more quickly. He levered himself off the cot he slept on, relieved by a glance out the window that showed a nice, sunny day. Pushing passed the curtain that served as a door for his room, he made his way to the kitchen.
His father was making breakfast. Anoke usually did this; it offered Zaltana a chance to sleep in since he had to be up anyway. Summer was too hot to use the stove, so it really meant fresh fruit and sheep's milk. Anoke had picked up bread from the village baker the day before, so it was still fresh.
"Good morning, father," Kurapica said.
Anoke turned around so he could ruffle his son's hair affectionately. "Did I wake you again?"
"It's not a problem," Kurapica replied. "I like to hear you sing."
Anoke laughed, before handing Kurapica a bowl of sliced strawberries in milk, along with a hunk of the bread. "Sit down, and let's eat."
Kurapica smiled at his father as he settled in. After ripping a piece of bread off, he dipped into the bowl to use as an eating utensil. The strawberries were perfectly ripened, he thought with pleasure. He took a moment to savor the taste before returning to conversation. "Is the festival planning going well?"
"Doesn't it always?" Anoke asked, taking the chair across from his son. "Takota brought some fireworks for us to set off."
Kurapica smiled eagerly. "Really?" He'd only seen them once before, but they had fascinated him.
"Enough for a short show. He's going to show your mother how to set them off, and they'll put a display on for us later."
Kurapica squirmed a bit at the thought. The way the familiar skies had been dyed, even if only for a moment, with colors had been unforgettable. He couldn't wait to see what it would look like this time.
His father chuckled again, recognizing his excitement. "Of course, there's a lot of work to do today before," he said.
Kurapica pulled a face, but didn't argue.
The rest of the day went by treacherously slow. First he worked in the garden, pulling the weeds that the rain had encouraged. Usually he and Olathe would help each other in their family plots, but today there was no sign of her. She'd probably been drafted to help cook for the meal, or was creating flower chains for decorations.
After the garden was done, he wiped the sweat from his brow before entering his house to get something to drink. Zaltana was awake now, and didn't look happier for it. She'd never been much of a morning person, and he noted the circles under her eyes. Sometimes she had nightmares, which prevented her from resting well.
She raised her head from her cup of herbal tea, staring at him with blank eyes for a second before recognition set it. "Hello, Kurapica," she murmured. "Done with the weeding?"
"Yes," he said. "Where's father?"
"Helping Takota set up, I would imagine," she said. "He'll open in an hour or two, so I'll head over there to see if he wants to trade." Takota had always been interested in Zaltana's jewelry. She didn't work in gems, but her elegant metal sculpting had their own beauty. A few of the rich from York Shin were starting to develop a fondness for them, and they were becoming popular. "Is there anything you'd like me to get?"
"If he brought a book..." he said hesitantly.
Her smile was warm and understanding. "I'm sure he has something for you," she said. "How about you go do your katas and then I'll make lunch?"
He nodded, going to his room to fetch the two short swords that were the signature of a Kurata warrior. It had been generations since their tribe had taken the battlefield, but they remembered. Sword practice built muscles and fostered grace, qualities that were useful for hunting. The children of the tribe learned to use slings as soon as they could walk, and staffs not long after. The sword dance was taught to all who turned ten, leaving only archery. When Kurapica turned thirteen, he would be taught to use a bow, completing his education as a fighter.
Today, he headed to the back of the house, finding a spot where the grass had been worn down by the frequent traffic. His parents both practiced their sword work here as well, although his father only did so half-heartedly. Anoke was a man of words, not weapons, but it was an important form of exercise. There was a reason that Kurata remained trim well into their sixth decade.
Kurapica let his mind sink into that state of calm the Kurata called kotoo'êstse, the state where thought crept away and only instinct remained. As little children, they were taught to meditate into it, but eventually they could enter the state at will. It was a direct contrast to the Red Eyes, which happened when they became excited. For a Kurata, learning to control that impulse was vital. It was what made them such dangerous fighters; when they unleashed their rage, it remained controlled.
His muscles were getting sore, and sweat started to bead at the back of his neck. Checking the sky, he noted the sun had moved two hours further on her journey.
"Kurapica?" he heard his mother call. Turning, he saw her holding a towel as she stood by the back door.
"Coming!" he said, sheathing his blades on his hips before scurrying over to her. He took the towel and started to dry his face, thinking he needed to get a bath. "Did you see Takota?" he asked curiously.
"You mean, did I buy you anything?" she teased, a playful smile on her lips.
"Maybe," he said, glancing at her coyly.
She laughed, before mussing his hair with a playful hand. "Maybe!" she shot back, winking.
A bath could wait, he decided. "Can I see?" he asked, trying to give her puppy-dog eyes.
His hair took another ruffle, before she motioned for him to come inside. He followed her eagerly, knowing that she'd found some kind of book, since she seemed so cheerful.
The kitchen table had a bowl full of freshly-snapped beans in the center, with the cloth that collected the tips still there as well. Later his mother would throw it onto their compost pile. He tried to covertly look around and see if he could spot the gift, earning a chuckle from his mother.
"I put it in your room," she told him, breaking the suspense.
He grinned, then ducked through the curtain which marked the boundaries of his space. His room was small, containing a suspension bed that he had to tighten every night, a small bureau which had been in his family for generations, and a couple shelves that he kept his precious books on. Looking around eagerly, his eyes finally settled on his bed, widening in delight as he noticed not one, but three books sitting on his feather pillow.
He sat down on the bed slowly, staring at the colorful covers. The Life and Times of a Hunter, Legends of York Shin City, and The Master's Collection of Contemporary Literature, he read, before reaching out and picking up the first, a heavy tome that smelled like old leather and paper, a unique aroma that made him shiver a bit inside.
Many Kurata didn't like reading, and did so only sparingly. There were more important things to do than mess around with books, like hunting and farming. Still, all learned how while they were young, usually from their parents. When they traveled outside the village, they needed to know enough to communicate.
Kurapica had been unusual in his love for learning. He'd started to read early, learning his letters quickly, before discovering the joy of books - and then there had been no stopping him. He fell in love with words, with knowledge, and found himself devouring anything he could get his hands on. He'd borrowed every book in the village at least twice.
He heard the whisper of fabric as his mother passed into his room. She came to stand by him, before placing a warm hand on his left shoulder. "Do you like them?"
"They're wonderful," he whispered. If he read slowly, taking time to reflect on the words, the books would last for a week. Then he could re-read them.
She leaned forward to press her lips against his forehead affectionately. "How about you wait until tomorrow to start reading? There's plenty that needs to be done for the festival." His mother was being diplomatic, he recognized. If he started to read, he'd only get interrupted and that would make him irritable. Tomorrow would be a quieter day, with people sleeping off the effects of a night-long feast.
He only had to battle with himself for a few moments, before he stacked the books neatly and set them at the foot of the bed. "That's a good idea. What do you need me to do?"
The clothes the Kurata wore were the same for both genders, helping foster the tribe's androgynous quality, especially since the men tended to like jewelry just as much as the women did. The men were built on delicate lines, while the women didn't develop large busts or hips, which only exacerbated the confusion for the rare outsiders.
Tonight, all wore their finest, long draping shirts that hung to the knee over soft, comfortable pants. Most of the shirts were decorated with fine embroidery, the patterns of families edged along the shoulders. Kurapica was wearing blue, his favorite color, while his mother wore a fine red tunic slit to her waist to offer better freedom of movement. She ruffled his hair affectionately, before wandering toward the other young women of the village.
Children - those even younger than Kurapica - had spent the morning gathering wood and scraps, piling them into the village square to create a bonfire. The pile was huge, large enough to burn for days.
Dusk was just starting the dye the sky with shades of purple, and Kurapica took a deep breath of the cool night air, relieved to see there wasn't a cloud in the sky. If it had rained, they would have moved into Mâheo'o, but it wouldn't have been as enjoyable. This night was about communing with the divine, and there was no better way that to do it under the stars.
He thought once of the books still in his room, waiting to be read, and gave a contented sigh. It was tempting to sneak back for a couple minutes, just until the ceremony began, but that would disappoint his parents and betray the trust they had in him. He needed to be here, to watch and learn what his father did as talesinger. The books would be there tomorrow. He should enjoy this night for what it had to offer.
He thought Olathe looked nice, her golden outfit matching the color of her hair. Her family had many good weavers, and the cloth seemed tailored for their youngest scion. She waved to him from across the campfire, but had her attention quickly diverted by her younger sister, Tehya.
He rolled his eyes, deciding it was going to be one of those nights, with Olathe suddenly thinking that she needed to be with the other females of the tribe. That left him to his own devices, and while there were a few other children close to his age, Olathe was his favorite.
"Abandoned already?" an amused voice asked from behind him.
Kurapica turned slowly, trying to maintain his composure. Elu, Kurak's son, was standing there, a freshly-killed deer over his shoulder. His eyes were still red from the excitement of the hunt.
"Temporarily," Kurapica said, hoping he sounded nonchalant. Elu was the most respected of the tribe's young men, and would someday be its next leader. One day, Kurapica would serve as Elu's advisor, as Anoke was Kurak's.
Elu chuckled. "Would you like to help me with this, then? I'll be dancing later, but I have to finish this first." He shrugged his shoulder to get a better hold on the carcass.
"Sure!" Kurapica agreed, always willing to spend time with Elu. The older teenager had come back from his eamemeohe two years before, and it was an honor for him to pay attention to Kurapica. He fell into step beside the hunter, trying to keep from bouncing in excitement.
Elu set off for the back of the Mâheo'o, which was where the tribe hung its prizes to drain their blood.
It appeared that someone had been there earlier, removing what had previously brought in. There was only one deer still remaining, the one that had been taken yesterday. "If you can just hold the hook, I'll do the work. Wouldn't want to get anything on your clothes," Elu said.
Kurapica nodded, going to the side to retrieve a hook which had been cleaned recently. The metal tool was always heated in a fire before being used again to ensure it was sanitary. Together, they hooked the animal up, Elu handling most of the heavy lifting. Their skill was such they didn't get splattered with anything. This deer would be ready in another couple of days.
Kurapica looked at the blood that was beginning to pool on the sandy ground, crinkling his nose. He'd hunt for the tribe for a year or two when he got older, like they all did, which kept him from being disgusted, but that didn't mean he had to like the mess.
Elu was cleaning his hands with a cloth and with water from a nearby bucket kept for that purpose. Kurapica noticed the red had faded from Elu's eyes, leaving them the light gray color that he'd inherited from Shysie. They were unusual, and Kurapica knew many of the girls found them mysterious.
"Thanks, Kurapica," he said. "It's so much easier with someone helping."
Kurapica agreed aloud, though he was suspecting Elu had invited him for company, rather than because he needed the aid. "Did you need anything else?" he asked.
"Not really, but if you'd come with me to my house, I have something I'd like to give you."
Kurapica agreed quietly, although his curiosity seethed beneath his feigned politeness. Kurak's house was closest to the square, and close to the Mâheo'o, which meant he could hear the voices of the tribe as people continued to gather.
They entered the house from the back, and Elu held up a hand to stop him. "Just give me a second to change," Elu said. He disappeared through a curtain-covered door, and Kurapica heard the quiet whisper of fabric as Elu discarded his soiled clothes for something finer.
Kurapica allowed himself a moment to entertain ideas of what Elu could be giving him. Perhaps a belatedly birthday gift - Elu was a gifted carver, and would often create practical items that were inscribed beautifully with patterns favored by the tribe.
He perked up curiously as Elu returned, dressed in a brilliant red that dye makers called Kurata red. The clothes weren't as loose as many formal clothes, but made for movement. There were no draping sleeves or elaborate tabards; instead, the outfit relied on the intricate embroiderie across the shoulders and around the waist to make it special. Elu would perform a dance later, and his fashion choices made sense. In his hands he held something long and slender, wrapped in a piece of undyed wool cloth. He motioned for Kurapica to come closer.
"One of the things Takota brought was a set of swords I ordered, so I don't need my old ones anymore," he said, removing the protective fabric to show a pair of swords, tied together at the base by a long, thing chord of silk. "They're a little bit too short for me, but I think they'd suit you well."
Kurapica stared at the swords. They were a matched pair, encased in strong wood so they could be used closer to nunchaku than regular blades. They were a specialty of the tribe, and this pair was finer than most. "Take them," Elu encouraged.
He could feel the balance in his hands, and thrilled at the idea of practicing with them. A warrior was only as good as his weapons, and these were very, very good ones. He opened his mouth, trying to find something to say, but the words choked up in his throat. "Stand straight, and I'll help you with them."
Kurapica went rigid as Elu took the swords. It took only a second, but he secured the weapons to the inside of Kurapica's shirt. The weight felt odd, but most of the tribe wore their weapons there. Wear a smile openly and keep your weapons hidden, was a popular Kurata saying.
"Hunt well, brother," Elu said, before ruffling Kurapica's hair affectionately. Kurapica decided it was the best day of his life.
When they returned, the fire had already been started, burning the sweet-smelling wood of the Eexovo tree. The wood wasn't much good for keeping houses warm, since it burned quickly, but mixed with hardwoods, it burned brightly as it offered a distinctive aroma that reminded Kurapica of ginger. Elu waved to him and wandered off, trotting toward the group of young men.
Kurapica looked around, finally deciding that shadowing his father would be the best idea. At twelve, he was just shy of being old enough to participate. Next year, he would join his father in the formal singing, so it would benefit him to take this opportunity to learn.
His father was checking a drum, making sure the skin was pulled taunt. Weather could cause it to shrink or expand, causing an uneven sound. A good musician worked hard at maintaining his tools, just like a fighter. Anoke glanced up at him, his blue eyes warming with affection as his son stood uncertainly in front of him.
"Can you make sure the fiddle is properly tuned?" he asked.
Kurapica smiled at him happily, before picking up the instrument. He had known these instruments for as long as he could remember, and liked hearing them at their best. He had perfect pitch, like his father, and untuned instrument rung in his ears like nothing else.
He mentally hummed as he worked on adjusting the strings. He could feel the humidity rising in the air, and tightened the strings slightly. This was not an ideal night to be performing outside, but since it was the solstice, it had to be done.
He finished quickly, glancing around in the twilight. The fire provided enough light to see by, but things felt magical and otherworldly. Colors were distorted in the evening, casting everything with a red tint. It reminded him of the two times his own eyes had turned crimson out of fear; once when he'd nearly fallen out of a tree, the other when Olathe abandoned him in the woods after hearing a wolf's howl.
A few of the older members, though that could control their skill best, were displaying the crimson eyes. It was a sign of maturity, being able to summon the eyes at will, and festive occasions like this were a good place to display their mastery. Among friends, it was a sign of trust.
Anoke beat the drum three times, gathering the tribe's attention. The group hushed, drifting to informal places around Anoke. It wasn't rushed, but it only took a few minutes for people to sort themselves out. Kurapica noticed his mother across the circle, with Olathe a couple places down. He sat at his father's side respectfully, waiting for the celebration to truly begin.
"Welcome, friends. I'm glad you've all arrived," Anoke said, causing the crowd to fall completely silent. "I hope you can all hear me - if not, you should talk to Taborri, and she can repeat it."
Taborri waved a fist with an expression of feigned annoyance. There were a few chuckles from the gathered tribe, since Taborri was known for her piercingly high voice, but they were silent quickly after with respectful silence.
Anoke's eyes lit up, stained red with passion, right on cue. He smiled at the crowd, before launching into the Hymn of Kurata. The long song, really more of a chant, thanked the spirits and the land for the life they led. He sang it through, and then the tribe echoed the last few lines:
God, please praise eternally,
The Kuruta people.
Let us use our Scarlet Eyes.
There was a long moment of silence as the tribe reflected on the words. Anoke sang the same song every morning, but it carried more resonance now, underneath the starlight of the shortest night of the year.
Kurak's part came next. He stepped forward, and bowed in a low sweeping gesture that conveyed humbled majesty. His family had led the tribe for generations, providing strong men and women that understood the fierce need to stay secluded. Every other generation or so, a few of the council would make mention of possibly seeing about opening their borders to more trade, but Kurak's family would remain firm. The Kurata existed because of their isolation. If they welcomed the rest of the world, they would be destroyed, swept away by a faster pace of life.
Kurak's voice, a deep baritone that rumbled with authority, spread through the clearing as he addressed the clan, saying the ceremonial blessing. Kurapica tuned him out, having heard the same speech dozens of times. He fidgeted a little, glancing to his right at the food table until Anoke gave him a pointed nudge.
Kurapica refocused just as one of the oldest women came forward to offer her own song. It was one Kurapica didn't recognize immediately, either a new composition or an old song that fell out of favor a while ago. For tonight, the Kurata would sing and dance, thanking the earth for supporting them. It was the shortest night of the year, and all would remain awake to see the dawn. They took turns, sometimes in groups, other times alone. A few were quite good, but most just passed mediocre, but that was all right because their enthusiasm made up for a lack of skill.
Kurapica smiled as a few of the youngest of the tribe tried to drone out the other singers, but he kept his voice balanced. A good singer didn't need to show off. It was always this way during summer solstice, the excitement vibrating through the air like a lute string.
Finally the moon rose to its highest point, and it was time for the main event. The height of the ceremony was the sword dance, in which Elu, as chieftain's son, would consecrate the weapons with a moonlight. He set up by placing ten swords in a star-like pattern, each touching the other on the hilt or tip.
Kurapica watched as Elu moved to the center of the circle, before pulling the swords that hung at his hips. He froze, a perfect tribute to the best of the Kurata tribe's warrior past. Then Anoke began to beat the drums in a three-beat pattern.
Dum, dum, dum...
The rhythm made Kurapica's blood leap. It was a fast beat, and infectious, and one by one, the tribesman joined in, clapping their own hands in time.
As soon as everyone was participating, Elu began to move. The regular pattern could be picked up by any skilled dancer, and Kurapica noticed Elu preferred the second beat, a difficult place to time steps to. Elu moved quickly, opening the dance with movements similar to the first kata the tribe learned. The Kurata appreciated good swordsmanship, and Elu was currently their best.
Then his movements slowed down, and Kurapica held his breath. This part was dangerous, but Elu made no sign of hesitation as he kicked up a blade using his heel. The sword arced through the air, catching the moonlight with its blade. Elu spun around it, as it arced down, treating it like a fellow dancer. The blade skewered the soft ground as it came down, and the tribe smiled.
Then Elu caused another blade to fly, twisting around it as it spiraled through the air. This one landed in the ground the same as the first, and Elu sent another up.
He was good, Kurapica thought. The more blades he caused to sink into the ground, superstition said, the better the fall's harvest would be. The only noise, aside from the sound of the swords sinking into the ground, were Elu's relatively quiet feet, and the steady beat of Anoke's drum.
Finally the dance started to wind down, and the people sighed in appreciation as Elu flung the final sword. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, but he ended the dance in the center of the shape, a rough circle that spanned around 10 feet. The dance has been good, and the young women of the tribe stepped forward to offer drinks and towels, smiling and doing their best to attract Elu's attention. Kurak's son was old enough to consider marriage soon, and Kurapica wondered who would finally catch his attention.
In the aftermath, he watched his mother slip away, moving toward Takota. The old man smiled and placed his hand with familiar affection on her sleeve, before nodding in agreement to whatever she was saying. She laughed, throwing her hair back, and then offered her arm to Takota. Within seconds, they vanished from the gathering.
Tilting his head back, he waited. It wasn't long before a loud, cracking "boom!" filled the air, and the sky was suddenly alight with red and yellow lights. Tilting his head back, Kurapica laughed happily, before settling down beside his father, staring at the fantastic display of lights.
He listened as the crowd made appreciative murmurs at each explosion, and decided that life couldn't get any better. Kurapica never wanted this night to end.