Read Online Time of the Eagle by Sherryl Jordan - Free Book Online Page B

to be clean again. I dressed in the Igaal garment, a dress long like my own, with wide sleeves to my wrists, but this was made of fine leather and not of wool. It was not painted as our garments were painted, but all around the hem and sleeves a pattern had been cut out with a sharp knife, and it was beautifully done. The pattern in my dress and the patterns in the tattoos I had seen were similar. The dress, too, smelled of the musky odor.
    Crossing the floor, I waited awhile before the tent doorway, saying a prayer to the All-father. I needed courage, for it wasstrong in my knowing that I was alone in enemy territory, though so far I had been treated well. My hand shook as I lifted the tent flap and stepped outside.
    Blinking in bright sunlight, I saw that it was about day’s middle. Again, the vastness of the Igaal camp astonished me. It was ten times, at least, the size of our entire Shinali nation. Under the trees along the riverbank large mats were spread, and people sat on them, eating a meal. Beyond the tents the birds were gone, the skies and stones silent and empty. Herds of goats roamed, shepherded by children.
    There was a shout, and one of the children pointed at me. Then they all were still, looking at me. Everyone stared, and no one smiled. Afraid, I forced myself to look back at them. And in every face it seemed that a tent flap came down, shutting me out. Cold as winter stone their faces were, set hard with years of hate and bitterness and scorn.
    Longing for the faces of those who loved me, I was about to flee back into the dark safety of the tent when a man stood up and came toward me. He was Ramakoda, though he was much changed, clean and strong. He limped but did not use a stick. I smiled, glad to see his friendly face, though layers of sorrow were laid across the grief already on him.
    Reaching me, he stopped. “Come, Avala,” he said with gentleness. “I have a boon to ask my father, on your behalf.”
    Trembling, I went with him to a long flax mat nearer the river. Over thirty people sat there, and I recognized one of them as the old man who had come to meet us. He was sitting cross-legged, before him a bowl of steaming meat and a plate of torn flat bread. As Ramakoda approached, the old man stood up and faced us. Inoticed that he stood with difficulty, relying on a sturdy stick for support.
    Ramakoda whispered to me to do as he did, then he went and knelt on the edge of the mat before his father, his forehead to the ground. I thought it strange that a son should kneel to his own father. I knelt beside him, my forehead, too, bent to the earth. Then Ramakoda lifted his head and spoke.
    â€œThis woman is Avala of the Shinali,” he said. “She has shown me great kindness, and came with me freely to give me help and strength. She healed me, and you have seen the measure of her skill. It is my wish that while here she is protected, and that she stays in our tent as my nazdar kinswoman, until the time when I can take her back to her own people. I ask your favor on this.”
    For a long time we knelt there while all around were silent, waiting for the chieftain’s judgment. I realized that this was the formal asking that would decide my fate. My heart thundered as I stared at the long thin legs of the chieftain before us. He wore trousers of leather, carved down the sides in patterns, as my dress was carved. I saw that one of his feet was crooked, an old break in which the bones had never been set aright. Once I lifted my gaze to his face and saw that it was very lined and full of pain, and his short gray hair stuck out about his ears.
    At last the chieftain said, “I cannot bless the presence of an enemy in our camp, especially an enemy from the Shinali, whom we despise. But she has my protection, since she gave you aid. She may stay today, but tomorrow she must go.”
    Ramakoda bent his head, then stood up. I, too, bowed myhead and thanked the chieftain, then Ramakoda