Sati's Fang

[Reference map for this story]

Fall was coming. Atoi could feel it, from the shorter days to the damp fog drifting through the walking-trees. A warm grin spread across her already cheery face. Atoi had always loved fall in the swamps. She’s heard that in other parts of the world, fall looked much different- leaves changing color and falling from their trees, birds fleeing an incoming cold, animals hoarding food. Here, fall heralded the coming of rain, of renewal. It also heralded the beginning of the celebrations. This time of year, her people celebrated many little things, because at this time of year, the line between their world and all others became blurred. The first sign of this blurring was always the trader.

In just two days, the Blood trader from the east would come, fleeing the cold of his home to bring beautiful things to hers. She had seen wonders from him before, the jolly but weathered man displaying bone combs, hide bags, carved wooden statues… To this day, she could hardly believe the wealth he displayed so casually. She chuckled at the thought that what he brought back to his eastern home must seem beautiful and strange to his people, too. She loved her home, but she hoped to one day travel to the tundra he described to the people gathered in the town center. It sounded like a harsh place, but he spoke of it with such love that Atoi was convinced it must truly be a place worth visiting. For now, though, she was going to head home. Her father would have her head if she wasn’t back before dark, especially in this weather.

Atoi woke up, and smiled. Today, the trader was coming into town. That meant a break from doing chores for her father, a break from the monotony of her siblings’ chatter. She got up and got ready as quickly as she could. As she ran out of the house, she felt in her pocket for the handful of currency-seeds she’d been saving, and she ran her finger along the blade of the flint knife tucked in her belt. It would be good to get it sheathed, she thought.

The small town square was packed. Despite his perch on a large rock, the merchant had to fight to make himself heard over the bustle. “Beautiful brooches! Solid spades! Fabulous flutes! The clothes that will keep you warm, or keep you in fashion!” Townspeople marveled and bargained and paid and exchanged. Currency-seeds changed hands, as did the strange bone chits of the eastern folk. The trader smiled at the naivety of the Knot people, but Atoi could tell that underneath there was some concern. She walked up to the spread of goods, and he turned to face her.

“I’m looking for a sheath, for a knife- elder.” She stumbled over the Blood honorific. Nevertheless, he smiled under his fur-lined hood.

“What kind of blade, sister? I have many sheaths, all made of finer hide than any in the swamps.”

“It is for a short blade, elder,” she said, pulling out the flint knife. He extended a questioning hand, and she placed it into his palm. He ran a finger over the edge, inspected the shape and length.

“This is a fine blade,” he remarked. “It deserves a fine sheath.” Atoi nodded.

“It was my grandmother’s, she who was a hunter and a tanner. She was very proud of it, and it served her well.”

“I am sure you honor it, sister,” he said, producing from a small box an ivory-beaded leather sheath. “Here- this sheath should do it justice. It was crafted for the blade of a skilled hunter, but the blade was lost in a fight with a large wolf. The man and wolf survived, and the wolf kept the blade. And now, the sheath comes to you.”

“Thank you, elder,” she said, taking the sheath in her hands and casting her fingers across its intricate surface. Suddenly, she looked up, a fear across her face. “But I cannot afford such a beautiful thing!” The trader began to chuckle, then took a swig from a carved wooden flask.

“Take it, *sati*- take it, wolf pup. A sheath deserves a blade, and you deserve a glint at your hip.” He smiled, then deliberately turned away from her sputtering protests, talking to other hagglers and traders. She hesitated, then sheathed the flint knife and dashed home, much earlier than any of her peers.

Two days passed, and the trader was ready to leave. He had rolled his goods back into their hide bundles, old treasures and new marvels from marshland trades. His money pouch clinked merrily. He stood on the rock in the square, thoughtful, then spoke.

“People of Knot, I have enjoyed your hospitality and your warmth, but I must head on. I go north, to the mountain ridges and fierce fire-tongues, to find new wares. Now, I must ask- is there any one of you willing to follow me into that unknown? For I doubt I can make it all that way on my own. If there is any brave, adventurous soul, let them speak now.”

Among the crowd, there was silence. Hidden in that silence, Atoi hesitated, then glanced at her father, her siblings. Usually rowdy, they were quiet in the face of the trader’s solemnity. She acted before she could think.

“I will come, trader,” she said. “ I have but few ties to this place, and I am young. I will come.”

The silence of the village folk changed, subtly, from uncertainty to a mix of shock and awe. However, the trader’s face split into a wide grin, and with that, the tension in the crowd dissipated into a strange relief. Even Atoi relaxed. She had been holding her breath without noticing. “We leave at noon, *sati*, so that we do not by mistake follow our shadows.” She nodded, and went home to pack.

[Next Chapter]