Chapter 21: Finder

Tarek saw a flash of movement down on the water and ducked down into their bower. “Get down! I saw someone.”

Tavi ducked down beside him. “One of the Yura?”

“Must be,” Tarek whispered. Lifting his head just a fraction, he risked a peek. What he saw froze him where he was. “Tavi, am I…?”

Tavi lifted his head, saw what Tarek was looking at, and gaped. “Ones Beneath, what is he doing?”

Together they peered down into the flooded jungle and watched a fat little man dance on top of the waters.

“That’s impossible,” Tavi murmured.

“He’s not a very good dancer,” Tarek replied. The man hopped and jerked in angular movements one moment only to glide, step, and swirl the next. The Catori danced together on feast days and celebrations, but this was nearly painful to watch.

“He’s dancing to the Song,” Tavi marveled.

Tarek frowned. The man’s dance did have occasional hints of the angular, awkward swaying his people did when caught up together in the Song. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“It’s beautiful!”

Tarek shook his head. “Beautiful or not, how is he standing on top of the water? And why is he here? Who is he?”

“I don’t think he’s even aware of us,” Tavi said. “Look at him.”

The man’s eyes were tightly shut as he stepped through his impossible, unlovely dance. He wandered from one side to the other seemingly at random. The longer they watched, though, the more Tarek began to realize that despite his meandering path, he was closing in on the tree where they were hidden.

“We have to get rid of him,” Tarek whispered. “What if the Yura sent him? Who knows what else he can do?”

“I don’t think he’s dangerous,” Tavi said. “You can’t really do much harm when you’re listening to the Song.”

“Every other hunter in our tribe used the Song to track their prey.”

“But they had to come out of the Song before they killed. I’m sure of it.”

“And you think that man down there couldn’t come out of the Song and slit our throats?”

“I suppose,” Tavi said dubiously. “But he’s deep in it. He just doesn’t seem dangerous. I’m telling you, if you could just hear the melody – what he’s doing is incredibly beautiful.”

Tarek gripped his still-unfinished bowstaff. “Well, if he tries to come up here, he’s going to get a beautiful beating.”

Tavi gasped. “Look!”

The fat man was rising up off the water, stepping on vines that snaked up out of the wetness to meet the bottom of his leather-clad foot and support him. Still he swayed and dipped, bobbed and turned, eyes shut as if sleeping, entirely unaware that one wrong step would send him plunging down into the water. But that one wrong step never came. No matter how he stumbled and swayed, a wrist-thick vine was always there to support him, and as soon as he stepped off it, the vines retreated back into the brackish depths. He was a head’s height above the waters now, and definitely headed in their direction.

“Get your knife,” Tarek said tersely.

“No! I’m telling you, he’s harmless.”

“This is one of those times when you listen to me, little elder. If he’s safe, having a knife does no harm. If he’s not, it might save you.”

Up, up, up the little man meandered. Their bower was at least four man-lengths above the waters, and he never faltered. Should I knock him off as soon as he’s in reach? Will the vines save him? What if Tavi’s right? If not for his brother’s protestations, he’d have been throwing hard, unripe ficus fruits at him already. Tensing, he backed away to the far side of the bower, making sure he had enough room to swing his bowstaff without hitting Tavi.

The man stepped sideways into the ficus bower with an organic little flourish of his arms. He was a full head shorter than Tarek, with clean linen clothes, a soft face, soft belly, and bowed legs. When his feet touched wood, he opened his eyes and smiled brightly.

“Hello there,” he said.

With a growl, Tarek swung at his head. The smile vanished, and the little man curled into a ball so quickly that the bowstaff whistled over his head.

“Don’t kill me, don’t kill me!” he wailed.

Tarek drew his knife and approached the quaking mess of a man on the floor of the bower. “Give me a good reason,” he said.

“I… what? I don’t know! Because you shouldn’t kill people! That’s a good place to start!” The man covered his head with his arms, his eyes shut tight again.

“Too many people around us lately have thought otherwise for my comfort,” Tarek said, trying to maintain his sternness even as he saw how frightened and confused the man – no, the boy – was. “Where did you come from? Did the Yura send you?”

“No, why would they? I’ve never met them. Is that the village I sense? It’s at least a six handspan walk from here.”

Tarek’s hand tightened on his knife and he glanced to Tavi, who shrugged. “How do you know that if you’ve never been there?”

“I, I, because I just do! Stop waving that knife at me, I can’t even think! Please!”

Grimacing, Tarek let the knife fall to his side, but he did not put it away. “Why did you come looking for us?”

The boy peeked out from behind his hands. “I didn’t. I had no idea you were here until I opened my eyes.”

“You expect us to believe that?”

Tavi put a hand on Tarek’s shoulder. “Ease up. He means no harm; you can see that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I would have heard it in the Song if he meant us harm.”

“I don’t,” offered the cowering boy.

“I’ve never heard anyone say they can tell another person’s heart through the Song,” Tarek scoffed. “Am I wrong?”

“Well, no, but… look at him! It’s fine!”

The young man couldn’t have seen more than sixteen summers. His white linens were soaked but unstained. His black hair was cut short but for a skinny tail in back, and a downy mustache drooped over his quivering lips.

“I was just dancing,” he said. “I had to.” He smiled guilelessly and spread his hands.

Tarek sighed and sat back. “Dancing over the top of the water up to strangers in the middle of a flood is a good way to get killed. What’s your name, and what are you doing?”

The lad sat upright and straightened his shirt as best he could. “I have cast off the names of men. Now I am called Tabachi’chuyanha’buchitow.”

Tavi snorted. “That’s a mouthful.”

“It’s my vision name,” the rotund manling said, sounding offended. “It means ‘the one who finds and is found in return.’”

“You chose a new name and that’s what you came up with?” Tarek asked, fighting a smile.

“I didn’t pick it, all right? The eldest namer ate the sacred flower and those were the words he said. That’s my name until my quest is done. And it’s not stupid.” He shook a finger at Tavi.

“I didn’t say it was stupid,” Tavi offered. “I just said it was long. Can I call you Bachi?”

“That would translate as ‘Finder,’ more or less,” he replied. “I suppose that’s not a bad way to go. Yes. Bachi. I am Finder. I like that.”

“I’m Tarek and this is Tavi,” Tarek said. “You say you weren’t looking for us, but we watched you. You came straight to us.”

Bachi perked up. “Really? Maybe you’re what I’m looking for, then.”

Tarek fingered his knife. “You just said you weren’t looking for us.”

“No, I wasn’t! Not you specifically, at least. I’m on a Song quest, and you never know where those will lead you.”

“We’ve never heard of Song quests,” Tavi said. “None of our stories speak of such a thing.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bachi said airily. “It’s an old thing, very old. And not often done, even among my tribe, the Wobanu.”

Tarek blinked, looking down at Tavi’s half-destroyed dirt map. “Your tribe is as far to the north and east as you can go. How long have you been on this quest?”

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Bachi scrunched his nose in thought. “Um. It’s raining. Is it the Month of the Otter already?”

“Not yet,” Tavi said, “or at least I don’t think so. Not for another five days or so. We’re still in Mudwasp. The flood came early.”

Bachi blanched. “It’s flooding?” He looked down out of the tree. “So it is. Huh.”

“You didn’t notice?” Tarek asked, incredulous.

“You were walking on top of it,” Tavi said. “How could you not?”

“Well, I’m a Singer,” Bachi said, shrugging.

“That means nothing to us,” Tarek told him.

“Only the rarest of individuals is called to be a Singer,” Bachi said with false modesty. “Visionaries, chiefs. These are the ones that go on the Song quest, and not even all of them. This is my preparation, you see.”

“For what?”

Bachi was nonplussed by the question. “For great things!”

“And being a Singer keeps you from noticing what’s right under your nose, does it?” Tavi asked.

“No, not exactly. It’s… I Sing the Song.”

“I’ve Sung the Song,” Tavi said. “but I never walked on water.”

“You’ve never Sung the Song,” Bachi said confidently.

Tavi looked at Tarek. “I’ve changed my mind. Throw him back in the water.”

“I mean no offense!” Bachi said hastily, shooting Tarek a fearful glance. “Like I said, Singers are very, very rare. We hear more of the Song and can sink into it more fully. I didn’t know the floods had risen because I’ve been Singing for, oh, I don’t know… the last moon’s turn or so? Without stopping.”

“Not even to eat? Or piss?” Tarek asked.

“I become one with the green on a level most can’t comprehend. It feeds me and cleanses me. And apparently, if you saw me walking on top of the water, lifts me up so I can travel easily. In return, I go where it takes me. That’s the quest.”

“How long have you been doing this?” Tavi said.

“Well, ah,” Bachi said, faltering, “it appears that it’s been nearly half a year.” He wrung his hands. “I don’t think it’s supposed to take this long. For the first little while, every time I fell out of the Song I thought, this is it! I sat staring at a beaver dam for three days because I was sure that was where the Song had led me. But there was nothing there. Just stupid beavers, and then one chased me when I got too close.” His shoulders slumped, and he crossed his arms over his belly as if hugging it. “After a while it was easier to just keep going. I think it’s been six weeks since I last stopped singing the Song even for a moment. Being in the Song feels good, you know? And never finding anything… doesn’t.”’

“After a while you start to wonder if things really work the way they say,” Tarek said softly.

A flicker of recognition lit in Bachi’s eyes. “You said you didn’t have Song quests.”

“We don’t. But I understand, regardless.”

The forlorn young man sighed. “I shouldn’t tell you all of this, I’m sorry. Why should you care about some fool’s problems when he jumps out of the jungle at you? I’m sorry, truly. I just haven’t talked to anyone in so long. And I’m never going to find anything important, and I’m sick of the Song.”

“I’ve never heard it,” Tarek told him.

He perked up. “Really? I thought everyone could hear the Song.”

“Not me. I’m broken somehow. We’re on a quest of our own of sorts. To… fix me.”

“Will you be able to hear the Song once you’re done?”

“Maybe,” he replied. He realized for the first time that he likely would be able to hear the Song once his blood magic was banished. He didn’t exactly care for the idea.

“What do you have to do?”

“We need a drop of blood from the chief of each of the twelve tribes of the Lost.”

Bachi’s eyes sparkled as he looked at nothing, caught up in the idea. “I love it. A quest where you actually know what you’re looking for. You’re so lucky. My quest is the worst.”

“If you’ve been walking for so long, why are you fat?” Tavi asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” Bachi said, patting his belly. “I think I’m just shaped this way forever. I’ve been mostly living off whatever the Song feeds me, which I’m pretty sure is just sunlight or leaves or something. I think I’m meant to be an old, fat wise one sitting by the fire and my body knows it. But I can’t go be wise by the fire until I find and am found.” He threw up his hands. “What am I supposed to find?”

“Food,” Tavi suggested with a laugh.

Bachi smiled, and then his eyes grew wide as a thought dawned on him. “Can I come with you?” He jumped to his feet, clasping his hands together to plead. “Please! Let me be a part of a quest that matters.”

“No,” Tarek said.

“Why not?” Tavi said.

“Yes, why not?” Bachi said. “Maybe… maybe the Song led me to you!” Hope lit on his broad face. “I hadn’t seen a single person in two moons until now. It can’t be coincidence!”

“It can,” Tarek said. “It could easily be just that.”

“Well, maybe, but I don’t want it to be,” Bachi declared hotly. “This is my Song quest, and I say this is where it’s leading me. To go with you.”

“He could be right,” Tavi said.

Tarek shook his head at his brother. “Have you forgotten already how things went with the Yura? This isn’t a jaunt through the woods or a quick swim. It’s a bloody, dangerous business, and it would be unkind of us to involve a stranger. Beyond that, I don’t even know how we’ll feed ourselves, much less another mouth.”

“I can help,” Bachi said. “Please!”

“How?” Tarek said. “You don’t look to be much of a hunter.”

“N-no,” he stuttered, “but I’m the best forager you’ll ever meet. Berries, roots, eggs – I’ll keep you fed.” He hummed quietly for a moment, closing his eyes and turning himself around. His arm shot up and he opened his eyes. “There’s a cluster of sweetvine less than a hundred paces that way. And a clutch of big eggs in the same tree. Can’t tell what kind – hawk? Tree grouse? I hope it’s not snake eggs. I don’t think those would taste good.”

Tarek quirked an eyebrow at Tavi, who shrugged. “I can’t do that,” Tavi admitted. “I can only sense with the Song as far as I can see, and even then, I don’t have that kind of specificity. Fresh food would be good. It might be the difference between surviving and not.”

Tarek sucked at his teeth as he thought. The boy seemed kind and genuine. Will he stay that way when he finds out I have blood magic? Wisdom warred with the desire for positive human contact. It almost felt like Xochil was arguing with Yaretzi in his head.

A thought occurred to him. “How did you know where the Yura village is? You came from the opposite direction.”

Bachi beamed at him. “I can sense it. Ninety-two people half a day’s walk in that direction.” He pointed unerringly in the direction Tarek knew the village to be in.

“And the Song tells you that?”

Bachi stroked his mustaches. “Swim deep enough in its waters, and you’ll find the Song is capable of things you can’t even imagine.” He was trying for a mysterious air and fell well short of it.

“You weren’t swimming at all,” Tavi muttered.

“How far away could you sense a village?” Tarek asked the boy.

Bachi shrugged. “I’ve never measured exactly. If I were concentrating, looking for it… four days’ walk? Five?”

Tavi and Tarek shared a look. “Better than birds and monkeys,” Tavi said.

Tarek stood. “Tell you what, Bachi: you bring us that sweetvine and clutch of eggs before nightfall, and you can come with us. I can’t promise it will be safe.”

Bachi laughed in joy and relief and hugged Tarek. “You won’t regret this!” He turned to the bower’s edge and looked crestfallen to find no vines left for him to walk on. “Hang on,” he said confidently, getting down on his belly and edging his feet out over the drop. “I can do this.”

Tavi was laughing by the time Bachi worked his way gingerly back down to the water, muttering and swearing the whole way with his linens now streaked in dirt. “I like him,” he said to Tarek.

“I do too,” Tarek said. “I hope we don’t get him killed.”

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