I got up and moved in back of her.
It was a little before sunrise. There was light in the east. In the clearing in front of the house five torches burned. They looked impressive, streaming in the wind, but they didn’t do much in the way of illumination. I saw dark shapes and knew they had to be people. But I didn’t know who they were or even how many stood there. Twenty-five? Thirty? Maybe more.
Nia muttered something and stepped through the door. I followed. A person came toward us. She held a rattle, and she kept it moving continuously. It made a noise like a rattlesnake gone nuts.
“Stop that noise,” Nia said. She sounded angry.
“Very well.” The noise stopped. “We have come for the demon.” I recognized the voice. Loud, harsh, and arrogant, it belonged to Hakht.
Nia glanced around. “What does this mean? Is Nahusai dead?”
“She died last night. I was in my house, making a song to drive away bad luck. I heard Yohai shout. I knew the old woman was gone.”
“And Yohai?” Nia asked. “Is Yohai here?”
The sky was getting brighter. I saw the gesture that the sorceress made. It meant “no.”
“There are ceremonies that must be performed. She has begun them.” Hakht raised her voice. She sounded triumphant. “She will not help you. I told her, she has caused bad luck. She has caused anger among the people who are no longer here. I have said, this must stop. She listened, o woman of the Iron People. She will do what I say. Now—” Hakht raised a hand and pointed. “The demon. Give her to me.”
“No.”
Hakht took a step forward. Nia lifted up the axe. “Listen to me, sorceress. I have no respect for you. I do not fear your power.” Nia paused. Usually her shoulders were rounded. But now she drew herself upright. “All of you, listen! I have done something that few women ever do. I have killed a person.”
The villagers shifted around a little. No one spoke.
“West of here, on the plain, are the bones of a person who made me angry. I did not even bury him.” She glanced around. “I am willing to do this again.”
Hakht opened her mouth.
“Be quiet! Let me finish!”
Hakht closed her mouth. She was frowning.
Nia went on. “I do not want to stay here. I am tired of the darkness under the trees. I want to see the sky again. I will go and take the demon with me. There will be no one left to stand up to you, Hakht. You can be happy then.” The contempt in her voice was obvious. “Give me one day, o sorceress. Go away and come back tomorrow morning. I will be gone with the demon, and no one will be hurt.”
There was a long silence. Nia kept her pose, standing very straight, her axe raised. Hakht stared at her and frowned. At last Hakht said, “Very well. We will come back tomorrow.” She turned and walked away. The rest of the villagers followed. In a minute or two they were gone—out of sight in the forest.
Nia sighed. Her shoulders went down. She took a step back and leaned against the wall of the house.
“Did you really kill a person?”
She made the gesture of assent. “I was very angry.” She looked out at the forest. “I would like to kill Hakht, but I am not angry enough.” She dropped the axe. “Go in. Get ready to leave. I will come in as soon as I stop trembling.”
I went inside and packed. After a while Nia came in. She reheated the remains of dinner. We ate.
“Maybe this is good,” she said. “I might have stayed here till I was an old woman. Now I will see the plain again.” She got up and pulled a bag out of the rafters. “I’ll have to leave my anvil and most of my tools. Aiya!”
She went to the smithy. I went to the stream to wash. When I got back, she was dressing. The bag lay at her feet. It was half-full and lumpy.
“What did you pack?”
“As little as possible. And nothing really big. The kinds of tools I use are not light. The bag is going to seem very heavy, after I carry it for a while.” She paused, then made the gesture that meant “so be it.” “I am not willing to leave everything behind.”
She finished dressing and folded up a cloak made of leather. It went into the bag, followed by all the bread in the house. Ten pieces. “Let’s go. Hakht might change her mind.” She handed me one of the axes, then picked up the other and slung the bag over her shoulder. I put on my backpack. We left the house.
The sun was up. The sky was cloudless. A strong wind blew.
“A good day,” Nia said.
“What will happen to Yohai?” I asked.
“She will listen to Hakht. It will be hard for a while. Then she will get used to it. And Hakht will become friendly when she sees that Yohai does nothing against her wishes. In the end they will get along. The fight was never between the two of them. It was between Hakht and Nahusai. This is my opinion, anyway.”
We took the path that went toward the village, walking quickly, and reached the river before noon. I looked around. On the far side of the river was a fence, a low one made of wood. Beyond it was a garden. Blue leaves glistened in the sunlight. I saw no gardener. That was odd. The people of the village seemed to spend a good part of every morning in their gardens.
In the distance something honked. A musical instrument. Maybe a horn. I heard voices, wailing and shrieking.
“The ceremonies,” Nia said. “They are going around the outside of the village, making noise to drive Nahusai away, into the far land.” Nia frowned. “My people are not like this. We do not fear the dead—only death, which is unlucky. There must be ceremonies, of course…”
The horn honked again. It sounded closer. Nia paused and listened, then went on.
“The ceremonies drive away bad luck. They make the village clean. But we do not fear our friends and relations simply because this bad thing had happened to them. They are—they must be—the same people they were before.” She resettled her bag on her shoulder, then walked off.
I thought of asking her for more information about the funeral ceremonies, but she was moving quickly. I had to hurry to catch up, and I had no breath to spare.
Enshi
We followed a new path that went upstream along the river. The sun went on ahead of us—or seemed to, anyway. We were traveling west.
Midway through the afternoon we turned onto another trail. It led north into an area of low hills. The soil was sandy. The trees were small and scrubby. Here and there we came upon outcroppings of a sandy rock, yellow or dull orange. The trail was barely visible: a faint line that wound among the rocks and trees. It led finally—in the late afternoon—to a shack, made of long branches leaning against rock. Skins were stretched over the branches. Smoke came out of a hole. What a sad little dwelling place!
Nia stopped. “We bring gifts,” she called.
A deep voice answered, “Go away.”
“I am Nia, the iron smith. Do you want a knife? It has a sharp blade. The handle is bone. Very handsome, I think.”
There was a long silence. “What gift do you want?”
“I need food. Smoked fish, if you have it.”
“Yes.” There was another long silence. “Put the knife down. Go away. When the sun is out of sight, come back.”
“Yes,” said Nia. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a knife, which she laid on the ground. Then she turned and walked off. I followed.
We went only a short distance. Nia put down her bag. “This is far enough. He can’t see us here.”
I sat down. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“It is a—” I paused. I didn’t know the word for man. “It is what a boy becomes?”