Ukaro finally broke the embrace and held Marak at arms length. “Has she remarried?” he asked.
“No,” smiled Marak. “She has no interest in other men. You are still her love. She speaks of you every time we talk, but she never told me who you are. I think she fears that you are dead and is afraid to be told so. You must come to Fardale.”
Ukaro shook his head sadly. “Look at me, Son,” the Shaman said. “Are your people so enlightened that they will accept someone who looks like me?”
“Do my ears deceive me?” scolded Marak. “Is the Head Shaman of the Zatong afraid of what flatlanders think? I rule Fardale and the people will accept what I accept . . . and I accept you as you are. Do not throw another day away, Father. You have been separated from Mother for too long. Or do you have someone else?”
“Someone else?” blustered Ukaro. “You impudent, young flatlander. Didn’t your mother give you any sense at all? There is no one like Glenda.”
“Then it is settled,” laughed Marak. “You will return to Fardale with me.”
“I shall,” promised Ukaro, “but I would like to go by way of Lituk Valley.”
“No, Father!” exclaimed Marak. “Lord Ridak is not worth the effort. I will deal with him in my own way.”
“Not worth the effort?” queried Ukaro. “The man has stolen fourteen years of my life. He has enslaved my wife and made my son a stranger. Not worth the effort? You have some things to learn about the way of the Chula, Son. Lord Ridak will wish for death for a long time, but it will elude him. I promise you that.”
“I will not accept that promise, Father,” Marak declared stubbornly. “Your time is better spent with those who have missed you for fourteen years, not the man who stole them. Let us not argue over Lord Ridak. I think he will be coming to Fardale soon, anyway. If you are there, we will both have an opportunity to deal with him.”
“Very well,” agreed Ukaro. “We will discuss this further after we have rejoined your mother. Let me inform Kyata that I will be leaving, then we will spend the day together until your friend arrives. I think he will be a guest of the Zatong for a while if he is hurt as badly as you described.”
“Will that be a problem?” asked Marak.
“No,” smiled Ukaro. “Nothing is a problem for the son of the Head Shaman and the nephew of the Leader.”
* * *
“It looks like an entire Corte,” whispered the bandit leader. “I wonder if this speaks ill of Lord Marak?”
“I don’t think so,” replied the other bandit. “If it was an attack, they would send more than a Corte. I think they are looking for Lord Marak and that means he has eluded them.”
“I hope you are right,” stated the bandit leader. “Still, you will ride to Fardale and alert Lord Marshal Yenga. I do not know how far they will go and if they reach Fardale, we should have someone waiting for them.”
The other bandit saluted and ran for his horse. The bandit leader looked off in the distance at the approaching army and hoped his companion was right. He would not feel good about the situation until he saw Lord Marak return.
* * *
Tmundo, Leader of the Kywara, gazed at the woman brought before him. “Why are you here, flatlander?” Tmundo asked. “Lord Marak has promised that our lands would not be trespassed upon.”
The woman met the gaze of the Chula Leader and returned it, measure for measure. “I have come to talk with the mighty Leader of the Kywara,” the woman stated defiantly. “Is your time so valuable that you can not spare any for me?”
“Such impertinence for a woman,” smiled Tmundo. “Why do I get the feeling that your words can cut as deeply as my sword? I will spare you time to ask your questions, but you must deliver my disappointment to Lord Marak for the behavior of his people.”
“I am as much your people as his,” rebuffed the woman. “You have no claim over this land which I can not match.”
“Who is this woman whose tongue lashes stronger than a viper’s?” chuckled Rykoma.
“I am Glenda Torak,” the woman declared proudly, “mother of Marak Torak and wife of Ukaro Zatong.”
“I knew I had seen that necklace before,” beamed Rykoma.
“This explains much about Lord Marak,” agreed Tmundo. “I knew he was too good to be a flatlander and your vision of him as the Torak confused me. I could not understand how a flatlander could fulfil our prophecy. Now it all makes sense. What can I do for you, mother of Marak, wife of Ukaro?”
“You can tell me if Ukaro still lives,” Glenda asked.
“As of a year ago, he did,” Rykoma answered. “Since then, I do not know.”
Glenda’s eyes dampened as she sat down next to the fire pit. She finally got up the nerve to ask the question that had been eating at her for years and now she didn’t know what to do with the answer. “Is he . . . has he taken another wife?”
“That is a question I can definitely answer,” smiled Rykoma. “Ukaro chose his mate for life. Not your life, Glenda, . . . his life. Ukaro would not remarry though he could have his choice of women. He is the Head Shaman of the Zatong.”
“Head Shaman?” mused Glenda with a twinkle in her moist eyes. “I always knew he had talent.”
Tmundo signaled and a woman brought a bowl of water and mug of Kywara wine and handed it to Glenda. Glenda savored the aroma of blackberries as she sipped the wine and remembered the first mug of blackberry wine she had shared with Ukaro.
“Would you like me to send a message to him?” offered Rykoma. “He will be delighted to hear you are alive.”
“I don’t know,” confessed Glenda. “I had convinced myself he was dead or remarried. It was the only way I could bear my slavery. Now that I know, I feel wonderful for him, but I am not sure that I want him to know about me.”
“Why not?” asked Tmundo. “What reason could you possibly have for hiding from him?”
“I was a young woman when I sent the message to Ukaro that I was dead,” replied Glenda. “I am no longer the same woman. Ukaro would feel obligated to me and that is not fair to him. I just had to know about him. You understand?”
“No,” answered Rykoma, “but I have never understood women.”
Tmundo was silent. He understood only too well. He knew what the flatlander Lords did to their slave women. They broke their bodies as well as their spirit. They robbed them of their pride and their security and filled them with hopelessness. He also knew what Ukaro’s obligation would be when he learned what had really happened to his wife. Tmundo knew that Glenda also realized what her discovery would mean. By letting her husband find out she is still alive, she might be sending him to his death.
“We will honor your decision whatever it is,” stated Tmundo. “We can have a messenger to the Zatong in less than a day. Tell us what you wish and we shall do whatever we can to satisfy it.”
“I don’t know what I want,” cried Glenda. “I mean, I know what I want, but I don’t think I can have it. What can you tell me of Ukaro? What is he like now?”
“He is the same Ukaro I knew many years ago,” stated Rykoma, “although since you died . . . since you were taken, he has become very bitter and intolerant of flatlanders. He is still stronger than a wasooki and twice as stubborn.”
“He was always stubborn,” laughed Glenda. “He was always strong, too. I would love to see him. I have heard that the Chula mages can make people invisible. Is it possible to do that to me so that I could see him without revealing myself?”
“No,” answered Rykoma. “We can not make people invisible. What the stories refer to is a state that a Shaman passes through during transformation. During a body transformation, the Shaman ceases to be visible for a short period. The period can be willfully extended for up to ten minutes by one who is skilled and powerful, but no Shaman has the ability to do that to someone else.”
“Thank you, Tmundo, Rykoma,” sighed Glenda. “I have taken too much of your time already. You have answered my questions.”
Tmundo reached out and gently took Glenda’s arm. “Stay with us for a while,” he proposed. “My heart breaks with the sadness in your eyes. Give us time to talk about this problem. Maybe a solution can be found which can help heal your wounds.”