Face of Glass

4: The Power of Steel

ParuMe couldn’t sleep that night. Staring at the ceiling of KanaKa’s storeroom, he wondered if the warrior would truly be grateful for what he had done. Acting as a stand-in, it was not ParuMe who would have to deal with the aftermath of what he’d said.

“Are you awake?” HanaRa spoke quietly, but through the thin reed wall of the hut it was loud enough.

“Yes.”

“Thinking about before?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. “And what do you think?”

“I think maybe I should have gone along with the others. If KanaKa wanted to oppose the deal, that would be one thing. I don’t know if it was right to do it in his name. The other warriors might not be pleased.”

“I was thinking that too. I’m sorry: perhaps I didn’t help you much after all.”

“No.” ParuMe smiled. “I wish they’d just let you speak on KanaKa’s behalf. You know the customs. You have the ideas. I couldn’t have done anything without you.”

HanaRa was silent for a moment. “You did well just to make them listen,” she said, consolingly. “And maybe it’s for the best. My father might be angry that you opposed a good trade, but he would definitely be more angry if you accepted a bad one.”

“That’s true.”

ParuMe sat up and watched the embers of the village fire through the doorway. “HanaRa?” he said at last.

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell your father I asked you for help. At least, not if he’s angry. He’s often mad at me: I don’t want him to be mad at...us.

“Alright.” She laughed quietly. “But only because he sometimes says things would be easier without a slave. I’m secretly hoping that he’ll free you out of sheer annoyance.”

He must have been joking, ParuMe thought. Then he remembered the spear, and it seemed somehow possible. “Do you think he really would?”

“No!” She laughed louder. “And I don’t think you should try.”

A breeze made the dull embers of the fire glow a sudden yellow. A spark drifted out and away.

“ParuMe?”

“Yes?”

“Once you’re free: if you want to go back home to the DanaKo, I’ll go with you.”

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely touched. “But...I don’t want to go back. I want this to be my home.”

“That leaky storeroom?”

This time it was his turn to laugh. “If it has to be.”

Time passed, and the sky grew darker, but still ParuMe could not sleep. He lay awake until he thought he heard KanaKa’s footsteps on the path outside. He listened, and the footsteps drew closer. It had to be KanaKa: he was being careful not to wake them, but nobody else would come so close to the hut. ParuMe thought it would be best to let him sleep, not to trouble him, especially after the long journey. However, the not knowing was worse than any wrath the warrior could dish out. As the footsteps reached the door, ParuMe decided he could bear it no longer. He crept out of the storeroom. “KanaKa,” he spoke quietly, “I...”

It was not KanaKa. In the moonlight, the wooden face of some hideous beast turned to stare at him, carved teeth silhouetted against the sky. Warpaint bright against his skin, the tribesman hefted a club. Ducking hurriedly out of the way, ParuMe blundered into the reeds of the storeroom wall in his rush to escape.