The Ghost Tiger's Lament

Chapter Twelve

Unfortunately but not unexpectedly, the woman’s face fell. “I am sorry, but...”

“I understand,” Ashne said quickly. “I do not wish to impose on you overmuch.”

“No, no. It’s just, you see... it is not for me to decide.”

“May I speak to your husband, then?”

The woman blushed again. “Ah, you mistake me. It is our village chief who tells us when to send out the boats, and when to keep them moored.”

Ashne dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Will you take us to your chief?”

“Well...” The woman’s frown grew deeper, but at last she said, “Very well. I will take you to seek audience with her.”

“What’s going on?” whispered Braksya in Ashne’s ear, loudly enough that the woman looked up with a start. She offered them a brief, nervous smile, before turning, indicating that they should follow her.

Ashne glared at him before replying, “We are going to see the village chief.”

“Whatever for?”

“To ask if she might lend us a boat.”

“Ohh.” He dragged out the syllable as if preparing to launch into a dirge or some other ridiculous song of lament.

But instead, he fell silent again as they made their way down the riverbank.

* * *

They came to a stop at a cluster of huts some distance away from the riverbank. The boy’s mother led them straight to the largest one, at the center of the cluster, and bid them to wait while she climbed up and entered before them.

It was not long before she bustled back out with a smile.

“Chief was in the middle of a ceremony to appease the spirits, it seems. But she consents to see you. Come along, she’s waiting!”

The village chief sat cross-legged upon a reed mat in the center of the room. She was older than Ashne but not quite so old as Shranai and the queen, and a feathered headdress of five colors crowned her head. As Ashne and Braksya entered and paid their respects, she looked up to regard them. Upon her chest, a necklace of red coral shifted, clicking against a string of cracked cowries.

Ashne cleared her throat. “Honored Chieftain.”

“Let us dispense with the formalities,” said the chief. “Paramun has informed me of the great debt she owes you. Speak. What is it that you would request of us?”

The chief’s eyes were wide and gentle as a child’s, her voice slow and measured. But Ashne found her expression difficult to read, her posture neither intimidated nor intimidating.

“We have traveled some way,” Ashne said, “and must travel yet further south. A boat... A boat might ease our journey.”

There was a long pause before the chief responded.

“These boats are our livelihood. Without them, what should we do if the crops were to fail? Or if the Speaker’s soldiers should come demanding tribute? Or enemies come rowing up the river? No. These boats are as essential to us as each man or woman’s own souls. We cannot spare a single one.” The chief tilted her head, gaze flitting briefly to Braksya before settling back on Ashne. “Especially to a pair of strangers — even if you did rescue one of our own.”

“There must be some way we can compensate you. We wish only to borrow one for a few weeks’ time. I promise to return as soon as possible.”

“A promise is of great value indeed. I honor and appreciate your offer. But even the most sacred of vows cannot replace what is absent, or has been lost.”