Forty-seven

Tsilu

At dusk, mist crawls up from the Spirit River and creeps around the bases of the towering walls of Flowing Waters Town. What an amazing place!

I gape at the magnificent vista as I walk through the shimmering fog behind Grandfather, my mouth hanging open. There are several enormous walled great houses here, Flowing Waters Town west, and east, and north. When combined, there must be thousands of chambers. The very notion takes my breath away. And out in the flats, smaller houses sit surrounded by fields. How does the Blessed Sun feed them all? But when I think about the burned villages and refugees fleeing along the trails, I know the answer. He must take what he needs from others.

I have to tilt my head far back to stare up at the highest points, where red-shirted warriors stand on rooftops, aiming down at us with drawn bows.

Grandfather, walking beside me, whispers, “Are you scared, Tsilu?”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

Reaching out, he takes my hand and holds it tightly, murmuring, “Me, too.”

There’s a curious scent on the breeze, earthy and pungent, like the air before lightning strikes, which makes me constantly glance up at the sky to search for Thunderbirds. But the only clouds I can see are drifting along the western horizon.

This place is oddly silent. How can such a huge place with all these multistory buildings be this quiet? I should be hearing dogs barking and children crying. People singing or laughing while supper is being prepared.

As my gaze moves across the landscape, I realize that not even creatures from the surrounding hills venture here, not the rabbits we saw nibbling dry grass farther north along the river, nor the deer with quivering nostrils that bounded away as we neared. Even the skeletal branches of the trees here are empty of birds.

But there are wanderers in the shadows, thin willowy things with huge dreaming eyes. Am I just exhausted from the long walk? Each time I try to focus on the shapes, they are swift to slip into a crack and disappear.

“They won’t hurt you,” Grandfather says.

“Are they real?” I look up into his face. “What are they? I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Earth Spirits come to watch the last moments of an ancient story that began thirty long summers ago.”

At the corner of town, we pass a circular structure where I calmly regard more of the willowy creatures. If there was a fire, I would think them leaping flame shadows. But there is no fire outside the walls. When we pass, light steps patter along behind me, coming nearer and nearer. Their panting softly disturbs the silence.

The shadows of the highest wall suddenly engulf us and, for the first time, images congeal: a long slender arm reaches out, a foot lifts into the air, a Dance sash flips, showing beautiful yellow and blue designs. More willowy Spirits emerge from the cracks, and the flapping of wings erupts all around. The sounds are loudest where the darkness is deepest.

Dank coolness has settled over the world. As dusk claims the land, I can’t help but shiver.