Today's excerpt:
Tracker1 was just beginning to pick up his hiking kit when he saw Sylk approaching. This surprised him, and threw him even more off balance. He had no idea what to do or say. This was not a youth, not by Tribal custom, but, he was still young, and physically he was not fully into his prime. While he had no fondness for Sylk, he also harbored no particular ill will. He had called him a youth from force of habit.later dudes.
Sylk walked up and performed the ritual greeting, and Tracker1 fell into the comfort of routine. They touched forehead, throat, solar plexus, bowed deeply and returned to lock gazes. Sylk said “Good Fortune on your Return”, a neutral greeting with no overtones. Tracker1 responded equally neutral with, “May your dew gatherers be overflowing.”
Formalities ended, the stood for a moment. Tracker1 looked at Sylk and said, “I know that you have passed your Trial, and are no youth.”
Sylk replied, “I do not believe you intended insult. Much of the normal routine is gone. Under the usual circumstances, I would have arrived in the village, there would have been the Ceremony of Attainment, and I would gradually have entered into Man Talk. As none of that happened, I think you simply spoke out of force of habit, not out of malice or insult. Therefore, I take no insult, and where none is taken, none can be given.”
Tracker1 looked carefully at Sylk, but detected no false pride or sense of superiority. “You are clearly a Man of the Tribe.”
Sylk noted this, and stated, “Let’s put this to the past, and move forward. I must catch up to my Master. I bid you safe journey.” Tracker1 mumbled an appropriate response, and watched as Sylk turned and sprinted off toward the village.
He had a hard time categorizing his emotions. Part of him was angry, really at himself, but it was his nature to project his emotions onto others. Tracker1 did not understand the concept of introspection. He was relieved that the kid had spared him the embarrassment of having to face the tribe having insulted Sylk. He wanted to be upset at the fact the impertinent youth had forgiven him. However, he could not muster any real anger, so he just chewed on bitter thoughts, and nursed old grudges. By the time he was walking to the village, he had managed to find a way to blame Moa’qi. This made him feel better, and he was almost cheery on the return trip.
Moa’qi had watched Sylk leave, and stood on the trail as the two Trackers approached. He explained that Sylk was going back to try to mend the rift, and that he would wait there for him. The two Trackers commented on the courage and general upstanding nature of Sylk, and continued on toward the village. Moa’qi watched until they were well out of sight, and then listened with his feet to see if there were any change in path, or slowing up of their pace. As there were no changes, he took off at a ground swallowing pace, angling away from the probable path of both Sylk and Tracker1, and heading toward the body.
He wanted to see the condition, and judge the cause of death. He searched the sky for any sign of the Cadaver Cleaners, that usually would circle any body. There were none, and this caused him consternation. He also was listening and tracking the locations of Sylk and Tracker1. They were on path to the village, nothing unusual there. He loped on, wondering if Sylk could be wrong. Then, as he came over a rise, he spied the blue/grey uniform of The Other, and slowed to a stop. It was as Sylk had said. The man was laying on his side, apparently dead, but, offering no sign but a visual one. His face was hidden in the ground and partially under one arm. Moa’qi had a sensation of, well, not of cold, really more of just absence. This was outside his realm of experience, and he did not know what to make of it.
Deciding to experiment, he gathered up some pebbles and bits of wood, and started by throwing one at the body. What he saw, he had a hard time comprehending, so he did it again. Same thing. So, he changed position, getting closer as well, and threw another small rock. He watched carefully as the rock nearly landed on the body, then slowed, and kind of poured off to the side, as if it had been caught in the sweet syrup sometimes poured on flatcakes. It just kind of landed, and slid to one side, slowly. He thought he noticed something just before it hit the ground, so he tried again with a stick. Yes. Just as the stick slid off to the side, there was a brief moment before it hit the ground when it was ‘let go’ by whatever was coating the body.
Moa’qi decided to vary his experiment, he searched about until he found a good sized rock, about the size of his head. He carried it with some difficulty to the body, lifted it, and dropped it where it would hit the shoulder. He watched carefully to see if the body would move or flinch or otherwise be affected by the weight landing on it. The rock fell, and actually slowed, coming almost to a stop on top of the shoulder and arm of the body. It hesitated, and Moa’qi on his hands and knees, could see that the rock did not touch the body. There was a sliver of light between the rock and the body. Then the rock slid slowly toward the chest side of the body, and melted it’s way down the side, and around the obstruction of the left arm trapped underneath, and slowly edged away from the fingers until coming to rest in the dirt.
He stood and looked at what was before him. It made no sense, and he could not think of anything he knew, or had ever heard of that would explain this queer behavior of the body, and things touching it. Not knowing what else to do, he decided to attempt something new. He went in search of a small tree from which he could break a large, still living limb. He would prod the body with the insulation of the living stick, and see what he could see.
Finding a suitable stick, he proceeded without success to touch the body. Pushing slowly and deliberately, the end of his branch would encounter a sticky-slidyness, and, try as he might, would slowly glance off to one side or the other. He tried prodding, then pulling away, and immediately pushing back, thinking that perhaps at that moment when it let go of the stick, it would rebound in some way, and not be as effective. No luck. Finally, as much out of frustration as anything else, he simply took to whacking at the body with the stick, and thinking while he would pull the stick off the body. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, absently raising the stick and then bringing it down, ‘whack’. He would then lift again, having become interested in feeling the sensation of the stick being caught in tree sap or something like it, then suddenly being let go, when on the last whack, he couldn’t lift the stick.
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