5A Chapter by W.V. Bard Pacha meets up with Keko. 5 Pacha gripped the
forearms of her village kin. “Hello, again,” he
said. “Hello,” Pacha
whispered back, tears coming to her eyes. Keko smiled at her. His dark brown eyes sparkled through his own
brimming tears, shadowed by the long brown fringe across his forehead. The two walked
back to her camp together, flanked by his four guards and two of her own, and Keko
slowly began to answer her many questions. He had been
selected as one of three boys, then one of two, and, finally, on the third day,
after an interview of sorts with each Processor, he had been suddenly thrust
under their care and carried from the village in much the same manner as she
had. After he was Chosen, he did not
look back at his parents’ grief. “It is
an honour,” he explained. Pacha mourned for her
own parents. How she missed them. And yet this stoic boy seemed not to miss his
own at all. By the time they
had sauntered back to camp, there was not much camp left. Pacha had been so caught up in Keko’s story
that she had failed to notice her Processors picking up and folding her tent
along with their own. They were just
packing all of their furs and cloths into their bags as Pacha and Keko
approached the site. “This is where we
slept, I guess waiting for you,” she stated lamely. “By a shrine,”
observed Keko. “By the Night’s
Pass,” Pacha stressed. He went to kneel
by the shrine adjacent to their camp and say his blessings. Pacha went with him, letting the others to
their own affairs as they finally let her.
She found herself
thanking the gods for her escorts taking such good care of her, as brusque as
they were. Seeing the pack on Keko’s
back startled her into realizing that either a Processor had given up his tent
for her or someone was carrying two sets of furs and leathers. She thanked the sun and moon gods for the
kind hosts who had lodged them along the way, and most of all prayed for thanks
for being reunited with a familiar face, although a twinge of worry soiled that
prayer. She looked up from
stacking prayer stones into the staring eyes of her fellow captive. “Thank them for
the crops.” “There are no
crops.” “Mother told me to
thank them for the crops.” Pacha added
another stone in silence. Not for the
crops, but for herown mother. They stood and the
squad of Processors took their turns piling stones at the foot of the tiny sun
and moon gods, half covered in moss and sticking out of the ground at an
awkward angle. Cracks covered the statue
from the top of its stony flames to the bottom edge of its crescent moon. Sprouts even broke free from some of the deeper
cracks. As revered as they were, these
gods did not look as formidable as they might.
But the spirit of the gods resided in the Reincarnates when thet did not
reside in the clouds, not in some inanimate statue on an old and broken trail. Pacha wondered at
the possibility of being an incarnate.
She had never felt a holy moment or displayed any godly qualities
besides those of her eyes and build. She
might look the part, but no one could be further from godly. Except maybe that boy the last matron had described
as quite the troublemaker. But the entire
process of choosing based solely on looks irked her. Why would an incarnate have to look like the
original? Would not the holy presence be
a better predictor of who was and who was not a reincarnation of the great
Forefather and Mother? “What are you
thinking?” Keko finally asked her. “Just that it’s
all so unfair �"“ “It is an honour,”
repeated Keko. “Never have there
been two Reincarnates from the same village,” Pacha whispered to her boots. Keko swallowed
hard and a small line appeared between his brows. “Well,” he said, “really until you were
Chosen, we have never hosted a Reincarnate at all.” Pacha stopped in
her path. “What do you mean until I was
chosen?” she demanded, but the boy just walked on. She caught up to
him �" he was still frowning. “What do
you mean?” She pulled him around to face
her. “Only what I
said,” he admonished. The tears in his
eyes sparkled, and as he spoke they widened and widened so that he only looked
younger and younger, until Pacha had to doubt their age gap. “You know that you were meant to be
Chosen. When you were born I remember �"
the whole village spoke loudly of you and the honour you might one day
bring.” Pacha pursed her
lips. “They named you Pacha
for a reason.” She glared down at
him. She had always hated the vacant
meaning of her name. “We’d better go,”
he said, glancing at the Processors more than three stone throws away. “Remember, Pacha, it’s an honour.” He stared at her intently. “You’re an honour.” And without further ado he was off, running
to catch up with their captors/protectors. © 2012 W.V. BardAuthor's Note
Featured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
229 Views
4 Reviews  Last Updated on November 12, 2012 Author |
prev chapter
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing