Shades of Grey

SHADOWS TRIBAL CAMP— MAY 1844

The crowd cheered and began to pass food around while Forma and I were led to two elaborate chairs next to the chief at the head of the table.

“Sir, did my father live here?” I asked, eager for someone of higher status than Freyja to confirm my father’s existence in this place.

“Of course he did. He was a hero!” laughed the chief with joyous respect.

I exchanged a wildly elated look with Forma.

“What happened to him? Why did he leave?”

I saw the chief’s eyes widen slightly in brief anxiety, but he ignored it and forced a bowl of fruit under my nose.

“Eat! We have prepared this for you!”

I almost questioned him but decided to wait. These sorts of inquiries were best conducted with caution.

Instead I turned towards Forma. Having been deprived of decent food for many months, we both shared a gluttonous smile at the glorious buffet before us, filling our plates with the wondrously cooked meats and brightly coloured fruits and vegetables that nearly engulfed the entire table.

“This is wonderful!” Forma exclaimed as she began to gorge on a roasted bit of meat.

“I know!” I agreed. “This is the best food I’ve eaten in ages!”

We exchanged content smiles as we filled our malnourished faces to the brim while the rest of the people filled their plates. A hush fell over them as they all found a place to sit and begin eating, watching a troupe of dancers display their grand skills in what appeared to be a tribute to someone important and from their repeatedly persipacious glances in my direction, I assumed it was a tribute to my father. This gave me the courage to question the chief again.

“Chief,” I asked after a reflective minute. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course!”

I put down my food and turned to him. He noticed my serious demeanour and he set down his own food, giving me his full attention.

“Did you know my father?”

The chief laughed uproariously.

“Child, everyone knew Speaker Echo. He was the greatest warrior our tribe had ever seen!”

I smiled proudly.

“I know, but did you know him? Personally, I mean?”

He grew quiet for a moment, trying to articulate his thoughts.

“I did. He was my best fighter and my most trusted friend… right up until the day your mother arrived.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“My mother was here too?”

The chief sighed with melancholy sadness and I took it that my mother’s arrival had not been on a good note. I took a drink of water as I shifted awkwardly in my seat.

“Yes she was. She had been sent here to kill us.”

I choked.

“Sent to—?!”

“Yes. She was one of the strongest and most clever Hunters I have seen cross our path. I still have yet to deduce how exactly she knew…”

“What happened?” I asked hastily, eager to learn of my parents’ history.

“Well, it was probably twenty or so years ago on a night much like this. Your father and his sister were off on a hunting expedition with the other hunters when…”

The chief’s face fell and he was silent for several minutes.

“What? What happened?” I asked quickly.

“Somehow, she managed to trick all of us.”

The chief then grew quiet again; sifting through the painful emotions the memory was clearly unearthing.

“How? How did she trick you?” I asked.

“I mustn’t say anymore. It would blaspheme his memory.”

The chief then turned away from me and began watching as the tribal dancers began another intricate dance around the fire. I sat back in my chair, frustrated at the chief’s unwillingness to disclose the tale and watched as they twirled their radiant scarves through the air, their many bracelets jingling musically.

“What does he mean ‘blaspheme’?” I wondered telepathically to Forma.

“Well, apparently, your father was a prominent figure in their society. Perhaps they simply don’t like to talk of the day they lost him.”

“No…something happened…my mother did something and the chief has not let it go…”

“What do you think she did?”

“I’ve no idea. I need to find someone who will tell me.”

“Well I wish you luck with that. These people seem to worship the ground he walked on, consequently worshipping the ground you walk on. I don’t think they will want to tarnish his memory.”

“I know…but somebody must be willing to speak…somebody has to tell me.”