He left huge gaps in the story. He had to. Over the next few days the men would begin to wonder-what of Purity, why did the beast rescue her, what was Matiga’s connection? He suspected the Crab, before he died, would have revealed that the Skir Master enthralled Argoth. He was sure that report was running, even now, through the clans. There were knots upon knots left to untangle, and he would cut them all with the truth. But not just yet.
After the tale, someone called out for a song. “That blind one’s a singer,” one of the men said. Argoth remembered Purity saying something about that.
Legs sat up, chewing on a mouthful of frog’s leg.
“Come on, boy,” someone called. “A song.”
Legs swallowed, put down his frog leg, and wiped his mouth. He rose. “Only if you promise not to pelt me with vegetables, bones, or knives.”
A few men chuckled.
“I don’t want to be blindsided,” Legs said.
More laughed at that jest.
Argoth considered Legs again. The boy was resourceful. He kept his wits. He also was a puzzle. Had he been changed by the woman’s weave as well?
Legs took a big breath, made a flourish, then began a song about the Mighty One Hundred-Sleth hunters in old Cathay. Again Argoth was surprised. Legs sang with strength. It wasn’t the full-bodied voice of a mature man. It was simple and clear and Argoth couldn’t help but feel the emotion of the story. When Legs finished the song there was silence for half a beat. Then the men cheered and called for another. But not all the men were as pleased. Some of them still looked at Legs with wariness.
Legs next led a group song about a one-legged slave who saved the village onions. Then someone called out for “The Hogwife.” It was a humorous song about a beautiful Sleth who had consumed the soul of a boar. Usually the singer sang each verse alone, then the group came in on the choruses. Argoth wondered if this song was right for this moment.
He saw Legs had the same thought, for Legs paused, then he made a decision and started the men by clapping the rhythm.
Legs began.
Her face fired devotion,
Her body fired blood,
If only she’d cease
Her rooting in the mud.
Argoth watched the faces of the men. This was not the best song to sing at this moment. It would only raise questions about Purity. He wondered if the men would sing the chorus or if they’d feel the jarring as well. Most of the men joined in.
Oh, I’ve got me two wives
All mixed up in one,
A woman and a sow,
But begets have I none.
Legs continued.
I married her sweetly
We labored to breed
But, blister me, monsters
Can’t quicken men’s seed.
Legs belted out the last bit like some depressed lout and it was perfect. He sang like one of the entertainers at the gaming fields. More of the men joined in this time.
Oh, I’ve got me two wives
All mixed up in one,
A woman and a sow,
But I want a son.
When they sang the last line, the men raised their fists and shook them in demand.
Ere long came my pretty,
Blackened weave in her hand,
To bed, and I’ll make you
A proper hogman.
Someone made a lovesick call. Legs changed his tone and sang on in a secretive voice.
To bed, in darkness
Irresistible she
Fed me the boar
Enhanced my breed.
Now dirt’s my mustache,
And worms muddy my eyes
Legs paused then came back full of gusto.
But, oh, honeyed heaven
There’s nothing so fine
As Hogwife and I
Rooting side by side.
The men joined in again, some swinging their mugs of ale.
Oh, I’ve got me two wives
All mixed up in one.
She bore me a litter-
Five smart piglet sons.
The men clapped, whistled, hooted. Someone called out for another, but Legs waved them off, took a bow, and sat down. The men around him clapped him on the back. The ale had loosened them. But tomorrow when they were sober, they would begin thinking. Argoth knew this because one or two were thinking right now, watching their brethren clap and holler.
Argoth looked at Shim who, it appeared, had been watching him. Shim pointed at the door with his chin, indicating he wanted to talk with Argoth outside. Argoth walked out of the room into the night. Behind him a group of men began another song.
The stars hung bright in the heavens. Below those stars, in the middle of the fortress inner court, lay the bodies of the monster’s brethren found in the cave. There was so much the Order didn’t know.
A few moments later, Shim exited the building. “That blind one’s full of surprises,” he said.
“I’m sure we don’t know the half,” said Argoth.
Shim nodded. “Come with me.” He led Argoth to his command room across the bailey. Shim lit a lamp. The shutters were closed, but Shim pulled a small, thick blanket across each. In the winter such would keep the cold out. But they also muffled sound.
They sat in chairs, the lamp burning on the table to the side of them. “My friend,” said Shim. “I have shown you my love. I have shown you my trust. You need to honor that now and tell me your tale.”
Argoth hesitated. Such secrets were so dangerous. But he had hidden all his life. And it had led to nothing but loss. How could bringing the truth into the light of the sun be any worse? “Give me your hand, Lord.”
Shim stretched out his rough and callused hand. Upon the wrist was the tattoo of the Shoka clan. Surrounding that and running up Shim’s arm were the tattoos of Shoka manhood and his military orders.
Each clan had their own designs for manhood, military orders, and other markings, but each was built around the same simple clan pattern. Each child was required to have that pattern dyed into their flesh by a Divine. The pattern of Mokad.
By all that was holy. He looked at Shim’s clan tattoo again, and the true nature of the marking shot through him.
Those who followed other Glories had a different base pattern. And if they should be conquered, the tattoo of the conquerer was added. He thought of Hogan with the simple Koramite tattoo and the Mokaddian added to it. He thought of all those he’d seen-the men of other nations, Bone Faces, Cathay. All wore tattoos. All of them inked by Divines…
How could he have not seen it before? So simple. Despite all the flourishes added by the clans, the heart of the tattoo, the clan marking, was nothing more than an elaborate livestock brand. The woman was right: they were indeed cattle, marked by their various masters.
Argoth shook his head and took Shim’s hand. Nettle’s sacrifice had not all been a waste. He still had great portions of his son’s Fire in him. Shim’s hand was rough, strong, full of experience. Argoth looked Shim in the eyes, then poured a small amount of Fire into him.