No Matter How Far

3. Journey to Kalanduguba

He spent that night at the edge of the world, watching the water come and go, marveling at the vastness of it all. Then, when the sun retreated to its resting place, the stars emerged as a blanket of diamonds spread over all creation. The next morning, he chose a direction in which to walk. He was always told there were more villages to be found north of his home than the south, so placing the sun on his right shoulder, he headed in that direction, his steps feeling lighter than air.

A few days march was all it took to find another village, much shorter than Tafari expected. More significant than any he had ever seen, the town sat perched on the shore at the edge of the world. Parts even extended out into the water on wooden platforms standing on legs of thick hewn tree trunks. White birds circled the town, the low square buildings with walls gleaming white like the birds flying overhead. The roofs of the buildings, odd to Tafari's eyes, were slanted and made of interlocking painted clay titles. The community lacked a wall or any other defensive structure, though at the water's edge loomed a tall circular building, much taller than any other building in the rest of the village.

He approached, walking down one of the broad sand-covered roads between the houses. The people with light bronze skin stared at him when he walked up. They were dressed disparately from the other villages that he had encountered. For one thing, both men and women covered their entire bodies in clothes. He openly gawked at them just as much as they stared at him. The men wore colorful open robes over their other clothing, finely embroidered in intricate designs of silver and gold around the front, the cuffs of the sleeves, and down at the hems near their ankles. The garishly colored robes ranging from dark blues to deep reds hung loosely over billowing pantaloons that fit snugly at the waist, flared at the knee before ending tightly around the calf. The women's flowing skirts in colors to match the men's robes had finely intricate floral patterns adorning the fronts of the dresses but in plain white thread matching the color of their simple white blouses. Everyone went barefoot, which was familiar to Tafari though they all covered their heads in great multicolored wraps, something he had only seen the women of his village do.

A few moments passed as he in the village folk stood gaping at one another before a group of burly men came running from around the corner of one of the sharply peaked buildings. They dressed similar to the other men of the village. The only differences were the red sashes at their waists and the enormous curved bladed swords hanging from them. Hands darted to hilts while cold eyes in stern faces regarded Tafari warily. Not wanting trouble, he thrust the tip of his iklwa into the ground. They watched him coolly, their hands still wrapped firmly around hilts. Holding his arms up, Tafari placed his palms towards the armed men turning slowly to show that, with his hands up, he could not reach anymore of his weapons.

The men shot apprehensive glances at one another before approaching him and muttering angrily in their strange tongues. Tafari assumed they gave him orders. He spoke back in his own language and gestured with his hands making it clear that he did not understand them. A series of grunts and hand gestures and the endless repetition of words to get everyone's point across. They plucked his spear out of the ground and took his bow and belt knife. They removed all his arrows from his quiver and turned it over to check if any other weapons could be secreted inside. Placidly, Tafari let them take his weapons and observed them as warily as they watched him. He sized up the men with their bushy black beards, knowing that if they acted threateningly towards him, he could rely on the strength of his hands and feet to see him through.

With men flanking either side and others making a ring around him, they escorted Tafari to a large structure in the center of the town. He had never seen such a structure, a building that looked to be two, one small square hut stacked on top of a larger rectangular one. A red border wrapped around the base of the building while the rest of the walls were painted a gleaming white. The roof of the upper part, steepled like the other houses and buildings, sparkled with polished brass tiles. The brutish men led him inside, down polished marble floor walkways with woven tapestries lining the walls, to a circular room where another man perched on top of a highly ornate wooden chair that sat in the middle raised on a low dais. The room itself did not seem to be of that much importance. Except for the chair in the middle, there were no other apparent signs of decoration. Stand lamps circled the windowless room sending the light of their fires dancing on the dark polished wood floor and the long rough-hewn wooden beams holding up the ceiling.