Sand and Blood

Chapter 30: One Year Later

During clan celebrations, nudity is neither a taboo nor sexual. It is freedom of constraints when viewed in public.

—Cultural Differences in Practice

The valley celebrated the birth of Shimusògo, a tradition that had been carried out for twenty-seven generations. A bonfire burned brightly, kicking stars of embers high up into the air.

Around the flames, half the valley danced with wild abandon. Dark flesh glistened with sweat from the heat. No one raced or sprinted, but everyone enjoyed moving with nothing but their own feet. Shimusògo wasn't needed that night; he was the one being celebrated.

Rutejìmo smiled sadly as he sat on the roof of the shrine house. He had a bottle of spirits in one hand and he had stripped down to a pair of shorts. The snake tooth hung around his neck. He wore it always even though Desòchu and Chimípu forbade it. Neither could accept what Mikáryo had done, but Rutejìmo refused to forget the woman who saved his life. Chimípu even abandoned the tazágu, and it was Rutejìmo who named it.

Down by the fire, Chimípu spun from partner to partner, moving with a warrior's grace. She caught Pidòhu and flung him around, laughing loudly as her dark red hair swirled in a crescent.

Pidòhu laughed just as loudly. He was stripped down to a loincloth, his skin shimmering in the light of the bonfire. He grabbed her and spun her around twice before bringing her close. Rutejìmo could only see him limping if he was looking for it.

They weren't lovers, but Rutejìmo knew they had shared a bed at least twice. Chimípu was a warrior; she would never mate. Just like Desòchu.

On the other side of the flames, Desòchu pounded on the drums. He was naked from a dare and laughing as one of the women tried to get a bottle of spirits to his mouth. He snaked one arm around her and kissed her before releasing her. He returned to the drums, smacking the top with a wild beat that shook the air.

Rutejìmo couldn't call him brother anymore. He was Desòchu just as Chimípu was herself. They were things he would never have again, but he had finally accepted it. He was Shimusògo now.

"You," Gemènyo said as he sat down next to Rutejìmo, "are supposed to be naked and dancing around like an idiot."

"Why aren't you?" Rutejìmo shot back.

"Eh, can't taste my pipe with all that laughter." He drew on the pipe and let out a long cloud of smoke. "Besides, that's the last bottle of the good stuff."

Rutejìmo handed it over with a smile. "Enjoy."

Gemènyo drained a quarter of the bottle before holding it up over his head.

Hyonèku took it and drank before he sat down on the far side of Gemènyo. He let out a sigh and handed the bottle back to Rutejìmo.

Rutejìmo took it, toying with the expensive glass. It was from Wamifuko City and a gift from a thankful clan. It was Rutejìmo's fourth courier delivery, and Chimípu had given him the honor of handing the sealed message over to the grateful man.

"So," asked Hyonèku, "why are you sulking, Jìmo?"

"I'm not sulking."

"Sitting in the dark on the shrine? Sounds like sulking."

"No." Rutejìmo watched the dancing. There was so much joy in the clan and he felt it, but there was something still hanging in his thoughts. "I'm just...."

He felt them looking at him. He turned, then rolled his eyes before smiling. "What?"

"You tell us," said Gemènyo.