In The Lair of the Draca (Book 2)

In the Lair of the Draca (Book 2) Chapter 87: Exposure

Ziuta took a drink of water from the flask at her hip. It trickled languidly down her throat; she barely noticed.

Her week of repose had come and gone. Now, at the height of noon, the inhabitants of Looks Thrice were out in full force. At the Council's mandate, runners and young chiefs had spent the entire night before painstakingly arranging more than 200 wooden seats in the town square. These were set in a semi-circle, in the middle of which sat Ziuta on a perch of ivory wood. (According to legend, this wood came from a tree which had grown to gigantic proportions just beyond the shadow of the Disc of Secrets. There was no telling how old it actually was. Even Pomoq had never used this perch in his meetings or official ceremonies, attesting to the seriousness of the day's events. Before this day, it had been stored, pristinely protected beneath layers of silk, undisturbed in the village long-house.)

Ziuta swallowed. Briefly, she closed her eyes.

Can I do this?

She was well aware of how she must have appeared to the assembly, especially to young children and those who had begun to come of age during the time of her banishment. The light of the Twin Moons crowned Ziuta like a nymph. In the ivory throne she sat, with legs crossed beneath her, clad in the dragon-scale gown which had captivated many and repulsed even more. Its fabric had been woven with the wool of goats from the Ice Mountain region. It clung to her delicate form like glistening oil, demurely covering her limbs and feminine parts while somehow also accentuating them.

The young boys and pre-teens gawked the most. Ziuta's heavy breasts, filled with milk for her infant son, Rutka, were not so easily concealable. But Pomoq had thought of this. The morning before, the old medicine man had approached her while she sadly gazed through the back window of her dwelling.

"A gift to you from my mother," he'd rasped, handing her a soft blue parcel.

Surprised and glad to see him, Ziuta had gratefully accepted it. "Thank you, dear Pomoq!" she'd told him. "What is this?"

"It was her nursing cloth," explained Pomoq. "My mother used it to cover me while I fed. I was a sickly child and almost didn't make it in those first few days. When I took milk, I often couldn't digest it. Right there is proof," he'd said, using one bony finger to indicate a small stain on the cloth.

Ziuta unfurled the cloth and was astounded at its brilliance. It was very thin, but as soft as an infant's cheek. The shimmering blue fabric reminded her of starlight. In the center, there was a heart-shaped blotch.

"What is this?"

"That's a milk-stain," Pomoq replied. "I threw up that milk on my seventh day. In a panic, my mother snatched me from my basket and took me to the best Medicine Woman in the region. That trip took three days. In the meantime, I couldn't swallow anything. When she finally arrived, my mother unwrapped my blanket and I was as blue as a cuttle-snail. I had even stopped breathing, but that Medicine Woman administered a blessing and her strongest ointment," he explained.

"Ah!" Ziuta planted one elbow on the window-sill and rested her chin on her palm, sighing with delight at Pomoq's sensational story. "So, all those years ago, baby Pomoq survived!"

"Indeed I did," Pomoq nodded. "After three days in her lodge surrounded by medicinal smoke, my color had returned. I was plump, healthy, and as strong as a lamb. Before we left her, the Medicine Woman administered one more blessing. She breathed onto the fabric of my mother's nursing cloth, and the dried milk there was purified. The stain took the shape of a heart, which was a symbol of my mother's devotion. Now, this cloth is yours."

"But-- but I hardly deserve this!" Ziuta cried, alarmed when Pomoq turned to leave. She didn't want him to go.

"Wrap your little one in this cloth for him to sleep tonight!" Pomoq neither turned around nor slowed. With the aid of his cane, he doddered off slowly in the direction of his own lodge.