A Four Moon Series: Legacy of Blood

A Change of Plans

Loconi placed the four small pieces of paper on the sand in front of his knees and spoke the prayer his father taught him as a boy. He mouthed the words humbly as he placed a small gold dish before him and collected the papers in his fist. He raised his hand to his forehead and then to his chest as he pronounced the name of his wife and children three times. After pulling one hair from his arm, chest, and beard, he placed the papers and hair together in the gold dish, sprinkled them with a powder he poured from a small leather pouch, and set them on fire. All of this done in the precise order and proper reverence. He knew that belief and respect are just as important as the smoke in transmuting his prayers to his ancestors awaiting him among the ageless.

Tejic waited outside the tent flap of Col. Loconi's tent. The fragrance drifted in undulating plumes of black oily smoke from the gold dish place before the Colonel's knees. Tejic did not intend to intrude into Loconi's communion with his ancestors.
What a man says to the dead is a private matter, Tejic thought. No one taught him this, nor he could he say how or when he learned it to be true. Yet there was a comfort, a hopefulness about Loconi's daily intercession that captured his admiration. And so, while keeping one eye on the soldiers passing by with packs ready for marching, he listened carefully to the Col's words, hoping to decipher one of the softly spoken requests Loconi conjoined with the prayers and offering still smoldering in the gold dish by his knees.

"Honored fathers, watch over my little Pitrl. Keep him from darkness, guide his mind in your wisdom. Protect my little Duni, hide her from the eyes of evil men. Give my wife Layula strength and hope while I am gone. Without your words we have no wisdom. Give me the strength to succeed where others fail. Thank you for keeping the ageless Island pure and safe for us, that our homes will be one again someday. Remember us as we honor your memory."

Abruptly, as one often ends ceremonial acts that must follow or precede the day to day, Loconi stood up, and shook the stiffness from his knees, roughly slapping the golden dish back on the corner of his desk. A quiet wisp of smoke burst like a last gasp from the ashes of the papers that had only moments ago contained the names of his wife and children. Now that the fire had taken those names and honored those who might protect them, Loconi's mind returned to the maps on his desk and the shadow at his tent flap.

"Come in Tejic." The Sgt. had also disassembled the sentiment that kept him in silent reverence, and now entered the tent with his usual strident confidence, his boots brushing the sand beneath him as he swayed forward. He brushed his long curly brown hair back behind his ears.

"Col, they're here to pack your tent, you want me to send them away?"

"Aleady? Tell them to wait. Here, help me pack these back into the trunk."

Tejic held up a hand to the soldiers outside the door and looked at the stack of maps.

"Are these all of the lagoon? Tejic asked as they folded.

"Some, some are the Northern mountains."

"Glad I'm not going across that shit puddle."

"What do you mean?"

"Oshioko is sending a few wagons through the desert, I volunteered to be among those to guard his clothes and furniture."

"True it does not stink like a shit puddle, but the salt-desert is no trek beside the ruby lakes. There is no water for a hundred miles and heat that will melt your sandals. Gods know what else. Why would you volunteer for this?"

Tejic stopped and looked at Loconi to guess his meaning.

"Is this a trick?"

"Not at all, what makes you think the desert will be any safer?"