They arrived, Baleeah’s siblings crowding around, asking questions. Baleeah’s grandmother snapped at them, ushering them away as Indenuel again looked at the destitute, the starved, as he was dragged in the middle of them.
“I shouldn’t be here. I cannot bring myself to take even a grain of rice from these people,” Indenuel said.
“Oh hush, Eskmenmar,” Baleeah said. “This is the Oraminian way.”
“To give when you have nothing?” Indenuel asked. Even as dressed down as he was, he still saw the rags the others wore. The message must have been sent, because the entire refugee camp was getting things ready for a meal.
“It is a test of true friendship,” Baleeah said. “That, and Grandami might finally let me eat at your house sometime.”
Indenuel smiled. “Really?”
Baleeah talked with her grandmother as she perched on a log, her legs sticking out like a frog’s. Her grandmother made a quip back, and Baleeah nodded. “As long as I don’t come home looking like a fat noble. She hates fat nobles.” Baleeah stared right at Tolomon as she said this.
“I’m not a nobleman.”
“But you are fat,” she said.
Tolomon gestured to himself. “This is muscle.”
Baleeah shrugged, not looking impressed. There was an energy around the camp as they got ready. There had to be over a hundred people, with huge pots. Baleeah’s grandmother was taking charge, giving orders.
Other people slowed down, staring at Indenuel in awe. A few dropped to the ground to give him a bow, and he hastily said “Shrbriadi,” as Baleeah told them something in Oramin. Hopefully telling them that they shouldn’t worship him.
“What is your grandmother’s name?” Indenuel asked.
“Muntha”
“Ah. That’s a beautiful Oraminian name,” Indenuel said, looking at Muntha.
Muntha was busy making the dinner over the fire, saying something to Indenuel.
“She says thanks.” Baleeah sighed. “Why don’t you use your leaf talking so I don’t have to translate so much?”
Indenuel frowned. “My tree power?”
“Yeah. So they can thank you personally,” Baleeah asked.
Indenuel looked at the ground. “I… wouldn’t that isolate the speakers of the dead who live here?”
Baleeah screwed up her face. “Those slave masters aren’t here. We’d never tolerate it.”
Indenuel frowned. “Where are they?”
Baleeah shrugged. “Probably in one of the other cities. They can’t have us together. We’d kill them before they set foot here.”
Indenuel nodded, knowing as a semi-outsider there was little he could do to heal centuries of trauma between people of a different race than his own. Sort of his own. He took off his shoes and socks before placing his feet squarely on the ground and tapping into his tree power. It had been a long while since he’d gone barefoot.
He sensed the emotions of all those connected to the earth. The excitement, the anticipation. Eskmenmar was here, to partake in a time-honored tradition. He felt the overwhelming gratitude they had, and they all seemed to quiet in awe as they sensed him connecting with them through the roots in the trees, trying to put more emotion rather than Oraminian words.
Slowly, the crowd of a hundred all turned to him, watching in awe. Indenuel felt the anxiety return as he saw the hopeful faces of the people, watching him. He winced, then allowed the roots of the tree to understand his emotions. His nervousness at being here, his hesitancy to take from them when he already received so much. Most of all, how much he didn’t want to be worshiped, because he is flawed and in no way deserves to be worshiped like a God. They seemed to accept and understand his thoughts, though the awe was still there.
He asked if he could give any assistance, but he was promptly told he was the guest of honor and he wasn’t allowed to do anything. Indenuel then asked if Tolomon could do anything, and he was met with the unease that he had always felt from the Oraminians in regard to Graduates. He got the impression they were almost done.
“So, what is this time-honored tradition?” Indenuel asked Baleeah who was dumping a bowl of cooked rice into a huge pot that was hanging over the fire. The pot was large as other people brought their small bowls of cooked rice. Others were making a kind of gravy to go with it.
“It’s the friendship meal. A slave custom. Usually done when welcoming a new slave onto the farm. Or when a slave is having a hard time like when a family member has been killed or sold by a master,” Baleeah said.
Indenuel swallowed the lump that leapt to his throat. “I… I’m not sure I want to…”
“We’re not slaves any longer,” Baleeah said. “At least, not in that way.”
“So… welcoming slaves or comforting those whose family members have died?” Indenuel asked, still confused why they would invite him to something like this.
Baleeah stared at him, then frowned. “I don’t think I’m quite getting the meaning across. Here, let me show you.” She placed her bare feet on the ground. Indenuel already had his bare feet there, so he closed his eyes, waiting.
He sensed the emotion of the tradition. What Indenuel mistook as something negative, was simply because very few things in a slave’s life were positive. Work until you die. That was the life of a slave. But this tradition was the only thing they held on to. What they didn’t have in physical possessions, they built instead the emotional possessions of friends and family. They used this opportunity to comfort the sad, to be there for those who were struggling, to welcome another into their midst. Physical possessions were impossible to keep. Emotional possessions would be there forever, and for a slave, knowing someone was there for you was enough to keep you alive for one more day.
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Indenuel opened his eyes, surprised to feel warmth there. “I see.”
Baleeah nodded. “We gather everything we have and create a huge meal. We slaves would eat and enjoy each other’s company to remind us of what we have.”
“We?” Indenuel asked. “I thought you said you were born here in the city. You were never a slave, were you?”
“No. Unless you count the Santollians. They in a way also took away everything from us,” Baleeah said.
Indenuel glanced at Tolomon, sometimes wondering if Baleeah forgot who they were.
“We freed you from slavery, didn’t we?” Tolomon asked quietly.
Baleeah looked at him with her dirt encrusted face and her disheveled hair. She straightened the rags on her shoulders as she gave a shrug. “Yeah. I guess so.”
Tolomon said nothing, keeping his face impossible to read.
Muntha said something, and Indenuel got the impression that dinner was ready. The Oraminians gathered around, all sitting in a circle as Muntha placed the rice and gravy mixture into a clay bowl and ushered Indenuel over. He walked forward, and Tolomon was beside him.
“Baleeah, can you tell your grandmother that one of my jobs is to check Indenuel’s food for poison? And say it tactfully so she doesn’t take offense?” Tolomon asked.
Baleeah frowned. “You think my people would poison Eskmenmar?”
Indenuel accepted the bowl as Tolomon gave it a weary eye. “It is far more likely someone might try to frame the Oraminians to further divide us from each other,” Tolomon said, giving Muntha his best diplomatic smile.
Baleeah snorted, then relayed this information to Muntha. Muntha said something low and angry. Some of the Oraminians near her gave a nod.
“Translation?” Tolomon asked. Baleeah said nothing, glancing nervously between Tolomon and Muntha. “Baleeah?”
She cleared her throat. “Go ahead and check it.”
“Baleeah,” Tolomon said again.
She sighed. “She going to stick the poison in your bowl now. I don’t think she’s serious. She really, really doesn’t like Graduates.”
Indenuel grabbed Tolomon’s shoulder, then closed his eyes, pushing his tree power even deeper. He let everyone in that circle understand exactly the depth of their friendship. Others countered with terrifying memories of Graduates, how they rounded them up at nights and were quick to hurt them. Indenuel sympathized with them, but he let them see a few memories of Tolomon’s softer side. More importantly, he let everyone know how much of a brother Tolomon was to him, and how many times Tolomon had saved his life. If Tolomon wasn’t here, they would not have Indenuel here tonight to honor.
The mood shifted. There would still be some people who wouldn’t trust Tolomon no matter how many memories he pushed at them. Muntha seemed to be one of them. But at least they didn’t give him hostile looks.
“What did you tell them?” Tolomon asked, holding Indenuel’s bowl as he glanced around at some of the people who were giving him curious looks.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Indenuel said. “So are you going to check it?”
Tolomon looked down at the bowl. “Do you have… spoons?” Baleeah asked.
She shook her head. “Part of the tradition. The clay bowl is the only possession we have in the friendship meal,” Baleeah said.
Tolomon glanced down at the rice and gravy. “So, fingers?”
Baleeah nodded. Indenuel watched as Tolomon dug out a bit of rice with his pinky from the side and ate it before giving it back. “No poison.”
Indenuel nodded as Muntha and other women and men began dishing out the meal into clay bowls. Muntha handed Tolomon a clay bowl with a quip in Oramin. He glanced at Baleeah who had her eyes wide, staring at the ground before she met Tolomon’s gaze. “I’m just going to leave that one untranslated.”
“Come on, Baleeah. You’ve said quite the number of horrible things to me. You honestly think I can’t take it?” Tolomon asked.
Baleeah accepted her bowl, not looking at Tolomon. “Graduates killed my grandfather.”
Tolomon nodded, looking at Muntha. “An Oraminian army slaughtered my defenseless family.”
Baleeah watched him, curious, before saying something to Muntha. Muntha said nothing for a moment, still watching Tolomon with narrow eyes before calling Baleeah’s other siblings over. Indenuel and Tolomon sat down cross legged on the ground as everyone received their bowl, waiting for something.
An elderly woman stood, lifting her bowl into the air and saying something in Oraminian before she began eating. Around him, all the other Oraminians did the same, repeating the same phrase. Indenuel and Tolomon did their best, but Indenuel figured he’d butchered the phrasing.
They ate the rice and gravy with their fingers. Indenuel hadn’t really used his fingers to eat. Usually they had a spoon, or he’d just slurp whatever food there was from the bowl. As he watched, there was a lot more practice from the other Oraminians. They scooped with their four fingers before using their thumb to place it in their mouths. Indenuel did his best, the rice and gravy a bland mixture, but he intended to eat every grain.
“So was that a prayer?” Indenuel asked.
Baleeah nodded. “The oldest always says the prayer. No matter if they are male or female.”
Indenuel nodded, scooping the rice with his fingers and putting it in his mouth. Muntha said something, staring straight at Tolomon. Baleeah once again looked nervous.
“We have never shared a friendship meal with the… with the Santollians,” Baleeah said.
“We consider it a great honor,” Indenuel said as Muntha stared daggers into Tolomon’s soul.
“You saved the lives of our people here,” Baleeah translated for her grandmother. “You are an honorary Oraminian.”
Indenuel felt his throat close as he nodded, thinking about his mysterious father, and the culture he never got to learn.
“Tell Muntha there is little I can do to change her opinion of me, but I’m grateful for the food that I know was only given to me because I am with Indenuel,” Tolomon said, taking the dagger stare Muntha gave him with ease.
Baleeah translated this, watching her grandmother carefully. Muntha said nothing, instead eating her rice with her fingers, staring Tolomon down. Tolomon returned the stare, eating his own rice.
Indenuel kept his feet on the ground, feeling the conversations, sensing the emotions. He heard the laughter, and he felt for this one moment that all the cares and worries could be placed to one side. This was a time to work on strengthening relationships.
Indenuel finished his dinner, making sure to eat every remaining piece of rice. Muntha said something, and Baleeah who had licked her bowl clean jumped to her feet.
“It’s time for your friendship!” she said.
“For what?”
“You’ve done it before,” Baleeah said, helping him to his feet.
The group surrounded him again, like they had the day he had healed them, all trying to touch his shoulders, and if they couldn’t, they touched the shoulders next to them. Indenuel felt it in the ground, through his tree talking power. He felt their love, their acceptance. He sensed their gratitude for who he was, despite his flaws. They began to sing, a song he was quite sure was the song about him, but he couldn’t be sure.
Tolomon stood next to him, but no one touched him. He did not seem concerned by this, but he did look around, making sure Indenuel was safe. If Indenuel was being honest, he hadn’t felt this safe since before the Day of the Devil. He felt sad they couldn’t treat Tolomon with the same kindness. He shouldn’t expect them to completely forget their biases over one dinner, but he was glad at least some didn’t look at him with such hostility anymore. That had to be a step in the right direction.
The song ended, and the Oraminians broke apart, letting him go back home. The tradition was done. Indenuel was part of them now. They had him, and he had them. This is what Tolomon meant. He couldn’t save the world if he was trying to hide the wounds in his soul. His village never accepted him, and he grew up hurt and angry. Maybe finding a village that loved him was the first step to healing the pain from childhood. They touched him as he left, and he realized how different it was. The touches of his village made him wince, made him frightened, but he walked down the path they made as they brushed their hands against his face, shoulders, and arms. He wasn’t used to so much touching as a Santollian, but he found he didn’t mind it. It was a sign of their caring and compassion for the Oraminians.
He thought again of the prophecy, and for once it didn’t fill him with nearly as much fear. Maybe, as Nathaniel said, the Gods trusted him to be the good They couldn’t bring to the world anymore. Somehow.