Tarashana Rachel Neumeier (top 10 motivational books TXT) 📖

I smiled at her. “Your camp is always a home of my heart. I have often thought of you, and of everyone. Perhaps Etta is with the inGeiro.”

“She is. She lives among those people now more than she lives among inGara. She may marry soon.”

“Iro?”

“This seems likely. Many ambitious young men and respected older men have put themselves in her way, but Etta has always favored that young man. It is your sister’s nature to be constant. Iro would do well for her, and his mother and I agree that the match would be good for both tribes.”

I nodded again, wondering if I might still be here in the winter country when my sister decided it was time to marry. It seemed unlikely, but only the gods know what the turning years will bring. I said merely, “If my mother approves of this young man for her daughter, then no doubt her brothers will approve.”

“One would be pleased to think so,” my mother agreed placidly.

I waited a little to let the subject turn. Then I tipped my chin toward Nisig.

“Another girl. Born two hands of days ago. Small, but all Nisig’s babies are small. The child will thrive unless some ill luck comes to her. Your brother is responsible for teaching every boy in this camp, Ryo. And he treats Arayo inKera exactly as though the young man were his son.”

I nodded. Arayo inKera had been given to my father as a tuyo to end the enmity between inKera and inGara—and to demonstrate the new custom, the offer and acceptance of a tuyo who was not put to death. Perhaps the new custom would spread among the tribes, or perhaps no one else would follow the example and the new custom would die. Either way, Arayo inKera belonged to my father and to the inGara, so of course my brother had taken him in hand. No one among all inGara people was better than my eldest brother at teaching a boy, as I had reason to know. Still, I regretted the new baby was not a boy. It is better for a great warrior to have sons as well as daughters.

“Nisig prayed for a son,” my mother said, following my thoughts without difficulty. “But your brother gave thanks for a healthy child. The gods give the gifts they choose, and if we are wise, we accept those gifts as they come. Garoyo will have a son eventually, Ryo, or if not, then that is as it is. Your sister Tasig is carrying. The early signs suggest hers will be a son.”

I nodded, making an interested sound so that my mother would tell me of other important things that had been happening. The evening had deepened, the stars coming out in their uncountable numbers. The fires had burned down to coals, glimmering red here and there.

My mother said, “I will tell you something that may interest you, my son. A traveler, a poet, has been staying among the inKarano. This man has come an extraordinary distance. He has traveled west for thirteen years from the lands where he was born. He said he wished to look upon the western edge of the world. This journey began when his grandfather traveled west for eight years. Then that man married a woman and stayed with her people for some time, but when she died, he traveled west again for six more years. The son of that man traveled with his father for those six years and then for three more years before he married in turn and settled with his wife’s people. Now this poet, grandson of the first, has come this far.”

This had distracted me from every other concern. I said in amazement, “This poet’s grandfather’s people must dwell all the way at the eastern edge of the world.”

“Perhaps nearly so.” My mother smiled. “Some of those years were taken up by going north or south in order to pass around some great barrier. This poet traveled for almost a year to pass around the great canyon that lies between the lands inKarano rules and the lands to the east. He paused for a long time with a tribe to the east of that lake and a tribe to the west.”

I nodded. I had heard that canyon described in tales. The cliffs were sheer and difficult, and the lake below those cliffs impassable except in the depths of the long cold—and then the cliffs were more difficult still, as ice coated the stone. A man might well choose to travel far out of his way to pass around that canyon.

My mother looked at me, calm but serious. “This poet may have changed his mind about going farther himself, at least for the present. He has lived among the inKarano for almost a year and shows no inclination yet to go on with his journey. Certainly the inKarano would be glad to bring him into their tribe.”

I was sure they would. A poet who had come so far would know very many tales we had not heard; for that alone he would be welcomed everywhere. He must be easy-tempered and tactful and polite, because a quarrelsome man would have been killed long before he came so far. He must know very well how to make himself agreeable to strangers. I asked, “What is this poet’s name?”

“Elaro inPorakario,” my mother told me. Her mouth crooked at my expression. “His people speak a different language, not unlike taksu, but not exactly like. This man speaks several languages, each one like taksu, but not exactly like.”

I knew that that Ugaro in different places spoke different languages, but I have never met anyone who did not speak taksu very much as inGara spoke it.

“This Elaro is a most interesting man, Ryo,” said my mother. “Few travelers are so interesting. If