“Of course.”
“You might be offended.”
“Offended, Warprize?”
I flushed slightly. “Well, the Warlord uses a token…” My voice trailed off as she frowned.
“No one explained?”
I shook my head.
It was her turn to shake hers. “The Warlord’s token, or anyone’s token is for truths or questions that they may not want to hear.” Atira answered softly. “Those who lead have elaborate tokens and bearers, which bespeak their status.” She shifted slightly to get more comfortable. “We are a warrior people and weapons are always at hand when tempers flare. Without tokens, there’d be little truth telling for fear of killing ourselves off!” She grinned at me. “For one such as I, a token can be a stone, a tool, a shoe even, if that’s what’s at hand.”
“A dagger?” I asked, nodding toward her weapons.
Atira wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s not done, Warprize. It can be done, but its insulting in its own way.
Now, with leaders, warlords and the like, they set the token out where it can be seen. An invitation to use it. With me, you must ask.“ She fumbled for one of the pattern stones. ”Now, ask for my token.“
“Atira, may I have your token?”
She handed me the stone. “You hold my token, Warprize. What truths would you voice?”
I clutched the stone in my sweaty hand. “I have a question.”
She inclined her head. “I will answer.”
I pointed to the tattoos on her arm. “What do these mean?”
She chuckled. “You need no token to ask that!”
“But how do I know?”
The despair must have been in my voice, for her smile faded as she looked at me. “Healer you may be, but you’re a horse in a strange herd, aren’t you?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. My homesickness lay in my stomach like a rock.
“It’s best, if you are not certain, to use the token.” She spoke carefully, as if to a child. “But as warprize, any who would lift a weapon to you would answer to the Warlord. You need not be concerned.” She looked down, and picked at a nit on the blanket. “Truth is, if the Warlord knew that I had grabbed you that day, I’d like be dead at his hand.”
“He found out.” Atira went white, her eyes wide. I shook my head. “He saw the bruises. I refused to tell him who had done it.”
Atira’s color slowly leached back into her face. “You refused?”
“You didn’t mean any harm, and I lost my temper.” I flushed, embarrassed.
“It appears that I owe you for both life and limb, War-prize.”
“No, Atira, please. No debts between us.”
She tilted her head. “So, at this point I reply ‘I will answer to your truth’. Then you return my token. Or, if you fear my anger, you may hold the token, until I answer.”
I handed her the stone, and her smile grew wider. “As to your question. This tattoo?” She pointed to her right arm. “It bespeaks my tribes back four generations.” There were two columns of four lines each, black ink against her tanned skin. None of the designs repeated. “So you can see what tribes mix within my blood. Each tribe has its own pattern. The right column is the women, the left are the men.”
I nodded, not completely sure I understood.
“Now this,” displaying her left arm, “this is my required births.” This was a row of five lines, each line a separate design. “I took the tribe design of the man for each child.” She had a look of satisfaction on her face.
My buttocks hit the ground with a thump. “Five children?”
