Page 22 of Hummingbird and Kraken

“Askuwheteau should meet him,” she finally said.

Ro nodded. “Of course. Will you let me know if the Chief returns?”

She raised one eyebrow, but she seemed to be teasing. “I will.”

They walked out the way they came, and Declan took a bit more time to notice the space. Many of the houses were made of cheap materials, but here and there were signs of beauty and care. Wooden lintels and posts were carved with animals, hand-painted tiles showed geometric designs, and bright colors adorned the windows.

He loved them. Would Geir let him paint and carve little animals all around his house? Maybe a mosaic? Perhaps some of the local artists would teach him their techniques or they could work together. He would love to teach art class again, if no one would find that imposing. He had all sorts of ideas for encouraging the kids to blend their own artistic traditions with, say, comic books or mixed media styles.

The idea filled him with hope in a different way than his time with Geir. It had been so long since he’d taken his own art seriously.

He didn’t know much about Ro and Kayla’s community, but he was just enjoying the easy way that small joys and protections were woven into everyday life. It felt like it was important to them.

“What are you looking at?” Ro asked.

“That turtle,” Declan pointed to a small design on the post of someone’s porch. “It’s almost the idea of a turtle. But it has so much life in it. Like it’s all the turtles.”

People usually got annoyed when he said things like that, but Ro seemed pleased. “Maybe it is all the turtles.” He nodded his head and started cutting across the plaza. “Come on, our next stop’s over here.”

Now that he was too far away to make out the details of the homes, he took in more of the big picture. The grass on the plaza was patchy from heavy use, but there were clusters of people sitting around enjoying each other’s company on porches and blankets on the ground. A few worked on laptops, while others sewed or tooled leather.

Children scampered everywhere, and they had to walk around a game of soccer. It was morning, so he was surprised that the children weren't in school until he realized it was summer vacation.

They strolled toward a larger group of people tucked off to the side in a sort of ad-hoc amphitheater. The sound of a drum reached them first.

A steel-haired man with kind eyes sat on a log which raised him just slightly above the others, pounding the drum that was clutched between his knees. He wore modern clothing, jeans and a t-shirt, along with several beaded leather pouches that hung from his neck.

As they got closer, Declan could also hear his throaty voice chanting a hypnotic song. It followed a melodic pattern that was unfamiliar to Declan’s ears but quickly wove its way into his brain.

A dozen children, from toddlers to young teens, sat on blankets or the grass around him. Slightly behind them, three women in lawn chairs were snapping the ends off of a seemingly endless mountain of green beans. Beside them was an older man whittling with a pocketknife.

Like the singer, their appearance was a mix of modern and traditional. One woman wore a collared shirt embroidered with stylized animals. A child had a cradle board made of sinew and fur strapped to his back with an action figure stuffed inside.

The man with the drum caught Declan’s eye and gave him a small nod of welcome without missing a beat. Ro sat on the lawn, joining the outer circle of adults. Declan settled beside him.

In a few moments, a small boy settled into Ro’s lap, along with a kitten who’d been lurking under the skirt of one of the women snapping beans. Declan hadn’t even noticed the kitten at first. Was it even a real cat?

His mind was jumbled with questions, but with the steady beat of the drum and the old man’s voice, they started to drift away. The words of the song meant nothing to him, but he felt a warm sense of calm settle over him. He noticed the sun on his skin, the grass tickling his exposed ankles. Somehow, even over the singing and drumming, he heard a river, or perhaps the aspen leaves, as if it were right beside him.

He didn’t know these people, but he felt, at least for a moment, like he was accepted by them.

While he logically knew it wasn’t true—he was a stranger and he’d never been fully accepted into any group—the visceral sense of community and togetherness wrapped around him and he let his worries go.

After some interminable time, the singing stopped, and a hush fell over the clearing. Birds called into the silence. It felt, Declan thought fancifully, like they were continuing the same song.

The man with the drum looked at Declan. “You are new here.”

“Yes, Grandfather,” Declan responded, hoping he had gotten that right. The man had a sense of quiet dignity that seemed to deserve his respect. “I live with Geir, I guess. I mean, he said I could stay with him. And he’s really nice, so I think he meant it. And I’m so excited to be here. Everything is beautiful. There’s so much art everywhere.”

A few of the adults tittered behind him and one of the kids gave him a smile. The old man didn’t speak, but murmurs swept through the small crowd in some other language. He caught Geir’s name. The tone was surprise, but not animosity.

When the crowd quieted, the man finally spoke. “I have a story for you.” He had a sense of the dramatic.

Other heads turned to look at him. “Thank you. I love stories. And I’m, really honored, I guess.”

The drummer nodded and began. His voice was still slow and warm, but now filled with animation as he painted a picture with English words. Declan always enjoyed stories, but this was something different. More powerful. Almost immersive, like he was held captive by the story.

“In the long-ago time, before there were many people, there were three brothers. They were mighty hunters and had many successful hunts. But as they grew older, the hunt lost its appeal. The younger brother suggested that they seek new experiences and walk to the edge of the earth, where the sky touches the salt water.”