Mighty on the Earth
by aishuu
Part 1:
He often dreamed of the land outside Rukuso Valley, a place where machines flew and the lights came on as though by magic. He had heard of electricity and motorized vehicles, but had never seen them before, so had a hard time picturing how they would work. Companies refused to install service for such a small, distant settlement with little to trade.
Their main exports were their crafts, the careful skill of their jewel carvers legendary in the lands beyond. They were a tribe that prized beauty in all things, and even their ordinary household items showed that. There was a potter and two weavers who were both highly respected, with people offering them hearth welcoming at the slimmest excuse. The attention to detail they put into their crafts elevated the common to works of art.
Kurapika's own mother wore a pair of fine silver earrings which she had made. They swung gracefully whenever she moved her head. He remembered, as a child, spending hours watching her, entranced by her natural grace and beauty. Zaltana always wore her long hair unbound, unlike the other married women of their tribe. It was her vanity, she would joke, getting the better of her common sense.
The Kurata were a practical people at heart, eschewing the need for personal wealth. What one Kurata had, they all had. When one was happy, they all were. If one mourned, the others did as well. It was a simple, communal existence, but most were content with that. He certainly was.
When he turned fifteen, he knew, he would be sent on an eamemeohe, a trip to see the outside world by going to the nearest school in a village a week away. For a year, he would live like an outsider, and have machines do his work for him and idle the day away as he learned how outsiders lived. At the end the village elders would be offer a choice between returning home or following this new path, through a world of wonders.
All had come back. He was pretty sure he would as well, since he loved his people and his life, but he couldn't deny looking forward to that year of freedom, when he would discover what the rest of the world lived like. He wasn't the smartest or most talented of the Kurata, but he had an insatiable curiosity. It was a while away, anyway, and he tried not to think about it too often. There was always work to be done, and idle dreams had no place in a subsistence life.
His father was the tribe's historian, well-versed in the oral histories and songs of the Kurata. He was the one who taught the tribe's children to read and write, and oversaw their education. There was no one quicker with a song or a joke than Anoke, and Kurapika knew that someday he would take on his father's job.
They spent a lot of time together, and Kurapika was getting the best education possible. He had a good ear for music, and his father had hopes his voice would break into a pleasant tenor when he was old enough. Anoke wasn't a superb musician, but he had higher hopes for his son and heir.
Kurapika was one of the youngest in the village, since the tribe had few children. His closest friend, Olathe, was a year older than he was, and a girl besides. He didn't think much of her gender, since she was always quicker in running and more fearless about exploring the forest with only a sling for defense. She reminded him of an animal, wild and spirited. Someday they would probably get married, but neither spoke about that.
They spent their precious free time together, exploring the forests happily. She was more daring than he, always willing to jump in a river or go somewhere new. He was more cautious, always thinking the repercussions through.
It was on the day of his twelfth birthday that Olathe finally kissed him. They were outside, leaning against the trunk of one of the tallest trees. They'd just raced to see who could climb higher, which she'd won.
They stared through the leaf canopy at glimpses of the brilliant blue sky beyond, and he thought it was nearly a perfect day. It would have been perfect if he'd won their race, but Olathe wasn't the kind to allow herself to lose to anyone else, even if it was his birthday.
It took a moment for him to catch his breath. "I'll win next time," he promised.
She rolled her eyes in the fashion of the long-suffering. "You say that every time you lose," she replied. "Face it, Kurapica, I'm better than you."
"I just haven't hit my growth spurt yet," he said stubbornly. The Kurata as a race were slow to mature, but that didn't keep him from wanting to be taller. Olathe had three inches on him, and though she was a year older, he resented it.
"I think it just forgot to happen," she said, grinning teasingly at him. "Don't worry, I'll protect you!"
He sniffed. He'd been training in the sword dance that all Kurata men learned as soon as they were old enough to hold weapons. It was more ceremonial than anything else, a glimpse back at the tribe's warrior past. Nowadays they were an agrarian society, peaceful unless riled.
"I will!" she said stubbornly.
"Whatever you say, Olathe," he murmured. It wasn't worth getting into a fight today, not when the weather was so beautiful. The sky seemed so blue, and the clouds resembled thick puffs of cotton that he could just reach out and pluck.
"So how do you feel now that's you're twelve?" she asked, her complete topic change rational to Kurapica, who knew she had a very scattered pattern of thinking.
"I can't tell," he answered. "Father says he's going to start me on the final songs, so by the time I'm thirteen, I'll be a fully qualified tale singer. Maybe that will feel different."
She tilted her head in consideration. "Maybe." Then a smile brightened her face. "Kurapica, come here," she ordered, crooking a finger commending in a fashion she'd probably copied from her mother. The two bracelets she wore on her left wrists clanged together musically.
Curious, he scooted over so he was sitting beside her. She was fond of catching interesting bugs and trying to surprise him with them. This time, he swore to himself, he would remain unflappable.
The kiss was sudden and awkward, as Olathe grabbed his cheek - along with a bit of his hair - and yanked him close. He blinked once, and then suddenly felt pressure on his lips as she mashed her face against his. Her eyes were disturbingly close, and all he could think was that his personal space was being invaded.
She pulled back just as abruptly. "You like it?" she asked.
He didn't have the heart to tell her it had barely registered with him. "I'm not sure."
She shrugged. "Maybe when we're older. My parents seem to like it."
He nodded his agreement. He couldn't see the attraction of a lot of what adults did. They never climbed trees or rolled down hill; he vowed to himself that he would always remember to have fun, although it was a foreign concept to those older than he was.
One of his favorite things was the arrival of outsiders, because they were interesting and different than the same hundred faces he saw day after day. There weren't many who traveled to Rukuso Valley for good reason.
By nature, the Kurata tribe was insular, and mistrusting of outsiders. It was a genetic quirk of their bloodline that their eyes turned scarlet whenever incited by intense emotion, and some truly gruesome individuals liked to collect them like trophies. The color was astounding, and it was human nature to desire to possess the unusual.
Only a few were allowed in, mainly traders that had proved themselves trustworthy through long association. Every few months, they would see Takota, a man who some claimed had a Kurata for a grandfather. His name certainly sounded like one of theirs, but he didn't look much like them. His eyes were too dark and his body tended toward stocky, while most Kurata were built along more delicate lines. They didn't care, since his dry sense of humor fit in well with the tribe, and he always acted like a proper guest.
By the time Kurapika was born, Takota was already an old man. His hair had long since turned gray - fascinating, since the Kurata's hair always went stark-white with age - and his voice cracked every now and then. He had been coming to the village as long as anyone could remember. He came regularly, four days a year, and the village tended to get festive then. He brought luxuries and necessities the tribe couldn't make on their own.
Kurapica was particularly fond of Takota because he would often bring a spare book to offer as a gift. He gave gifts to all the village's children on occasion, showing no favoritism. Most received sweets or toys, but early on he'd discovered Kurapica's love for learning.
Takota traveled with two pack horses, since motorized vehicles would have found it impossible to pass the roads. The roads were narrow and ill-maintained, and only the truly determined ever made the trip. The animals were strong, but they could only carry so much in their saddle bags.
It was right before the height of the summer of Kurapika's twelfth year that Anoke arrived for what would be his final visit to the valley. He has spoken the previous autumn of retiring, so the tribe was anticipating this trip with mixed feelings.
Takota's appearances were predictable, so Kurapica and Motega, a boy who was nearly fifteen, were set to watch for him.
Motega wasn't one of Kurapika's most-liked people. Motega was preparing to take his eamemeohe, and was becoming cocky about it. He made up stories about what he would do, and how he wasn't planning on coming back ever, ever again. Kurapica hoped he wasn't lying, because he found Motega to be on the stupid side. If given a choice, he wouldn't have spent any time with him.
Duty was duty, however, so they sat along the side of the one road that led to the village, plucking innocent blades of grass out of sheer boredom. Motega was talking, but Kurapica had long since tuned him out. Instead, he put a piece of grass to his lips, trying to play it like a reed instrument.
The weather was only fair, with a heavy group of clouds hanging ominously over their heads. Huyana, one of the village elders, had warned him that morning to bring a cloak, because it was going to rain by mid-afternoon. Kurapica was currently sitting on that cloak, wondering if Takota would make the village before the storm broke.
He felt Motega nudge him with a foot, and looked up, a bit embarrassed to be caught ignoring him. "Yes?" he asked.
"Why aren't you paying attention?" Motega asked, sounding irritated. He was darker than the typical Kurata, his hair just light enough to call dirty blond. He preferred to dress in greens, which made him look like some kind of reversed-tree to Kurapica's thinking.
"I was enjoying the day," Kurapica said, brushing his hands to get rid of the grass. "We don't have the much time to ourselves anymore."
"They'll treat us like adults soon!" Motega said enthusiastically. "And we'll be allowed to leave - I'm going so far they'll never find me again."
"Don't you wonder why everyone comes back?"
"They're brainwashed into thinking this kind of life is best. I want to know what else is out there."
"You can learn on your eamemeohe, and then come home," Kurapica said. He didn't want to argue with Motega. He didn't want to think that he was encouraging him to come back, but Kurapica knew the village would feel Motega's absence.
"You're such a kid," Motega said, rolling his eyes.
"Is there something wrong with that?" Kurapica asked levelly. He wasn't a big fan of growing up. From what he'd seen, it meant more work.
Motega just shook his head with a slightly superior look on his face, before moving back from the trail to find a tree to lean against. Kurapica shook his head with annoyance, peering down to search for another likely blade of grass.
When they heard the bells that hung off the saddle of the pack horses, they perked up. "He's here," Motega said unnecessarily. The two waited a few minutes, and gradually Takota came into sight - trailing not two, but three horses behind him.
His face seemed to have gained a few lines, but there was a pleasant smile on his mouth. Takota dressed in practical brown, which the Kurata found dull. They liked colors in their clothing, which tended to be long and flowing. Their fair skin was prone to burning, so their clothing was modest, protecting them from the light of the sun.
Both boys waited for the man to come to them. Kurapica bounced back and forth on his toes eagerly, wishing he knew what Takota's horses were carrying. It would be selfish to hope for another book, since he'd just received one that spring. It would be rude to ask, anyway.
"How fares the village?" Takota asked, pausing his travels so the two youths could answer him.
Since Motega was the older, he was the one to reply. "Well enough. Glad to see you, Takota! I hope the roads were welcoming." Both he and Kurapica offered bows of respect to the old friend of the tribe.
"A nice, slow journey on a series of sunny days - what could be better?" Takota asked. He had a low, gravelly voice that resonated in Kurapica's head.
"Not much!" Motega said, smiling. He nudged Kurapica. "Go on ahead and let them know we're coming," he ordered.
Kurapica nodded, then set out at an easy lope for the village. It would take Takota about ten minutes to finish the journey, so Kurapica would be able to offer enough warning that their visitor had arrived.
Running on these trails was a thing of care, because a misplaced step could lead to a twisted ankle. He kept his eyes in front of him, watching for anything that might trip him up. Around him, he could hear the sounds of birds calling around him. He paced himself, knowing that rushing would make him out of breath and only slow him down in the long run.
He made good time, and within minutes he saw the village come into sight. Huyana had the house closest to the trail, and she was outside, working in her garden. Her face lit up as she saw him emerge from the woods. "Is he here?" she called eagerly. Her voice creaked a bit with age, but still carried far enough for him to hear.
"Yes!" Kurapica told her, not slowly. He had to inform Kurak, the currently head of the council of elders. Kurak would then have time to prepare for a formal welcome. He heard her laugh as he ran by.
Kurak lived in the center of the village. His family had been the rulers of the Kurata tribe for as long as anyone could remember. Usually it was a fairly ceremonial position, since the Kurata were fairly free-spirited. Kurak was the head of the council of elders, a group that consisted of a member of Kurak's clan, and four others. Kurapika's father was the one who kept the records of those meetings.
Kurapica had attended a few of those meetings, and found them amazingly dull. They tended to talk about things like road repair and rotating crops, and rarely did anything interesting. Anoke had explained that the meetings were important and decided the fate of the village, but Kurapica suspected that it really was just so they could hang out and gossip.
Kurak's wife, Shysie, smiled at him when he knocked on the door, leaning over and clutching his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "Is he here?" she asked.
"Less than ten minutes out," Kurapica said between pants.
"Good! Dear, Takota's coming!" she called over her shoulder before turning back to Kurapica. "Would you like a drink of water?"
He nodded, and she pushed the door open wide enough so he could come in. Shysie kept a clean house, he thought, even as he heard the other door open and shut. Kurak moved quick when he was working.
Shysie drew him into the kitchen, before turning to pump him a cup of water from the sink. The cup she gave handed him a moment later was painted with brilliant butterflies, the work of the village potter, Dyami. He bowed his head in gratitude before draining the cup a little more quickly than was polite.
She chuckled, and ruffled his hair with affection. "They'll be meeting in the village square," she said. "You should hurry."
He bowed again, handing the cup back to her. "Thank you," he said, before going for the door at a near jog. She was laughing behind him, but he ignored that.
The Kurata Village had been constructed centuries ago in Rukuso Valley. The houses were old, passed from generation to generation, with little changing. The oldest, a series of about fifteen buildings including the town gathering place known as Mâheo'o, were situated around a large space of open grass. The tribe held gatherings here, and Takota would set up his stand, ready to barter his goods from the products of the tribe.
By the time Kurapica arrived, the green had been filled with those of the tribe who'd been able to set aside what they'd been doing. People who were watching the animals would come later, but it still led to a crowd of over a hundred, about half the tribe.
Kurapica wove his way through the people, finding a prime spot in front of Mâheo'o. Glancing upwards, he noted the sky starting to turn gray with the clouds that would bring the rain that had been predicted. Huyana hadn't made a mistake in years.
Olathe appeared by his side as if summoned. Her long hair brushed her hips, held back only by an ema'o flower, a bright red blossom that stood out against her pale skin. She was dressed better than usual, and her blue eyes were glowing with excitement. "You talk to him yet?" she asked.
"Just to say hello," Kurapica answered. "But he has three packhorses this time!" he added in a whisper.
She grinned at him, flashing white teeth. "Cool! Do you think he brought more scarlet dye? My mother is almost out, and she's been complaining."
"Doesn't he always bring dye?"
"Not always the same color," she said with exasperation. "Besides, when he retires this year, it's going to be much more difficult to get. Sugino never remembers particular requests, and Kiku doesn't have a normal schedule," she continued, mentioning the two other merchants the tribe dealt with.
The cloth the Kurata weavers created was popular far away, particularly among the rich. Most of the dyes had to be imported, because it was difficult to get a red that would really hold from the plants they had available, and indigo was another luxury. Takota had always been the best at procuring what was desired, and his absence would be noted in coming years.
"Takota spoils us," Kurapica said, smiling a bit. "We'll get by."
She lifted a finger, prepared to wave it in his face to make a point, but was cut off by the sound of bells. It was still distant, but enough to distract him. "He's here!" she squealed, dancing around a little. Kurapica just smiled indulgently. He'd realized long ago that Olathe was as changeable as the weather.
Within minutes, Takota appeared in the square, coming from behind the houses. Motega was pulling one of the horses, smiling a bit as the villagers' attention fell on them. He was excited to be a part of this.
Kurak, dressed in a fine red robe that was intricately embroidered with his clan pattern, stepped forward boldly. For Takota's last visit, Kurak himself would offer Takota hearth welcoming, supplying him with food and shelter. It was an honor that Takota had long since earned, for being such a good friend to the tribe.
"Welcome, Takota! How was your trip?" Kurak asked.
Takota smiled, his face wrinkling up with lines of age. "Good enough. I brought an extra horse because I wanted to make sure I brought everything." There had been a time or two that Takota had elected to leave items behind because of the limits of his mode of travel. It was kind of him to make sure he didn't forget anything this time, since there would be no "later trip" to bring it on.
Kurapica felt a drop of rain brush against his cheek like a whisper. Glancing up at the sky, he saw the sky had turned a nearly black; this was going to be a strong storm. Apparently Kurak felt it as well, because he motioned to Motega. "I'm sorry," he was saying to Takota, "but we're going to have to cut the greetings short if we don't want to get drenched. Motega, help Takota saddle his beasts."
Takota smiled, and murmured something about being more interested in a good bed and a warm meal than a celebration. The Kurata loved community gatherings and used any excuse to throw a party. Tomorrow the Kurata would hold their solstice celebration, but that didn't prevent them from wanting to offer a proper welcome to their favorite guest.
"When you're done, come to my home," Kurak said.
The agreement struck, Takota gathered the reins of his horses and started toward the stable kept behind Mâheo'o. Kurapica had only a moment to be disappointed, before the skies opened up and sheets of rain began to fall. He heard the squeals of protest from Olathe, but turned to run to his house to seek shelter.