A traveling female singer had stopped at the village for the wedding of the

Chifluch,( Shee-fluke) or governor, of this and many other villages in a week’s journey. 

 It was to be the chifluch’s second marriage and this to a very much younger husband.     Gossip in the wajkhino ( Waahg-kee-nO) was that her grown daughter was very much pleased with her future father-in-law.  After the wedding ceremony and reception which was held at the small temple in the woods outside the village, the singer came to the crowded wajkhino and sang in such a entrancing manner that the usually rowdy denizens and staff were enwrapped in the moving melodies of the songs.

She effortlessly spun about their ears tales of wise folk and fools, the sadly comic, the misting eyed tragic, and the grandly heroic. Sometimes it was in languages or dialects Thandie had never heard before, yet still responded favorably to.  She laughed at the songs of too proud nobles being shown up by common folk, though there were quite a few in the barroom who gasped and exchanged worried looks ,even with those who they had disputes with.     And she sang of challenges overcome by both the punishing blows of steel blades or by strongly held ideas and belief.        But the coins and the tears appeared when she sang about love: of freeholders winning the hearts of  a noble’s daughter, of the parent standing over their sleeping child safe in bed, little belly full, or welcoming the new son or daughter-in law into the family.

 When she had finished for a momentary break, a stranger to all in the room, one with clothing and colors resembling the robes of a priest, paid for her room and the next morning’s breakfast. He got a usually stolid Mamma Egede to hop up from her watcher’s stool and imitate a smile as the coins were exchanged between them, a rare occasion that. He then went to the singer who was sitting by herself at a small table in the center of the room near the back wall enabling her to see and be seen by all there that night.

 He bowed his head when he approached her table and praised her singing and song selections and asked if he could perhaps buy her a deserved dinner. She smiled sweetly, but declined, saying she had eaten quite well at the wedding.     Thandie then approached, bringing the foamy headed drinks he had ordered for them both.  Thandie waited at the proper distance till they had stopped talking, at a distance where neither could say she was eaves-dropping.   Two other travelers had done so three nights before to a hard flirting Yenisahe, one striking Yenisahe upside the head a solid one, almost sending her over the next table and calling her a daughter of ordure stuffed maggots. Thandie didn’t know what ordure was but if it was something only a maggot could love and Yenisahe was a relative of the maggots, than it was something privy house nasty indeed.    After the shock of seeing a male customer smack Yenisahe, Thandie ran outside to keep from bursting into laughter in the shamed and very loudly blubbering Yenisahe’s face.

The singer having finished speaking to the priest about her last two mirth filled songs on wishes, adultery, and the consequences of their realizations to folk great and humble, noticed her across the room first and with a slow beckoning wave of hand and a faster up smile, motioned for Thandie to approach and ay the tray on the old and tavern life scarred table.      Thandie had been taught to take the money directly to a slit eyed Mamma Egede who half sat, half leaned on a stool with four thick long legs (or tree trunks as Lologgue ( Lo-loggu) called them) behind the bar.  Shosohul her husband/consort, was the one actually serving and working the mixed crowd of farmers and townies at the pride of the establishment; a jaohro wood bar, its bright brown finish constantly attended to by a prideful Shosohul himself.  From her perch behind this prized possession, Mamma Egede seemed to just lurk there. Taking in everything or acting like she was.

 Thandie looked most intently at the beautiful face and smile of the songstress. (It was true she was older than Yenisahe, probably even Mamma Egede’s age, but she was very, very, pretty.) And Thandie found herself obeying unafraid, even when the priest taken aback, spoke in a fast rough sounding language Thandie didn’t know.

 “It is quite alright, Fatakewsho ( Fah-tak-eu-sho).  This is merely my personal good deed for this night.  I shall meet you at the Zilfdoptho Bridge a day from now.  This young lady,” never had any other, except perhaps Mayjbie, called her “young lady” in such a sweet sounding tone of voice, “ and I will blab like good friends for a moment.  Besides, the overland route I take is still muddy and I have open sandals”.  Thandie not knowing why she had to know, looked beneath the table, not noticing the amused look of the others. It was true, her pretty (clean and arched) feet wore sandals of branji fiber and leather soles with tiny bells on the ankle straps.   The priest called by the odd foreign name, Fatakewsho raised his head heavenward then shook it, while mouthing words of perhaps prayer. Then he looked at the two of them and shrugged his shoulders.  Smiling quite warmly at the singer, he said, “Whiyayul.  If you heard the world was to end tomorrow you would ask for a delay until you’d seen something not yet seen here in the lands, before lunch.”  “Be specific Fatakewsho. You know that’s too much of a bolthole for an elephant to dash through.”    He laughed, patting the tabletop with his long fingered hands.  The priest then looked more closely at Thandie then at the singer. He nodded his head smiling, this time taking both Whiyayul’s hands in his.  They squeezed each the others with much unspoken affection. 

After a moment, he then rose from his seat.  To young Thandie’s eyes, he was the tallest man she had ever seen.  Standing at his full height but not causing Thandie to feel at all a sense of menace like other tall or big sized men gave off around her did.

 He reached into his inner dawada, saying, ”Here little one,” pulling out and giving her a gold coin. ”I don’t want you to think priests of Shango  aren’t tippers”.     He waved goodbye to them both, a definitely new experience for Thandie, and headed out the noisy room to the rear exit, the  courtyard, and towards the stables.   A few patrons asked for blessings as he passed by them, which he did in a sincere seeming solemn manne,r before finally going out accompanied by three other strangers to Thandie. All three wore quilted jackets that fell to their knees, black or brown wide belts, and thick soled sandals or calf high boots. One, who was balding, but was in appearance a younger man than the priest, and just as tall, if not broader, in chest, was speaking to him as they proceeded out the door.

The singer Whiyayul said nothing for a moment after the priest had left the wajkhino before shivering slightly, though the room wasn’t chilly, rather, as usual, a sweaty smoky hot. The crowd noises picked up in the background with Lologgue and Yenisahe taking orders and fending off grasping hands. Well, Lologgue was.     At a mid room table, voices were raised in a brief argument over what type of manure was most effective as fertilizer. Another group in the corner by the east window were singing the chorus of a song Whiyayul had sung awhile before in a slower much more solemn voice. Their version was faster paced and seemingly lighter in spirit. Whiyayul rested her chin in her hand as she listened to them. As far as barroom harmonies went, there was a future for them in this barroom.    “Ah, Kewuloissa, forgive them!  They know not your dark and grandly Great struggle and its outcome, the years and the willing forgetfulness of men have lessened your bold charge into a riding song for the drunken. There are still many…” She shook her head at herself.   “I’m sorry little dear one. So often do I travel alone that I find myself talking aloud to myself.Though I must admit, the debates often are stimulating for the mind and spirit!  Tell me a little about yourself. Whiyayul is my name. From the Besa River Country in the west.”   A surprisingly eager to talk Thandie did.      It was in fact true that of her beginnings little did she know for certain and that most of it Lologgue had told her. Whiyayul listened most intently, and when Thandie told her the month and star she was told she had been born under, Whiyayul stooped and picked up her three string quikwah and started to sing.      She sang of Thandie’s homeland that Thandie soon could visualize for herself the once dimly lit hidden sights.      Lologgue who was passing by them with a tray of empty plates and mugs stopped, a stunned look like a startled nanny goat upon her features. Only a shouted curse from Mamma Egede got her to move away from them.  That was the only disturbance for all the customers grew quiet to hear the singer, who was the best many had ever heard before. (A resentful Mamma Egede noticed orders for drink and food stopped while Whiyayul sang) Then Whiyayul sang of the star Derrlamse, and the reason why her light glowed orange (she liked Oranges!) and her adventures with her cousins Sun and Moon.   Whiyayul sang of the waystation and the living seat that thought on its own. And she told of Derrlamse’s own home and its gardens and how Derrlamse was rising when Thandie had been born.     

After she had finished and the applause died down, Thandie wanted to be clear on a subject that had been nagging at her thoughts, particularly when Yenisahe and the Bridge were in their most snidest of moods.   “Mamma Egede, Mamma Egede is…” she had started to ask the woman who was without makeup,  and not as tall as the cook.  The singer Whiyayul  told her smiling, “Be of good cheer, little honey drop, no relations do you have with the people here.   Anasasi-Mlwujosmo had cast his webs about your true of blood family, causing you to be,” shaking her head, her sigh of sympathy like the distantly heard single cut of a saw, “ nesting here. But don’t worry.  A much, much, better situation is in store for you, just be patient dear one,” and then strumming the quikwah again, she sang a few lines from a song Thandie had always liked if not the correct words to.     The singer that dawn gave Thandie a small pouch of silver coins, telling Thandie they were just for her and her alone. Then bending over even further, Whiyayul kissed Thandie in farewell on both cheeks. No one at the inn had ever done anything like it before, though on separate occasions a drunk smelly farmer and an equally drunk and teary eyed Lologgue had tried to kiss her on the mouth.      Both times the now late and very much unlamented by Thandie, Vobomphtwa had looked on as if he were a lowly carrion eater salivating over a newborn left alone for tooong.       Now that one saw, unhappily for him, only the grim god’s Wzariz’s endless sepulchral plains.