The Unfinished Song: Taboo by Tara Maya Read Free Book Online

who had just sat down at the High Table, leaped to his feet again.
    “This is an outrage!” He jabbed his finger at Kavio. “That man is an exile! To give him sanctuary is an act of war against my tribe!”
    Though Zumo had raised no weapon, a number of the Yellow Bear Zavaedies jumped up and drew weapons, which they aimed at Zumo. Even Brena, Kavio noted with some bemusement, had pulled a wicked looking dagger out of her belt.
    “Zumo!” The other guest said. “We are outtribers and guests. Do not make sparks without a hearth to contain the fire.”
    “You knew about this!”
    “No. I’m awaiting the explanation just as you are.” Nilo’s father gave Kavio a look that promised he would be nearly as hard to placate as Zumo.
    Hertio looked, if anything , pleased and faintly amused at the upheaval. He turned back to the crowd, who were still awaiting the culmination of his introduction.
    “Give honor to the Rain Dancer!” he concluded with a flourish.
    The crowd roared and clapped. Hertio raised his hands. The clapping increased in tempo. The Tavaedies jumped to their feet and gyrated in an impromptu victory dance . Hertio bowed in acknowledgment before he finally returned to his seat at the table with an urbane smile.
    “Kavio, come, sit by my side in the place of honor. Let us celebrate.”
    On the stage below, Yellow Tavaedies in bear furs and monstrous bear masks emerged to dance savage circles around the prisoners, a cruel and mocking dance, for at every pass near the half-naked captives, the dancers would slash their chests with three-pronged knives made from real bear claws. Howls of pain ripped from the tormented men’s throats.
    At the High Table, the guests lifted bowls of hard cider and drank draughts to victory.
Dindi
     
    In the cooking courtyard behind the High Table, out of sight of the guests, Dindi could hear Hertio introducing his guest of honor, but she resisted the urge to join the other giggling handmaidens who tried to peek at him. Instead she concentrated on her task, decorously arranging sugar loaves on a large terracotta platter. By the time she had placed the last hard, bronze-brown sugar loaf into position on top of a pyramid of similar loaves, the other handmaidens were already busy serving the guests dishes of acorn honey purée, yellowtail cutlets in saffron sauce, honey-coated walnuts and popped corn, caramelized baby onions and roasted squash slathered with butter, cinnamon and sugar.
    Brena had entrusted Dindi with this one special treat, the sugar loaves, and Dindi didn’t want to disappoint her. She lifted the platter and carefully balanced it on her head. On the walk from the courtyard to the High Table, she minced her steps.
    All of the guests at the High Table sat on the same side, so they could look out over the stage where the Tavaedies would perform after the meal, which meant they had their backs to her as she approached from the cooking yard. Dindi followed the lead of the other serving maidens, who moved in a constant stream to and from the table with bowls of washing water, baskets of food and jugs of corn beer. There were three guests of honor, an older man and two gorgeously brawny young bucks whose splendor had all the other serving girls giggling and whispering.
    The young man to the right of Hertio, a Zavaedi, to guess by his costume, wore an elaborate beaded harness over a bare, muscular chest, a torque of painted beads, a gold and feather headdress. Dindi puzzled over why his broad back seemed familiar.
    Zavaedi Brena turned in her seat, caught Dindi’s eye and motioned her to wait. After a moment, Dindi realized why. The conversation at the High Table was anything but sweet. Hertio was grilling one the guests.
    “How is your mother, Zumo? Tell me, what is it like to grow up with a mother who can eat your thoughts ? You must have been so much better behaved than most mischievous little boys.”
    “My mother was never able to eat my thoughts ,” the one named