64. Making Deals, Making Donuts (Patreon)

Mumu escorted me to Biheila’s place. The rest of the village was still training their Militia Arts, so the paths between longhouses were as empty as before. We didn’t talk much. I could tell she had questions, but she was sensitive enough to know I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. 

At Biheila’s, I checked over my backpack to make sure everything was in order for the trip back to the glen. That meant looking over the supplies for making Ikfael’s donuts. While I was busy with the Hunter’s Lodge, I’d had the kids make the purchases and track down a local willing to part with some maple sugar. The price was painful--one eltaak for a half pound.

The source--Sima Simsson, the nosy villager I met on my first day--was apparently quite well off and had a well-stocked kitchen. He had barley flour on hand too, which they’d also bought. They’d heard me talking to the village’s miller about it, and knew I was interested.

I also had acorn flour, grits, and potatoes, but the barley flour was my best hope for a good donut. I should be able to successfully improvise a recipe using it.

There wasn’t anything else to do after that, but wait to say goodbye to the kids and Biheila. I felt bad about leaving them behind, but it’d be for their own good.

Ollie/Eight…

I caught a whiff of the uekisheile’s qi intent, but the scent vanished before I could read the thought. The lichen was bundled up in a ball ever since the surprise-joining of our identities.

I felt my blood pressure start to rise, so I checked over the backpack again. No harm in making sure everything was stowed safely. When that was done, I straightened up around the longhouse, but the kids had done a good job earlier and there wasn’t much to do. So, I unpacked and re-stowed my gear and all the donut ingredients--flours, salt, yeast, eggs, milk, sugar, deer fat, peanuts...everything was in order.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mumu watching me, worried. “Little Pot--”

“I’m fine. Just have a lot on my mind is all, and working with my hands settles me. I’ve always been that way.”

She looked like she was working up to ask some questions after all.

I interrupted before she could. “Thank you for agreeing to ask around about the ghost-boy with a birthmark under his left eye. That’ll be a great help.”

“Of course,” Mumu said. “Your hunt-sister will help you. And besides, the boy was a person from this village. I will help him if I can. I’m thinking that Inleio--ah, our Lodge Master--never let him hear you calling him Inleio--that he may know of the boy.”

“Because Inleio is old?” I asked.

“Yes, that. But I’m also thinking that the boy’s ghost was found inside the pyramid. For him to have died there sounds like a special circumstance. There may be a story about it.”

“We don’t know that the boy died there,” I said. “Ghosts can and do wander. Although, they can also get stuck in a place, especially if there was trauma involved. It all depends on how much they remember of themselves and how much willpower they have.”

“Your Family taught you much of ghosts and spirits then?” Mumu asked.

I grimaced. “Yes and no. It’s complicated.”

“And you don’t want to talk about it?”

“I’m not sure what I can say.”

Not only did I not want to sound crazy, but the details of mi abuela’s craft weren’t to be shared. Sure, people came to her for guidance and spells, but the actual process was always kept hidden. There were words, gestures, and objects she used in front of clients, but they were almost always a show. The real magic happened behind closed doors and was considered a Secret of the House. 

Mi abuela made sure the secrets stayed secret. It wasn’t until years later that I realized there were gaps in my memory. That I sometimes knew things I had no recollection learning.

A frightening woman, mi abuela. I had no doubt she loved her family and that she’d move heaven and earth to protect them. But a love that strong, I often wondered what it made her capable of. To what lengths would it inspire her.

In my mouth was a bitter taste, earthy and medicinal, an echo of a memory from long ago. If I tried digging for the memory, I knew from experience that it’d vanish, so I poured myself a glass of goat’s milk to wash it away. Did mi abuela give me some of her special medicines when I was a boy? I couldn’t be sure, but I had suspicions.

“There were Secrets in my born-Family,” I said finally. “I can’t explain them.”

Mumu shook her head, sad. “You were taken from your Family too young.”

I sighed. It seemed Billisha and Aluali had a similar misunderstanding. Apparently, they thought I was the son of a hidden Family that’d met a tragic end. Alas, the truth was much more mundane and much more outlandish than they realized.

Outside, the village began to fill with the chatter of villagers returning home after training. There was laughter and yelling, promises to meet up later, and people organizing to go back into the fields to work.

“Zasha! Zasha! We’re back!” Aluali ran into the longhouse with Billisha close on his heels.

They were sweaty and dirty, but hale and in good spirits. Village life suited them. They fit in here, which made what came next easier.

“I saw you working hard out there. Good job.” I patted each on the head, and that made them giggle. I was tall for my age, but I still had to reach up to do it.

“Zasha, you don’t have to try so hard to be an adult,” Billisha said, smiling.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. My smile felt almost natural.

“Zasha, I’ll prepare lunch, so that we can eat with Biheila. We can leave for the glen afterward.” Aluali talked as he checked on the ever-present pot of corn porridge. “Would Mulallamu like to join us?”

“Actually,” I said, interrupting. “I wanted to talk about our plans. About going back to the glen, I mean. I’m thinking that it would be helpful if the two of you stayed here.”

Aluali stopped and turned toward me. Billisha too. Both their faces were suddenly somber.

“Did we do something wrong?”

“Did something happen, Zasha?” 

“No, no,” I said. “Nothing like that. It’s just that I promised Ghitha Woldecsbrotter to bring his Family’s bodies out of the cave, and that means I’ll be away from the glen a lot. It wouldn’t be safe.”

“But there is Ikfael. Wouldn’t she protect us?” Billisha asked.

Aluali offered her his hand, and the two stood side by side.

“Yes, I think so, if she was able, but you’ve seen how that’s not always possible. The bishkawi took over the glen, and there were others before that.”

“Then we would stay by Zasha and help move the bodies,” Billisha said.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” I said. “We don’t know what else is down in the caves.”

“We are a weight on Zasha’s back,” Aluali said. His voice dropped to a murmur. “We are not strong enough to support him.”

“That’s not true!” That came out more forcefully than I intended, and I took a breath to reset my tone. “You’ve been nothing but a delight ever since we met, and I’ve never considered you--either of you--a weight on my back. If anything, the two of you have lifted me up. That’s why I need you to be safe.”

“Where is safe,” Billisha said, her voice pleading. “Nowhere except with Zasha.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“It is,” Billisha said.

“It may feel that way, but it’s not. Right now, I may be the least safe thing around.”

“Is the cave so dangerous?” Billisha asked. “If so, then tell Ghitha you won’t go. You have already served his Family by putting them to rest. He can ask no more of you.”

“I know it’s hard to understand--I have obligations to the dead, and I keep my promises.” Feeling frustrated, I turned around to pace and found Biheila at the door.

The widow stood stock still, listening to the argument. Mumu sat nearby. She’d partially become one with the land to keep from intruding in another Family’s drama.

“It would help me if you stayed with Biheila,” I said to the kids. “Just for a while. Until I can straighten out a complicated situation. One way or another.” I put my hands on my hips, willing the kids to listen.

“Do you promise,” Billisa asked, “to come back for us?”

“Life is uncertain,” I said. “Who knows what might happen--”

“Do you promise?” Billisha and Aluali asked together.

“If you’re safe, then I know I can face whatever needs facing. It’s a matter of--”

“Do you promise?” 

“Yes,” I said finally.

I wasn’t planning to--I really wasn’t--but while my mind was preparing the rationale for why I couldn’t make the promise, my heart skipped a beat and jumped in with its own response.

The kids watched the war between heart and mind, and must’ve found satisfaction in it. Billisha nodded. “Good. You have promised. No matter what happens, you will come back for us.”

Wordlessly, Aluali came over and hugged me. His body was still too thin, even after three weeks of good nutrition. He was warm though, and smelled of dirt and sweat. Billisha, not to be left out, joined the group hug.

Then a pair of adult arms wrapped around us. Biheila, from behind me, whispered. “I’m sorry. Please, just for a moment.”

Surrounded by need and love, all I could do was close my eyes and hug them back.

###

The hike back to the glen felt both long and short. I knew the way now, so there was none of the direction-finding that the trip to Voorhei required. Yet, at one with the land continued to discombobulate me, so I had to go without and trust in my ordinary Stealth skills.

It’d only been a few days, but I learned a lot from Inleio, Mumu, and the other hunters. I focused on putting those lessons into practice, and that helped keep my mind off my worries. Which was good, because the last thing I needed was to be distracted while hiking the wilds between Voorhei and Ikfael Glen. 

As I made my way into the hills, I spotted signs of wolves traveling through the area. Some of the paw prints were as big as dinner plates. Then there were the prints from a giant javelina. They looked similar to the ones we ran across while escorting Dwilla back from Fort Sugar Shack. My pace slowed, and not having the uekisheile watching my backtrail slowed me down even more. Fortunately, the trip was uneventful.

My heart lifted when I felt myself pass through the boundary to Ikfael Glen’s territory. Like walking through the front door and knowing the feel of a place; recognizing it as home. The heat moderated, and the bugs that’d been pestering me left me alone. Even the persistent muscle ache from all the training I’d been doing began to ease. Ikfael’s Blessing at work, no doubt.

I rushed along the banks of the stream, scrambling across the rocky bits, anxious to see Ikfael, and found her drifting atop the pool, lazily paddling to keep to the center. She looked well and healthy, her fur glossy.

“I’m back.”

The otter cracked an eye open, glanced me up and down, and pointed toward the fire pit. There were logs and tinder already in place, as well as our homemade cookware. She lifted her paws out of the water and made the shape of a donut.

That made me grin, the feeling warming me through. Some things a person can just count on, and Ikfael’s persistence was like a rock to which I could steady my rocking boat.

I nodded to show I’d understood. “The kids stayed behind,” I said in Diaksh. “For now, but that might turn into longer. I have a thing to talk to you about--to get your advice about--but that can wait. I know you’ve been waiting.”

Ikfael continued to drift in the water, her eyes closed. I saw her ears swiveling though, so I knew she was listening.

Other than the firepit and cookware, everything else was just as we’d left it. It shouldn’t have been a surprise--we were only gone for about seven days--but the time in Voorhei felt so much longer than that. Every day was full to the brim with people and happenings, a shock after spending so much time on my own.

I’d enjoyed the training and the camaraderie, but the experience also reminded me that people were complicated. And that complications built on themselves, spiraling in weird directions, like Bindeise’s ghost and Ghitha’s request. Like the uekisheile.

I shook the thought from my head before it stuck.

Life in the glen was simpler. Sure, it was a struggle to survive, but the experience was purer. Like when I was a kid--when life got to be too much, I’d head into the woods to escape. They were my sanctuary. I went either with mi abuelo to hunt or on my own with a book. I’d find a cozy nook under a tree, and spend a few hours in blissful quiet.

The earth and trees kept me company, along with whatever author I was reading at the time--Tolkein, Vance, Heinlein, Zelazny, and many more. They were quiet company, though, and didn’t require anything of me other than my imagination.

My childhood was difficult, but there were moments of respite too. That’s something I slowly recognized over time.

While my thoughts drifted, my hands were busy starting the fire, stowing my gear, and getting the ingredients ready. I didn’t mind getting started on the donuts right away. It was good busy-work.

My homemade cookware was crude. I’d have to work in small amounts, but the first few batches were meant to be experiments anyway. Once I nailed down the recipe--and was able to sell the bishkawi hides we’d prepared--I’d invest in some proper iron cookware.

Once all the ingredients and tools were ready, I sat back and waited. The fire needed time to get good and hot. So, I rested from the hike and settled in, happy to be home.

###

I melted some of the deer fat and mixed it together with an egg, maple sugar, milk, and yeast that I proofed beforehand. Making donuts wasn’t new to me--they were a nice way for Helen and I to start our Sunday mornings, and my kids, Alex and Daniel, loved them. Of course, they did. Who didn’t love donuts? Assuming they could tolerate the gluten.

The barley flour was a lucky find. It didn’t have as much gluten as wheat flour, but there should be enough to help get the donut’s texture right and, along with the egg, hold the dough together in the hot fat. The barley’d add a nice nutty flavor too, which I planned to compliment with crushed peanuts.

The proportions were loosey goosey, but I trusted my baking instincts. The only real risk was the amount of barley to use, so when the time came to mix the wet and dry ingredients together, I played it safe and added the flour a bit at a time until the dough reached the right consistency.

I poured the dough onto a flattest stone I could find and pressed it out with my fingers until it was about a quarter-inch thick. Using my hunting knife, washed clean, I cut half into bars and the other half into donuts. It wasn’t as good as using a cookie cutter, but they were circular enough. Mostly. If you squinted.

The first test was a donut hole dropped into the hot fat. It started to brown right away, and I wondered if the fire was too hot. Maybe. I carefully shifted one of the logs farther away. Then, using a pair of sticks like chopsticks, I turned the donut hole over to cook the other side. Once it looked like it was done, I dipped the hole in maple sugar and crushed peanuts. 

I looked up to find Ikfael sitting beside me, dripping water, her eyes starry as she gazed at the donut hole.

“I’m not sure it’s done,” I said, and cut the donut hole in two.

The middle was still doughy on the inside, the outside cooked well before the interior, a sure sign that the fire was too hot. I ate half and handed the other to Ikfael. The flavor was good, nutty and sweet, but it needed something to give it zing. Buttermilk maybe.

Originally buttermilk was what was left over after churning butter, but in the modern era it was milk that’d been curdled with an acid. I’d just have to find the appropriate acid to make some. 

Back in previous life, I’d used lemon juice in milk whenever I needed buttermilk and didn’t feel like driving to the grocery store. I hadn’t seen any citrus fruit in this world though. Nor vinegar, which was another option.

Oh well, I’d think about it. In the meantime, I let the hot fat cool a bit and tried again. A salivating otter sat next to me, and was anxious for more.

I fried up one of the bars next. Ikfael looked at it with doubt--I could see the question in her eyes: where was the gracefully rounded shape? The glorious hole in the center?

“Just try it,” I said, cutting it in half.

I took a bite andI sighed in pleasure. A little dense because of the barley, but the donut was still sweet, cakey goodness. Ikfael must’ve liked it too, because she’d already eaten hers and was gesturing for more.

The metal pot I’d gotten from the bandits was only big enough to fit a couple of donuts at a time, but I didn’t have anything else that needed doing right now. In total, over thirty donuts were made. Four were eaten by me, eight by Ikfael, and the rest went into her pocket.

And so, I laid back, satisfied that I’d completed my quest; letting the fire burn and occasionally adding a length of wood to keep it going. I thought about making buttermilk, adding mashed potatoes to the dough, and mixing in acorn flour to see how they affected the donuts. Ikfael lay beside me, singing happily, just as satisfied, I think.

Eventually, she chirped a question.

“Hmm? Well, yes, it was interesting,” I said. “I met a lot of good people, and some real characters too. There’s Inleio--er, Innieoleia--he’s the Master of the Hunter’s Lodge, and Mulalluma who’s a hunter. I’m on her team. Oh, I should mention that I joined the Lodge and was marked with the Way of the Hunter.”

But talking about the Way of the Hunter meant talking about the Deer God, and talking about the Deer God meant talking about the uekisheile.

Ikfael glanced my way after I went silent. She must’ve seen me biting my lips, because she prodded me to keep going. She pulled water from the pool and shaped into an image of me and the kids--Billisha and Aluali--walking through the forest. She’d gotten better in the time we were gone. I wasn’t the only one who’d been training.

Ikfael prodded me again.

Right, okay. I trusted Ikfael with my life. I could trust her with my stories too.

“We first met the Village Head, a man named Koda…”