Chapter 13

Gathering Whispers, Spilling Secrets

Karí plucked a handful of pale green bitter gourds and tucked them into the basket at her feet. She groped through the broad leaves, feeling for any gourds hiding against the wooden trellis. She tried not to rush her chore, but Haban and Lala were already waiting for her by the river so the three of them could visit the other markets they hadn’t seen yet. The ones closer to the beach, perhaps.

Maybe Karí would even run into Dalon there.

There had been nights in the past when she’d been on her way to their meeting place, and she had caught him still narrating the last bits of their stories. Sometimes Karí had lingered among the huts circling the market clearing, but she’d always been far enough that the expressions of the audience were unreadable.

Last night was the first time Karí got to listen to Dalon closely. His words had overlaid the images in her head so accurately it was almost like he was the one who’d put them in there, even though it had been the reverse. It was a miracle she even managed to focus at all, with all the little gasps and eager mutterings and disbelieving huffs of the crowd.

Every time her family completed a complex commission of pots and jars, Karí witnessed the sense of shared accomplishment wash over her relatives. She had given up many years ago believing she could partake in that. But last night, watching and hearing the crowd cheer for Dalon, she’d felt for the first time what it was like to be integral to something worthwhile, something incredible.

Karí’s hand wavered on the next bitter gourd. Come to think of it, perhaps Dalon wouldn’t be out and about now. He had seemed so tired and worn out at the end of last night’s narration. It was more likely he would be resting. She would just have to wait to congratulate him.

“Heard you went to that quaint storytelling,” a voice popped over her shoulder, and Karí barely just kept herself from jumping. She turned around and found Bulaos leaning against the fence that bordered their compound. His eyes contained their usual mischievous glint, and she held up the gourd to her chest as if that would protect her against whatever trouble her cousin might be brewing.

“Yes, I did,” Karí answered cautiously. “Haban and Lala were there too.”

“Who was the boy poking fun of, then? I heard a few guesses, but I want to know what you think.”

Karí blinked and shook her head. Was she sleep-addled, or was Bulaos not making any sense?

“What boy? What are you talking about? Da— I mean the storyteller wasn’t making fun of anybody. He was just telling a story.”

“Oh?” Bulaos raised a brow. Impatience simmered beneath Karí’s skin, but if she hurried him he might just drop the conversation to spite her. She kept herself still. “Well, apparently someone didn’t think the same thing. Heard he got arrested.”

“Arrested!” Bulaos must be playing a prank on her. He must believe she was that gullible. Dalon was the last person in danger of being arrested in Lurit. “For what?”

“Insult. The rumours aren’t exactly clear on the details, but apparently some of the datu’s warriors collected him just before dawn.”

Karí shook her head again, as if by doing so, she could disentangle herself from this web of tidings. “That doesn’t mean he got arrested.”

“No?” Bulaos’ smirk was unbearable, but of course he knew what it meant to get arrested for insult. “The datu’s warriors. Before dawn. I’m quite certain Datu Hálgundî isn’t inviting him over for betel and wine.”

“Who did he insult then? And how?”

Bulaos shrugged. “You were the one who listened to his story. I thought you might know. People are saying the king in his tale is a barely concealed insult about someone. My friends are making bets on who it must be.”

King Luyong’s character insulted someone? How could being compared to a king even be an insult? Shouldn’t they be flattered?

True, their version of King Luyong had a more villainous streak. Was that where the insult had come from? Because he trapped his daughter in the cave for his own purpose? Or was it because he struggled with speaking, and he needed an amulet to fix him?

“Fine, ignore me.” Bulaos spun around and stomped away. He must have been saying something more.

“Wait! Who are you betting it must be?” She couldn’t fathom how anyone would be insulted by her portrayal of King Luyong. How could a character from a tale affect somebody’s pride?

Bulaos didn't stop in his stride as he threw over his shoulder, “The monkey, of course.”

The monkey. Wait, did he mean Merchant Tangad?

But how?

Chest heavy, head spinning, Karí made her way back to her basket and dropped the bitter gourd she’d been holding. No, Dalon couldn’t have been arrested. Bulaos was surely just stirring up some kind of vicious rumour with his friends. Karí was the one who’d changed King Luyong, so if Dalon was in trouble, then—

The next thing Karí knew, she was standing on the path outside of their house, eyes roaming the horizon. She didn’t know what she was looking for until she realized how hard her heart was beating, how cold her fingers and toes were. She had come out here to check if some of the datu’s warriors were coming to arrest her, too. Heavy puffs of clouds occluded the sun, but it was approaching mid-morning. Dalon would have had plenty of time to explain to the datu how he got the idea for the story. They would come for her, no doubt about it.

Karí dashed back inside her family’s compound, mind in a jumble. She clambered up her brother’s hut and ran to her room. She jumped on the cot and pulled the blanket over her head. Karí couldn’t hide, she knew that. But how could she face her family when the warriors came? They would finally hear about her secret escapades and her illegal use of an amulet. What would they think of her? Already a dangling thread in the family, now a criminal too.

“Karí?” a voice came from the doorway. Her Ma. A weight pressed on the side of her cot. “Are you all right, love? I saw you running about outside. Your bitter gourds are all over the ground.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m not feeling well.” That was all Karí could force out of her throat squeezed with panic.

“Ah, there is a case of cold making the rounds in the village.” Her Ma smoothed back the curls poking out of the blanket. “Tell you what. When you’re feeling better, why don’t you and I go up for a picnic in the foothills of Mount Abutaw? I know I’ve been so busy with the pottery orders and training your cousins. We haven’t spent much time together lately, have we?”

Why did her mother have to be so nice and attentive now? Why couldn’t she be as busy as before? Maybe then she wouldn’t witness Karí getting arrested.

“Get some rest, love. I’ll tell Haban and Lala to bring you back something nice from the markets.” The weight on Karí’s cot disappeared and her Ma shuffled out of the room.

Karí gripped the blanket tighter, shutting her eyes tight. But the traitorous thing about having an imaginative mind was that it wasn’t something you could pack away in a chest like an old toy. Behind her darkened lids, she was assaulted with bright, clear images of the datu’s warriors strolling down the lane, pushing past the compound’s gate and demanding her whereabouts. Insult. Arrested. King Luyong. Monkey. Merchant Tangad. Words and sounds whipped the inside of her skull.

Wait.

Karí sat up, one particular image smeared like softened clay at the forefront of her mind: King Luyong. But it was distorted just enough so that he looked more like...

Like Merchant Tangad.

Oh ancestors, why had she not made this connection sooner? All this time, had she been envisioning King Luyong as someone who resembled Merchant Tangad? Did Dalon describe him that way in the story?

Yes, Karí recalled he did. The posture, the attitude, but most of all, the clothes. She had given King Luyong an eerily similar robe as the one Merchant Tangad had worn the first time she’d seen him.

Bulaos’ guess must be correct. Merchant Tangad truly must be the one who found her depiction of King Luyong insulting. But he hadn’t even attended the storytelling, had he? No, but that would hardly matter. Word got around to him, apparently.

Karí’s stomach cramped, and she laid back down, curling around her blanket. This was terrible, worse than what Bulaos did to poor old weaver Dais. The entire village relied on Merchant Tangad for rice. If Tangad refused to sell them rice anymore because of this perceived slight, how much worse was her own punishment going to be?

Resentful tears slid down her cheeks. It didn’t seem fair how nonchalant Bulaos was about having been indentured, about having committed a crime. He had so much advantage in being talented with sculpting. It didn’t matter that he was boisterous and rude, that he could cause so much damage on purpose. In the end, he could shrug it off and people would still hold him in high esteem for his skills.

But Karí had no such shield to protect herself. She would fall down the same hill Bulaos did, but would be unable to climb back up, even though all she’d ever wanted was to share her stories.

All day, jittery misery harassed Karí as she listened for the sounds of a dozen feet stomping towards the compound. Some came, but also passed on by. Sometimes she peered out of her window, but only saw her neighbours coming and going to various festivities around the village. Grandma Biya came in the early afternoon with a winnower of rice and leftover marinated pork. But helpless anxiety curbed Karí’s appetite, and she barely touched it.

Evening approached, and the bustle of dinner emanated from the courtyard outside the hut. Waves of exhaustion coursed through Karí by this time, even though she’d done nothing but lie on the cot. Distended fear had left her completely sapped of energy.

However, this made Karí keenly aware of one important thing: an entire day had passed and still the datu’s warriors had not come.

Maybe they would come later.

Or maybe Dalon never told Datu Hálgundî about her.

Karí leaned against the wall, feeling stupid and ashamed. A part of her longed to pretend this was one of those dramatic stories she toyed with in her mind, the kind she pulled apart and remade once it no longer satisfied her. It was all right when she made mistakes in her mind. It was safe to start over. She didn’t get pushed aside.

But Karí also knew that should someone be found guilty of throwing insults, she was in a better position to bear that punishment than Dalon was. Her family could pay a fine that would more than likely indenture his. He didn’t even deserve it. He wasn’t the one who’d been careless with his thoughts.

If Karí was so tired of being sidelined all her life, then wasn’t it time she proved herself capable by fixing the one thing that only she had the power to do so? Didn’t she always want to feel needed? Well, Dalon needed her now. She may be an incompetent potter, but she would not be an incompetent friend.

Karí waited until her family finished their dinner. In the meantime, she whispered a fervent prayer to her grandmother’s second cousin, who had once swum across a river infested with crocodiles.

“Please, great-aunt Hali, grant me at least fifty per cent of your bravery. Even twenty-five per cent would be enough. Let me survive through this trial like you did. Hopefully, with my right leg still attached. Thank you.”

She was under no illusion that helping Dalon would require more from her than whatever measly courage she’d mustered to talk to Grandma Damang about stories.

The cheerful chatter of her family faded, and in a few moments, Haban’s and Lala’s footsteps padded out in the hallway and entered the room next to hers. Karí sat for a moment more, ensuring her family members were getting ready for bed. Then, before she could change her mind, she walked to Haban and Lala’s room and knocked. The door was ajar already, and it swung with the movement. Haban’s head lay on Lala’s lap and she was playing with his hair. They were murmuring about something amusing, but looked up at her when she stepped inside.

“Karí,” Lala said with a smile. “Are you feeling better? I got you a lovely skirt from a northern merchant.”

“Oh, thank you.” Karí cleared her throat, anxiety fluttering in her tummy. “I need your help. I’m in trouble.”

Haban slowly rose from his wife’s lap, face growing serious. “Are you all right?”

Karí paced the floor before their cot, not sure where to start. “You know that storyteller boy?”

Lala and Haban gave each other uncertain looks.

“Yes, I heard he got arrested. What does he have to do with you?” Haban asked suspiciously.

Karí dug her fingers into her curls, mind whirling with endless events and conversations. How much did they need to know? How much trouble were she and Dalon truly in? Had the amulet been discovered? Should she talk about that too?

“Remember the night you two visited your friend, Matan, for dinner? It was about three months ago.” Haban and Lala had taken her with them, and on the way back home, they had passed by the market square where Uncle Ilas’ stall was located. At first, Karí hadn’t paid attention to the gesticulating figure in front of the open food stall. But then his smooth, lilting words formed an image of a boy garbed in armour made from a turtle shell. Karí had balked. That had seemed a lot like the character she’d envisioned just the night before. Inspired by the popular ‘Monkey and Turtle’ stories, she had replaced the animals with humans endowed with attributes of a monkey and turtle.

She’d been so rooted to her spot, shock and confusion warring inside her, that her brother and sister-in-law had been forced to stop and listen too. The storyteller had narrated how the boy pretended to drown to avoid one of the girl’s tricks. This had stolen Karí’s breath from her throat. She had been thinking about that exact scene just the previous night.

“That was the first time I heard him telling a story,” Karí pressed on. “And I... I was impressed. And I thought maybe...”

Should she tell them about the amulet? That had been part of the allure for her too, despite the danger of breaking a decree. Even though it had unsettled her that Dalon had used an amulet to encroach into her mind that first time, something much stronger had come over her. A relief, a delight, a seed of pride she never thought she’d feel towards herself. Someone had seen her story and believed it worth telling. People had thought her story was worth listening to. She’d recalled the fascinated stares of the small gathering that night, the tension in their shoulders, the angle of their heads, the way every part of their body seemed to be anticipating the next bite of a feast.

That the King Eyes could let Dalon extract exactly what she was envisioning and that he had the talent to put it all into words had convinced Karí to make him a deal. She would let him read her mind, he would tell the story.

But perhaps the revelation of the amulet could wait. No need to dig her grave any deeper than it needed to be just yet.

“I thought maybe he could tell my stories,” Karí finally blurted. “It might seem strange, but I like to come up with stories. I... I just never mentioned it to anybody, because I’m no good at the actual telling of them.” The expressions on Haban’s and Lala’s faces shifted. More confusion, less urgency. “So I struck an arrangement with him. For the past three months, I’ve been... oh, I’ve been sneaking out at night and telling him all my ideas so he can narrate them to a crowd. And he splits the money with me. But now he’s in trouble, because the ideas I told him for the festival night accidentally insulted someone I didn’t intend to!”

Their faces were now devoid of even confusion, just a blank shock that Karí couldn’t bear to look at. She buried her face in her hands, apprehension soaring through her like a tidal wave.

“It did seem to me you two knew each other well,” Lala said, voice soft and wondering. “But I wouldn’t have guessed you’re meeting him at night, with none of us knowing, just so you can... tell him stories.”

Haban cleared his throat. “Yes, for a moment there, I was afraid this would go a very different direction.”

“I’m so sorry.” Karí wanted to weep, but she was too overwhelmed for tears.

“Karí, just breathe, okay?” her brother said, voice oddly stable after everything she had just revealed. “You said you wanted our help. What exactly are you planning?”

Karí forced herself to focus. As difficult as confessing to Haban and Lala was, this wasn’t even the hardest part. She’d have to convince Datu Hálgundî that Dalon was innocent. “I need to meet with the datu to explain the situation. Tonight, while everyone else is still...” Asleep. She couldn’t say it. Even in this moment of bravery, a part of her was still hiding.

Haban and Lala shared a concerned look, then her brother got up and put on a tunic. “Come along, then. Let’s take Pa’s raft and I’ll row you to Datu Hálgundî’s house.”

Karí searched Haban’s face for any sign of anger or condemnation. She didn’t find those, but when he stole glances at her, it was as if she were a different person to him now. She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

However, when he reached the doorway, his lips lifted into a smirk and he chuckled. He gave her cheek a gentle pinch, a habit he’d done since they were children. “We’ll be quiet so we don’t wake everyone else.”

A sliver of relief cut through Karí’s chest. “Thanks, Haban.”