Naamah's Blessing

slaughtered a wild pig. This was butchered with care, wrapped in leaves and set to cook in a firepit. By the end of the day, the scent of roasting pork made my mouth water.
    Before the feast commenced, the shaman Atoc summoned Eyahue, Bao, and me, the three good spirits, for a ceremonial blessing. First he brushed us all over with a whisk of palm fronds, calling on the spirits of the forest to protect us. Then, crouching over a bowl, he ignited a mixture of herbs. Drawing up the smoke through a hollow reed, he blew it into our faces while the villagers watched.
    “That is strong magic,” Paullu said in approval, fingering the strand of pale pink beads of rose quartz he now wore around his neck. “It will not keep you safe, but it will help.”
    Bowls of
masato
were filled from the tub and given to everyone. The milky beverage was largely tasteless, but the fermentation made it slightly fizzy, and after the second bowl, I could feel its effects. Despite his grumbling, I was pleased to see that Balthasar’s sense of propriety overrode his reservations. With only the slightest grimace, he drained the bowl that Paullu’s wife, Sarpay, offered to him.
    “If I didn’t know how it was made, it wouldn’t be that bad,” he admitted, wiping his mouth. He smiled at our hostess. “
Sulpayki
, Sarpay.”
    With a delighted smile, she trotted off to refill his bowl.
    Children shouted and clapped as the roasted pig was exhumed from the firepit, the rich, fatty aroma filling the air. We ate with our fingers, reveling in the abundance. Not even Balthasar could find fault with the pork.
    Afterward, there was more
masato
, while the men danced with handheld drums, spinning in circles. And mayhap it was the effects of the manioc beer, but I found myself thinking that there was something poignant about the symbolism of the process by which it was made. As I knew all too well, thanks to the instruction of the Patriarch of Riva, in the Yeshuite faith, the sacrifice of the One God’s son is celebrated by partaking in the Eucharist, the bread and wine symbolizing the body and blood of Yeshua ben Yosef. This was a more literal affair, celebrating the hard-won bounty of the jungle and the deep reserve of strength found in the bonds of a tightly knit community.
    When I tried to articulate the thought to Bao, he laughed at me. “I think you’re a bit drunk, Moirin.” He leaned close, whispering in my ear. “Don’t drink too much
masato
. I have a surprise for later.”
    “Oh?” I raised my brows, but before Bao could give any further hints, Paullu came to pull him into the men’s dance, handing him a drum.
    While the rays of the setting sun gilded the lush jungle around us, Bao spun in dizzying circles, bare-chested among the naked hunters, beating out a complex rhythm on the drum he held. I could not help but remember the performance he had arranged with the acrobats of Eglantine House in honor of the Montrèvan oath-swearing ceremony. It seemed so long ago and far away, it might have taken place in a different lifetime.
    I thought of Desirée with a pang, and prayed that she was well. And then I pushed the thought aside with regret, for there was nothing I could do about it.
    Bao spun, drumming.
    The women clapped in approval, calling out jests and teasing their own men for failing to keep up with him.
    “Friendship, eh?” Eyahue mused beside me.
    I smiled. “Aye.”
    At last the dusk began to deepen. The nocturnal creatures of the jungle began to emerge. Bats flitted in the high treetops, and ghostly moths with wing spans the size of a grown man’s two hands haunted the branches. One by one, the village folk began to drift away, carrying sleepy, satiated children to their dwellings.
    Bao fetched up before me, the drum wedged under his arm, sweat glistening on his brown skin. “Paullu and Sarpay have agreed to lend us the privacy of their home for the night,” he announced. “That’s my surprise. Do you like it?”
    I stood and kissed him, tasting salt. “Very much.”
    His dark eyes gleamed. “Good.”

FIFTY-THREE

    I t had been a long, long time since Bao and I had been alone together.
    With the walls of a dwelling sheltering us from the sounds of the benighted jungle and the gazes of our companions, we made love into the small hours of the night; sharing our bodies, sharing our breath, sharing our entwined
diadh-anams
until neither of us was sure where one began and the other ended.
    That, too, was a kind of