Stone of Tears

They stole my grandmother. My grandfather’s wife. The mother to my father. My grandfather gave an oath to send the Jocopo to the spirit world. He gathered men together, men who had their wives, or sisters, or mothers taken, and…” He wiped his forehead as if he were sweating, but in the cold he was not.

Kahlan put a hand on his arm. He didn’t flinch this time. “I understand, Chandalen.”

“My grandfather called for a gathering, and was visited by our ancestors” spirits. He wept for his wife before the spirits, and asked if the ancestors” spirits would teach him how to stop the Jocopo. They told him that first he must stop weeping until after the fighting was done.”

Kahlan took her hand back and absently stroked the fur at her neck. “My father taught me something very much like that. He said, “Don’t shed tears over those already in the ground, until after you have brought vengeance to those who put them there. There will be time enough, then.’”

Chandalen appraised her approvingly. Then your father was a wise man.”

Kahlan waited silently until at last he seemed to mentally gather up the memories of the stories, and continued.

The ancestors” spirits came to my grandfather every night in a gathering. They taught him what he must do, how to kill. He taught these men what he had learned. He taught them how to put mud on themselves, and tie grass to themselves, so not to be seen. Our men became like the shadows. The Jocopo could not see them if they stood as close as we do now.

“My grandfather and his men made war with the Jocopo. Not war the way the Jocopo made war, but the way the spirits taught. The Jocopo made war in the day, because they were many, and had no fear of us. The spirits told grandfather that he must not fight the Jocopo the way they wanted, but must make them fear the night, and the empty grassland, and every call of a bird or frog or bug.

“For every one of the Mud People, there were five Jocopo. At first, they were not afraid of us, because of their numbers. We killed Jocopo when they hunted food, when they tended their crops, when they cared for their animals, when they went for water, when they went to squat, when they slept. Any Jocopo. Every Jocopo. We did not try to fight them; we only killed them. Until there were no more Jocopo in this world, only in the spirit world.”

She wondered briefly if he meant that they had killed the children, too, but she knew the answer; there were no more Jocopo. Something else her father had taught her came to mind: If war is brought to you, then it is incumbent upon you to show no mercy. Surely you will be shown none, and you will be a traitor to your people and as good as their enemy if you let any clemency slip its bounds, for your people will pay for your mistake with their lives.

“I understand, Chandalen. Your people did the only thing they could. Your grandfather did what was necessary to protect his people. My father also taught me, “If war is brought to you, then let there be war like your enemy has never imagined in his most frightening nightmares. Anything less, and you hand victory to your foe.’”

“Your father, too, must know the spirits of his ancestors. He did well to teach you their lessons.” His voice lowered sympathetically. “But I know they are harsh lessons to live by, and can make you look hard to others.”

“I know the truth of that. Your grandfather brought honor to the Mud People, Chandalen. I’m sure that when it was done, he shed many tears for those of his people who were murdered.”

Chandalen untied the thong at his neck and shrugged back his mantle, letting it drop to the floor. He wore a heavy buckskin tunic and pants. At each shoulder, held with a band made of woven prairie cotton around his upper arm, was a bone knife. The lower end was sharpened to a point, and the knuckle at the other end was covered with the same woven cotton for a better grip. Black feathers hung from the top.

He tapped one of the bones. This is of my grandfather.” He touched the other. This is of my father. One day, when I have a strong son, he will wear one of me, and of my father, and the one of my grandfather will be put to rest in the ground.”

When Kahlan had first seen the bone knives, when they had left the Mud People village, she had thought they were ceremonial. With terrible certainty, she now knew they were not. They were real weapons: spirit weapons.

“What are the feathers?”

He stroked the glossy black feathers on the one at his right shoulder. The Bird Man we had then, when this was made, placed these.” He touched the ones on his left shoulder. The Bird Man we have now placed these. They are raven.”

The raven was a powerful spirit to the Mud People. Its image invoked death. While she thought the idea of wearing a knife made from your grandfather and father’s arm bone was gruesome, she knew it was an honor to Chandalen, and so didn’t say anything to insult his beliefs. “It brings me honor, Chandalen, that you would bring the spirits of your ancestors to protect me.”