Leaf Hopper



  Leaf Hopper

  L. Christina

  Copyright 2013 L.Christina

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Endnotes

  Prologue

  A ribbon of path traversed back and forth through the pine trees as it descended Wolf Jaw Mountain into the Berry Picker Valley. A peaceful community, the villagers enjoyed a prosperous livelihood due to the fair climate and its location along the traveling merchants’ trade route.

  The valley had been occupied by Berry Pickers for many generations. Women from the village gathered and dried berries for trade, while the men spent their days hunting the abundant game. Well-tended, sturdy huts built by the hardworking villagers scattered around the larger tribal lodge where the villagers met for community gatherings.

  Chapter 1

  The sun was one hand up in its journey across the sky when Emmah emerged from the hut she shared with her mother. She looked up the mountain path as she did every day. After all this time, she didn’t really expect to see her father, but it had become a habit. How many annums had they been waiting for him? Many. So many she’d lost track. He must surely have passed; otherwise he would have returned by now.

  Long ago, when Emmah was newly out of her girlhood, Sun hunters had come to visit. They had a young hunter, Tuft, with them. She’d met him at Shallow Water, a sandbar that fanned out from a curve in the stream where huge boulders enclosed the area and kept the wind out. Women liked to come here when they needed water. Emmah had been collecting water when a shadow crossed the sand. Tuft was on a boulder watching her.

  “I’m looking for fish,” he said.

  Emmah squinted up at him. He had strategically placed the sun behind himself. “You won’t find any up there,” she said.

  He leaped down, his landing as graceful as a mountain cat. Emmah was impressed. The boulders were twice her height.

  “Maybe I will find fish down here,” he said.

  She couldn’t help a smile. “When we want fish, we go to Frog Pond. I can show you where it is.”

  Tuft leaned nonchalantly on his spear. “I would be grateful. My name is Tuft Weedwood.”

  “They call me Emmah Windswept.”

  He reached out and pulled a stray leaf from her hair. “It’s strange your people get fish from a frog pond,” he said as he twirled the leaf.

  Emmah gave a short laugh. “You’re right. I never noticed that before.”

  They started for Frog Pond. “Is it far?” he asked. Regretfully, it wasn’t, and briefly Emmah considered a lengthy detour. She discarded the idea as transparent, but did slow her steps and noticed that Tuft seemed in no hurry as he paused to watch squirrels and stopped to examine the local plants.

  “Where have you come from?” Emmah asked, although she suspected with his deep tan he had come from one of the Sun villages of Sol.

  “From the far edge of Sol. We’ve been wandering for two seasons, but this is as far as we travel. We’ll return home after this.”

  They had already reached Frog Pond. “How long will you be staying here?” she asked.

  Tuft held up both hands, fingers outstretched. “Many more days.”

  Unable to prevent herself, Emmah smiled. “I better get back to work.” She took a few steps before she stopped and turned around. “If you have time, maybe you’d like me to show you the berry bushes before you leave.”

  Tuft was sitting on the same boulder the next morning when Emmah went for water. He leaned over the edge. “When do you finish this work of yours?” he asked.

  “Umm.” Her tongue stumbled. “You need directions?”

  “No, I wish to visit with you. Maybe see those berry bushes.”

  His frank interest flattered her, and she lowered her head to hide a blush. She made a line in the sand. “When the boulder’s shadow reaches here, I’ll be back.” She looked up, but he was already gone. As Emmah worked through her day, she wondered if he would return or if he was just funning her. With reserved expectations, she returned to Shallow Water just as a shadow passed over the line she had drawn. This time, Emmah found Tuft napping in the shade of the boulder.

  He jumped up and dusted the sand off himself. “You came,” he said, with a touch of incredulity. It surprised Emma to learn that the handsome hunter had doubted her sincerity; any of village girls would have been pleased to have his attention.

  She took him to the berry bushes, and they began a friendship. He was brave; he showed Emmah his hunting wounds, and she showed Tuft her hair ornaments and jewelry. They compared the different foods and customs of the Suns and Berry Pickers. Tuft told her wandering stories.

  The days passed, and Emmah knew Tuft would be leaving soon. A Tribal Circle had been called for the next evening. Emmah confided to her mother, “I think Tuft might bid on me tomorrow night at the Tribal Circle.”

  In the custom of the mountain region, the Suns and Berry Pickers honored the bidding of women. At an evening Tribal Circle, a man wanting to bid would offer gifts to a woman. The woman could decline, but if she accepted his bid, they were bound for life.

  Dagny, Emmah’s mother, looked at her in alarm. “But we don’t know him!” she exclaimed.

  “I know him well. We’ve spent much time together these last several days.”

  Dagny looked at her daughter disapprovingly. “What if Father doesn’t approve of your choice of a man? Besides you’re still very young, only newly a woman.”

  Emmah was disappointed at her mother’s reaction. It was Emmah’s choice and her privilege to accept or decline a bid. But naively, she had convinced herself that once her parents met Tuft, they would like and respect him as much as she did. She would talk to Tuft tomorrow when they met at Shallow Water. Only Tuft didn’t arrive as agreed on that day, or the next, or the next. When she asked about the Sun hunters, she was told they’d left already. Emmah was heartbroken, the singing bird in her, shot with an invisible arrow.

  Dagny tried to console her grieving daughter. “Don’t worry. There will be other men.” But Emmah didn’t want another man; she wanted Tuft. And the suspicion that her father had chased him away made her resentful as well as sad.

  Listlessly, Emmah did her daily chores. But what was the point? Any zest had been extinguished from her life as surely as the rains doused the village campfires. She felt the embers of happiness flicker and fade.

  The moon smiled twice, and still Emmah’s happy disposition had not returned. She sat in the sun mending baskets when her father came to her. “Emmah, are you still mooning over that silly boy?” he asked.

  Angry words twisted in her head as she seethed silently. With her head down, she continued her work, weighing and discarding disrespectful comments. What could she say to hurt her parents as much as they had hurt her?

  “Emmah, it pains your mother and me to see you so sad,” he continued.

  Emmah wanted to reply that they should have thought about that before they’d misjudged Tuft, but she remained mute.

  “I have happy news.” He smiled with some self-importance. “I’ve decided to go out and wander.”

  Emmah looked at her father aghast. The surprise of those words was so great that she responded despite her resolution to ignore him. “But, Father, you’re bound. What about Mother?”

  “Pff.” He brushed off her objection. “I’m going to find a man for you and bring him back here.”

  Her anger flared higher, and she rose to her feet. “I don’t want your choice of a man. I wanted Tuft. I still do. And I b
elieve he’ll come back for me.”

  Her father smiled in a condescending manner. “Don’t worry. I’ll find a good man.”

  Emmah glared at her father. How dare he be so presumptuous to think he could choose a man for her? Besides, Tuft would return; she was sure of it. She threw down the basket and stomped off to the solitude of the pine trees. She reminisced to herself about the sunny days she and Tuft had spent together, two dancing spirits. Surely, they had meant as much to him as they had to her. Then he would return.

  Sunlight filtered through the boughs as she wandered through the sanctuary of tall trees. Preoccupied, Emmah broke off a handful of pine needles and bent them in half releasing their pungent aroma. She put them to her face and breathed deep. Their fresh scent cleaned the air. If only her heartache could be cleansed as well.

  The moon was high when she returned home. Tomorrow Emmah would tell her father to forget this goose-wit idea of his. But by the time Emmah woke the next morning, her father had already left. And they never saw him again.

  The seasons turned, and three annums passed when some mountain hunters stopped for a rest at the village. One of them took obvious notice of Emmah. “You shouldn’t encourage that man,” her mother warned.

  “Why not?” Emmah asked cautiously.

  “He might bid on you, and what if your father returns with the right man for you, but you’re already with another?”

  “Mother,” she said, “it’s been a long time.”

  “Yes, well, it must be more difficult than he thought it would be.”

  They rarely spoke of him and never of the likelihood that he had probably passed. Maybe it was time. “Perhaps he’s not coming back,” she said gently.

  Dagny turned on Emmah. “What do you mean? What are you suggesting?”

  “Well, only that…” She drew a breath, the words “he might be with the spirits” wouldn’t work themselves out loud from her mouth.

  Feeling guilty that she had caused her father’s leaving, Emmah discouraged the mountain hunter. Time passed, until one day Emmah realized she had left her motherhood years behind, and men, looking to bid, no longer took an interest in her.

  She looked at the mountain again. The trail was empty, as usual.

  Chapter 2

  Leaf Hopper drew his arrow back and took a bead on the large buck. It was a wonderfully fit specimen, eight point antlers, thick fur, and a heavy rump. It would provide well for the village. He took aim on the heart; the kill would be quick and painless.

  But the young hunter paused before releasing his arrow. He watched the stag, dignified and majestic, calmly surveying his territory. The big animal sensed an intruder. He turned his head scanning, and his gaze met Leaf Hopper’s. Challenged, the buck raised his chin. Too proud to bolt, he held his ground, he would meet death bravely. But not this day. Respectfully, Leaf Hopper lowered his arrow. There was other game in the forest.

  A good archer must have strong arms, patience, and discipline, which Leaf Hopper had. He also had his friend, Geoff, a superb tracker. Despite his gigantic size, Geoff was able to float through the forest as quiet as a shadow and track animals for Leaf Hopper. When Leaf Hopper lowered his bow, Geoff made no comment; he understood the mystical respect between hunter and hunted. Instead Geoff found the tracks of a peccary, and the two men said a prayer of thanks to the animal when it gave its life for the village.

  In addition to supplying meat to the villagers, Leaf Hopper was quick with a good-looking smile or a helping hand. His easygoing manner and hunting skills made him popular among his people, and many of the women happily provided meals to him.

  The two men returned to the village with the peccary meat, and as they passed the Tribal Lodge , they were hailed by Pocheao, the Wise One. “Leaf Hopper, Geoff, come meet our visitors.”

  Leaf Hopper’s quick eye had already noticed them. The man was a good size and had a face like a skull, but Leaf Hopper didn’t dwell on him. His eyes had locked onto the woman accompanying him as if she were his greatest quarry; he had never seen a woman so physically attractive. She had a beautifully proportioned face with flawless skin, large eyes framed by a drape of thick lashes, and pink stained lips. A long braid hung over the front of her shoulder drawing attention to the short, fawn skin shift, skillfully sewn to accentuate her body.

  She kept her head down and her eyes averted. Leaf Hopper quickly obeyed Pocheao’s request, pleased for an excuse to approach the girl. He wished she would look up and send an admiring glance his way.

  “Leaf Hopper, Geoff, this is Bog, and his sister Anya. They’ve been wandering, but they’re going to stop and spend a few days with us.”

  Leaf Hopper wanted to impress the girl. “We have game from today’s hunt. We’d be happy to share some with you.”

  “Thank you. A gift of nourishment is greatly appreciated,” Bog answered. The girl remained still. It was as if she hadn’t heard.

  Leaf Hopper was too tongue-tied to say more, so he busied himself cutting them a good-sized steak. Pocheao, the Wise One, smiled all round, proud that his village could provide for weary visitors. With nothing more to say and disappointed in himself, Leaf Hopper left and took a share of the day’s hunt to, among others, the spinster Emmah and her elderly mother Dagny.

  Emmah greeted the young hunter as he arrived with the meat. “Thank you, Leaf Hopper. We appreciate it.” She placed the cut of meat on a flat rock. “Wait, I have some thread for you.” She ducked into the hut that she shared with her mother and returned with an envelope of leather; inside were many pieces of worked sinew. Emmah saved the tendons from the meat that Leaf Hopper gave her and turned them into the sinew threads that he used to secure arrowheads and fletching feathers to the wood shafts of the arrows he made.

  She motioned to an animal skin that had been spread on the ground. “I’m just making myself a new pair of slippers. There’s enough leather to make another pair for you, too.” Leaf Hopper knew that Emmah and her mother looked for ways to repay him for the meat he gave them, and the new slippers might impress Anya, the beautiful woman, so he agreed.

  He took off his old slippers and stood on the leather while Emmah used a piece of charcoal to outline his feet. He looked at the top of her head as she worked and idly wondered why she had never left her mother. “Come back tomorrow, and they should be finished.” She smiled.

  Chapter 3

  As Leaf Hopper and Geoff prepared to leave the next morning, they were surprised when Bog, the visitor, joined them. “I thought I might learn something from you,” he said pleasantly.

  Bog talked without stopping. His stories were amusing, but his constant chatter scared the game away. Geoff grew impatient. “You two wait here. I’ll go ahead.” He looked meaningfully at Leaf Hopper. “I’ll come back if I find something.”

  As soon as Geoff was out of earshot, Bog confided, “I’m glad he left. I wanted to talk to you alone. My sister was quite taken with you.”

  Leaf Hopper swelled with pride. So the girl had noticed him.

  “She would like you to bid on her at the Tribal Circle your village has planned.”

  Surprised, Leaf Hopper faltered. “But she didn’t even speak to me.”

  Bog shrugged. “She’s shy.”

  Leaf Hopper remained silent. He watched a beetle crawling across the ground.

  “Isn’t she the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen?” Bog coaxed.

  Leaf Hopper hesitated. “Yes, but…”

  Bog used his toe to flip the beetle onto its back; its legs clawed helplessly in the air. Bog smiled broadly, and Leaf Hopper could see that his gums were discolored a sick gray color. “Well, she could be yours, all yours.”

  Leaf Hopper heard the special whistle that Geoff used as a signal to join him. He righted the beetle and made to leave, but Bog put a restraining hand on his arm. “What do you say?”

  “I—I don’t know her.”

  Bog slapped him on the back. “You’re right. Let’s get to know each other
. Tonight. At your hut.”

  By the time Bog and Anya arrived, Leaf Hopper had already lit the small fire in front of his hut. Bog did most of the talking while Leaf Hopper did most of the looking. Anya’s eyes fixed absently on the fire.

  “Hey, look what I have.” Bog produced a small pottery bottle from under his cape, removed the cork, and put the bottle to his lips. He took a swig, and then shook his head and shoulders in a shudder. He handed the bottle to Leaf Hopper. “Here, have some.”

  Leaf Hopper noticed the bottle had unfamiliar markings on it. He wasn’t interested in the drink but thought they might think him rude or ungrateful if he refused, so he took a swallow. Leaf Hopper nearly spat it out; his mouth burned, and he wondered if it was poison. What nasty stuff.

  Bog smiled, satisfied. “Great stuff, huh?”

  Leaf Hopper handed the bottle back. He made a mumbling noncommittal answer.

  Bog kept talking, and soon Leaf Hopper became aware that something was wrong with his vision. He tried to stand, but found himself dizzy. “Oh.” He nearly fell in the fire.

  Bog laughed. “Not used to the beasting drink.”

  Leaf Hopper barely made his way into his hut and onto his sleeping mat before passing out.

  Chapter 4

  When Leaf Hopper didn’t show up for the next day’s hunt, Geoff went to his hut. “Leaf Hopper, are you in there?”

  He heard a moaning response. “Uh.”

  Geoff entered the hut. “Leaf Hopper, what’s wrong?”

  “My head.” Leaf Hopper struggled up and put his head in his hands.

  “Should I get the Healer?”

  “No, I think I’ll be okay.”

  “You sure?” Geoff asked in concern.

  “My head hurts. Bog gave me something weird to drink. It made me dizzy. I can”—he swayed—“hardly remember.”

  Geoff shook his head. “I’ll get water.”

  After drinking the water, Leaf Hopper said, “I’m feeling better now. Let’s go.”

  Geoff looked skeptically at Leaf Hopper. “We won’t go far today.”

  As the day progressed, Leaf Hopper failed to recover. “What was the drink he gave you?” Geoff asked.