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Ahmi rubbed the wet pigment between her fingers,
absentmindedly familiarising herself with its smooth clay-like texture. Taking the
red ochre, she painted along the ceremonial waistband of one of the three figures
she had painted earlier.
‘First, let me tell you of the law-keepers of our land.’
Pressing the pigment into the smooth brown stone that served as her canvas, ‘We
must put faith in our village leaders.’
Tracing the rightmost figure’s halo in a red layer
over the dried yellow, Ahmi then indicated to an older painting showing the
same figure. This time the red-banded figure had their arms spread with red
fanning out beneath them – framing the group of people before them protectively.
‘Our Chief who protects and leads us.’ Ahmi smiled to
herself, these plainlands that was their home had little to protect themselves
from. Maybe the Gan’em wolves that sometimes tried to hunt in the territory of the
village grasslands, chasing after the grazing Tule goats. But the warriors kept
up with regular back burning patrols, and the scorched barrier across the land protected
the only two shepherds of the village while they worked.
‘And the Oracle,’ Ahmi paused, losing her smile she
continued ‘who heals and guides us.’ She took the small clay pot with the white
pigment that was nestled with the other pigment pots by her knees and with her
other two clean fingers traced the leftmost figure’s ceremonial band too.
There was some bad blood between her and the Oracle.
She had approached him without formal representation or gifted ceremony a few
days ago and asked if she could be his apprentice. A shiver crawled up her
spine as she remembered his piercingly unnatural, red-eyed scowl from under the
skull of the wolf skin he always wore. He had uttered a singular gravely ‘No’
before turning and quickly shuffling off back to his cave.
Swallowing to try and clear her now dry throat, Ahmi
changed from the white to the black pot and using her other hand emphasised the
black in his halo. The Oracle’s older painting, like the Chief’s also depicted a
large figure framing a group of people, but he had one arm raised as if
reaching skyward.
‘Their rules keep us safe.’ She stated, glancing behind
her to the three children behind her, two were tussling in the dust playfully ignoring
her lesson, she didn’t mind they were barely four cycles old. She continued, ‘And
their wisdom is beyond our understanding.’
‘Sure, that’s cool and all,’ broke in the oldest of
the three children Tahn, who was the only one sitting still and actively
listening, ‘But what about the third guy?’
‘Ah,’ Ahmi chuckled, feeling her mood brighten a
little, ‘that is Rah and he is the creator of all.’ Using the last of the white
pigment from the pot Ahmi made Rah’s halo radiate against the faded yellow oche
of the old paint layer beneath it.
Placing the empty pot down with the others she put a
mostly clean hand on his singular depiction. Rah had one too, but unlike the
Chief’s and the Oracle’s, Rah’s painting was older and had been the first one
she had painted on this sheltered stone and the cliffs base.
‘He made the land and all the creatures upon it.’ She
said over her shoulder to Tahn as a large shadow fell over the stone. Noticing the
distinct shape of the shadow and hearing her sisters voice hush and separate the
grappling children, Ahmi quickly wrapped up her history lesson with formality for
Tahn's sake.
‘Rah may be our god, but we are the last people of his land and so it is
our duty to protect it,’ She looked down at her knees grimacing and stiffened
her shoulders before turning around looking up at the sun-surrounded face of
her father, the Chief, staring down at her, ‘and all he shines down upon.’ Ahmi
finished with the ceremonial words and looked to her father with a set mouth.
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