The Iron Forest: Ancestor's Legacy
Chapter Seventeen

Whatever Sana said pulled the attention of each person who filled the hall. The chief, if that’s what he was, paid special attention. They hung on her words, one syllable at a time. Victor didn’t understand, but he knew it was important.

He watched her hands and eyes, noting that never did the tears run dry, nor did her lips veer from anything other than a frown. Sometimes she shouted, other times she whispered like pulling a memory from a locked place. Victor glanced at the crowd, who stood still as statues. They, too, shared in Sana’s tears, sending sniffs and moans throughout the hall.

The chief never averted his gaze from Sana. He was a strong man, but the more Sana talked, the more he withered. Every time she spoke ‘Shayla,’ the chief’s eyes glistened brighter, sending lines of tears to disappear into his beard. At one point, he, too, buried his face in his hands and cried.

Sana continued to speak. Sadness turned to anger, and he saw countless fists clenching till knuckles turned white. The words ‘Chotukhan’ and ‘Shunlin’ spat from her mouth like fire. No doubt the subjects of her story since she mentioned them often. He interpreted that some form of battle took place by the way she pantomimed a fight with her hands.

Victor feared one more mention of Chotukhan or Shunlin would send the whole village into a rampage as he saw their anger growing. Instead, her story turned back to more anguish. He guessed this was a part of the story more personal to just her.

Sana finished and broke down, crying again. The chief stood and held out his hand, fingers splayed outward like a desire to squeeze the life from her. Victor winced, not wanting to see Sana receive her fate. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

She lowered her head, ready to accept the chief’s response.

Victor jerked forward to protect his friend from getting hurt. But a pair of on-lookers held him back and whispered something he couldn’t understand.

To his amazement, the chief grabbed the back of Sana’s head and embraced her like a father holding a daughter to comfort her. The elders joined in, followed by other members of the clan. She held them all. And what he thought was a village became more than that. It was a family of people living together in a harsh reality.

The people’s attention shifted toward Victor as Sana spoke more words to the chief and elders, slipping his name in every other sentence. This part of her story he knew but didn’t understand why several members broke out into laughter.

Sana waved him over and gestured for him to take a position in front of an old man that moved to stand in front of the chief. He knelt, feeling awkward.

“Hello,” the old man said.

Victor couldn’t believe his ears. It was said in English! “Um, hello.” His response earned nods throughout the room.

The old man smiled. “You… Veektor… Yes?”

“Yes. My name is Victor.” He earned more nods and whispers.

The old man paused. “You… dyēus mánnusos?”

“What do you mean, dyēus mánnusos? I’m Victor.”

Sana leaned forward. “Is esti pṛkskō chi tu ludhóm paren kru dyēus—”

The old man held out his hand to silence her. “You.” He pointed at Victor. “Sky… Man.” He pointed to the ceiling, then acted out a crash on the floor with his hands. He even added a few sound effects to make his point.

“Oh. You mean I come from space. Well, yes. I guess you can say that.”

The room burst into unintelligible chatter. Victor glanced around to catch a glimpse of what was said.

“Tausosas!” the chief yelled, silencing the room. “Dhraghtum hra kru chessol.”

The crowd parted as four men brought a withered trapezoid shaped slab of wood. They rested it between Victor and the elder with care. The item appeared ancient, with cracks and fissures from petrification of age.

Victor studied the artifact to see a carving of a mountain, a few trees, and a river within the shape of an arrowhead. He laughed at the words carved in big bold letters. “San Juan National Forest.” He pointed to each syllable with his finger. “I’m in Colorado?”

He suspected as much. The snow-capped mountains and abundance of spruce reminded him of a place he visited long ago. A small slice of memory told him he lived in the state for a short time, but he struggled to remember when and why.

The old man seemed satisfied and nodded to the chief. Either that, or he expended his entire English vocabulary. The chief took the front-and-center again and held his arms outward, addressing the people. If only he knew what was said, things would be better. But every word from the chief sounded like gibberish to Victor’s ears. Whatever it was, the crowd seemed pleased as they filed out the hall with a newfound excitement.

The setting sun marked the start of a feast to welcome Sana and her companion. Two elder men escorted Victor to a house of a man who shared a similar size and build. He was given clothing and permission to use a wooded tub of near boiling water to remove the soil and filth that built over the past thousand years. One elder removed his beard with a skill to rival the best barber from his time. He felt like a new man in a new age.

All the villagers pitched in, creating a mass of food. Bread was passed around, with fruits and berries piled tall in baskets. Wine poured free from a hundred cups held by the old and young alike. A haze of smoke lingered through the town square from a bear roasting over a glowing bed of coals.

Singing and dancing among the younger folk began as older men and women bellowed laughter from unknown jokes. Victor sat mesmerized by the sheer volume of celebration that unfolded around him. They ate and drank, then ate some more. A constant stream of platters containing steaming piles of meat, breads, and pitchers of wine were given to him. He gorged until his stomach felt like bursting and drank enough to keep his wits.

There were two things he felt missing. Having a good conversation proved impossible from his ignorance of their language. The other was Sana, who disappeared into the crowd not long after the festivities started. He craned his neck from time to time, looking for her, but she never surfaced.

Tired of sitting alone, Victor walked among the people, returning nods and laughing at jokes he didn’t understand. An old woman talked at length, but all he could do was smile and nod when he assumed her story warranted it.

A dress of bleached suede, with a stole made from a wolf’s skin, caught his eye. Long brown hair, straight as a waterfall, ran down her back with skin smooth as silk. Victor gasped when she turned to reveal a woman with beauty, he never thought possible. A second glance had him gasping a second time—Sana. Her soft alabaster skin and feminine features, without the smeared soil and shaggy hair, took his breath. She waved him over.

“Alā,” she said, then glanced aside to correct herself. “Hello, Veek-tor.”

Victor grinned, smelling her lavender scent. “Hello, Sana.”

Her eyes shifted from side to side. He could tell she either searched for English words in her very short vocabulary, or spoke to him in her mind, knowing the futility of understanding. He enjoyed the interaction either way.

They walked among the villagers, participating in the festivities. No words were said, but that didn’t deter him from having a good time. She chatted among men and women, retelling the story of his first days on Earth. After a few times, he understood what she said, even without knowing the words.

Victor broke away to refill his cup, leaving Sana to her conversation with an older couple. He sat on a bench made from a half-cut log to absorb some of the culture that surrounded him. The music carried a strange familiarity in beat and tone, and they sang songs with glee. All the sadness spoken within the great hall converted to laughter and high spirits. It didn’t take long for Victor to feel comfort among his new family.

“Alā,” said a deep, rough voice from behind. The warrior who met with him and Sana on their way to the village approached, sipping his mulberry wine. The man replaced his boiled leather armor for a tunic of cotton trimmed in fine beadwork. “Rajin,” he added, thumping his chest.

Victor nodded. He didn’t need to give his name since he knew it became common knowledge throughout the village.

Rajin stood staring, making Victor feel awkward.

“Is there something you need?” he asked, not receiving an answer.

Rajin rolled his eyes in frustration, then looked down at his wine, swirling it in red circles.

Victor grinned. “Cup.” He held his wine in the air.

Rajin appeared confused.

“Cup,” Victor repeated, pointing at the wine.

“Dṛpenos,” Rajin said.

“Dṛpenos,” Victor repeated. He swung his hand forward in a welcoming gesture, emulating the bow he received from Sana when they first met. “Hello.”

“Alā.”

“Alā,” Victor repeated.

Rajin beamed, understanding the game. He grabbed Victor by the wrist and lead him around the village. He pointed to a house, a woman, a chair, anything that came within their path. “Domos, cenā, sedlā.”

Victor’s mind reeled. “Whoa, buddy. Slow down.” He laughed. “Let’s take it from the top—one word at a time.”

Rajin seemed to understand and nodded.

“What do you call your people?” Victor asked, gesturing at everything around them.

A slight pause before Rajin answered, “Shankur.”

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