“Make sense, Duun!”
“The world’s wide, boy. Wide. There’s nine seas. There’s cities. There’s roads and highways. People in a hurry. Cities are full of noise. Sheon’s best. That’s this place, Sheon. The gods made this whole world and they made Sheon first. You talk to the winds, Thorn. You hear the gods talk back? Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can’t hear that in a city. Cityfolk are scent-deaf. Too many smells. Gives you a headache.” Duun tore off a bit of meat and swallowed. “The gods made the world and they made shonunin last, out of the leftovers; and they were missing some. And they were sorry, so one of them gave up a bit and another gave another bit and they filled up the gaps till there were parts enough. That’s what we are, all scraps and a bit of the gods’ own selves. All patchwork. With good parts and bad. So you can’t smell. I’ve got just six fingers. And you’ve got five on just one hand.”
“How did you-?”
Ah. The fish bit. Duun had thought that bait would lead him astray. Duun shrugged. “I made a mistake. See? Even I make mistakes. And I’m good, Thorn, I’m very good. You don’t know how good.”
Thorn choked down a bite. He had to chew more than Duun did. Sometimes in his haste he forgot this. He struggled. Stayed silent after. “What happened?” Thorn asked finally. “Duun- what did happen to your-?”
“Ah. Well. I hunted something that bit back, you see?” He held up the maimed hand. “You put your hand into things, young Thorn, you may not get back what you want.”
“What was it?”
Duun took another bite. Swallowed. “Eat. It’s getting cold.”
“Duun.”
“Maybe I’ll tell you. When you can beat me, fair or foul.”
“I never will!”
“Ah. Maybe you won’t. But you’re several fingers ahead of me. You’re younger than I am. My knee aches when it rains.”
“Couldn’t the meds-?”
“Maybe I didn’t want them to.”
Thorn’s mouth was open. He closed it and stopped asking. His eyes were muddled with unasked questions and too many answers. He had become too wary a hunter to go down a trail that likely to have snares. Thorn took another bite and ate in silence.
“I’ll teach you to shoot,” Duun said. “You almost hit me with that stone.”
Thorn looked up. Distracted again, lured on and promised. (O young fool. Fool who loves me. Thorn.)
“Another sequence,” Duun said. “Base ten this time. The numbers are sixteen, forty-nine, fifty-two, ninety-seven, eight and two.”
Thorn sat on the back porch of the house. The hiyi flowers bloomed. The insects hummed and made pink petals fall in delirium. Thorn shut his eyes. His brow knit. “Two hundred twenty four.”
“Divide by the third in sequence.”
Thorn put his hands against his eyes. Pressed hard. “Four point three.” He looked up. “Can’t we go hunting, Duun? I’m tired of-”
“More decimals.”
Another shutting of the eyes. Hands pressed to shut out the light. “Point three zero eight.”
“Add nine. Subtract four, eighty-two. Six.”
The hands came down. Eyes blinked. “I’m sorry, Duun, I lost it, I forgot-”
“No. You didn’t remember. Think. Name me the numbers.” “I-”
“Am I about to hear can’t?”
“Didn’t”
“Didn’t. Didn’t. There was a nest of maganin; here and here and here! How many were they? Which groups? Where? They’ve eaten you, fool!”
“Maganin don’t come in fifties!”
“I am ashamed.” Duun thrust his hands into the waist of his kilt and walked away.
“Duun-”
Duun turned, ears pricked. “You’ve remembered.”
“No! No, I haven’t remembered! I can’t remember! I don’t remember!”
“Then I’m still ashamed.” Duun laid his ears back, turned and walked on.
“Duun-”
Duun did not look back. There were tears back there. Rage. It was Thorn’s nature.
So was it Thorn’s nature to come trailing back into the house, finally, when it was dark, when Duun had made a fire and sat on the sand before the hearth. Duun had cooked food. He had eaten. He had brought Thorn’s supper outside and set it wordlessly on the step. Thorn was not to be seen. But it was in Thorn’s nature to admit defeat when night came.