Grassland, Horizon, Sky-- Chapter I

The unbleached cotton dress flew up in the breeze, eliciting a violent rearranging from the girl standing on the riverbank. She stared intently into the river, searching for ripples that signaled wildlife, but the wind was intent on hiding the fish.

The girl absently pushed back a few light brown strands that had fallen from her braid with a hand that matched her hair, sighing as the air lifted her dress again, revealing regular white spots on the backs of her legs that seemed to continue onto her back, and appeared again on the backs of her arms.

“Yuia!” Her brother's voice sounded from the top of the bluffs. She ignored him-- the flash of a fin caught her attention. Yuia slipped her feet into the water and made a grab at the fish, but the silver scales slipped through her fingers with a swish, and her quarry escaped.

“Yuia! Did you catch it?” The boy asked.

“No,” she said, shrugging.

“Well, come back home-- it's time for supper.”

Yuia followed her brother, looking at the small white spots that peppered his back. “Did you not wear a shirt all day?”

“No. It's nice outside, isn't it?” He answered, gesturing to the clear sky.

The siblings climbed the bluff, emerging onto an endless grassland. They followed the narrow trail through the tickling grass, the scent of clover heavy in the air, wrens flitting between stalks of tall grass.

“I wish we didn't have to move the village so far from the river,” Yuia said.

“But then it might flood again,” the boy answered.

“I suppose.”

“You just wish it was closer so you could laze about more,” he teased.

“That's not true,” Yuia said, but she could not think of anything worthwhile that she did at the river.

“You could at least wash some linens when you go out there, you big lump.”

“Be quiet, Naerer! I am not a lump!” Yuia said, swatting at the small boy.

Naerer giggled. “Or you could at least catch some fish.”

Yuia glared at her younger sibling, her brown eyes a forewarning of hurt to come.

The village came into view over the horizon, the only break in the perfect, circular line. “I'll race you there,” Naerer said, and with that, sprang towards the village.

Yuia laughed at his sudden energy, and took a deep breath before sprinting after him, feeling the wind whip her long braid against her back, her dress billowing around her knees, and the long grass cut patterns into her shins as she caught up with her brother, grinning from exhilaration.

The two arrived at the village, panting. Yuia wiped sweat slicked hair back from her forehead, knowing that if she arrived at supper with a sweaty head, she'd be made to bathe before she got to eat, and that meant less sweet potatoes for her.

Naerer ruffled his hair with his hands, making the black hair stand up like thistledown, and walked into the sod home, which lay beyond the cookfire. The sod home served as a living space for the whole community, and a workspace, too, if weather was inclement. The cookfire had never been out as long as Yuia could remember, providing heat and warmth to the whole area.

Yuia entered the sod home, straightening her dress. She passed the area where the looms were stored, smelling of new cotton, and the entrance to the cellar, where crops were stored for the winter.

A group of children sat cross-legged on the floor near the middle of the dwelling, where the food was being doled out by a woman. Junil, a girl with a bluegrass garland, waved at Yuia, patting the ground next to her.

“Why are we sitting with them?” Asked Yuia as she approached.

“We're not too old for stories, yet,” Junil answered, smiling.

“Which stor--” But Yuia was cut off by the storykeeper's deep voice, bringing the calmness of a still pond with it.

“The legends tell us that the goddess formed from soil,” he began, sitting cross-legged, as the children were. “Her spirit desired form, and so she rose from the earth and took the name Uletar.

“There was only earth then, no sky, no water, only choking dust. Uletar desired breath, the form of her spirit, so she plucked the color from her eyes and threw it into the ground. Above her, the void expanded, creating the sky. She saw this, and thought that it was good.

“Uletar began her journey. She walked across the vast soil beneath, eyes on the sky above. She saw that the void was slowly eating into the earth. Because she was created from soil, she knew the color of her eyes would soon consume the body, so she created the horizon, the line between the soul and the body.

“The sky met such a sudden stop that parts of it fell off, and this is why we have water. It rained for a century, filling up the world with lakes and rivers, and Uletar knew that the water would drown the world if she didn't stop it.

“The goddess blew life into the world. She let plants soak up the water, and she created animals to eat the grass. Finally, she thought the world would prosper.

“But soon, the goddess grew lonely. Her wandering days were drawing to a close, and she wanted to show someone her creations. The animals she created were not in awe of her work; they only consumed it.

“She called to her a herd of axis deer. 'Speak,' she told them, and they were enlightened.
“The herd followed her, seeing her works and praising them, but soon grew weary of the purpose for which their bodies were made.

“Uletar saw their discomfort and allowed them to walk on two legs, as to better see her creations, and allowed their hooves to soften, allowing them to feel precisely.

“It was in this way we were formed, the Uletu people, by our goddess, and why we create beauty. We must strive to be like her, taking pride in beautiful things, and taking responsibility when our creations overstep their bounds.”

The storykeeper bowed his head and closed his eyes. “We praise the sky, the horizon, and the earth, the three great works. To you, Uletar.”

The cross-legged children whispered the goddess' name in unison, sending blessings to her. Yuia closed her eyes as she whispered; the old stories always filled her with a sense of awe, though she knew most of them by rote.

Her meditations were interrupted by the clatter of someone dropping the ladle back into the huge metal pot and the growling of her own stomach.

The meal was delicious as always, a stew of roots and vegetables that Yuia had helped grow herself. The sweet potatoes were her favorite, though radishes gave them close competition.

“Yuia,” an elderly voice called. She glanced up from her stew, annoyed that she couldn't take time to enjoy it.

Across the dwelling sat an old woman in a nest of soft grasses. Yuia's small nose echoed the woman's nose, and long ago, the elder's hair had matched Yuia's in color. “Yuia, don't ignore me,” she spoke sternly.

“Yes, grandmother.” Yuia stood, placing her stew next to Junil, and walked as quickly and quietly as she could across the dwelling. If she was going to get a lecture, she didn't want the whole village knowing, and knowing her grandmother, a lecture was what awaited her in the soft grass nest.

“You've been shirking your duties again,” her grandmother began. “Today we bundled fabrics to trade this evening. Where were you?”

Yuia could not look at the powerful woman. “Near the river.”

“Ah! And were you washing clothes in the river? I suppose it wouldn't make sense, as washing day was yesterday, but perhaps you dropped something on your spare dress?” The woman pursed her lips, waiting for an answer.

“No, grandmother.”

“No. I see,” she said, tapping her lips with a finger. “You can't be a child forever, Yuia. You are the future of this village. You and all those children that sat and listened to the story of creation. You must be the continual creators of this village, as Uletar created the earth. You must create from the earth your livelihood. How are you going to learn how to create if you spend all your time messing around outside?”

Yuia blushed, upset. “Uletar didn't need to learn how to create anything.”

Her grandmother sighed. “Uletar was a goddess. You are not.”

“So what you're saying is that we create for other people to admire our work, as Uletar?”

“We create to sustain ourselves.” The old woman's back straightened, and her words turned to metal. “We create because we are not strong in numbers or in fighting skills. Creating beautiful fabric is our talent, and we trade it for protection and things that help us live. Remember when we had to keep crafting our cooking pots out of clay?”

“I liked that. I got to gather clay from the riverbank.”

“Yes, but the clay is not of good quality, and our pots used to shatter all the time. Now,” she said, gesturing to the iron vat containing supper, “we have that, and while it is ugly, it is functional, and we traded our fabric for it. Now we can devote more people to creating the fabric, which will help us even more. As for protection, you know as well as everyone here that the Uletu people are often enslaved by those who choose not to create on their own, and those who find us strange. Protection is something else we gain from our creations.”

Yuia could not argue with her grandmother's lecture. “Yes, grandmother.”

The old woman's face sunk to sadness for a moment. “I wish you could be a child for longer, dear. Go finish your stew.”

Yuia, face still ruddy from embarrassment, stalked over to her half-finished meal, snapped it up, and as Junil made bewildered remarks, stomped out of the building to find solitude in the sky.

It was evening, and the sun had just dipped beneath the horizon, dyeing the sky a deep purplish-red. Yuia finished her stew, slurping the last of the liquid as she sat near the back of the sod home, resting her back on the wall.

She knew the traders would appear soon from the east, their horses dust caked and their hands careworn, tired from the long trading journey. They traveled to farther places than Yuia even knew of, filling the grasslands with faint scents of perfume and the sounds of small, chittering animals in the backs of their wagons. The small Uletu village was one of the last stops in the journey, meaning that some strange things were often offered for the fabric the village produced. Once, the caravan had brought great trunks of wood, much larger than the trunks of the slim cherry trees in the grove near the sod home. Yuia had stared at them, sneaking forward several times during the trade to feel the roughness of the bark. The elder had refused the trade, but thanked them for offering such valuable resources for the fabric.

Despite the beautiful things the traders brought, Yuia despised them. They spoke in a strange, quick language that was hard to follow, though she had been taught the language since she was small, and their skins were not spotted, as beautiful as the Uletu, but plain and tan. Their eyes were small and dishonest, quick to look for flaws and slow to look at beauty. The traders made Yuia's skin crawl.
Yuia stayed like that for a while, not wanting to move. The stew had made her sleepy, and soon, she was drifting in and out of sleep, the stars appearing overhead as if they, too, were interested in what the traders would bring with them, and what they would take away.

She awakened to the creak of wagon wheels and the timbre of excited voices. She peeked around the side of the wall, the familiar sight of traders arriving tying a knot in her stomach. If she stayed behind the dwelling, no one would see her, but the thought of another lecture made her sigh. She brushed a few blades of grass off of her dress and slouched towards the gathering.

Uletu children sneaked towards the traders wagons, pushing each other further with dares and taunts, but some stayed behind their parents, wary of the strange men. The adults formed a group, the goods meant for trade piled behind them, and spoke among themselves as the traders pulled goods from the wagons one by one. This time, a plow, a few shovels and buckets, and a few jars of honey, something the Uletu never were able to cultivate emerged from the wagons. Not much, considering, but there had not been much rain lately, causing other places to stockpile goods instead of trading them.

Yuia stared at the traders from the back of the Uletu group. She had never seen these traders before. While the traders usually dressed in linens and sensible clothing, these traders wore leather vests and pants, a material the Uletu avoided. Their faces, too, were more grim than other traders Yuia could remember, and her eyebrows rose as she wondered why these men were different.

The man who was obviously the leader of the traders appeared. He was an older man, but still young enough to carry a glimmer in his blue eyes. His light brown hair was beginning to gray at the temples, and his face carried a similarly graying mustache, along with the beginning of wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth. He spoke softly, in his own language, in a rather hypnotizing tone.

Yuia couldn't help but stare at him as he approached the Uletu.
Menae, one of the most fluent in the trader's language, stepped forward and let forth a river of cheerful vowels. Yuia could pick up a greeting within the dialogue, but not much else.
The old man replied in his relaxed manner.

Menae went pale.

The trader smiled and looked at the rest of the
villagers. “Young ones, enter the wagons,” he spoke in halting
Uletu, “or we will kill you all.”

A/N: I have no idea why the formatting is doing that weird thing at the end. If you know why, please enlighten me.