Gods, it was working, wasn’t it? She desperately hoped Screaming Falcon had taken the ruse. She pounded past the palisade gate. Fifty paces beyond it, a large granary blocked the view from behind. She cut left again, heading for the base of the palace.
Screams and laughter carried on the air. Perhaps Screaming Falcon was having a harder time of it than she was? A lighthearted giggle vied with her heaving lungs. Weaving in and out, she passed ramadas, kicked at a barking dog that raced along beside, nipping at her, and raced past her mother’s house. At the corner of the mound, she glanced back long enough to see Screaming Falcon pounding behind her. Rounding the mound, she leaped a storage pit and wound through the houses. When a young man stepped into the gap she was running through, she only had time to extend her arms, knocking him flat on his butt.
She staggered, caught her balance, and ran on. Behind her a wild shout went up from the crowd. Reaching the storehouses again, she cut right, figuring he’d never guess at the turn.
Gods, her legs were on fire, her lungs burning for breath. Her feet felt like blocks of wood. A glance behind her showed Screaming Falcon, no more than twenty paces back. For a moment their eyes held. A wide smile broke his lips.
She struggled to find more, to charge her legs.
She could hear him now, his hard bare feet slapping the damp ground.
“Almost got you!” he shouted behind her.
Entering the plaza, she shot another glance to find him a step behind her. Again he smiled, then, for no apparent reason, seemed to trip.
She almost stopped, but heard the crowd cry, “Run!” Doggedly, she continued on her way, lungs heaving, throat dry. Despite the cool air, sweat dampened her skin and ran down between her bouncing breasts. She could feel her muscles trembling and exhausted as she rounded the palace mound again.
She was flagging, down to a dogtrot.
“One more time around the palace,” Screaming Falcon called softly from behind. “Let’s give them a show like they’ve never seen.”
Step by step, she made herself continue. Her chest felt like it would explode. She kept tripping, almost staggering. She rounded the palace mound, heading for the densest part of the crowd. Finally, when she could go no farther, his hand clamped on her shoulder. He steadied her as she came to a stop, kept her from falling as she wobbled on her spent legs.
A giant shout, fit to rend the very air, rose from the packed plaza.
“A run that will never … be forgotten,” he gasped, white shining teeth behind his smile.
“I love you,” she managed between heaving gasps.
“Here they come,” he said, looking at the surging crowd.
“The bride!” they sang. “We want the bride!”
“Can’t have her,” Screaming Falcon declared. “Caught her. Fair and proper.”
“The bride! We want the bride!”
For long moments, Screaming Falcon denied them, only to have them surge forward. Grasping hands tore them apart, and Morning Dew felt herself lifted. They bore her like a slain deer to the blanket on the ground before her mother’s.
“Presents! Presents!” they chanted.
Morning Dew, laughing, panting for breath, was placed on the blanket. A sea of people pressed forward. Some laid hides upon her, others baskets of food. Someone placed a wooden carving on her lap. Another laid a fine Nodena bowl down. The pile grew around and on top of her. She couldn’t stop laughing as the gifts continued to come, some draped over her head, others pressing in from all sides until she was buried. The weight continued to grow, pressing her down so that she tucked her arms in, hunched under the pile.
Gods, were they laying half the village on top of her?
From beyond the darkness of robes, fabrics, pottery, carved boxes, and baskets of food, she heard Mother’s voice. “Is there any more?”
Someone cried, “Any more and we’ll kill her!”
Had she ever heard such laughter and shouting?
“If you think the groom’s covered, you ought to see the bride!”
Morning Dew wondered if her back would ever be straight.
Mother’s voice rang out, “Take it away! My daughter will be crushed!”
Screams of delight broke out, and Morning Dew suffered under the melee as grasping hands pulled away the gifts, some women shouting, “Mine! Mine!”
Daylight pierced the gloom as the weight diminished. Morning Dew couldn’t stop the laughter as she watched the scrambling women grabbing up the gifts. Someone stepped on the Nodena pot, crushing it.
In the end, battered and exhausted, the last of it was plucked up and Morning Dew was surrounded by a ring of smiling women, each clutching whatever booty they had snatched from the pile.