Dark Matters_ Ghost Dance (Book 2) - Christie Golden [45]
At their appearance, the drumming stopped. Gathered in the clearing were about eighty people. Paris guessed it was the entire populace of this little village. They looked surreal in the moonlight, their pale blue skin and hair almost glowing. But the unearthly faces wore smiles of welcome.
A young man stepped forward. He seemed to be weighted down by the regalia of some important office, but his movements were smooth and elegant. He raised his arms and spoke first in his native tongue, then in Federation Standard for the benefit of the strangers.
"I, Matroci, the Culil of Sumarka, welcome the Strangers. It has been long since the Grafters have sent us new friends who will teach us; new students whom we may teach. We ask their forgiveness for the Ordeal. Know that it is part of our deepest tradition, and know that it was for protection only, and not done in a spirit of hostility."
Soliss leaned over and whispered, "You need to formally forgive us."
Chakotay spoke first "I forgive Matroci, the Culil of Sumarka, and the good people of this village. We have survived your Ordeal and stand ready to befriend you."
He turned to Paris. Paris's tongue cleaved to his throat. He didn't really want to forgive these people in such a formal fashion. He wanted to just drop it, pretend it hadn't happened. At his silence, the smiles faded. They looked concerned, even fearful now.
One woman's eyes filled with tears and she glanced away.
He cleated his throat. "Uh, I too forgive the people of Sumar-ka." It wasn't eloquent, but it would do. A murmur of relief swept through the crowd. At Soliss's gesture, they stepped into the clearing and made for large piles of ferns. Tom needed a little help sitting down, but Soliss was so deft in lending the required aid that Paris felt sure no one had noticed.
The ferns made a very comfortable seat. As soon as the strangers had settled into position, the villagers approached, one by one.
The first was the Culil. He bore a beautifully carved wooden tray filled with delicious-looking fruits and vegetables. An exquisite knife lay in the center, clearly to be used to cut up the delicacies. He placed the tray at their feet.
"I offer you food, to nourish body and spirit," said Matroci. "As long as you dwell with our people, we shall see that you never go hungry." He placed his fingers first on his temples, then on his throat, then on his belly. Paris and Chakotay imitated him. Matroci bowed and stepped aside.
Suddenly before Paris stood the most beautiful woman he thought he'd ever seen. She seemed familiar, and he recalled that this was the young woman who had brought them in to undergo the Ordeal. With her lovely blue features and hair, she might have been sculpted of ice, and Ice Queen probably wouldn't have been a bad nickname to describe her personality, either. In each hand she carried an exquisitely wrought bottle of hand-blown glass.
"I am Trima, Sa-Culil of Sumar-ka. I offer you wine and water, to nourish body and spirit. As long as you dwell with our people, we shall see that you never go thirsty."
She lowered herself down-squatted was far too ugly a word to describe that fluid, graceful movement-and placed the bottles in front of them. Like a silvery blue water spirit rising from a lake, she rose, regarded each of them in turn with piercing blue eyes, and lithely stepped aside. Paris found his eyes following her, and it took the sound of another voice speaking directly to him to make him turn and face forward.
It was Soliss and Yurula, offering medicinal herbs. And then came someone else, carrying between them on a platter a delectable-looking roast something or other. Someone else approached, offering clothing. On and on they came, one after the other, the gifts starting to pile high around him and Chakotay. After the adults came the children, offering trinkets, toys, small pet animals in makeshift