Nirvana Effect

62



The tribe had never moved like this. A pack of twenty might go out for the first hunt in the spring, as ritual, but nothing like this. Not in living history. The ground reverberated with their footsteps. They had heard of the militaries of old in their oral histories. This, Tinti supposed, was what this was like.

Tinti held his mother’s hand as they walked. They were moving faster than he could comfortably pace. His mother kept pulling him along.

“Will we see Sala?” asked the boy. He hadn’t seen his friend in several weeks.

“We will see everyone that we’re supposed to see,” said his mother. “It is all in Manassa’s vision. We are destined for greatness.”

“Where are we going?”

“To our new home.” She tugged him again. “Across the sea.”

“We have a home, there?”

“Our god has made everything ready for us.”

“Sala!” the boy cried. He saw her at the other end of the clearing. There were a couple priests ordering men to pick up potted plants by harnesses. There were other men grabbing carts full of the plants. He’d never seen anything like them before. A couple hundred plants were lined up to be moved, much more than he could count. The priests were organizing getting them carried. The majority of the tribe just continued marching forward.

Sala was watching her mother load a cart. She ran toward Tinti. He wrenched his hand from his mother’s and ran to her. “Tinti!” she shrieked, overjoyed. She was laughing and jumping up and down. “That was forever!”

“Yes, it was!” he said back. He hugged her. “You’re okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, running her hand through her hair. He saw her hands were roughened. Her clothes were covered with dirt and mud. She looked worn out.

“Do you want to walk with us?” asked Tinti.

Sala looked over at her mother. “I need to stay with my mother,” she said. She looked disappointed.

“It’s okay. I’ll see you at the water. There is a big thing we’re supposed to get on…a boat?”

“What’s that?” asked Tinti.

“I don’t know,” said Sala. “But it has benches. It is a cart on the ocean. Maybe you’ll sit near me?” he asked.

“Yes, if my mother approves.” She smiled at him. He smiled back at her.

“Okay,” he said. He ran back to his mother, who hadn’t stopped her walking but kept her eyes on the ten-year-olds.

As Tinti ran he looked at the tribe. He’d never seen such strange looks on their faces. His mother had called it “hope” and “determination.”

Some people looked downright scared.

The old looked very tired.

But the young did seem hopeful. All of the priests were young. Perhaps he would be a priest someday. He was young. He’d ask his mother about it.