Eventually, Fortis rose to his feet and wandered to the doorway of the tent. George was standing, almost blocking the doorway. Between the half-open curtains, just over George’s shoulder, Fortis spotted the clan banner. When they marched inland, they left behind the high knoll somewhere west of the harbor. Now and then the breeze moved the treetops just enough to glimpse the kites. The brightly colored panels of fabric were displayed in just about every imaginable configuration, but they had one thing in common — most of them were quite stationary in the winds aloft.
“Do the kites remain in the sky day and night?”
George turned his head a bit toward the southwest. After a moment, “That’s one of the objectives. Fancy loops and artistic whirling might be more interesting to watch, but stability is what pays the bills, so to speak. They are supposed to self-adjust for variations in the wind to remain stationary.”
Fortis considered this for a few moments. “This village… Aside from the cultural bias in favor of orderly living, how do they maintain the social boundaries? I saw a sample of things when you confronted the self-proclaimed hunter, but I don’t quite understand how it works in this setting.”
George turned so he stood sideways to the entrance, facing Fortis in the interior gloom of the tent. “The largest tent here belongs to the village chief. When we first began to spread out across Misty from our crash landing, we were in discrete family units. Most villages remain so, but we don’t pretend every man’s son will love his father’s business. Social stability depends entirely on the familial feel, the interdependence so essential to keeping order. Here, only half the village is actual kin, while the other half must enter a covenant to live as if they were kin. It’s not highly involved, but is taken with deadly seriousness. Once a man or household moves to this village, they become kin-in-effect, interacting as family and adapting themselves to minute local variations in how the families interact.
“The village chief is neither precisely hereditary, nor elected. Certain assumptions about the natural order of things is given — revealed, so to speak. Anyone stepping outside those boundaries is given ample opportunity to self-correct. The community itself is deeply obliged to maintain the process. Everyone is dealt with individually; not two people are treated precisely the same. It’s not so important what one does or says, but whether the sum total of those things points to a commitment to keep the family stable, prosperous and safe.” George counted those last three items on his fingers, to emphasize them as specifics. “That commitment is utterly personal, and person to person. The chief here is head of a very large household.”
“And visitors stand out,” Fortis concluded.
“Very much so. Various factors complicate things, based on covenants of loyalty through a complicated chain of privilege and mission, but we camp here only at the sufferance of the chief. That we have not seen him simply indicates he is busy, and that busybody woman is probably his primary point of contact for visitors. On my first visit a decade ago, I presented myself formally with proper credentials of the importance of my social position and my mission. Since I place no noticeable burden on his daily affairs, it is altogether appropriate for him to ignore us socially. It’s up to me to demand more attention from him.”
Fortis crossed his arms, looking down at George’s feet. “So right now you are trying to keep a balance between too much and too little.”
“Only because in my feeble imagination, it appears there is some threat to the mission. That mission is much larger than either of us. We can only act on what we perceive in the light of what God shows us.” Lifting his chin a bit, George oriented on something across the square. He took a few paces out into the normal lane of traffic. After a few minutes, two rather smaller young men approached and bowed low to him.
Fortis noticed they wore axes across their backs. He estimated the ceramic blades were too broad and thin for serious wood chopping. Their cloaks were mottled brown, green and black, but they wore some sort of tied scarf around their temples, brightly striped purple and yellow, the clan colors. The two young men were identical twins, differentiated only by the scar running across the nose of one. George led them close to the tent, and one produced a pocket device like George’s, but folded instead of rolled.
Fortis was getting better at following the local dialect, and he understood they were discussing routes. Fortis caught glimpses of the map displayed. He noted the forest was several kilometers across, a wide flat valley with some hills on either side. It ran generally northward with few breaks, and ended in a series of low hills clustered near the center of the island. Markings on those hills he took as indicating the city.
Stepping back, he tried to visualize a city of mostly tents, somewhat like a very large version of this village. George had said permanent structures were mostly outlawed on Misty. Frames were a compromise barely tolerated, and cultural traditions made much of genuine nomadic living. Buried utilities and such were out of the question. He recalled George mentioning whole cities were moved from time to time, based on a number of factors which included waste build-ups and such. George had said something about honoring God by respecting His creation. Fortis took that to mean a high degree of ecological awareness, though perhaps less than the nature worshiping Greens.
George seemed pleased with the meeting, as he stepped inside after the young men bowed quickly and walked away. “Those are good men. We are blessed.” He clasped his hands together for a moment, vacantly staring at the ground. Looking up suddenly, “Pull up your cowl and let’s find some lunch. And while we’re at it, we need to get some dried food for the hike. Your load will get heavier.” That last came with almost a smirk, as he shrugged into the sword harness.
