Ted Dekker - Outlaw

I stepped forward, carried by the music, light like a feather as I slowly approached Wilam.

Surely he’d never heard such a tune. It was in no way superior to their own form of song, but music is its own magical language. For the first time he was really hearing me. They were all hearing me.

My song soared through the air, heard by the farthest warriors, the wives, the children on the hills, all who had come to celebrate this wedding. It was my gift to the Tulim, but even more my promise to Wilam.

See me, hear me, and know that I will intoxicate you with far more than a mere song.

Still I sang, with even more clarity, in perfect pitch, embellishing the melody with gentle runs of my own, running through another verse of that glorious song.

When I was only a few steps from Wilam I glanced at Melino and I smiled with her. My voice carried into the Tulim jungle and beyond, for all the world to hear.

“When we’ve been there ten thousand years…”

I turned slowly and swept my arms, enraptured by a power I had not felt for many years. I was no longer merely wam, but an angel that must be heard to be believed. They were in awe of me. The bond of music had made us one.

My gaze settled on Wilam as I came to the end of the song, and when the last note was gone from my lips and quiet settled around me, I stood still, breathing hard, intently watching his steady eyes.

The whole celebration had been robbed of its breath.

I don’t know what consequence I might have faced if my bid for Wilam’s heart had ended there. But then from the stillness came a small, crystalline voice that pierced my heart. Several short notes, as high and as pure as a sparrow’s call.

I turned to see Yellina standing on the edge of the crowd, crooning at the sky, mimicking my own tune.

“Da, da, dada, daaahhh…”

The blue butterflies on her cheeks bunched as she stepped out toward me, grinning.

My dear, precious Yellina! I rushed up to the little girl, laughing, and I swept her from her feet. Together we spun around singing the tune, like a ballerina and her little apprentice, enchanted by our song.

“Da, da, dada, daaahhh…”

I twirled with her in my arms and the sound of her giggling bubbled over the Tulim like a rippling brook.

Not to be outdone, three, then four other Impirum children ran out and began to hop around, trying their best to join with a chant of their own.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Sounds of delight and laughter spread through the gathering. Nothing was so treasured among the Tulim as children, and the children were commanding their hearts.

I set Yellina down, took her tiny hand, and danced around with her, first one way and then the other. I lost myself in her beaming face and for a few moments I forgot I was only a wam trying to be Tulim. This tiny girl was all that mattered to me. If there were angels, she was surely one, sent by God years before my arrival to give me comfort when I arrived.

The crier who had led the people only minutes earlier began to run before the warriors, issuing a new exuberant chant.

“We are the Tulim and these are our children!”

The air filled with a thousand voices in one accord. “ Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa !”

“We are the Tulim and our children love us because we are great!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!”

The children danced with me, their pied piper, as the crier immortalized us with his verse.

“We are the Tulim children and we love those who love us.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!”

“We are the Tulim and we love the ones who love our children.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!”

Because the crier rattled his words so quickly I hardly knew what this poet was announcing until Lela told me later, but I was aware of the electric charge that elevated us all to the heavens in that moment.

“We are the Tulim and the spirits have sent us a woman who loves our children,” the caller cried.

The reply came, but with far fewer voices.

I knew immediately that something had shattered their enchantment. I glanced at Kirutu and saw that he stood with one hand raised.

As if overcome by a passing thunderstorm, the dancing ceased and the voices stilled.

Yellina giggled and hugged my legs, oblivious to the sudden change. One of the mothers called out and motioned her back. The children ran back to the circle, leaving me alone with the muhan once again.

Kirutu pointed at the crier. “You have said too much!” His voice echoed through the crowd. “This is no woman, but a wam who has come to steal our children.”

I turned to Wilam and saw that he was still fixated on me. I silently pleaded my case to him, willing that he save me from the monster by his side.

The crier lowered himself to one knee. “I spoke not of this wam, but of another woman,” he said.

“No.” Wilam lifted his hand, eyes still on me. He stepped out and scanned the massive ring of Tulim watching with fascination. “No, Unnanip did not sing of another woman but of this white woman among us. And yet only I can speak of the truth about this woman because she is under my care.”

The three gathered tribes—Warik, Impirum, and Karun—stood with brittle poise, aware of brewing conflict. Sawim, the shaman, drilled me with a terrible stare that brought a shiver to my arms. My eyes darted back to Wilam.

“Today we celebrate Kirutu’s wedding, and what better way than to bring him gifts?”

No response.

“Melino, my young wife who is wise beyond her years and as clever as a serpent, brought this woman as a gift for Kirutu. If she were only a wam to be traded like salt, I would never have allowed it. Kirutu is far too noble and respected to be given a mere wam at such an auspicious occasion.”

Agreement peppered the gathering. “ Aboo aret. Aboo aret .” Very true .

I couldn’t tell if Wilam was destroying me or defending me, but he was clearly a consummate politician.

He lifted his finger and studied the Tulim. “But today I have seen as a child sees. I have heard the voice of our ancestors telling us to love our children. I have seen the smile of the littlest one and I see that my wife Melino was right. This white woman is indeed worthy to be in Kirutu’s presence.”

Wilam glanced at me, then faced Kirutu, who appeared unaffected by the words. If Wilam was truly offering him a gift, he obviously didn’t trust that gift.

Wilam nodded at his brother. “Accept this gift of song and dance from me, your brother by blood.” He indicated me with his hand. “As she has drawn the love of many children, may your new wife draw your love and bear you many children.”

Kirutu glared at him. “I will accept your gift and take this woman.”

“No, Kirutu. The white woman is mine. But her song and her dance are from the spirits, a great gift for this great day.”

For a moment Kirutu did not react. But as understanding of Wilam’s calculated defiance settled into his mind, his eyes darkened. Such bitterness I had never witnessed on a man’s face.

He ripped the beak from the twine around his neck and threw it to the ground. The jungle went still.

“You defile me and all that is sacred,” he snarled.

He jerked his head to his right and stared at the shaman, Sawim.

“Speak what is true for all to hear.”

Sawim’s eyes were still on me, unwavering. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

“The blood of the Tulim will be on Wilam’s hands,” he said in a low, rasping voice.

With that single announcement my fate was sealed, but so was Wilam’s. He’d staked his claim. To yield now, even at Sawim’s declaration, would leave him with a terrible deficit in the people’s eyes. What kind of leader made a claim only to retreat when that claim was threatened?