Children of the Dawn (8 page)

T
HE
S
HAHALA KNEW THAT THERE WERE TWO KINDS OF
death: The first, last, and only death of ordinary people; and a shaman’s death, a temporary kind that came several times
in her life, so she could learn from spirits what needed to be known.

While the second death of the Moonkeeper, Ashan, continued, the Other Moonkeeper, Tenka, never left the medicine circle.

Others can do what they want,
she thought.
I
’
m not leaving Ashan. When we lost her before, the Time of Sorrows almost destroyed us.

She heard the voice of Raga in her mind:
Rising Star, think only good thoughts when you are with spirits.

Tenka sent her mind drifting. Inside the stone circle—wrapped in rainbows, flecked with stars—time flowed like the Great River,
with nothing to mark its passing. How long had it been since Ashan’s screams started the strange events? Tenka opened her
eyes. Upriver, in the direction Where Day Begins, gray softened the sky.

The morning of the fourth day.

“Oh please, Amotkan, let it end, I’m only thirteen summers, and I’m so tired… ”

Tenka realized she was whining out loud. But no one heard. Only Tor and his boy were here. It wasn’t light enough to see them,
but she smelled them sleeping.

From time to time others had come to the stone circle—people of both tribes. Staring at the Moonkeepers, they talked quietly,
shook their heads. Tenka pretended not to see them, and after a while they would leave.

Tor had been here the whole time… as he should… he was Ashan’s mate.

Except for the first day, when I thought he’d never come back.

Tor had solved the immediate problem by taking people away—Tenka didn’t know where he’d taken them, and didn’t care. But he’d
stayed away too long. It got dark. Alone with lifeless Ashan, and the rumbling of the monstrous river, and a coyote howling
somewhere too near, Tenka had been forced to fight childish fear. That was no way for a Moonkeeper to behave, even one called
the
Other.

Tenka wondered
why
her brother had left them. Anything could have happened—wolves coming up the river, or bats swooping down from the sky—

The Other Moonkeeper put the fearsome thoughts out of her mind. She had enough to worry about, just taking care of Ashan.
Tenka had gone without sleep, making sure Ashan was shaded from the sun and warm under the moon and, most important, never
alone. She dripped water and medicine tea onto Ashan’s lips, taking no nourishment for herself: A hungry shaman focused at
her best.

This was the hardest part: With the power of her mind, Rising Star must keep Whispering Wind part of
this
world, so she could find her way back. It wasn’t easy. There were many distractions, especially the strangers with their
strange talk. But as always Tenka did her best. It must have been good enough.

On the fourth morning of her second death, earthly life stirred in Ashan… a miracle witnessed by Tenka, Tor, Kai El, and a
few others who had just come to look.

Amotkan was gone. Raga was gone. The Shahala Moonkeeper Ashan was alone in the endless sky. It was time to go back. Ashan
smiled at her choice of word, for here, “time” as people understood it did not exist. Still, she began to pull
in her web, returning through air that was rainshower fresh, taking time to enjoy the marvelous creations she passed.

Ashan saw light outside her eyelids… not spirit light, or exploding stars, but ordinary morning light. She took long breaths
of cold air, sharp with juniper smoke. Heard rivernoise, chirping birds. And voices… unclear, without threat. She didn’t strain
to understand. Enough to lie here and enjoy living bone, breathing flesh, warm blood pulsing.

Thoughts… she could catch only fragments, an end or a middle. Thoughts should be a blend of pictures and words. The pictures
in her mind were right, but the words for them were wrong… not even words she knew, just sounds shaped like words. Her mind
was speaking but could not understand itself.

Am I caught between worlds? Is part of me still out there flying with spirits?

A
picture of her son formed against her lids.
Kai El,
she thought, and word matched picture.

Where
was
her son?

Ashan sat up and opened her eyes. Squinting in the brightness, she saw Tenka staring at her, openmouthed.

As if,
Ashan thought,
she yah ah itchnikai sees a ghost.
She had to smile: that’s just what Tenka was seeing. Ashan didn’t know how long she’d been away on her spirit journey, but
it must have been long enough for people to wonder if she’d return… even a shaman eventually died for the last time.

Ashan asked, “Kai El tah ah kahnit?”

Tenka tilted her head, wrinkled her brow.

“Tah ah kahnit… I mean…
where is
Kai El?”

“He’s, he’s—”

“E nai ilutya—” Ashan clapped her hand over her mouth to stop the strange sounds.

“Amah!” Kai El shouted, diving on her, almost knocking her over.

“Ashan!” Tor said, grabbing her up in his arms, crushing Kai El between them. It felt so good that she cried.

People talked at once.

“Those sounded like Tlikit words!”

“Itskaya na tucamo!”

“Impossible!”

Ashan’s ears buzzed. The people she recognized spoke Shahala. The others—strangers—spoke a language she’d never heard, but
suddenly understood.

“Tor must have taught her!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“What’s wrong with me, Tor?” Ashan asked, relieved that the words came out right.

“I don’t know. Somehow you’re talking in
both
languages, but all mixed up.”

“You mean those clacking noises are Tlikit words?”

“Yes.”

Ashan looked at a young woman. The only thing the stranger wore was a waist strap with a woven grass mat hanging down to cover
her in front to her thighs.

“Enak ahteak?” Ashan asked. It meant, “Do you understand me?”

The wide-eyed woman said, “Chu,” which meant, “Yes.”

Ashan shook her head. It was all too much. She would figure it out later.

“Bring people to see this talking miracle!” someone said.

Many came. When they heard Ashan speak—first in one language, then in the other—they were amazed.

That night in Teahra Village, no one was more amazed than Ashan herself. The long journey of her people was over. Teahra Village
was better than she’d hoped. The Tlikit were so interesting, she couldn’t keep from staring at them—any more than they could
keep from staring at her and the Shahala.

But the most amazing thing was happening in Ashan’s ears, and her mouth. She tried to explain it to Tor.

“I think of something… like water falling from the sky. In one ear, I hear ’rain.’ In the other, I hear ’uvia.’ Both words
are right, depending on if you’re Shahala or Tlikit.”

Tor shook his head in wonder, as he’d been doing since Ashan came back from her second death.

He said, “You aren’t the first to use two kinds of talk. I can do it. So can Elia, and one of the Tlikit women—the one named
Tsilka. But it was learned. It takes hard work, and time. Ashan, you have never even
heard
Tlikit words.”

“And now I know how to say them all, with spaces and
heaviness where they belong. And I know what the strangers are saying, no matter how fast they talk.”

Tor just shook his head.

’ ’It’s the most wonderful gift,” she said. “I thank the spirits who gave it to me.”

“It’s more than just a gift, Ashan. The knowledge of both languages is a needle you can use to stitch the tribes together.”

Ashan agreed.

Tor said, “Do you know what I like even more? It’s
proof
of what I promised when I didn’t know if you would live: ’Forget what your eyes see,’ I told them. ’This woman who is dead
will one day be your chief.’”

“Well, I have a better chance at it now.” She took his face and turned it so their eyes touched. “Thank you for your part
in this, Sweetmate. It must have been like walking on a vine stretched across a canyon.”

“Oh, it was,” Tor said, smiling.

She kissed him, then said, “Tell me all about it.”

A woman who could learn another language without being taught… people much in need of leading accepted it as an omen of spirit
approval, a sign of good times to come. A relief.

S
EVERAL DAYS HAD PASSED SINCE THE
S
HAHALA
Moonkeeper awoke from her second death.

“Tor, take me away,” Ashan said in a rare moment when she was not the center of a crowd. “These people are like spiders sucking
prey. I’m dry, and they still want more.”

“Come with me.”

Leaving Teahra Village, they walked a trail that followed the river. Chiawana’s low-throated rumble took the buzz of human
voices from her ears. Tor strode tall beside her, a powerful warrior to protect her from everything. Ashan was a small woman;
her head reached the middle of his chest. At times the weight of her duties made her feel even smaller. His arm around her
shoulder reminded her that she didn’t have to be strong every moment of her life—not as long as she had Tor.

Raga, you were wrong,
she thought.
The law was wrong. A Moonkeeper
can
have a mate and still do her work
—
maybe even do it better,

Tor turned from the trail, and led her to the water’s edge. He spread his deerskin shirt on a flat-topped boulder. They sat
close together.

Ashan could still see Teahra. And its people. Two tribes of them. Young and old; alone and in groups; standing, sitting, walking,
talking, working. So
many
people.

She had a vision of a bee tree—with something wrong—
the bees swarming around like the mother had forgotten to tell them what to do.

She looked away, and let herself be amazed by Chiawana’s tremendous size. Ashan had never seen a river that couldn’t be crossed.
It shone blue under the autumn sky. Its ancient voice seemed to say,
What is a day in the space of forever?
A breeze lifted her hair. The low sun warmed her skin. She breathed deep.

“Mmmm… it’s nice here.”

Tor said, quite seriously, “I don’t think winter comes to this place.”

Ashan smiled. “Winter comes to every place.”

“Well, autumn was never this warm at home. It’s probably already snowing in the Valley of Grandmothers.”

She pictured Anutash, with snow covering any sign that people had ever lived there.

“We were right, Tor. If we can’t live in our homeland, this looks like a good place.”

“We?” he said, smirking. “I’m the one who found it.”

“But I’m the one who got our people to come.”

“Well I’m the one who kept them from killing each other while you had your nap.”

They laughed. Besting each other was a familiar game, with no winner or loser.

It felt wonderful to be alone with Tor. Ashan had been surrounded by people since she woke up—
speaking that language,
she thought, still not used to it. The Shahala wanted to talk to their Moonkeeper about all kinds of things. Some were nervous
and wanted reassurance; they didn’t know how to act around these
strange
new people. Others shared their excitement—what a good place this was, all the food, the
interesting
new people.

Tor had been kept just as busy by the Tlikit.

“Oh, Ashan,” he said suddenly, enfolding her in his arms. He whispered into her hair, “It’s so good to be with you. So good.”
The depth of feeling in his voice said how terrified he’d been of losing her.

“I love you,” she said. “I pray we never have to be apart again.” .

Eyes closed, lips pressed to his muscled chest, nostrils filled
with the man-scent that was his alone, she gave herself to his embrace. If she lived to an age of ten women, she would never
stop loving this feeling. So warm, so safe, to hide in the cave he made of his body, to be at the center of a warrior’s strength
and protection.

She murmured, “The longer I love you, the more I love you.”

“Not as much as I love you. Everything about me is bigger.”

Another familiar game… arguing about who loved the most. Little memories known only to the two of them…

It took a long embrace to satisfy them. Releasing her, he put his arm behind her back for her to lean against.

Ashan gazed at the village.

“So many people,” she said, shaking her head. “I tried to count them. I sat where I could see the whole place, and spread
out a piece of leather. I started with the women. I’d pick one, and put a pebble on the leather—two if she had a cradleboard;
then again for each one I saw. But then they’d move, and I’d forget who got counted and who didn’t. There are too many, unless
I could get them to sit down at the same time.”

“What does it matter how many?” he said happily. “There are plenty. Amotkan’s plan is for people to spread out in the world.
It will take many to do that.”

Tor wasn’t seeing this the same way she was—not at all.

She said, “A tribe of people may look like a nest of bees, but they aren’t. One bee is the same as every other. They all want
the same things—enough honey for winter, to protect the nest—”

“Quit talking of pebbles and bees, and say what you mean.”

She cleared her throat. “I’m getting to it.”

As Moonkeeper, Ashan had been trained to keep worries to herself. There was no reason for secrets between mates, but sometimes
the early training got in the way of talking openly to Tor.

She said, “Each person has things they love and hate, and ideas and beliefs all their own. Our people have been learning to
live with each other since the Misty Time. Now there’s this whole new tribe, each with things they love and hate. All
these people, with so much to learn about each other, and they can’t talk about it.”

“I see what you mean.” He laughed like it wasn’t important. “You’11 just have to sit them down to learn words, the way you
tell stories. Then you can even count them if you like. But don’t worry yet, my love. The stomach speaks a language everyone
understands. The Tlikit have enough to feed both tribes until spring.”