Children of the Dawn (29 page)

Ashan hadn’t been to her place in the cliffs for more than a moon. Not since the day she’d slipped coming down. Her feet had
flown out, and she’d landed on her back. Not much of a fall—she’d had worse—but that one moment ruined life.

Crippling had come on suddenly. Life had been hard on Ashan’s body. She didn’t know anyone whose bones had taken more abuse—anyone
still living. The old wounds had healed without lingering pain. But since that little slip, pain and stiffness in her back
grew worse by the day. She’d seen the same thing happen to old people. Ashan wasn’t old, but thirty-
three summers was way past the middle of life. Before the fall, she had found it hard to believe her advancing age. This pain
made it easier to believe. Fearful of moving the wrong way, of even being touched, she felt
old.

She put her head underwater—a good, cold shock—then shook out her hair, long and black as in her youth. She filled her chest
with air. This morning she felt good. But crippling never got better with time.

The Moonkeeper longed for her place in the cliffs, where invisible lines of beauty, peace, and harmony crossed overhead. She
had to accept that she wouldn’t see the world from her takoma many more times—not through human eyes.

With the Medicine Drum giving a bounce to her steps, climbing was easier than walking had been lately. Ashan noticed everything
with pure clarity, touched a rock, smelled a plant, looked at the sky. Clouds trekked in from Where Day Ends. Far-off thunder
rumbled. The people of Teahra had enjoyed a long dry summer, but it couldn’t last forever. The first clouds arrived, furiously
scattering a few raindrops—for some reason making Ashan laugh. The sun came out again. The needy earth smelled happy to be
wet. The Medicine Drum sang for it.

At last her takoma welcomed her. Pain denied while climbing enfolded her. She settled on the stone seat, knees pulled up,
back against familiar rock. Each breath made her moan.

Through tears of pain she gazed across the Great River, wondering if people lived on the other side.

Below, Teahra Village lay under shifting shadows of cloud and sun. Ashan felt the joy of her people all the way up here. With
the birth of this morning’s child, the tribes finally had shared blood to bind them together.

How the Moonkeeper loved her people, wanted life to be good for them. She hoped this birth would help them see that life would
be good for one only if it was good for all… Shahala, Tlikit, and Firekeeper.

She took her time ball from her medicine pouch. Hers was different from those made by other women, marking not only her own
life, but the life of the tribe during her time as Moonkeeper. The tribe had the time ball of every Moonkeeper,
from Shakana the First Woman, to Ashan. Of the fourteen, Ashan’s was the largest. Not surprising… she was chief of two tribes.

She held her time ball to her cheek, breathing old odors, then unwound the beaded string, going back to the beginning.

Remember… she touched a fragment of polished antler.

Tor, our youth, our passion for living and each other. How lucky I’ve been. I have you to this day. The flame between us still
burns fierce, with love enough to feed it forever.

Remember… she touched a clear crystal from Ehr’s cave.
Kai El, my baby who’s grown into a warrior. Remember when we were alone together, just me and my little boy. Such a beautiful
time. No other comes close.

Memories dried tears. Sleep took Ashan. The time ball slipped from her fingers.

Rattling like the wind in the autumn oaks of Anutash, a Dust Ogre came up the Great River. The whirling cloud of sand danced
above the water, touching down here and there. The Dust Ogre paused over Teahra Village, then twirled up the cliffside and
came to a spinning rest before the Moonkeeper.

Inside she saw an old man, who changed into an old woman, who changed into Coyote. The sand spinning around Coyote changed
to sparks of light. Ashan had no fear of yellow eyes and bright teeth as the creature wearing a whirlwind settled nearby.

Wolf Friend,
she thought, gazing into sparkling eyes.

Coyote asked: “Do you treat these people well, or are you one of those evil women?”

She considered. Hunger was only a memory. People were healthy. Most lived in huts. Only a few still clung to the Tlikit cave.

“They live well. And I’m teaching them to build good huts.”

But Coyote’s eyes said that he wanted more.

Ashan said, “I’m teaching them to live in Balance.”

The creature nodded. Glittery eyes softened.

“Soon the world will change,” he said. “Women will no longer be chiefs. You have been a good chief, Whispering
Wind. I reward you: You shall stay here and watch over the people who live here forever.”

Thunder cracked, with Ashan inside. Her blood stopped. Pain squeezed across her shoulders, down her arms. A moment’s panic,
then used-up, pain-racked flesh went limp.

Ashan soared.

I have hurtled through this darkness splashed with sunset colors; seen the Light, brighter than the sun, beckoning. This time
my loved ones are here.

Her mother, Kira, and father, Kahn. The Old Moonkeeper, Raga. The grandfather, Ehr. Others she did not know. They carried
her on wings of love.

“All of creation,” they sang. “Into our world has come a new life. Make her path smooth, so she may live among the stars,
or at the Creator’s side, or in the minds of people.”

Most of the men, including the Moonkeeper’s mate and son, were away hunting when the tempest exploded over Teahra Village.
With thunder shattering their ears, and lightning so near they smelled it, everyone hid in the cave.

As frightened as anyone else, Tenka was more frightened to think of Ashan out there all alone, too weak and crippled to get
to shelter. Taking Mani, she went to find the Moonkeeper.

When they stopped to rest halfway up the trail that led to their chief’s special place, they saw her, stretched out on her
stone seat, surrounded by coyotes. One stood over her, nose to nose, sucking out her life. Tenka thought she heard it speak.

Screaming at the animals, they ran toward her.

When they got there… No Moonkeeper. No coyotes. Nothing but her unwound time ball on the stone seat.

Above and behind, rain beat on the strangest thing they had ever seen: A slab of stone, wide as a woman’s reach, tall as her
chest, reddened with ochre, incised with a beautiful image… a face with soulful eyes, arched brows, owlish horns, mouth open
to speak the wisdom of ages, silent as only stone can be.

The rock picture was too high to reach from the stone seat. It had not been there before, would have taken moons to make,
yet there was no work debris.

It was just
there
in the pounding rain. And the Moonkeeper wasn’t.

Tenka and Mani held each other and wept… Mani for the loss of her best friend… Tenka for that, and for the knowledge that
all
was now upon her small shoulders.

K
EENING ROSE FROM THE CANYON TO MEET THE MEN
returning from the hunt. Dread seized Tor’s heart. He broke into a run, crested the last hill, and looked down. Teahra Village
reeled in panic as if it were a hive of bees whose mother had been lost. In the confusion of wails and shouts he heard, “The
Moonkeeper!”

“What happened?” he yelled, running down the trail.

Followed by a jabbering swarm, his sister Tenka reached him.

“Oh, Tor!” she cried. “Ashan is dead!”

He grabbed her shoulders.

“What do you mean?”

Tenka collapsed in his arms. “I can’t take her place,” she sobbed. “What am I going to do?”

Tor shook her. “Where is Ashan?”

“Coyotes killed her! Up in the cliffs!”

“Dead!” people cried. “The Moonkeeper’s dead!”

“No!” Pushing Tenka away, Tor shoved his way through the mob. “You’re lying! All of you!”

He dashed into their hut. Ashan wasn’t there. He ran to her place in the cliffs, barely aware of his son and others behind
him. She wasn’t there. Tor could not understand the picture of a woman’s face carved into the stone.

“Ashan!” he cried. “Where are you?”

The story Tenka and Mani told was crazy. Coyotes could
not kill a human. And if they had, where were the signs of struggle? Where was the body? No. Whatever the foolish women saw
and heard was a trick of wind and rain, and Tor refused to believe it. Ashan was alive, because Tor couldn’t live without
her. If ever he believed she was dead, grief would kill him.

He searched in wild desperation. His son and others came along, but Tor didn’t talk to them, barely noticed them. Every moment
of every day and night was a hideous mix of emotions, uncontrollable, inescapable, unbearable.

Guilt: He was a terrible, worthless mate, had not been there when she needed him. By neglect, he had allowed this to happen.

Rage: He was angry to the point of hatred. At the spirits, the tribe, himself, even at Ashan. How could she do this to him?

Worst of all was wrenching sorrow: She
wasn’t
dead, no, but she was gone, and he needed her, ached for her.

He grew haggard from lack of food and rest, but he kept on as if he were a man running in front of stampeding bison. If he
stopped, he’d be trampled to death. He didn’t care if people thought he was crazy. Nothing mattered but finding Ashan.

The people struggled to accept the disappearance of the Moon-keeper. No one would ever know what happened in the cliffs that
day, but they believed their beloved chief was dead. They deeply mourned her loss. For some it was especially hard. Mani desperately
missed her closest friend. Tenka, who wasn’t ready to lead the people, had no choice; they gave her no time for her own sorrow.

And Kai El… All alone one day, Kai El wept.

“Oh Mother, you are gone, and it hurts so much… help me… I can’t stand it… ”

Through tears he saw a white hawk fly up out of the canyon and soar over him in peaceful circles. He knew it was his mother.
She was dead, but she was not gone. They would be together again. After that he could close his eyes and see the white hawk
again. His own soul would rise up as a red-tail
hawk and fly with her, love flowing between their touching wing tips.

Death had not broken the bond between mother and son. When he understood this, Kai El began to heal.

But Tor was destroyed by the loss of Ashan.

F
AR AWAY FROM THE VILLAGE OF HER PEOPLE, THE
Spirit of Ashan was over, under, part of a world of water, witnessing the live birth of a whale that her people—except for
Tsilka—had never imagined. They’d never seen fish larger than sturgeon, didn’t know about this ocean with its strange creatures.
Though they lived in a world of water, these whales were more like humans than like fish. They spoke a language of whistles;
they loved each other.

Ashan’s spirit would have followed the mother and baby on their migration, but she wanted to be at Teahra Village for the
Ritual of Giving for the last baby she had brought into the world—named Chanok, Blood of Two Tribes.

…
His birth day, my birth day
…

…
Or as humans understand it, my death day
…

When they began their second summer, little ones were given gifts to honor their courage. People knew how hard it was to survive
the first part of life.

All little ones were special, Chanok more than most.

…
The first of mixed Shahala-Tlikit blood
…

…
As far as the people know
…

After her last death, the Spirit of Ashan had been thrilled to discover that she could move around in time and space. She
had always wondered about the time when Kai El was a baby and Tor had left them. He would never tell her much, and part of
her had been instinctively afraid to push too hard.
But, believing that spirits would be immune to the pain of their human counterparts, now she sought answers to all the mysteries
of her life.

Traveling to that long-ago time, the Spirit of Ashan had found her beloved mate… making love to another woman. Tor had been
Tsilka’s lover. He was the father of the twins. His youthful betrayal was bad enough, but to know that he had lied to her
for the rest of her life—Ashan was devastated. She learned that—whether joy or pain—spirits feel much more deeply than humans.

Why, she wondered, had she discovered this now, and not when she’d traveled in the otherworld after falling from the cliff
when she first reached Teahra? It was because that death, her second but not her last, was to learn what she needed to fulfill
her destiny of uniting the tribes. Now, in the death that would last forever, she had freedom to travel and learn anything
and everything. In death as in life, though, there was danger in the search for knowledge. One should be prepared for whatever
truth might be discovered.

Ashan was not prepared for this truth, in life or in death. She was tossed about in an ocean of pain, felt she might drown
in it. She struggled for a way to save herself, and found it.

…
I
forgive you, Tor… I forgive you
…

Forgiveness healed her pain, but the Spirit of Ashan would always have a fear of traveling in time.

When she desired it, Ashan was at Teahra Village. Still perfecting wingless flight, she sped toward her rock in the cliffs
for a high, wide view of the celebration for the child Chanok.

The sight of Tor made her lose focus. She came down almost on top of him. A living person would have landed with a thump and
a cloud of dust, but the spirit was silent as mist in motion, invisible in the way of wind. Whether she wanted to be or not.

Time was different for the spirit, but in any measure of time, she’d been too long away from her beloved mate.

The warrior Deyon stood by Tor.

“When I think of her, I miss her,” Deyon said.

…
Tor, I love you… If only I could hold you…

Ashan became strandlike and wrapped around Tor, but she couldn’t feel him, any more than he felt her. She had no fingers,
no skin, no body.