Children of the Dawn (38 page)

The dream had shown Kai El that he was right about making his home up here; and that in time, others would come up to see
him.

More important, the dream had shown Gaia living in his home.

Kai El sang his song to the circling birds.

“With the eyes of the hawk, I see what others can’t. With the heart of the hawk, I have the courage of ten men. With the wings
of the hawk, my spirit soars high above my home.”

His friends may have laughed at him yesterday, but one
good thing would come from their visit. Now Gaia would know what he was doing up here, and who he was doing it for. Jud and
Talak would make sure everyone knew that.

When the right time came, when Gaia was ready for him, Kai El would be ready for her. Until then, he would work on their home,
and think of nothing but her.

When she saw how Kai El interpreted the dream, the Spirit of Ashan wondered if she should keep out of his sleeping mind in
the future.

“
A
LIKE AS SEEDS OF GRASS,” PEOPLE SAID OF
T
SILKA’S
daughters when they were young. Subtle contrasts emerged as they grew. At fifteen summers, the twins looked alike only at
first glance.

Their dark brown eyes were shaped the same; but Tahna’s flashed, Gaia’s were soft. Gaia’s long, midnight-colored hair rested
neatly on her back, while Tahna’s always looked windblown. Gaia dressed as if she were unaware of her beauty, but naturally
knew how to enhance it. Tahna dressed for attention. Gaia walked with the grace of one who shouldn’t tire herself; Tahna darted.

Firstborn Tahna, who had never faced death, had no fear of it. Secondborn Gaia, who faced death every time the Breath Ogre
attacked, had beaten fear of it.

If either had reason to be jealous of the other, it was Gaia. Tahna had been blessed with a strong, healthy body. If Gaia
could have anything, it would be that.

But Gaia wasn’t the jealous twin.

Tahna had a secret place that no one knew about—not her mother, not even her twin. She’d been coming here since she was a
girl. Not far past Teahra Village, the river trail left the water’s edge. A small path led to the women’s washing place. Men
and boys knew better than to come down that path.
Tahna could hear the girls and women talk from her hiding place nearby; sometimes it was more fun to listen than to be one
of them.

Her secret place meant more than fun now: It meant survival. Tor had been gone, dead, or whatever he was for two moons, leaving
the twins to care for the demanding witch their mother had become. If Tahna couldn’t be alone sometimes, she thought she’d
die.

On a cold, windy day, feeling stretched like a skin pegged and forgotten, Tahna fled the village. Reached by an animal track,
her secret place was just a hole in the thick brush, where boulders forced the current around a little pool. She sat on a
low rock, staring at the water, thinking about her twin.

Always the lucky one, from the beginning, when she was named for a cougar and I was named for a bug.

Wind chopped the gray water into waves that hit the boulders behind Tahna and splashed her. Dark clouds, heavy with rain,
would break open soon, but she stayed. Cold wet seemed better, cleaner, than the dry warmth of the hut.

Tahna pushed damp strings of hair from her face.

Everyone thinks Gaia is so good
…
if they knew what I know
…
I
knew her
before
the beginning.

Being named for a bug was the second unfair thing that happened to the firstborn twin. Far worse was done to Tahna inside
her mother’s womb. Deer and goats might be born in pairs, but humans were born alone.

Only one baby should have been born. Only me.

Tahna
looked
like a whole person, but she wasn’t, not on the inside where the mind and soul were. Half of her was stolen before she was
even born. Sometimes she believed that her twin had willfully robbed her. Sometimes she blamed it on their mother for mating
with a god—perhaps a god’s staff was sharp, and could split an unborn baby in two.

Or maybe the birth of twins was simply a mistake, like the Tlikit story about a baby born with no thumbs. He learned to do
everything but use a spear. Before he reached mating age, a moose killed him. The story explained how some people were doomed
from the beginning.

Knowing
why
she was different wouldn’t have changed
how Tahna felt about herself: less than complete, less than others. She wondered what
whole
people felt like, and wished she could feel it too.

At times, she resented her twin—then she couldn’t help being mean. But she didn’t hate her. What Gaia had done was long ago,
and Tahna forgave her.

However it might seem, Tahna
loved
the other half of herself, love made stronger by Gaia’s weakness. When they were young, Tahna found ways to make the Breath
Ogre leave Gaia’s body. This brought praise from her mother, thanks from her sister, and pride in herself at being smart enough
to outwit a demon. Tahna never told Gaia, but in a way she was sorry the Breath Ogre stopped coming. At least the attacks
had given her something of value to do.

Already wet from blowing waves, Tahna barely noticed when it began raining as she sat in her secret place.

She was fifteen summers, and what was her life supposed to be about?

Once she had dreamed of becoming a Moonkeeper, but when Ashan died, so did the dream. With a sigh, Tahna remembered how much
she missed Ashan. So far Tenka had not chosen a helper, but Tahna didn’t think she would be the one—even though she already
knew about medicine. She felt that unlucky.

Other girls her age talked about boys, about huts of their own, and the little ones they would have. The idea of mating and
babies excited Gaia. It didn’t interest Tahna, but there was nothing else she could hope to do. She might not even get a mate—there
weren’t enough boys the right age. Not having a mate was a bad thing, as Tahna had learned so well growing up with a mother
who didn’t have one. No one in the tribe ever starved, but women with mates received the special things.

A few water skimmers took refuge in Tahna’s secret pool. She threw a stone, scattered them, and the wild river took them.

She didn’t want a mate, but it would be worse not to have one. What
did
half a person want? To be whole. But what would make Tahna whole? Maybe nothing. Maybe some people
were
doomed from the beginning.

Why do I bother wondering what I want? My mother and my twin have decided for me, with help from Tor.

For the rest of her miserable life, Tsilka would demand more care than a mate and a hut full of little ones. For now, Tahna
had her sister’s help. But eventually, Gaia and Kai El would realize that they were in love.

Then I will be the only one to take care of the witch. Curse you, Tor, for knocking my mother into the oil lamp. Not that
I haven’t felt like it…

Tahna had been glad when Tor went away. He had disappointed her, or betrayed her—she could look at it either way.

Once, he had seemed to like the twins more than any little ones except his son. He gave them special treats, and talked about
important things that adults usually saved for each other. Tahna thought he liked her because she was a clever girl who always
remembered what he said. Only later did she realize that he probably came to see their mother.

Sometimes the fatherless twins played secret games in which Tor was their father.

Bad moods didn’t have a chance when he came around. Tahna couldn’t help laughing at his funny stories.

When coyotes took Ashan, Tor lost more than a mate. He lost what made him the person Tahna loved—especially his humor. He
wanted nothing more to do with them. Gaia said she understood: Family was the most important thing. But Tahna didn’t understand.
True, they were not his family, but she
thought
he loved them as friends. Tor had once told her that love between friends was forever.

The line between grief and madness was thin; the fire had pushed Tor over it. His own home destroyed, he had moved into Tsilka’s
hut. A scary intensity drove him to keep the burned woman alive, no matter how she begged to die. Tahna never saw him sleep.
His dead eyes passed by her as if she were something hanging on the wall. His ears ignored her. He took food without a word,
a glance, or any sign that she existed.

The kind man Tahna thought she knew was just a disguise, like a skin worn by a warrior to penetrate a herd. The cruel man
inside had been waiting for a chance to get out and make his kill. Yes, she was glad Tor was gone.

At first, Tahna enjoyed taking care of her mother.

Tor had not allowed anyone but Tenka to touch her—even though Tahna knew what to do, having learned about medicine from Ashan.
After Tor disappeared, overworked Tenka was glad to turn Tsilka’s care over to her daughters.

But with Tor gone, Tsilka treated her daughters like slaves. Though she recovered completely—except for her looks—she refused
to do anything for herself, would not even get up from her sleeping place. Devoted to being the meanest person alive, she
never ran out of work for the twins to do.

“Cover me! Uncover me! Move this! Carry that! Raise me, lower me, feed me!”

So often Tahna wanted to scream:
It’s not our fault!

Overworked and mistreated, she found herself missing Tor. So what if he’d betrayed her? At least he had taken care of the
witch who used to be her mother.

Tahna gently wiped a sore on her mother’s back that refused to heal because she lay on it all the time.

Tsilka snapped, “Don’t be in such a hurry! You’re hurting me!”

How long do you think you can get away with this?
Tahna wished she had the courage to ask.

But she said, “I’m finished, Mother. You may lie down.”

Gaia returned from the river with cooking things that their mother had insisted were filthy.

Tahna hissed, “You took your time. It’s my turn to get out of here.”

“See you later,” Gaia said with a big sigh.

Tahna left the hut with her leatherwork under her arm. The sight of people going about their work made her smile, reminding
her that normal life still went on in the world outside. She filled her chest with breezy, sunny air, and let the throb of
the river calm her. She sat on a nearby rock and unrolled her leatherwork in her lap. A little more sewing, and the foldover
pouch for dried herbs would be finished.

If her twin were making a pouch, it wouldn’t be enough to just finish it. She would have to decorate it, too.

Saying, “Things should be pretty,” Gaia might change the color of the leather, or paint on it. Gaia could make pictures
that looked like things—a gift stolen from her sister in the womb. Tahna couldn’t make pictures, and didn’t care. What good
were they? Time would deepen this amber leather to rich brown. It didn’t need Tahna’s help. It looked fine all by itself.

Gaia stamped out of the hut.

“Tahna! Where are my new moccasins?”

“How would I know?”

“I think you do.” Her sister’s voice was ugly. “I think you stole them.”

There went Tahna’s good mood. She had only stolen once or twice, not all the time.

She snapped, “I spent enough time with a witch today. Go find someone else to fight with.”

“I want my moccasins!” Gaia shrieked. “I’m tired of making things, just to have you steal them!”

Tahna should have backed down, but she was tired of her sister’s accusations. How arrogant she was! Tahna’s thefts were nothing
compared to Gaia’s!

“I never touched your moccasins! They’re so ugly, I wouldn’t wear them! But if I wanted to, I’d have every right to take them,
after what you stole from me before we were born!”

Gaia’s fists balled. “Someday I’m going to go crazy and kill you!”

“Finish what you started in our mother’s womb? It will be harder now. I’m not a helpless lump.”

Gaia sputtered, then wept—great blubbering sobs—as if the black bird of tragedy had landed on her.

Disgusted, Tahna shook her head. Her sister usually put up a better fight. But Gaia—who suffered the most from their mother’s
rage—was falling apart like an old basket.

“Oh, stop it!” Tahna yelled.

But Gaia didn’t stop. She was on her way to one of those disgusting things she
couldn’t
stop until she wore herself out, or the Breath Ogre choked her. She did it for sympathy, but they weren’t children anymore,
and now it only made Tahna feel hard and cold.

Gaia cried, “The older we get, the less I understand you
and your stupid ideas about how we should have been
one.
I have never felt like half a person. It’s so stupid!”

“But it’s true, Gaia. That’s exactly what you are. Together, we might have made one good person. Split apart, neither one
of us is worth spit. I only wonder if you did it on purpose. And why you don’t feel it yourself?”

“There is nothing to feel! We’re just sisters, like any other sisters! It’s not possible to steal part of someone!”

“Yes, it is. If you listened when the Moonkeeper talked about medicine, you’d know that the pain of birth is the baby tearing
pieces from the mother to finish itself. So why couldn’t a selfish spirit—such as
you
—hide in my mother’s womb and tear off parts of me?”

“Tell me what parts you don’t have! I’ll cut myself open and give them to you!”

“It’s too late for that!”Tahna shouted. “Why couldn’t you have waited for your own time to be born?”

“My sister,” Gaia said, “I’ve told you more times than the sky has stars: I didn’t steal your soul, or any part of you. I
would never do it, even if I could. I don’t know why we are twins, but I had nothing to do with it. I’m glad I have a twin.
I love you.”

This wasn’t fun anymore. Tahna ended the game.

“Look behind the firewood. I might have seen your moccasins there.”

Sniffling, Gaia went in the hut.