Chapter 6; The Return
As he had each day, Lar spent time in the chair watching his people make their way home. He had not seen the red haired woman again. Soon, she faded in his memory as his anticipation grew for the Gathering festival. It had been nearly a full moon since Bel Al had left, Lar grew tired of waiting. Suddenly filled with agitation, he was no longer content to sit. He climbed down to the sands of Tear Wadi. He walked along the shaded edge of his little world as a quiet joy filled him. Following a sandy path, he past a hot water pool and then, a cold water pool as he stalked around the edge of the circle of stone that the People called the Arms of the Watcher.
He stopped to lovingly to brush his fingers tenderly over some tiny blue flowers. They were what remained of the ones that Han had planted and tended so carefully after their first Gathering together. A few tears fell to water them once again. The flowers flourished in this shady spot. He sat and shared the shade with Han’s flowers, enjoying the added smells of the sage and scrub heather bushes nearby. He noticed that in the past few days, their fragrant leaves and stems had turned brown as well.
He smiled at what that brownness meant. To him, it was one more piece of evidence that the People were coming soon. They had not ignored the changes in the seasons. Like all members of the tribe known as the Watcher’s People, they had responded, as the ancient writings had told them to. They were coming because they believed the Promise of the Watcher. “When the trees burn without flame at the edge of the desert,” said the promise, “the People must return to worship.” In response, they were allowed to gather the Watcher's tears.
All through the hottest part of the year, he looked forward to this time and the return of his People. Now, in the cooler season before the snow comes, he knew that there would be the human stories told at the cook fires for him to write. He would add these pages to the Watcher’s history books. He was also the Keeper of the library that filled the caves that ran deep into the eyes of the Watcher.
He did notice that this hot season had been lonelier than most. It would be good to see the People again. Fre Ya must have seen this in him as well. She was a meddling woman, but she loved him. He knew she had his best interest at heart. Again, he thought of the red headed woman who the Watcher was watching. Who could she be? Why was the Watcher seeking her face among all the women of the tribe?
These last few days, he began to stay up on the top of the Watcher more often. He was intent on watching for signs. He knew that these recent cooler days would allow caravans to travel in day light more and more.
Sitting by Han’s flowers, he wondered again what could be seen. In a burst of energy he pushed himself up from the ground, brushed himself off, and went inside the lower cave to began the steep climb up the stairs behind the head of the great stone face peering out of the baking sands. Nimble as one of his mountain goats, he carefully climbed, step by step in the dark tunnels until he stood on the smooth stone of the top of the Watcher's head. Turning slowly with his hand shading his eyes, he searched the white and blue borders of his world.
With a smile, he saw in the distance, the dust of many animals. But, is it the caravan that he is waiting for? He ran down to sit in the Watcher’s chair. He rested his mind and the vision s took over. There was both Kiv and Kal on either side of the lead camel. Their path was true. He returned to sit in his favorite spot on the cool side of the forehead. Through the rest of the afternoon, he watched the cloud grow. Near dusk he began climbing down. He created a small fire of goat and camel dung. He banked it so that it would burn for a long time in case the People were slower to arrive than he had guessed.
Just as the light began to fade to purples and pinks on the far edge of the world, the first wagons and herds pulled over the gap between the last two high dunes. They dropped down the slippery sides and came to a stop right in front of the space between the two hands. This area was known as the Gate.
Lar waited by the pool at the base of the great head as the banns required. Wagon after wagon dropped down the last dune and formed a wide arc outside the wadi. Finally, the last wagon of the great caravan drew to a stop. Lar stirred the fire and threw on some more dung to bring it to flame. An old man walked into the space alone. He was always the first to greet the Watchman.
It was Kal, the Tear Master. Lar was shaken by the age showing in his father in law’s face. His hair had turned nearly completely white this year. Unable to speak, he touched the lines on the old man’s face. The old man’s hand rose to touch his face as well. Sadly, they smiled knowing too much. Both were unable to speak at first. Lar’s hand dropped. “Hello, Father.”
“I greet the Watchman in the name of the People.”
“Be blessed…”
“And Thee as well.”
The old man continued the greeting ritual. “Let us burn the old wood, for I have brought you new from your brother, Kiv.” The old man handed Lar a newly cut stick that he had been carving over the last days of travel from the Dark Woods. Lar already knew from years of past experience that Kiv would have cut it on the day he had left the forest for the well at the edge of the Great Desert.
Lar read the runes of counting that each stick must have. “It is good. We are blessed.” He threw last year’s counting stick on the little fire. After a year of drying in the sun, it flared and burned quickly. Once it was burning well, the two men embraced as old friends and went together to the cool spring. Little more was needed to be said between these men. They had shared life and death in great measure.
Lar dipped a carved, bone-drinking cup into the cool water. He offered it to Kal. “Welcome home to Tear Wadi, old Friend. The Watcher gives water.
“From water we are born.” Replied Kal.
“The water sustains life.”
Kal continued, “Life is a blessing from the Watcher.” The old man held the cup high with his bony arms in homage to the Watcher. He whispered the final lines of the ritual greeting, "Ah.... my Friend, my Protector, my God… Thee are good and kind to protect this water for Your people. Some of Your People have passed on. The people that remain return to worship You now. May you always watch over us."
The old man drank greedily, the cool water running down both sides of his chin, drenching his shirt. Lar smiled. The two men bowed to each other. Kal walked back to pray with his family. Lar went to stand between the hands in a shadowed place where the edge of stone disappeared into the sand. Holding the new counting stick like a gate at the edge of their world, Lar stood before the kneeling tribes men and women. He raised the stick high accepted the prayers of the People for the Watcher. “The Watcher watches…” he called out to them.
“The People respond,” intoned the crowd.
“The Watcher blesses us.”
“O main…”
The People rose and came forward. One by one, the wagons stopped before entering. Each family touched both hands of the Watcher to ask the Watcher’s blessing for loved ones they had lost since the last Gathering. Some openly spoke the banns to thank Him for allowing them to return home. Finally, they all touched the counting stick as they passed through the gate to enter into the sheltered center of Tear Wadi. They believed that touching the stick was a prayer for a good harvest.
Lar stood amidst the billowing dust and a ringing of animal's bells, smiling as the parade of people passed into their home place. People went to the spots in the flat clean sand of the wadi that had been their family places since the beginning of time. They were happy. They were well aware of the safety that enjoyed inside the curved arms of the Watcher.
Lar walked around the camp set in the shade of Watcher’s head watching Kal and Kiv as they went among the People, placing the tents, staking the animals, and finishing the touches that needed to be done to make the camp ready before al of the light was gone.
Shy children went to the pool to drink and play. Running among the adults, the children avoided the Watchman. Veiled women drew the water they needed to begin the meals and cool the an
imals after the journey.
After a while he climbed to a perch that he liked. It was a worn seat carved into the bridge of the Watcher’s nose. He sat and watched the bustling camp until the tents below him faded into the dark pools that formed in the shade of their God. When the camp was nothing but twinkling fires, Lar went inside to eat and sleep.
He was unaware that two eyes never left him. A woman, tall and slender, yet well formed, was unable to take her eyes off his every move. She did enough of her duties to escape the wrath of his father’s wife, but her total concentration was on the Watch man.
The Arms of the Watcher Page 6