by Caleb Fox
Sometimes she found herself angry at Zeya. Yes, she knew that was stupid, and acting stupid only made her more angry. Sometimes she circled back in a bad temper to the old questions: When her lover visited the village to see Awahi, why hadn’t he talked to her? As far as she was concerned, no explanation mattered. He should have found a way. She would have.
At night she lay in the blankets telling herself she’d been snubbed, perhaps abandoned. Fury volcanoed in her chest. Her passion pendulumed from love to hatred.
Now she wandered along the stream bank further than she needed to. Finally she peed, and emptied the gourd holding the pee she’d made all day. But she needed more time out of the house. She hated the custom of confining child-carrying women to their dwellings. She wanted air. She knelt by the water, scooped it up with both hands, and bathed her face.
Just then a war eagle lighted in a dead tree nearby. She was surprised. The great birds usually stayed away from people. She stared. And then the bird spoke.
“Unfaithful,” said the bird. “False-hearted. Deceiver.”
The bird made its words more savage by using the voice of her lover. It went on cruelly.
“Traitor. Betrayer. Villain . . . .”
Jemel wailed to keep herself from hearing. She slammed her forehead to the grass, stopped her ears with her fingers, and screamed. Other words rasped forth, but she drowned them out.
When other women came running to see what was wrong, the bird flew off.
She told them nothing.
Zeya lifted himself high into the air. The winds were gentle, his emotions turbulent. He flapped away from the Soco village hard and fast. Then he hesitated and glided. He wanted to visit with his mother and Su-Li. He wheeled about and coasted downwind toward the village. He yearned to talk to them more about what he’d seen and done in the Land beyond the Sky Arch. It was the most extraordinary event of his life—that was a wild understatement—and who could he talk to about it except for Sunoya, Su-Li, and Tsola?
Far off his eagle eyes saw Jemel clomp the last few steps to her parents’ house. He hated seeing her struggle along with the burden of another man’s child in her belly. She ducked into the house. He hated the thought that his rival, his conqueror, would soon be moving into that house—or already had moved in.
He executed such a sharp turn that he swerved down a few feet. He’d be damned if he’d go down into the village. What if he saw Jemel again? What if he saw her with her lover? What could he do, squirt droppings at the man’s head? Or worse, at his back while he topped Jemel?
He set his beak toward the Emerald Cavern and flapped upwind. Tsola would console him. Maybe she would help him make a life there. Maybe he could become a sort of hermit, like herself.
48
With the Cape bundle tied to her back, Tsola swam to the Emerald Dome. There she hung the feathers up to dry, smudged them with cedar smoke, and waited. Every inch of her body prickled with eagerness. She hadn’t worn the Cape in twenty years.
She cooked a meal and drank all the water she could. While wearing the Cape, she would eat nothing, drink nothing.
When the time came, she drank the sacred tea and donned the feathers. And again the ecstasy came. The universe began to sing. Though her predecessor had said he experienced the wisdom of the Cape in rainbows of light, it always came to Tsola in sounds. The music was extraordinary. It was made entirely of human voices, but voices that sang much lower and much higher than in the ordinary world. They made a floating, ethereal music, not of great harmonies, but individual voices each with its own melody. Somehow the voices melded into one vast song of infinite sweetness. It was not a music that could ever end. It was whole, entrancing, infinite, and exquisitely beautiful at each of its moments.
Sometimes she imagined that the voices belonged to every one of the stars, singing simultaneously of the limitless delights of the universe. Sometimes she heard the voices as the utterances of all human beings, every person of every place who walked the Earth now, everyone who had ever walked it, and everyone who ever would. And they all sang of love.
She sat and listened for several days, until the music felt complete. Then she gently slipped the Cape off, wrapped it in its bundle, ate and drank a little, sat quietly for several more days to steep herself in what she had heard.
When she had absorbed it, even though without words, she asked her wisest self to tell her what action to take in the world where she lived her daily life. She got an answer. Then she took the way that only she knew back to her home, her family, and beyond the mouth of the Cavern, her people, all human beings, and all the peoples of this planet, animal and plant.
By her own fire Klandagi waited for her, as always.
Whenever she came back from the experience of the Cape, she needed silence, not talk. Sound felt like an intrusion on her experience. But now she whispered to Klandagi. “What moon is it?”
He spoke softly, knowing her feelings. “The quarter moon, waning.”
Her voice, even having a voice at all, felt strange to her. But she murmured, “Go to the Cheowa village. Tell the chiefs that I have the greatest news they will hear in their lifetimes.
“Then ask the White Chief to send messengers to the other three villages. All the people will convene at the next full moon.” She paused, her voice tiring. “They must do exactly this. Each of the villages, including the Cheowas themselves, will camp a day’s walk away from the great council lodge, and the three chiefs of each will come there with only ten escorts for protection. They will enter the council lodge without escorts and unarmed. Repeat that—without escorts and unarmed.”
Klandagi started to ask a question, but she shook her head no. “Do exactly that.”
He nodded, raised his purr into a low growl of assent, and padded off.
Zeya dragged in, his spirit shredded. Tsola could see dejection radiating from him. She suspected what had happened. Welcome back to human life, she thought.
He told her the pathetic story. She didn’t ask the obvious question—“Why are you sure the child isn’t yours?” She thought he had to struggle with that one himself. Instead she said, “You are creating your own troubles. As you did in the Land Beyond. You know how to stop.”
“When you consider . . .”
“Why don’t you consider that Jemel is free? She’s a woman of great passions, and she does what she pleases.”
He hung his head.
More gently, she said, “Think about what you are doing.”
He grimaced.
“You know.”
Spending the words carefully, one by one, he said, “In the Land Beyond I fought enemies that I imagined. I created what I feared and fought to the death with it.”
“Yes.”
“Not smart.”
“Correct.”
“I’m jealous. Very jealous.”
Tsola nodded.
“Why don’t I stop? I know better.”
“Because you’re a human being.”
“I know better.”
“Zeya, over there you got big insights. But knowing doesn’t solve problems. Use the knowledge to fight your demons.”
“I have a big one that’s outside.”
“You do. But most demons are inside.”
Zeya circled high over the Soco camp. The morning was young, and he had updrafts to ride.
His mother was in one of those brush huts. He had not seen her since the catastrophe with Jemel, and he yearned to talk to her. His friend Su-Li was probably there, too—maybe they could fly together today. But Zeya couldn’t bear to go into the camp, not yet.
He spoke to Su-Li in his mind. Want to fly? He got no answer, and wondered why. Maybe the buzzard was far away.
These last three-quarters of a moon had been a bad time. Klandagi was on his mission to gather the bands together. After his talk with Tsola—“Why don’t you consider that Jemel is free?”—Zeya had nothing to do but fret. Live a hermit’s life like hers in the Emerald Cavern? Tsola dis
missed this idea in less than a breath. She let him live with her daughter’s family at the Healing Pool and make himself useful for a short time, and reminded him, “You are the one of prophecy.”
He hated those words.
He liked helping the people who came to the Healing Pool. Every moment he wasn’t working, though, his mind was on Jemel and his humiliation. He spun through the days attending to the ill and injured, and despairing through the nights.
When the camps began to assemble for the great council, Tsola called Zeya into the shadows of the Cavern. “I have a job for you. Fly above the three Soco chiefs as they walk to the council lodge. Make sure they’re safe from enemies.”
“Having anything to do will feel better.”
“And talk to Jemel. Go to her in human form and apologize for the terrible way the eagle spoke to her.”
“I can’t.”
“Do it. Now.”
He started toward the mouth of the Cavern and the daylight.
“Don’t get absorbed in Jemel and forget the chiefs. They’re expecting you. The fate of the people depends on what happens tomorrow.”
He felt ashamed of himself. “Yes.”
“Keep a sharp eye out for trouble. When the lodge convenes, sit at the smoke hole and listen to every word.”
“Yes, but I . . .”
She held up a hand. “Go now. I have to prepare.”
So he came here and wasted his time spiraling upward. He called to Su-Li again. No answer. What was going on?
To hell with it, he decided. He winged across the mountain into another valley and spent the day hunting. All the while, even as he ate, he cursed himself as an idiot. I can’t face Jemel. I have to face Jemel.
Early the next morning he watched the three Soco chiefs wrap food in skins. He was out of time. He landed on a sandy beach along the creek, where he could watch for enemies. He changed himself into his human shape—he was getting quick at this transformation. He strode into the camp and up to the two brush huts that housed her family.
“Jemel,” he called, “I want to talk to you.” It was rude to bark out like that, but he couldn’t help himself.
Her head stuck out a door. Then she was on her feet and run-waddling toward him. She threw himself into his arms. She kissed him with a passion that deluged the past and carried it off on a flood of emotion and sensation.
He forced himself to remember what had happened. With her enormous belly pressed against him, how could he forget? He pushed her back to arms’ length.
“I have to apologize to you.”
“Let’s never do that. I love you.”
“You don’t know what I did.”
“I don’t care. Don’t you see?” She cupped her bulging belly with her hands.
That was what he hated seeing. “I treated you terribly.”
What was in her eyes now—hesitation?
“This is hard to explain. I . . . I came to you as an . . .”
That would never work. In a flash he knew what would.
“Unfaithful,” he said in a harsh tone. “False-hearted. Deceiver.”
He saw that she remembered. The war eagle face, the voice, the awful words.
“Traitor. Betrayer. Villain.”
She backed away from him, as from a bear or snake. Her eyes were wild.
“You can’t understand, I know.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand!”
He was stumped. Then he got an idea. Skin turned to feather. Feet turned to talons. Nose and mouth turned to beak. The war eagle spread his wings and flapped to the nearest branch.
“Who are you?” she cried, frozen to the spot.
“I am Zeya, transformed. Who are you?”
Her knees trembled, but she found her voice. “I am the mother of your child!” She stumbled backward and then shouted, “How could you do this?” She ran.
Zeya’s mind whirled like the wildest winds. I . . . what? He forced the words to add up. And then he realized.
He changed into human shape so fast feathers stuck out around his ears. He dropped down from the branch and ran after her. “Jemel! Jemel!”
She could only waddle slowly. Beyond her he could see the three chiefs lashing the food bundles onto a pack dog. He caught up fast and grabbed her arm. “Say that again. What you said I am.’ ”
She jerked the arm away. She glared him. She delivered the words like blows. “You are the father of my child.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why aren’t you? Has your imagination run away with you?”
“Yes.” He saw it now. Just as he had dreamed up the enemies on his journey to the land beyond. “I was jealous. Crazy jealous.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Idiot! Fool! Buffoon! Chump!” The smile on her face grew huge. “Jealousy scooped your brains out.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I love you. Supremely.”
“You know how I love you? I wish you were inside me right now. So just say it straight out. Do you want to be my husband and this child’s father?”
He wrapped his arms around her. They spent half an eternity kissing.
Then she pulled back and said, “Feel our child.” She put his hand on her belly. “It’s not kicking right now.” She slid his hand indecently low.
“By the way, I have a new name. Luckily it’s not idiot, fool, buffoon, or chump, though I deserve those, too. It’s Ulo-Zeya, Dweller-in-Clouds. I want to be called Zeya.”
Just then Ninyu walked up. “Grandson, you have a job to do.”
Zeya drew back and looked from his lover to his grandfather and back. “Yes!” He told Jemel, “Yes to the future.” To Ninyu he said, “Yes to the job.”
He stepped further back, grinned at them, and began the process. Skin to feathers.
49
Tsola sat blindfolded by the sacred fire. In front of her lay an elk robe wrapped around something.
Three by three the chiefs found their way into the building by the light that came from all sides and sat cross-legged around the fire. Klandagi studied every one of them. He was his mother’s eyes. Yes, they were required to come unarmed, and what the hell did that mean? The autumn day was chill, and every man wrapped himself in a blanket, where a knife or war club might be concealed. The panther saw no suggestive bumps yet.
Klandagi looked up. Tips of feathers showed that Su-Li and Zeya were perched at the big smoke hole, where they could hear.
Inaj strutted in last, trailed by the White Chief and Medicine Chief of the Tuscas. He had been Red Chief for three decades, except for a brief interval when he maneuvered his son Zanda into the position. And in that tribe the Red Chief was always the head man—had they not been at war with the Socos for twenty winters?
Klandagi wished he could jump Inaj right now and tear his throat out. With so formidable an enemy, a warrior would normally cut the heart out and eat it, to add its strength to his own. But Klandagi wouldn’t touch a heart so foul.
Inaj seated himself at the far end of the circle, which put him only an arm’s length from Klandagi’s mother. The panther slid into the space and gazed into the chief’s eyes.
Inaj smiled at Klandagi.
Curious, thought the panther.
“Everyone is here,” Klandagi told Tsola.
She lit the sacred pipe and passed it. While the chiefs smoked, Klandagi inspected Inaj meticulously. Klandagi hoped his gaze would intimidate the chief.
When the pipe returned to Tsola, she acted without a word—she opened the elk robe and held up the treasure. “Thunderbird has granted us a new Cape of Eagle Feathers,” she said. “The young man of prophecy, formerly known as Dahzi, now called Dweller-in-Clouds, crossed to the Land beyond the Sky Arch and brought back the Cape. It was an adventure that will be told among our people for generations.”
Above the smoke hole, Su-Li said to Zeya without words, Don’t puff your chest up—she’s doing enough of that for you.
“That story can be told later. Right now, we
have the Cape, and I have spent days listening to its wisdom, its guidance toward peace and prosperity. The eagles are ready to act as messengers to—”
“Don’t waste my time,” Inaj burst in. He stood up and sneered at all of them.
“Mother,” Klandagi whispered. She gave him a tiny shake of her head—no—and put a hand on his haunches.
“I have something fascinating to show you,” declared Inaj.
All the chiefs looked at each other aghast. No one but Inaj had ever interrupted a council so rudely. He was standing, his head far above theirs. His whole body language was scorn.
From underneath his blanket Inaj drew a shapeless mass of cloth. Suddenly, he threw it over Klandagi. Tsola jerked her hand out. The panther was trapped in a net.
Klandagi roared and clawed at the fabric. He writhed and twisted. All he accomplished was to get his claws caught, and the netting wrapped tighter around him.
Tsola reached for the net, but Inaj grabbed her arms.
She took two deep breaths and said, “Son, be still. No one will kill anyone here today.”
Inaj chuckled. He declared, “Tsola the Seer brought us here to talk of peace. We’ve heard it all before. It meant nothing then, it means nothing now.
“So let me tell you something exciting. This council will in fact be a great triumph. Though our Wounded Healer disagrees”—he twisted the title into irony—“this will bring peace. And a great victory for me.”
Now he turned and spoke directly to Tsola. “Thank you for asking us to come here unarmed. Thank you for asking us to leave our warriors a day’s walk away.” His eyes lit with exultation. “For my two hundred men are right here, they are coming out of the trees on the hillsides around this village. They await my command. If you tell your escorts to resist, they will be slaughtered. So let us have a truce for the moment.”
Klandagi fought the net and roared.