Currently in the mild spring season, the Taone were in the midst of the flatlands and traveling slowly toward the forest. The green thread of trees was not yet visible on the horizon and only even brown land covered in downy grass could be seen in every direction. The flatland sky was always wide and clear, and today, despite the springtime season, the sun was burning. Inside the tent, Cala fanned herself.
“Take your shawl off, Auntie,” said Ode, seeing her wipe her brow.
He was squatting before the fire at the center of the tent, waiting for their ration of meat to cook. Cala ate separately from the Taone, and every time there was a killing, a tribesman would bring her a hunk of meat that Gray Morning had chosen for her.
“I am used to hotter weather,” Cala insisted. “I just do not expect it in this season.”
Ode was too busy staring at the dripping meat suspended over the fire to reply. He licked his lips and Cala laughed. For a moment her face was clear, but then it clouded with worry once more.
“It is too hot,” she said.
When the meat was cooked, they ate in comfortable silence, sitting cross-legged before the fire. Ode finished his meal first and kept shooting earnest glances at the tent flap.
“All right,” said Cala. “Go and sneak a visit to your brother if you wish, but you know what will happen if your father sees you.”
Ode rushed to the flap.
“Do not be gone long,” Cala called after him. “This warm weather worries me. I hope it will be gone tomorrow.”
The next day arrived, hot and yellow. When Ode awoke on his grass mat, he discovered that he was alone. Pulling on his tunic, he wandered outside to see Cala standing in the golden dawn, looking out to the horizon.
“What’s wrong, Auntie?” he asked, since he saw by the contours of her dark face that something was troubling her.
When she did not answer, he took hold of one of her long braids and tugged it. Like the other tribeswomen, Cala wore her hair in two thick plaits that reached as far as they would grow. They were wound with strips of leather and decorated with feathers, beads, and animal teeth. Unlike the tribeswomen, though, Cala’s hair was fuzzy and dry. Ode liked any excuse to touch it.
As if coming back from somewhere far away, Cala shivered and looked down at Ode in surprise.
“What woke you up?” she asked.
Ode rubbed his sleepy eyes and yawned.
“I had a strange dream,” he said, turning away to return to the tent.
Cala pulled him back and the tight grip of her hand made him yelp in surprise. Her black eyes bore into his, seeming to search out his very soul.
“What did you dream?” she asked.
“Don’t know …”
“Think!”
Ode flinched at her tone. When he used to wake from a strange dream at the feet of his mother, he would wait until Gray Morning had left the tent, and then snuggle under the wolf fur by her side. Together, they would share their funny dreams until it was time to eat breakfast, and then such visions would evaporate into the morning air, never to be thought of again. He did not understand why Cala pressed him so.
“I don’t remember,” he said again, sorry to disappoint her.
“Next time you dream you must hold the vision, and then tell me as soon as you wake up, yes?”
“All right.”
Cala gently released his arm and looked up to the sky, squinting against the sun.
Feeling as if he had done something wrong but not knowing what, Ode scuffed his bare foot across the dusty ground. A movement a few feet away caught his attention and he watched as a prairie dog scuttled through the grass and disappeared down its hole. Then he saw another prairie dog, and then another prairie dog. They were all racing across the grass and disappearing down their holes.
He grinned and wondered if he could run fast enough to catch one. He took a step forward but stopped dead. The smile dropped from his face as he stared at the horizon, and his mouth dropped open.
“Auntie!” he screamed.
Cala turned around and gasped. “Dust storm!” she yelled at the top of her voice.
A mountainous cloud of black was speeding toward the settlement. Taller than the trees, it clogged the sky and smothered the sun.
“Get in the tent!” cried Cala, before yelling, “Danger! Dust storm!”
Ode watched the wall of darkness thunder toward them, and he was unable to move. As it rolled closer, a strong wind began to pluck at his hair and he felt specks of dirt catch in his throat and nose.
“Dust storm!” the people screamed to one another.
Many ran for their tents, pulling their families with them. Others sprinted to the animals, trying to set them free of their bonds in hope that they could outrun the storm.
“My babe!” Ode heard Sunset By Forest’s voice among the shouts and yells. He turned to see her herded into a tent with a group of other women, her shoulder pouch empty. He guessed she had only just woken and gone to collect water for breakfast, leaving Blue Moon in the tent alone. She screamed at the men who shoved her under cover and shouted to Gray Morning, but her voice was lost in the roar of fear.
Ode looked at the tent belonging to his parents, which was all the way on the other side of the settlement. Its flap had been left open, and Blue Moon most likely lay inside on the grass mat, unaware of what was about to hit. The way was clear now since everyone was crouched under cover, cowering in fear as the wind rushed and dragged at the ground.
Ode began to run. He sprinted across the settlement, the raging storm biting at his heels. From the corners of his eyes he saw frightened faces watch him thunder past. He heard Cala screech his name, but he did not stop. He ran on, the wind snatching at his elbows and stones pounding against his back, drawing blood.
When he reached the tent, Ode dove inside, yanking the flap closed after him with a slap. He had just enough time to crouch over his little brother, shielding him with his body, before the dust storm hit.
It clawed at his skin and lifted the buffalo hide of the tent clean off, throwing it across the flatlands. Stones carried by the strong winds smacked him on the back and dust crowded everywhere. Over the rumble of the storm, he could hear the mewing of Blue Moon, and he clung to him desperately as dust surrounded them, drowning them in thick blackness.
Despite the gale, Ode could feel his body reacting to something. His back was shaking with a new force that had nothing to do with the wind or the dust or the storm. He was suddenly filled with the desire to fly away. He wanted to soar above it all—to reach the stars. For a second he was sure that he could fly. He was about to lift off into the sky, taking his little brother with him, when a large stone thumped him over the head. Then he saw nothing but darkness.
The dust storm was over in a matter of moments, but the destruction it left behind shocked even those who had experienced such horrors before. Whole homes had vanished. Those who had weathered the storm now emerged, wading through the knee-high dust and taking in the carnage, their chests heavy with sorrow.
“My babe!” a voice screamed through the silence.
Heads turned to see Sunset By Forest running toward the place where her tent had stood, tears coursing down her cheeks. Cala hurried to join the chief’s partner, wondering what had happened to her apprentice. Her eyes scanned the ground, but the dust covered everything. Then, for some reason, she looked to the sky. But the rest of the tribe were too deep in mourning to notice such strange behavior.
“My babe!” Sunset By Forest screamed, dropping to her knees, sobbing. “My children!”
Suddenly, the earth before her began to shift and she jumped aside as a hand shot up through the dust. A head smothered in dirt and blood followed, and Ode gasped the clean air. He climbed out of the debris, Blue Moon clutched to his chest, covered in dirt but otherwise unharmed.
“My boys!” Sunset By Forest yelled, and she enveloped both of her sons in a tight hug, rocking them from side to side in her arms, whispering again and ag
ain, “My boys, my boys.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Boy Birther
The Taone eventually recovered from the horrors of the dust storm and as the seasons passed, the event faded into memory. But there were two who could never forget what had happened that day. Ode remembered the moment his body had not been his own. Before the stone hit him and darkness reigned, he had felt like he could fly—he had known that he could fly. He kept this to himself, not even telling Cala. He felt that it was important, although he did not know why. Gray Morning, too, remembered the day his first son had proven himself to be a warrior: selfless and brave. He remembered wanting to show his gratitude, but he could not bestow such things on a male birther. He could not praise such a creature.
Luckily, over the seasons Blue Moon grew into a strong, healthy child, and his aptitude for fighting and hunting distracted his father. Gray Morning presented his second son with arrows to hold, axes to touch, and spears to feel. Before he could walk, he learned how to shoot a bow and arrow. The sight of Blue Moon wielding such weapons made Sunset By Forest bite her lip, but her partner insisted it was important.
“He is to be a great warrior. It is his destiny, so leave him be,” said Gray Morning when he saw her fussing.
Blue Moon grew into the warrior son of Gray Morning’s dreams. He became the youngest boy to ride out on a hunt with the tribesmen and a skilled horseman. He trained daily with his wooden practice weapons and beat the older boys in friendly matches. The Taone were in awe of their chief’s warrior son, all except Ode, who would pinch his little brother’s cheek and make faces at him when no one was looking. Despite Gray Morning’s desire to keep them apart, the brothers were close and sought each other out as often as possible—chattering, fighting, and playing together as if there were nothing different about them at all.
Unlike the other boys of the tribe, Ode was never given practice weapons or fighting lessons. Instead, Blue Moon taught him everything he knew. Most evenings the brothers could be found brandishing blunt spears, dodging and ducking each other’s swings. They snuck into the forest or went far across the plain lands, so as not to be seen, and sparred until the moon shone in the night’s sky.
“Let’s do that again,” said Blue Moon one afternoon after a vigorous session of practice drills. “But this time, keep your knees bent.”
It was winter, and snow covered the plain lands. Their boots churned the ground around them until it was creamy and their cheeks were flushed red.
“No!” panted Ode. “We need to rest.”
The rough wooden handle of his hammer had rubbed his palm raw and the cold wind made his fingers stiff.
“You won’t be able to say that at your initiation,” Blue Moon teased. “You’ll say, ‘Let me take a rest,’ and the coyote will go ahead and eat you anyway!”
Blue Moon grinned, but Ode glanced away. The other boys his age were training for their initiations in the wilderness and sometimes he watched them from a distance, laughing and fighting together. They were frightened and excited all at once—longing for the ultimate test in which they would become tribesmen and earn their patterns. Ode had never asked when he would begin training for his initiation. He was too afraid of the answer.
“What’s going on in there?” asked Blue Moon, giving him a poke in the head with the blunt end of his spear. “There’s no time to think in a fight, remember?”
“All right,” said Ode, picking up his hammer and ignoring the throb of pain that slashed through his hand. “Let’s practice again.”
Blue Moon gave a yip of joy. “Try and beat me this time!” he cried.
Later that evening, Cala complained when Ode did not finish his dinner. The boy was listless and distracted. He moped around the tent, staring into the distance and simply grunting when she questioned him.
“It is time we began your apprenticeship, little man,” Cala said suddenly and finally Ode looked up. “I have let you run around and do as you please for too long,” she continued. “Your days of freedom are done, and now the work must begin.”
“But I should train for my initiation like the other boys,” said Ode.
Cala paused. They both knew there would be no initiation for him.
“I see no hairs on your chin,” said Cala. “You are still a boy.”
“But even then … ?”
“You will have an initiation of a different kind.”
“Why?”
“Because you are special.”
Ode wanted to tell her about the only time he had ever felt special: when he had been sure that he could fly. But the words teetered on his lips and something swept them away.
“Auntie, there’s no place for me in this tribe,” he said instead.
“That is not true. You shall make a place for yourself, for you are my apprentice and we are vital to the Taone.”
“The chief wishes I did not exist.”
“There will come a time when your dar will have to listen to your words.”
Ode did not believe her, but he fell quiet all the same.
“Your apprenticeship starts tomorrow,” said Cala. “I want you awake at dawn. I want you ready.”
Ode nodded.
He had often assisted Cala in her work, but always half-heartedly. He knew that his presence made the women uncomfortable. Though he had witnessed a number of births, he always hung back in the shadows, counting the seconds until he could leave.
When Cala woke him before dawn the next day, he explained such misgivings as she rushed him along.
“Look, little man,” Cala said, rebuking him. “They do not want help from either of us. You are a man, and I am not a member of the Taone. But they need our help, and one woman needs our help right now, so hurry up!”
Ode pulled on his snow boots and fixed his furs in place, grumbling under his breath all the while. “Where are we going?” he asked, following Cala out of the tent and into the chilled morning air.
Dawn had yet to arrive and it was dark.
“Into the forest,” said Cala.
They waded through the snow in the direction of the trees. Ode was about to ask how she knew where they were going when he noticed the small prints in the snow that snaked before them. Someone had already come this way.
“It is dangerous to be in the forest alone,” he said.
“Yes, the Taone are stupid,” replied Cala, grinning at his affronted expression. “You said as much yourself just now. Why would someone venture into the forest to give birth where it is cold and dangerous? For pride. Stupid pride. The Taone still live by traditions that should have been changed long ago.”
Ode glanced around them, hoping that there was no one to hear Cala say such things. To question the chief was to defy him.
“You need not look so worried,” added Cala. “Gray Morning knows my thoughts on the matter, but he will not change his precious traditions.”
They fell silent and plodded on through the darkness. Behind them, the dawn was arriving, stretching golden fingers across the lands, but it had not reached the forest yet. As they wound through ferns and bare trees, Ode swiveled his head left and right, looking for moving shadows.
“You need not fear when I am here,” said Cala.
Somehow he knew she was right.
They walked a little farther, and then they heard a cry and a groan. Following the sound, they came across a woman squatting beside a tree. She was bundled in many furs and her legs trembled in an effort to keep herself upright.
“Lie down, Soft Rain, I am here now,” said Cala.
Soft Rain collapsed onto her back in the snow, and Cala beckoned Ode closer. She began showing him how to feel the mother’s stomach and how to maneuver the baby in her belly into the correct position. His cheeks burned as she did so, and he avoided Soft Rain’s gaze.
“Ah!” screamed the tribeswoman as another contraction hit her. “Help me!” she gasped. “Please, help me!”
“You have done this once before, Soft Rain,” sa
id Cala firmly. “You can do it again. Now push.”
They knelt in a huddle against the cold as the dawn rushed in all around them, warming the snow with the wintery sun. Soft Rain began to cry and whimper, clutching at anything she could reach.
“It hurts!” she yelled. “I can’t do it! I can’t do it!”
“Yes, you can,” said Cala.
“I can’t!”
Soft Rain caught Ode’s gaze and held it with her light-brown eyes. “You’ve got to help me, I can’t do it!” she sobbed.
Ode did not know what to say.
“Please!” she whined, still watching him.
“Y-you can do it,” he said at last, taking hold of her hand. “We’re here, and we’ll keep you safe.”
Soft Rain nodded before another contraction had her squirming about once more. Over the top of the woman’s head Cala smiled at her apprentice.
“One more push,” Cala said.
Soft Rain still had Ode’s hand clutched tightly in her own, and beneath his furs, Ode felt damp with sweat.
“Come on,” said Cala. “One more push.”
Soft Rain screamed.
Taking a prairie dog skin from her bundle of supplies, Cala thrust it into Ode’s hands, telling him to hold the baby as it came.
“But I don’t know—”
“It is coming now! Get into position like I told you.”
The baby was born into Ode’s hands, and he stared at it, mesmerized. It opened its tiny mouth and let out a thin cry, waving its little limbs in the chilly air.
“It is a girl,” said Cala, looking over his shoulder. “Do you hear that, Soft Rain? You have been granted a girl.”
Soft Rain groaned faintly, lying flat out in the snow.
But Ode barely noticed. He held the baby in his hands, rubbing it with the skin to keep it warm, and watched as it wriggled and squeaked. Suddenly, two other hands began pulling the baby away from him, and he looked up to see Soft Rain tugging the bundle out of his grasp. He was forced to let go.
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