17 Stones

by Paul Telegdi

  “That Standing-Rock has been corrupted. That Baer is a tyrant and that you are a jealous conniver. And that he was forced out of the clan.” Ushi supplied a few more details. Chaiko knitted his eyebrows together but all he said was, “Well we shall soon see.”

  The shaman settled down with his family, thinking he would not go anywhere that day, so as not to invite more maltreatment, but the difficulties followed him home. Dawn complained that she and her sister had been followed with words flung at them, like “foreigners” and “strangers,” and that Hollow-Tree was even told to go home as he was not welcome here.

  “Pay them no heed,” Chaiko advised her; “it is part of the intimidation that Corrigan unleashes to gain leverage. It will soon cease when the issue of a Chief is decided.”

  “When will that be?” Dawn asked; it obviously couldn’t come soon enough for her. She did not want her children put at risk in any way during this back and forth tug-of-war.

  “The Council of Leaders will decide as soon as one side thinks they have an advantage.”

  “Can Baer win this?” Dawn asked wistfully, thinking that his election would make Tanya the head head-woman.

  “Not likely,” Chaiko said, less than encouraging. “He is running more to keep the process honest.”

  “Oh, why do men bother to do the things they do anyway?” Running a race not to win just did not make any sense to Dawn.

  “There is a pretty even split. A three way tie among Turbold, Solinex and Taeko. In the background Corrigan is manipulating events and switching his support as it suits him, to buy himself a Chief. With Baer running, we can counter his machinations by pitting our support against his. We can thus nullify whatever he does and guarantee a more honest race. Understand?”

  Of course she understood! The Ekulan invented this kind of subtlety, but understanding this was not necessarily the same as understanding why the men would bother with such a game. She just wanted her family safe and not exposed.

  Later on Nebu came again with concerns for her son. This time Chaiko was careful to remain tactful and not frighten her into flight. He listened to her worries without interrupting. He found it encouraging that Nebu was finally coming out of her isolation, her instincts as a mother making her reach out for her son’s sake. Chaiko was determined to salvage her as well through this opportunity.

  Then Makar came to report on his progress composing. He looked a little out of sorts, and Chaiko surmised he knew the reason why, but the young man soon warmed to his subject as he presented his work:

  “The man thinks himself so astute

  Beyond clever and shrewd

  All things he would rule

  In praise of himself

  Keen he is, as seen he is

  Yet his smile is bitter bile

  His mind is full of guile

  His anger burns like fire

  Forgiveness is not in him…”

  Chaiko thought it over carefully, then said, “Good work, it is what we want, to turn Corrigan against himself by showing off his quirks for everyone to see. But I think we should be less obvious, with a little more subtlety. Let him use innuendo and lies, let us use gentle humor. Make it rhyme so it flows from the tongue easily.”

  “Yes, yes,” the young man nodded, he knew just the thing, and hurried away. Chaiko was left looking after him, realizing the man was only a year younger than he. Sometimes Chaiko, the shaman of the Standing-Rock Clan, felt very old, almost ancient. He turned to watch Dawn playing with the children and the weight of years dropped from him little by little. Seeing his father free and looking his way, Yael tackled him and the two wrestled beside the fire. Father and son, with the son triumphantly on top declaring it to all the world.

  Later still in the evening Chaiko asked Ruba why he was so hoarse and where had he been all day? Ruba grumbled something indistinct, but did not repeat it.

  Tusk then seized upon the boy. Not knowing what else to do for him, Tusk asked him to run an errand. Ruba, who greatly admired the Chief-Hunter, was glad to be of service. He ran to the Sharong and collected a set of bone plates that Tusk had won betting on a grasshopper jumping contest. Ruba gave the plates to Tusk explaining, “These are made from moose antlers, smoothed and polished so flat.”

  Tusk had no idea what to do with them. There were holes in each to be hung around the neck, he suspected. If it wasn’t for the bet... “You have no idea how far grasshoppers can jump,” he mused, flipping the plates in his hand. “You know, if...” he stopped himself abruptly from saying “if your father were alive today.” Instead he gave the plates to Ruba, saying, “Here, draw something on them.”

  Horrified by the suggestion Ruba tried to return the plates, “I don’t know how...”

  But Tusk would have none of it. “Yes you do! You are your father’s son. You grew up with him, watched him work. Those memories are still inside you. Let them teach you!” Then he warmed to the project even more. “I want you to draw an aurochs, with a spear in his chest, dying. Yes. That is what I want.” He had a very faraway look, peering into his past. “That is what made me a hunter.”

  Ruba dared not refuse Tusk, but could not think of any way to start. The blank pieces of bone mocked him. Among his possessions he found a small shard of flint, but his hands paused undecided over the bone. He was afraid of its wide expanse, so filled with emptiness. Where should he begin? He started to draw but each time drew back, afraid to commit himself to the line. Desperately he thought of his father. What would Malek do with the bone? The assignment? The words came into his mind; feel the pain of the beast, its despair, its loss of hope, the death growing in him... The image took shape in his mind and his hands twitched and the flint bit into the bone, the first bold line dividing its face. After that the form emerged quickly as line after line elaborated each detail. The spear, the mouth bleating out its pain, the forelegs collapsing. The great beast dying from the bite of the spear. Ruba was filled with a great sorrow at the pain of the aurochs, the life ebbing from him. The flint incised that pain in the surrender of the backbone sagging, the head lying down onto the ground, robbed of power and strength. Then it was suddenly over and Ruba peered astonished at the thing he had created. The beast was now in the bone, good as any Malek had created. Ruba could not believe his eyes. Where had it come from? It could not have been him. He hid the plate in his covers, thinking it a trick of the fading light.

  Near the end of the day came the tortured sound “Arrgghh!” of Makar taking his cure. Obviously he had not fully reconciled himself to the strong medicine. Unaccountably, people quickly accepted this addition to their daily routines to signal it was time to settle down for the night. Only a few knew that Makar had some long nights yet ahead of him, denied the comfort and pleasure of his mate. Chaiko hoped he was right in imposing such an onerous burden on Makar, but his reasoning seemed to be sound. He wanted them both to be very hungry for one another, and he expected that after a full moon’s abstinence their passions would be inflamed beyond endurance. Makar would be driven to be more than just generous and she would be more greedy to receive and perhaps, conceive. Of course only time would tell if the shaman was right in this. But at the very least Makar would be happy that he did not have to take the vile concoction any longer.

  Chapter 19

  Out of darkness a golden radiance flooded the land. Not all at once, of course, but by degrees. Shade by slow shade the darkness withdrew, fleeing from the emerging light. The noises of birds encouraged the sun.

  Ruba awoke, painfully aware of the light. He rubbed his eyes, yawned... then remembered. Feverishly, he rummaged in his covers until he found the bone. He dared not look at it first. What if it all had been a dream?

  He had to force himself to peek and was astonished. In the daylight the drawing on the bone looked even better than he remembered. It was nearly as good as anything his father had done, even if on a much smaller scale.

  He took a cold charcoal bit from the fire, crumbled it up between his fingers a
nd sprinkled it over the bone, using it to rub and polish the bone. Each line suddenly stood out in stark relief, with the charcoal in the lines lending strength to every suggestion of detail. The animal was succumbing, surrendering to death; his parting agony was piteous. How had he done that? He shook his head asking again, where did the image come from?

  A little later he showed it to Tusk whose mouth dropped open in astonishment. “That is how it was... exactly,” the big man marveled and tilted the bone plate a little, making the figure seem to move. “This is mine,” Tusk said, claiming the piece, “but the rest of the plates are yours to use as you wish.”

  Ruba had a momentary pang of jealousy; letting the drawing go was proving painful. “I will make another,” he promised, but still longed after the piece. It was his first attempt, but he was aware suddenly that there would be a second and third and so on. He had found a calling! The handful of blank bones suddenly took on great value. Yes, another. Should he make one for Cora? Something not so grisly or sad.

  Going to the spring for water Cora and Ruba met face to face, very nearly colliding with each other. “Stay away from me,” Cora spat out in disdain, every bit as fierce as her older sister. Ruba backed away from her hastily, blushing furiously. He had been so close to her that she had filled his nose with her scent.

  Cora rushed back to camp, angry because lately she had been feeling his eyes on her all the time. Wherever she went, there he was, watching her. Sometimes, under his gaze, she felt as if she were exposed and naked, and she had to hurry to hide. It made her skin crawl. But the worst was that there were times when she thought she felt him, only to find out later he had been somewhere else. She could not even trust her own senses anymore. What did he want of her? Whatever it was she was not interested!

  Toward midmorning Cora, Lana and Crow left to visit the famous Singing Rock. “Wait till you hear it,” Cora promised repeatedly. She could hardly contain herself at times, wanting to race ahead. Then finally they were there and Cora possessively took charge of the place. She positioned the other two carefully to face the fissure and then sang into it. The sound came back amazingly clear and pure.

  “Sounds just like you,” Lana said.

  “You try it,” Cora said motioning to her. Lana tried a tentative note and listened to the reply hesitate right back. Then she tried a little stronger. The echo responded obediently, but did not sound to her like her own voice. The inflection was the same, the intonation even, but the quality of the sound was strange to her ears. She frowned. It was not what she knew her voice to be. She tested again and again, and became caught up in the same compulsion that had already claimed Cora.

  “See? See?” Cora asked large eyed, her voice glowing with excitement.

  “It is very strange. It is my voice, but not exactly,” Lana said, frowning again into the crevice. She looked at Cora and asked, “Does my voice really sound like that?”

  “Yes,” Cora cried, nodding earnestly, “you sound just like that.”

  Lana looked shocked and deeply disturbed. “Lana, are you all right?” Cora asked.

  “That means,” Lana said tremulously, “that everyone else can hear me the way I sound except me.” Her face was white. “My ears have been lying to me.”

  “No, no. You have a beautiful voice,” Cora hurried to reassure her friend. “It is just that you hear the sound from both inside and outside at the same time. It makes it sound richer, I think.” She then turned herself toward the crevice and sang an intricate run, sliding up and down, careful always to keep in harmony with the echo.

  “That is incredible,” Lana said as excited as her young friend. Then both girls sang, making a trio of sound, careful to use the echo delay to add to the sound. Run after run they sang and Singing Rock promptly responded. Both girls were in raptures, glowing with sound, filled with its warmth. At times the beauty of the tones they layered simply took their breath away. They looked at each other and burst out in girlish giggles from the sheer pleasure.

  “Now listen to this,” Cora beckoned, “stand right there and do not move.” She then sang into the split. The sound came back wonderfully pure. Cora sang again and again, her face growing pinched.

  “What is it?’ Lana asked growing concerned.

  “It’s not there,” Cora said in abject disappointment.

  “What is not there?” Lana was puzzled, everything seemed there to her.

  “No, you do not understand! The crevice sang back to me.”

  “Of course. It’s an echo...” What was bothering the girl?

  “No!” Cora said vehemently, “I sang and he replied with sounds I did not make!”

  “He?” Lana was taken totally aback.

  “Yes.” Cora blushed deep red, but determined, she set forth. “There was a deep sound on the bottom. I cannot even go that low.”

  Lana frowned, “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am sure! I would know the difference!” Lana had to accept that assertion. Both girls tried sound after sound, but only their echoes came back. Cora was dejected, having so looked forward to sharing this oddity with her friend.

  “It is a beautiful place, and so full of beautiful sound. Thank you for showing this to me.” Lana tried to cheer the girl up, but Cora remained inconsolable. All her pleasure was suddenly gone, and she frowned darkly. What was she doing wrong? She tried for a time again but could not evoke the sounds she had hoped for.

  She was quiet all the way back. Lana hugged her and tried to comfort her. “It’s all right.”

  “No. It’s not all right,” Cora said in a petulant voice. “I know I heard it and I know it was there. It makes no sense for it to be there one day but not another.”

  “What was there?” Lana asked carefully.

  “There was another presence there. With a steady, rich baritone timbre.” Cora closed her eyes better to recall the experience. “And it was full of goodness. Pure enough to break one’s heart. And so full of caring.”

  “You heard all that just from the sound?”

  “I have very good ears,” Cora said with such self-assured pride that there was no room left for doubt. Lana just hugged her friend and tried to share her grief.

  Arriving back to camp, Cora saw Ruba by his fire, working on a bone plate. Still feeling her earlier disappointment, she transferred it into anger at him. “Look at him, pretending not to be watching me. Yet soon as I turn my back I feel his prying eyes on me. It makes my stomach hurt and I can never relax, always searching for where he is… when that’s the last thing I want to do.”

  But this time she was wrong. With a bit of flint Ruba was engraving the bone with a picture of a thrush in flight, as a gift intended for her. It gave him great pleasure to see the bird emerge line by line. He imagined Cora looking at it with sheer delight, and he warmed with satisfaction. He was unaware of anything else around him, just the plate and the next incised line. This time he rubbed the plate with red ochre to see the design jump out in sharp contrast. He polished the plate, imagining her appreciation, and he felt fulfilled.

  Arriving at the sitting of the Council, Chaiko was intercepted by Tomakon, warning him to be careful as something was brewing. They took their places conscious of many sideways glances thrown in their direction but also of much avoidance of eye contact. Chaiko sniffed the air, as if that would tell him anything, but the tension was palpable. Lefay came over and sat down beside them, signaling which side of the issue he was on. Chaiko took time to laugh outright to send a signal, too.

  Corrigan arrived with his retinue and they quickly arranged themselves, obviously eager to get started. Corrigan himself seemed charged with anticipation yet took time to be especially gracious. A minor matter was quickly dispensed with and an aura of waiting for something impending took hold of them all. Corrigan enjoyed the suspense that every eye was upon him awaiting his pleasure. Chaiko brazenly returned the Head-Shaman’s smile, teeth for teeth. Finally Corrigan stood, and started. “It is our duty at times to determine w
hat justice is. We sit, confer and deliberate until we can say with some certainty to our fellow man, ‘This is justice, observe it’ and ‘This is not justice, so abjure it.’” The Head-Shaman paused theatrically. “We thus have an awesome responsibility, for we must be justice to others. A high calling and a noble calling, requiring above all integrity from each one of us so entrusted. And each of us must respond and safeguard it.” He looked with great pride at the assembled, then his voice turned sorrowful. “But on rare occasions this trust is betrayed by someone in authority, taking advantage of his power for his own gain.” There was a horrified murmur that followed this announcement in a well-choreographed response.

  “Who? Who is it? Who would dare such a thing?” the chorus of voices demanded on cue.

  But Corrigan was not yet ready to reveal the guilty party, for as long as he remained unnamed, the accused could not defend himself but must wait as the accusation mounted against him. A cunning ploy, Chaiko granted the man.

  “Who indeed? Certainly not an honest man! No upright man would steal the reputation of another, separate him from his family, force him from his home to cast him adrift in an unfriendly world. Certainly no shaman!”

  “Tell us his name! Reveal him to us!” the voices yelled, bristling with indignation.

  “Now you know me as an honest man...” Corrigan paused and the well-rehearsed chorus replied with “Yea!”

  “You know me as a just man,” likewise assured with fresh yeas. “So I tell you honestly that I can find little justice in this evil perversion that one of us allowed himself.” He stabbed his finger at Chaiko and his voice became hard as a whip. “I accuse you, acting shaman of the Standing-Rock Clan, of stealing an invention of another man, claiming it as your own, then driving this poor wretch from his home and family and making an outcast of him.” There was a great show of horrified revulsion. “You have destroyed this man, Tael, utterly! Harmed his reputation beyond repair.” Corrigan looked about pleadingly. “Separate me rather from my own shadow, but spare my reputation and honor.” There was great quiet and Corrigan spat at the accused, “What say you to these charges?”