Children of the Dawn

by Patricia Rowe

  Frowning, Tor crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I told you I would bring my people.”

  She laughed softly. “We never believed you.”

  “As you see, I spoke the truth.”

  “So you did,” she said, nodding, then shaking her head. “But I think bringing them was a mistake.”

  She pointed, first at her tribe, then at his. They were silent now, trying to hear the words of their leaders. But they were stiff and ready to fight.

  “Our people don’t seem to like each other, Tor. I wonder what you are going to do now?”

  Tor looked unsure of himself—a look Tsilka had seldom seen. He took a deep breath, waved his arm toward the ring of stones.

  “Ashan… ” he said, and his voice sounded lost.

  Oh, the look on his face! Something inside Tsilka broke with awful pain, as the man she loved gazed at another woman in a way she had only dreamed of.

  “My Ashan knew what to do, but she’s on a journey with spirits. My little sister is the Other Moonkeeper, but I don’t think she even knows we’re here.” He cleared his throat. “It’s up to me now.”

  Stinking meat! Tsilka thought, as rage battled searing pain. It was Tor’s other woman, his Shahala woman, whose death made him senseless with grief! Bitterness twisted her as she stared at the body lying in the stone circle.

  Something made her wonder if the woman was really dead.

  Longest Hair, she thought, trying with her focused energy to bore a hole into the enemy’s head. I want this man. If you’re not dead already, die now. Do you hear me? Die!

  Tor said, “Tsilka, I need your help.”

  Why should I help you, she thought, but only for a moment. There were many ways to snare a man. A smart woman used them all. Tsilka reached out.

  “Take my hand, Tor. You and I must stand together as one, as the leader of all these people.”

  He just stood there.

  “Take my hand,” she commanded, “or many will die today.”

  With his son safe, Tor just wanted to sit by Ashan again, to find her journeying spirit, and be there for her when she was ready to come back.

  But Eagle from the Light, Tor’s spirit name taken when he was seven summers, also meant Brings Messages. Remembering this, he took Tsilka’s hand, not flinching from the sparks it threw into his, and—no he must not remember when they’d loved like cats—he thrust their clasped hands high.

  “Hear me!” he shouted. “Kah cheat!”

  Tor’s eyes traveled, striking face after unsmiling face. Suspicion and hostility glared back. Everyone knew him, although in different ways. To the Tlikit, he was a god—or a slave. To the Shahala, he was the Moonkeeper’s kidnapper—or the hero who rescued her from man-eaters and returned her to the tribe. Pride of the Shahala; the Evil One. Water Giver; slave. One woman’s mate, another’s lover.

  Holding the hand of his greatest mistake, the man who was many spoke in Tlikit.

  “Sahalie wants people to spread out in the world and mix their blood, so we do not die out like mammoths and horses. The Creator brought us all here to Mother River to live as one tribe. Reunited—Tlikit and Shahala, children of the same Father, brothers and sisters to each other.”

  Then he repeated it in his own language, using the name “Amotkan” instead of “Sahalie.”

  The Tlikit responded with shaking heads, angry looks, grumbles, and snarls; the Shahala with stiff backs, ready spears, the arrogance of greater numbers. Tor saw that many in each tribe did not care what the Creator wanted.

  “Listen to him! He speaks the truth!” Tsilka shouted, but it did not stop her people from muttering.

  Tor went on in a louder voice, waving his hand—the one not holding Tsilka’s—toward Ashan.

  “This woman inside these stones—she seems to be dead, but is not. You have reason to fear her. This woman has more power than I. She is the Moonkeeper who speaks with the spirits. She journeys with them now, to talk about this great coming together of tribes. She will be chief when she returns, chief over everyone. You will be happy that it is so. You will love her.”

  At these words, Tsilka stiffened at Tor’s side. He released her hand—almost threw it away—glad to be rid of the hot, tight grip of her—and went on about Ashan.

  “Like a mother she is to her people, and like a daughter. She is Ashan, Whispering Wind, Song of the People. She is wise, and has enough love for every creature.”

  Tlikit grumbling brought him to the most important thing they must know about Ashan. At the moment it was the only power Tor had over them.

  “You must believe this,” he said in a threatening voice. “The Moonkeeper knows magic. Deadly magic. She can save your life, or kill you, just by thinking it.”

  Maybe some believed it, but a tight, angry knot of young Tlikit men stamped away toward their village, hurling words over their shoulders like rocks.

  “Go away! You’re not welcome here!”

  “We’re not afraid of a dead woman, or a slave!”

  “We will kill you if we see you again!”

  Tor said, “Tsilka, stop them.”

  “Why don’t you wake up the dead woman and have her kill one or two?”

  Some of the Tlikit were following the angry young men. The Shahala were finding their voices.

  “We don’t want to live with savages!”

  “If we want this place, we will take it!”

  “Tsilka, please,” Tor implored.

  Tsilka squinted up at him. “Oh, all right. For you, I will try.”

  He didn’t trust her, wished he could see what was in her heart as she spoke to those of her people who were still there.

  “We are not savages,” she said in a loud voice. “We do not have to fight these strangers—not yet. I welcome them.”

  Holding out her hands, Tsilka went to a Shahala woman standing near her. She smiled warmly.

  “People of Tor, I welcome you.”

  Mani took Tsilka’s hands. She hadn’t understood the words, but she understood the meaning.

  “You are kind,” Mani said.

  On that bright, cold morning in autumn, the Tlikit who had stayed welcomed the Shahala to the Great River.

  Tentative, uncertain, doubtful welcome that it was, Tor felt relieved, even lucky. With Ashan unable to use her powers, he could imagine what might have happened. It bothered him that they’d done it because of Tsilka, not because of him. Had they understood anything of what he’d said about the Creator’s plan and Ashan’s power? He didn’t know, but they seemed to accept each other—for now, he realized, seeing the dark thoughts hidden behind some of their smiles.

  At least they won’t kill each other today.

  Putting people and their problems out of his mind, Tor went to the medicine circle and stood gazing down.

  Oh, Amotkan…

  It took faith to look at Ashan and not choke. She hadn’t moved since he found her on the ledge. Her breathing was too faint to see. But her skin was golden with reddish tones, a healthy color. She had never seemed more beautiful to him, or more helpless. He swallowed. Why now, Amotkan? We have never needed her more.

  Tor sat just outside the ring of stones, with his arms around his knees. He stared at his soulmate, then dropped his head, closed his eyes, and pushed the world away.

  Ashan. Ashan…

  Motionless, he tried to recapture the trance between them. But his spirit couldn’t find its way out of his body. Even if he could have left himself, only Amotkan knew where to find her now. Fear pricked Tor—she needed him to find her way back—and fear made it even harder to concentrate. He finally gave up, telling himself that a Moonkeeper’s death usually lasted three days, and he would have another chance.

  It surprised him that the sun had passed the middle of the sky when he opened his eyes again.

  He looked at Ashan… still the same, except that someone had strung a hide between sticks to give her shade. Standing, stretching, he looked for Kai El, but saw no S
hahala little ones. He hoped they had been sent away for safety. The rest of his people and some of the Tlikit were still there. A few were trying to make friends, but most clumped with their own kind—uneasy—hostile.

  A voice in his mind whispered, They need a leader.

  I don’t care. I promised not to leave her.

  He argued with himself. You must—just long enough to get them settled in the village.

  But I promised…

  If fighting breaks out, she won’t have much to wake up to, Tor thought, as he lost the argument with himself.

  CHAPTER 8

  ENCIRCLED BY THE HEALING STONES, THE TWO MOONKEEPERS—one hunched over the other—might have looked like one large person. But not to Tor. One was his soulmate; the other, his sister.

  Poor little Tenka, he thought. As the Other Moonkeeper, Tenka must make sure Ashan had everything she needed on her journey with spirits—a great responsibility for a girl of only thirteen summers—though she’d been trained for it since she was seven or eight.

  Tenka was asleep.

  “Wake up, Far Away Star,” Tor said, using the name he’d called her as a child. He remembered how their mother used to say, “Don’t be mean, Tor. Your sister’s name is Rising Star.” But even Luka had to admit that Far Away Star better described her most of the time.

  Tor reached out to touch her. When his hand crossed over the circle of stones, the hairs on his arm stood up. It felt like there was no air inside the circle. The feeling moved up his arm as he reached farther in.

  “Tenka, wake up.” He shook her, and jerked his hand back into familiar air.

  She looked up at him with half-closed eyes.

  “Mmm?”

  “Where are the little ones?”

  “Are they gone? Maybe their mothers hid them.”

  Tor sighed. How could she lead a tribe when she didn’t even know where the little ones were?

  “I’m going to take the people to the village now. They need something to do, or they’ll start fighting.”

  “I’ll stay here. I’ll take care of Ashan. Trust me.”

  So many refused to take Tenka seriously. With all that had been laid on her young shoulders, she needed her brother’s support.

  “I do trust you, Other Moonkeeper. Spirits be with you.”

  And with you, my love, he thought, turning away from Ashan.

  Tor looked around for Tsilka. He could have used her help, but she wasn’t here.

  Kai El walked up, pulling Tor’s spear along the ground by its point. The boy spoke with pride, holding out the spear that was twice as tall as himself.

  “I looked for it. I found it up there.”

  “Thank you, son. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Tor could not have meant it more. He took the spear and hefted it. Made long ago of oak, hardened by fire, bloodied by many kills, its balanced weight felt good in his hand. It made him more than just a man: With this spear, he was a warrior.

  Tor stood tall, bison robe thrown over his shoulder, spear butt in the ground at his side. He spoke in a loud voice.

  “It’s time for us to go to Teahra Milage.”

  People voiced concerns, but they followed Tor when he walked off. He did not need Tsilka’s help after all.

  A breeze freshened the bright afternoon. Sheer rocks edged one side of the narrow trail. The water, flowing in the same direction they walked, was close on the other side. People made a long line behind Tor, but he couldn’t hear them for the river’s voice. How good it was to hear that sound again. He thought of the words “power” and “forever.”

  The trail widened. The line bunched up behind him, his people eager to see their new home. The trail opened onto flat ground. Cliffs curved back away from the river.

  Tor stopped. The view filled his senses. He raised his arms to embrace it.

  In the Misty Time, before there were people, River Spirits could walk if they didn’t like where Amotkan put them. Chia-wana had done a lot of walking—signs of it were everywhere. Once she had carved a bend from the cliffs, only to abandon it, leaving behind a piece of land shaped like an eye. This was Teahra Village, the place of Tor’s dreams and destiny.

  Even better than I remembered, he thought.

  A wall of stone rose at the back—slabs heaped on slabs, looming dark against blue sky, giving refuge from the wind that pushed against the river as if trying to hold it back. The only tree, a huge oak, spread gold-green leaves against the sheltering crags. Bushes of various kinds clumped along the base.

  The ancient, fickle river had cut a long, low cave into solid rock. When Tor had come here with Wyecat and Tsilka, they’d slept in the cave. The Tlikit must be sleeping there still. Tor imagined future huts on the flat middle ground of Teahra Village.

  At the outer edge, fish-drying racks held their bounty up to wind and sun. Water lapped at a gravel shore. A bit of the shore jutted into the river, like a connected island, ready to catch any driftwood the River Spirit sent.

  Back near the cliffs, smoke rose from the village fire. The people sitting around it stood when Tor and his great herd arrived. Others came out of the cave. The seven or eight young men who had stormed off in anger before now approached with raised spears.

  What fools! Tor thought. He’d done what he had to to keep people from fighting when they were clumped around Ashan. But now, with her safe, he felt strong with his warriors ready behind him. Ashan could worry about making them all into brothers and sisters when she awoke.

  “Listen to me!” he said in a menacing voice, and the Tlikit halted their threatening approach.

  “This is my place,” he shouted. “Without me, you would still be living by a lake with no water. I dreamed this place, I found it, and I allowed you to live here. Now it is ours. My people will hunt the prairie and fish the Great River, and live on this flat piece of ground. We don’t want your cave. The way you live, the way you dress, or don’t dress, you need a cave. This is what we want.” He waved his arm to show the ground just waiting for Shahala huts. “We are here and we will stay. We are many more than you. If you try to fight, you will die. Die!”

  He raised his spear to a thrusting position, and felt the tense heat of the Shahala warriors ready behind him.

  “We will live here,” Tor went on, jabbing the butt of his spear in the ground. “And you can live there.” He pointed to the cave. “Unless you want to find some other place. Now bring us food. We are hungry.”

  Tsilka walked up. Tor was glad to see her—which was not a thing he thought he’d ever feel again—even though her face was full of unwanted lust.

  “I’m happy to see you, Tor,” she said thickly. “I thought you might take your people and fade away.”

  “No,” Tor said. “A man does not fade before destiny.”

  “Not a man like you,” she agreed. She turned to her tribe, and Tor saw the lust in her face change to command.

  “Put your spears away! These strangers are hungry, and we are not savages without food!”

  Some relieved, others reluctant, Tsilka’s people obeyed her. A great variety of food was brought out of the cave. Tor’s people ate on and on, washing it down with flavored teas. The Shahala who had eaten mosscakes and chewed grass stems last night kept looking at each other, laughing, saying, “Tor spoke the truth about this place!”

  The Tlikit watched the newcomers eat. Some seemed proud of having hunted and gathered it all. Others seemed resentful at being forced to give it away, but they said nothing.

  When the Shahala had eaten their fill, Tor spoke in Tlikit.

  “We left our belongings on the prairie. You will help my warriors get them. Elia, you go along so they can talk to each other.”

  After a group of men had gone, Tor and Tsilka talked with the others, putting words in both languages so all could understand. The woman could not hide her lust, but he didn’t allow it to distract him. His brain was busy as he tried to keep up with questions in two languages. To Tlikit complaints
that they did not have enough food for two tribes, Tor replied that the Shahala were skilled hunters, and soon there would be enough to feed three tribes.

  “The Shahala are a people who like to share,” he said. “Your lives will be better because we have come. We will change this spot by the river where some people live in a cave; we will make it into the fine village that it was meant to be.”

  Tor knew there would be problems, stresses in learning each other’s ways, in understanding each other’s thoughts when words weren’t understood. Some of the Tlikit would not easily get over resentment that the Shahala had come and chosen to live in the place they thought of as theirs. Many things would have to be worked out in the coming days…

  Like what to do about the four women who never left a crude shelter against the trunk of the oak tree, unless it was to tend the fire. It took a while, but Tor realized where he had seen them before: They were the forest women he and Elia had spared long ago. They were slaves now. Tor was disgusted, and his people would be too when they realized what slavery meant.

  He saw how hard it would be for Ashan to take control without being able to talk to the Tlikit people. Only three knew both languages: Tor, Tsilka, and Elia. The boy would go along with him. As for Tsilka, he would have to keep her wings pinched, like a bug that a man didn’t want dead, just flightless.

  Night settled on the river village. The slaves made the fire large. Tlikit women offered more food. With full bellies, people settled into quiet talk with others of their own blood—the Tlikit on the downriver side of Teahra Village, the Shahala on the upriver side.

  Tor had to return to Ashan. He’d left her for too long with only his little sister and some magic rocks for protection.

  But first, he must deal with Tsilka, the she-cat he should have resisted, but to his regret had not—long ago, many times, loving to the rhythm of the river—

  Tor told Tsilka to come with him. She eagerly agreed, must think he wanted to make love. He refused the hand she offered. Walking up the riverbank in silence, they came to a flat-topped boulder with its bottom in the water. They had once spent time here, looking at the hills beyond the river, talking about what might be on the other side.