The eagle’s wings had to be separated after all; to work right, the joints must line up with the ones in his arms. He cut a legging to fit across his back, and lashed the shoulder bones of the eagle to it.
Covered with feathers, Tor became one with the eagle.
He made paint of ground-up coals and goose fat, and wrapped it in leather, to be used just before he swooped down on the village. He packed white goose fluff for his face, and the beak and talons.
Tor had used up the whole morning. He’d have to run allthe way to get back in time. Maybe if he ran fast enough,he’d lift off into the sky
Most of the strangers—as Tsilka still called the Shahala—had huts now, and said it was too cold to be outside at night. That was fine with her. She saw more than enough of them in the day.
It was dark, except for firelight; quiet, except for rivernoise and whispered Tlikit words. Tsilka liked this time, after eating, before sleeping, when warmer weather let her people sit outside by a slave-tended fire. The twins had fallen asleep across her lap. Stroking their soft hair, she gazed into the waning flames. Her head nodded. She got up and helped her little ones to their feet. Others stood, yawning and stretching, and headed for the cave.
A cry shattered the night.
“Kree-e-e!”
Whirling around, Tsilka saw a winged monster sweeping down from the rocks. Big enough to carry off babies. She grabbed one under each arm and ran.
“Kree-e-e! Ree-e-e!” it screamed, coming at them.
People fell to the ground, arms over heads. Tsilka stumbled into them, going down.
“Look at me!” it screeched in Tlikit.
Tsilka looked up. A bird? Too big. A man? A god?
The monster strode back and forth on the other side of the fire, menacing wings stretched. Chest and legs were shiny black and sprigged with feathers. A yellow beak gaped in a white feathered face. The beast had no eyes.
“I am Sahalie, god over all!”
Tsilka thought, We’re dead.
“You sicken me! I sent Tor to teach you about sacred animals. But what did you do?”
The god threw something across the fire that hit the ground near Tsilka. It was an eagle’s foot, with talons spread for striking.
“Who?” Sahalie demanded. “Who killed my son!”
No one was fool enough to answer.
“Speak, or I will tear you to pieces, one by one, first the young so parents may watch!”
Not my babies, Tsilka thought. But her people just lay there.
Standing on legs that felt like water, she tried to keep her eyes down, but she glimpsed the god, who seemed to be growing larger. She shook like the last leaf in a windstorm.
“I did it. I’m sorry. Spare us. Please.”
The god had nothing to say. Did he see through her lie? When he spoke again, his voice was not so fierce.
“Obey my laws and live. Disobey, and die as the eagle you have killed. I will not give you another warning. Now get out of my sight.”
Tsilka and her people ran for the cave. She didn’t see Sahalie fly away, but she would never forget the sound of his rushing wings.
Later, Tsilka was astonished at herself: She had stood face-to-face with the god over all, ready to take another’s punishment—even if it meant dying. She’d done it for her daughters.
As for the guilty one who had killed the eagle, she’d find out who he was and punish him herself for causing Sahalie’s rage.
On the second night that Tor was gone, Ashan let Kai El sleep in their bed—as much for herself as for him. They snuggled like coyote pups, warm in memory of the time in Ehr’s cave.
“Kree-e-e! Ree-e-e!”
It sounded like the Eagle Spirit himself, diving for a kill. Ashan’s first thought was to pull the skins over their heads.
“Amah! What was that?”
“Stay here.”
As any chief would whose tribe was in danger, Ashan got up, threw on her moccasins and robe, and peered out the doorway of the hut. She saw an enraged man striding behind the fire, flapping huge wings, shrieking—and knew in an instant that it was Tor who had brought the Tlikit to the ground and trapped them with his disguise and words. It was Tor, but she had to keep reminding herself—he seemed to have become an eagle, and as she watched he became something worse.
He claimed to be Sahalie, their Creator, and said he would eat their little ones.
Moans came from the pile of Tlikit people, and a sharp smell—there would be wet stains under some of them.
What are you doing, Tor? Why?
It was awful to see people in such terror—even if they were Tlikit and not Shahala. The Moonkeeper realized that she had come to consider them her own. She was seized by an urge to run out and stop him, but… she trusted Tor.
Ashan was amazed when Tsilka took the blame. She couldn’t have killed the eagle Tor was raving about—Tlikit women weren’t allowed to touch weapons.
As the terrified Tlikit fled for their cave, and Tor went flapping away, Ashan wondered what the Shahala people thought… she wasn’t the only one who’d watched from a hut.
Ashan awoke when Tor came home in the night. A strange energy followed him in. He moved their sleeping son to his own bed.
“That was quite a scare you put into them,” Ashan said. “Maybe you should be the Moonkeeper.”
“Wasn’t I magnificent?”
“More than magnificent.”
Ashan couldn’t see Tor in the dark, but she smelled him.
“Goose fat and firecoals?” she asked.
“Yes. How did I look?”
“Scary or exciting, depending on who was doing the looking.”
“How about you? Were you scared, or excited?”
“Neither. I knew it was just Tor wearing some feathers. Now come here and let me clean you. I don’t want the sleeping skins all greasy.”
“I already did, but maybe I missed some.”
She went to light the oil lamp, but he said not to: He didn’t want anyone knowing that he’d come home. In the dark, she rubbed his naked body with a soft piece of doeskin, starting with his face.
“Take your time. I don’t want them to see any black on me.
“I have the rest of the night.”
She made slow swirls on his shoulders, back, and chest.
“How did you know it was me?”
She laughed. “I’ve known you for many lifetimes.”
He told her of his day on the endless prairie, and the mountains that seemed to move ahead of him as he walked; the antelope; the spring; the eagles—both the dead one, and its mate who told him what to do.
She said, “I don’t think there’ll be any more eagle-killing around here.”
“Good! I won’t allow it!”
Kneeling, she rubbed his tight belly, thighs, legs, and rear. He must be clean everywhere by now, but she didn’t want to stop. She dropped the doeskin and stroked with bare hands. His body answered.
“Soaring bird,” she whispered. “Take me down and wrap me in your wings.”
“Ashan,” he said, between ragged, heavy breaths.
He crushed her to his chest, taking her mouth in a kiss, reaching in her robe for her breast.
Pressed to him, she drank his kiss like a woman dying for water, but it only made her thirstier. She slipped out of her dress and under the furs.
“Come, magic bird,” she whispered, holding the furs open.
CHAPTER 18
THE TLIKIT PEOPLE DIDN’T LEAVE THEIR CAVE THE NEXT day.
Tsilka kept her daughters within reach of her arm. Thoughts of what almost happened to them swept through her mind. Between rushes of fear, she listened to her people.
Was the thing a god, or not? That’s what they talked about all day…
“Of course it was a god. What else could look and sound like that?”
“Maybe it was some god. But Sahalie? Our Creator is like a wind, not an eagle.”
“Don’t you think the god over all ca
n be anything it wishes?”
“Sahalie has never appeared to people.”
“Maybe they didn’t live to tell anyone.”
“Maybe we’re lucky.”
Most decided to believe what they’d seen and heard: the god over all commanding them not to kill sacred animals, or they’d be torn to pieces, starting with the little ones.
“We can get along without eagles, coyotes, and beetles,” they said, relieved that Sahalie demanded so little.
Venturing out the next day, Tsilka found the eagle’s foot thrown by the god, and put it in the fire. She found prints in the gray firedust where the thing had stamped about—prints the size and shape of a man’s feet. She found a tuft of feathers, tied at the top with long black hairs. If it was a real god, or even a real bird, its feathers wouldn’t fall off, would they?
She wasn’t so sure that the monster had been their god. She kept thinking of how it looked and moved and sounded.
And Tor was gone, wasn’t he?
Tsilka felt like a fool to think of Tor watching her shake in terror. She was furious.
Out in the dark away from the village, with her legs gripping his hips and thighs, her fingers digging into his chest, Tsilka rode Chopunik like a fish on a wave. She loved to have a man grunting and thrusting beneath her. Power swelled inside. He reached for her bouncing breasts and squeezed, and the power exploded. She threw her head back and cried out as spasms shook her body.
In lightning flashes behind her eyes, she saw the face of Tor.
Tsilka slumped and rolled away from the gasping man.
Chopunik was Tlikit. He had a mate. What he did with Tsilka had to be kept secret, which made it more exciting. If only it was so easy to get Tor away from his mate…
Tor… fury swept her again. Tor had made fools of her and the proud Tlikit people.
“I hate him!”
“Who?”
Chopunik’s question made her realize she’d spoken out loud.
“The one who made fools of us. Tor.”
Chopunik was angry. “You make a fool of me, Tsilka, to talk of another when I am with you. I know you and Tor were lovers.”
“Well I hate him now,” she said, “for making us scratch in the dirt begging for our lives.”
“You’re crazy. What are you talking about?”
“And you are stupid. Don’t you know who that feathered creature was?”
He looked at her, stupidly.
“It was Tor, you fool. Tor.”
“You are the fool, woman. You see Tor in everything.”
His face was an ugly scowl. Tsilka had hurt his pride, and as any woman knew, there was nothing a man hated more. For now it was good to have Chopunik whenever she wanted him. Her body needed a man.
“No, Chopunik,” she said in a soft voice, stroking his sweaty cheek. “It is you I see in everything, the shape of your face in a cloud, your power staff in an upthrust rock… ”
Her fingertips trailed down his chest, lingering at his nipples, down his belly, to the roots of his limp staff. She took him in her hand, moving the way she’d seen her brother move his hand one time when he’d thought he was alone.
“Roll over,” he said in a broken voice. “This time I will be on top.”
Tsilka lay on her back and opened her legs. Maybe this time she wouldn’t see Tor when her explosion came.
As Chopunik ground away at her, she thought, I hate you, Tor. I don’t need you, Tor. If you saw me now, you would be so jealous that this man gets what you should have.
I hate you, Tor… I don’t need you, Tor…
Was it any wonder that Tor’s image kept dancing in her mind, exploding in a shower of sparks?
CHAPTER 19
THE MOONKEEPER’S SHADOW STICK SHOWED THAT it was mid-spring. Warm air, fresh food, smells and colors of growth and life kept the people of Teahra Village smiling.
Ashan walked along the river one morning, seeking quiet before her day filled with people. Chiawana had grown, as rivers did in springtime, covering up a beach where she liked to sit. She found a rock on higher ground, settled in the sunshine, and took in the magic she’d come for. Adorned with green grass, willow leaves, and flowers in many colors, the world seemed happy. Birdsong filled the air. Herds of salmon swam against the rushing current. The river sounded like it was laughing because the fish tickled it.
The Tlikit man named Chopunik came onto the trail below, gripping a woman’s arm, propelling her toward the village.
Ugly man, Ashan thought. No man—especially a Tlikit—could come close to Tor’s good looks, but some were worse than others. Chopunik was tall, fat, and naked. He greased his skin and hair, and stank as if he never washed it off, just kept adding more as it wore off.
He swaggered with the unmistakable look of a man who had just flung his juices.
The woman was a slave. Ashan didn’t know her name. She had tried talking to them, but they wouldn’t speak. The defeated creature stumbled along, head down, keeping pace the best she could. But he jerked her arm anyway. Near the village, he pushed her.
“Get back to your place.”
Swelled up like a rutting elk, he watched the woman slink away.
Of all the things I’ve handled, why have I let this go on so long? Ashan asked herself.
Worry about that later. Are you going to do something now?
Ashan strode up to him.
He greeted her with a grin. “It’s a fine day.”
She did not smile back. “Do you know who I am?”
“Everyone knows who you are.”
“Then you know I have magic.”
“I have never seen it.”
“I think you know. It would please me if you never do that again.”
“What? Her?” He gave a deep, curt laugh. “She belongs to us, not you.”
“She doesn’t belong to anyone but herself.”
Anger replaced amusement on his face. “You do not understand Tlikit ways,” he growled.
“I don’t care about Tlikit ways. It will displease me if you ever force yourself on a slave again. Believe me, you will wish that you had not.”
He came toward her, fists clenched at his sides, hulking, menacing. She didn’t back up, though he was like a wall of hot rock right in her face. He could crush her. His size made her shake inside, but she stood her ground, making herself as large as possible—shoulders straight, chin up, eyes on his.
He hissed, “What if I take my pleasure with you next time, instead of the slave?”
When he said the word “pleasure,” a drop of spit hit Ashan’s face. Her blood boiled.
“You will die for thinking it! But not until you have watched your children die!”
Ashan sizzled with a Moonkeeper’s heat—the kind that explodes with deadly force. Chopunik felt it. His eyes darted. He backed away, still puffed up, but much less sure of himself.
“This time I will forgive your ignorance,” Ashan said. “But never again. You have a mate for your pleasures. Leave others alone, or you will regret it.”
“Warriors do not need women to tell them what to do,” Chopunik said as he swaggered off.
What savages, Ashan thought, stamping her foot. How could a man find pleasure in forcing himself on an unwilling woman? Maybe my threats will stop him from doing it again, and if not—I think I’d enjoy boiling his insides to mush.
As she cooled off, the Moonkeeper realized that Chopunik was just the pus oozing from a sore. A person who was owned by another… a person who had no rights… that was the festering sore that oozed many evils. Slavery could poison her people. It could destroy all she was working for.
She forgave herself for not stopping it sooner. The idea was so strange to a Shahala mind… it took time to see all that slave-keeping meant, to understand that it was worse than it looked.
Ashan shook her head. She thought people were born knowing how to treat other people.
That’s always been one of your problems, Windpuff, said Raga�
��s voice in her mind. You want to believe in the goodness of everyone.
Confronting Chopunik had made Ashan realize that it wasn’t a matter of if something must be done about the slaves, but what and when.
Ashan spoke to three of the Tlikit who seemed to have influence with the others.
“We must talk. Come to the Moonkeeper’s hut,” she said, knowing they were uncomfortable in the closeness of huts. She told them to sit, then remained standing herself.
Tlok was a grumpy old man; Chalan a rash young warrior. Tsilka was… Ashan was still trying to figure out just what the woman was, but she had to admit that people listened to her. There was much in Tsilka’s eyes, Ashan thought, if only she knew the language they spoke.
The Moonkeeper began, “We are all children of the Creator, Sahalie-Amotkan.”
Looking at her hands, cleaning her fingernails with a twig, Tsilka said in a bored voice, “So Tor tells us every day.”
Chalan said, “If I complain that a Shahala sneezed on my food, Tor says, ’Love your brother. You are children of the same Father.’”
“Tor is right,” Ashan said. “That’s why slavery is wrong. It’s wrong to use people that way.”
Tsilka shook her head. “You are the wrong one. The slaves are the Lost People. Our gods gave them to us in the long ago. They need us, and we need them.”
Tlok said, “People are nicer when they can yell at a slave and not each other.”
“These people make life better for everyone by doing the worst work,” Tsilka said, her eyes challenging slits. “We wonder why you do not know these things.”
Ashan bristled. “How would you like to be a slave? Have you ever thought how it feels to be treated like that?”
Tsilka snorted. “What does it matter? I am not. But if I were, I’d be proud. Slaves keep peace in the tribe.”
That was one of the most ridiculous things Ashan had ever heard. Savages, she thought. They are hopeless savages.
Chalan said, “Those women would die if we ran them off. Would you want us to kill them?”
“No,” Ashan said. “I want you to take them back to the forest. They had a life there.”
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