Children of the Dawn

by Patricia Rowe

Thinking up a story, she asked to speak with the Moonkeeper.

  “I want to be like a Shahala and take a new name.”

  The Moonkeeper looked surprised. “It’s more than just standing up in the Naming Ceremony and getting a new name. Have you thought of all it means? To go on a power quest? To have a guardian spirit? Have you thought of what people will say? Tlikit people?”

  “I have thought of all that.”

  “What does your mother say?”

  “I have not told her yet.”

  “She may be afraid for you to go on a power quest. Tlikit little ones have never done it.”

  “I don’t want to go on a power quest.”

  The Moonkeeper stared at her. Tsurya thought it must take a lot to silence a chief, but she had done it.

  “I don’t need a power quest,” she said. “I met my guardian spirit at the Great River. He is the Water Giver, Wahawkin. My father.”

  The Moonkeeper’s mouth fell open.

  “He told me my new name. Tahna. My name is Tahna.”

  The Moonkeeper found her voice.

  “But that doesn’t mean anything. People are named for things.”

  “Wahawkin told me it means Daughter of a God.”

  “But you are Tlikit, little one,” Ashan said, shaking her head. “I don’t think you know what this means.”

  Tsurya stood firm. “Why am I any different from Kai El? You said that just because things have always been done one way doesn’t mean they can’t be done another.”

  The Moonkeeper cleared her throat.

  “You’re right. That’s what I said… Tahna.”

  The little girl smiled and sighed in pleasure at hearing her name spoken by another. She realized just how beautiful it was. But her pleasure didn’t last long.

  The Moonkeeper said, “You are going to need my help. Shall we go and see your mother?”

  Tsurya—who would be Tahna if she lived through this—bit her lip, swallowed, and nodded.

  Kneeling by the fire in the Moonkeeper’s hut, Ashan stirred with a stick in each hand: herbs, water and hot rocks in one basket—medicine for a man with fever—and in another, fish mush for Tor. She had just come from Tsilka’s hut, and her blood still boiled. They had shouted, but just being with the woman would have been enough. Ashan couldn’t stand Tsilka. She stayed away from her—until a child with a wild idea had forced her to do otherwise.

  The Tlikit woman had been in Ashan’s way from the beginning. At first Tsilka was a real danger, encouraging her people to resist everything Shahala, including the Moonkeeper. Ashan knew how close she’d been to losing control. But Elia’s death had helped to heal the rifts between the tribes. No matter how Tsilka tried to keep people stirred up, they blamed her for the events that led to the boy’s death, and eventually stopped listening to her.

  Tsilka was no longer a spear about to be thrust. She was more like a sharp stone in Ashan’s moccasin. She hated Ashan, showing it in moments gone in a flash, by a narrowing of her eyes, a twist of her lips, a color that rose in her cheeks. There was no reason for it.

  And then there was the way Tsilka acted around Tor… giving him sly, hungry looks. She did not have a mate, but she had lovers to satisfy her. She had no right to look at Tor that way.

  Or did she?

  Ashan stirred angrily, flipping out bits and splashes. She’d heard it said that Tor had once been Tsilka’s lover. But Tor said it wasn’t true, and Ashan chose to believe him.

  What could she do about the woman?

  Guard your mate, answered a voice inside.

  While she stirred, Ashan told Tor about Tsurya wanting a new name.

  “Little ones,” he said. “What a lot of trouble they are. It almost makes me glad Alhaia the Moon never sent us another.”

  “I know,” she said. “Stamping on the ways of their elders, making up their own. And what can we do? The spirits are behind them.”

  Well, she wasn’t sure spirits had anything to do with the latest request, but there was no reason to say so.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Ashan.”

  She said, “First a Shahala, our own Kai El. Now this one, a Tlikit, daughter of that—that—”

  “Rattlesnake Woman?”

  “That name isn’t mean enough for her anymore. She loves those twins, but she also beats them. I know she does. I’m really worried for little Tsurya. Tor, there are times when I’d just like to vanish that woman!”

  “I don’t think she beats the twins.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Well, I’ve never seen it.”

  “I’m telling you, she beats them. She’s just that kind of person.”

  “Ashan, I wonder why you really hate her so much. What has Tsilka done to you? She’s been meek as a mouse since Elia died.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” she said, annoyed that Tor defended the woman. “Moonkeepers don’t hate people.” She heaped mush on a wood plate and thrust it at him, then went back to stirring the fever medicine.

  The Moonkeeper didn’t hate anyone; Ashan disliked Tsilka. Beating her little ones was just part of it—she wasn’t the only Tlikit who did that. It was true that Tsilka never said or did anything wrong to Ashan—nothing that could be proved. But how can you like someone who hates you?

  “Aren’t you eating?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Arguing with Tsilka had destroyed her appetite.

  “What name was given to the little girl?” he asked.

  “You know I can’t tell you that,” she said. If the girl had a guardian spirit, it was their secret until the Naming Ceremony. “But I will tell you it’s a very interesting name.”

  Ashan sniffed the steam rising from the fever medicine, and the smell told her it was finished. She took some extra sniffs, letting it calm her, then removed the rocks from the cooking basket.

  “You know, Tor, I do admire the bravery of these children—one Shahala, one Tlikit—standing up for what they alone believe. Maybe someday they’ll grow up and fall in love.”

  “No! “Tor said, with a violent shake of his head. “They’re not right for each other.”

  “How can you say that? They’re just little ones.”

  “I can tell. I know my son. Believe me, Ashan, they are not right for each other.”

  She was about to ask if he’d seen the path that rabbit drew for Kai El and Tsurya to walk, but the look in his eyes—determined, almost fierce—stopped her. Whether the little ones were meant for each other was not important at this time in their lives; she had only been musing.

  She wondered why Tor seemed so upset.

  Kamiulka, the Autumn Feast, arrived. On the morning of the second day, the One Drum called the spirits and the people of Teahra Village. It was time again for the Naming Ceremony, one of life’s important rituals. Except for Ashan, who was preparing herself in the Moonkeeper’s hut, everyone gathered around the ceremonial ground.

  Almost everyone, Tor thought, noticing Tsilka’s absence. How can she not want to hear our daughter’s new name?

  The drum thumped. A circle of mothers danced with waving arms, singing in high, thin voices about a bird’s first flight.

  Tor gazed at the twins. His mind wasn’t sure what made one child prettier than another, but his eyes knew. And these two were beautiful. They had a sparkle, an intelligence that he didn’t see in other little ones—well, except Kai El. It was hard to keep his pride hidden. He saw himself in their matching faces and wondered that no one else did.

  Which one is Tsurya, who wants a new name? Which is Tsagaia, who thinks her old name is fine?

  They looked so much alike that Tor couldn’t tell them apart. But were they alike? One wanted to be Shahala—like her father, he couldn’t help thinking. The other was happy to be Tlikit. Yet they both had his blood.

  He looked at the other child who had his blood. And then there’s Kai EL He went a way all his own, but he took the name I gave with him…

  But this was his daugh
ter’s day, not his son’s. Tor looked back at his girls. He felt love, and pity. They wore old dresses, though he had given Tsilka deerhides to make new ones.

  A girl should have a new dress for her Naming Ceremony, whether her mother believes in it or not—

  Tor heard Ashan shriek. The drum stopped in mid-beat. He bolted for their hut. Just as he was about to burst in, Ashan stepped out, looking regal in her Moonkeeper’s garb: the ancient robe of fur and feathers; the long tail of Kusi, the Horse Spirit, in her hair; high boots of black bear fur on her feet. But he saw the shaken look on her face.

  “What happened?” he said.

  ’There was a bisonsnake in my boot,” she whispered angrily. “I will thank Tsilka for the addition to our stew.”

  “Oh, Ashan, I don’t think she’d do that.”

  She gave him a narrow look. “All you know about women, Tor, would fit in the shell of a beetle.”

  Well, he could not deny that. He wondered if Tsilka would do such a thing? Maybe it was time for him to have a talk with her.

  At least, he thought, it was a bisonsnake, not a rattlesnake… this time.

  The ceremonial ground was silent but for sounds of water and wind. The Moonkeeper walked to the center and faced Where Day Begins. The One Drum spoke four knocking beats. She raised her arms to the sky and shook deer-hoof rattles, then did the same for the other directions.

  It filled Tor with awe to see his mate like this. He thought how much he loved her.

  Having summoned the spirits, the Moonkeeper spoke to the people.

  “Some of our little ones have reached seven summers. They went on power quests to meet their Spirit Guardians, and they are ready for a new part of life. Come, little ones, and tell us what you learned.”

  Tsurya, Bot, and Aknit stepped onto the ceremonial ground. When her turn came, Tor’s secret child spoke with dignity beyond her age.

  “I am Tahna, Daughter of a God. Wahawkin the Water Giver is my Spirit Guardian.”

  If anyone had looked at Tor, they would have seen the unmistakable pride of fatherhood beaming from him. But everyone was looking at the little ones.

  From her secret spot near the women’s washing place, Tahna could hear talking on the other side of the bushes. One day she heard some of her Tlikit friends.

  “Not only don’t we change our names, but the name itself! Tahna, just a sound, like the first babbles out of a baby’s mouth.”

  “She says it means Daughter of a God. She couldn’t pick something like Dove Song or Sage Flower,” said Wenot, whose name meant Summer Night.

  “And to claim the god Wahawkin as her Spirit Guardian—it’s like her mother claiming that Wahawkin is their father.”

  “Shh,” said another. “Do you have to say ’Wahawkin’ all the time?”

  Tahna tossed a stone into the brush behind the girls, and they flew up like a bunch of quail. She had to cover her mouth to keep giggles from getting out. Some people, especially those of Tlikit blood, didn’t even like to think about Wahawkin. It might make him come back, and they knew what that god could do.

  The Moonkeeper came up on them.

  “I heard you,” she said. “No one lies about their Spirit Guardian. If Tahna says it, then it is so.”

  Tahna knew that taking a new name had been the right thing to do. She loved being called Tahna, a word all her own. She believed she had become another person. What she didn’t like about herself, she gave to Tsurya to bury in the past. What she did like, she gave to Tahna to carry into the future.

  CHAPTER 26

  STRIPPED TO HIS LOINSKIN, TOR SAT AT THE GREAT River’s edge with his feet in the water. Heat lay on the land like an unwelcome fur robe. A good strong wind—so much a part of life along the river—might have blown it away, but the wind had deserted. Tor watched little ones play in the water. They knew what to do about heat. Grown men were too dignified—especially tribal elders, as Tor was regarded, though he was just twenty-seven summers.

  A man can only wet his feet and wait for dark, he thought. Or he could escape for a while. That’s what Tor decided to do. Others wanted to go with him.

  Two summers ago, Tor and a band of Teahra hunters had ventured to the mountains where the sun went down. Days later they had returned to the village, each with a deer over his shoulders. They could have killed more, but one was easy to carry. Prairie deer came to the Great River often enough to satisfy hunger, but the Shahala thought the meat of mountain deer was richer because of what they ate. The Tlikit had never tasted mountain deer, but after chunks of seared meat and portions of savory stew, they agreed.

  Even more important, the Teahra hunters had found pine trees and brought back pungent bark. No one would die for lack of pine medicine again.

  The next day before it got hot, Tor and ten good friends headed out from the village. Under a high blue sky, they were no cooler than they’d been before, but they were happy to be away. They walked down the Great River for two days, then up a smaller river that emptied into it.

  The land rose. The air was hot, but not so heavy. The place reminded Tor of Takoma’s lower slopes in the land of his ancestors. The trees changed from ash and maple to pine and oak. Underbrush opened onto grassy meadows where skittish deer grazed.

  The men hunted with weapons like the one Tor had taken from the man-eater who killed his brother Beo long ago. The notched stick that threw a thin spear was a good way to kill some animals—but not bears, as Tor had learned the hard way.

  The hunters killed eleven deer in one day. That night they feasted on the hearts. Eating a bite or two raw captured the animal’s power; deer gave the ability to be constantly alert. They cooked the rest of the heart meat on sticks over a fire. The smell of dripping juice, the sight of beads of fat sizzling on crisp meat—Tor’s stomach growled. When he ate, the taste was even better than the smell had promised.

  Afterward, the hunters sat with their backs against trees, belching and smiling.

  “Eleven,” Lar said. “We head for home tomorrow.”

  “Why hurry?” Tor asked.

  “I don’t want to carry more than one.”

  “We don’t have to hunt. We could hang the meat in trees, and come back for it. It will taste even better in a few days.”

  “I suppose we could,” Lar agreed.

  Tor said, “This is the farthest we’ve ever come. I’d like to see what’s higher up.”

  Takluit said, “It’s hot here in the mountains, but it will be hotter at the Great River.”

  Lyo said, “It’s good to get away from women and little ones. The older I get, the more I enjoy it.”

  No one was ready to go home. They hung the deer carcasses in trees. After a good sleep, they walked higher into the mountains, to find what might be found.

  Two days later, Tor stood at the top of a ridge, gazing toward Colder. A field of huckleberry bushes spread down the slope in front of him, stopping at the edge of a dark forest of lofty cedars that stretched away for days. In the far distance, the snowy peak of a great mountain climbed out of the forest and reached for the sky.

  Tor turned the mountain’s shape around in his mind as if he were seeing it from his ancestral homeland.

  Yes, it was Pahto! The Shahala hadn’t seen the sacred mountain since they’d left the Valley of Grandmothers for the last time, six autumns ago.

  Tor pointed. “Look. What do you see?”

  “Huckleberries!” Hamish said, stuffing his mouth. “I haven’t had one since I was a boy!”—an exaggeration, but it had been a long time.

  “No, not just huckleberries. What more do you see?”

  “Forest that runs on for days.”

  “Snow-covered mountains.”

  “Are you blind?” Tor said. “It’s Pahto!”

  “It is!”

  Cheering Shahala men punched the air, danced around, slapped each other’s backs. Though the mountain was turned backwards, and very far away, she let them know where they were, in a way they hadn’t known since
they’d left their homeland.

  The two Tlikit men in the hunting party didn’t understand why anyone would get so excited about a mountain.

  “Is that where you used to live?” Wyecat asked.

  “No, but we could see her.”

  “So?”

  “When we can see Pahto, we know where we are.”

  “Oh.”

  “We honor Pahto. She brings the waters of life to the land of our ancestors. Coyote made the First People up there.”

  Tor could have told the Tlikit men more about the sacred mountain, but he had lost them to the huckleberries—sweet, juicy morsels the size of a fingertip—heavy on the waist-high bushes.

  Women would pick the fruits gently, one at a time, but there were no women here to tell the hunters what to do. They stripped handfuls and stuffed themselves, moaning with delight, laughing at how they looked with purple hands and faces.

  When they couldn’t eat one more berry, they threw them at each other… eleven grown men, acting like little ones, but there was no one to see. Finally they lay down in an open spot and rested.

  Tor wanted to see Pahto again. He walked to the top of the ridge. Behind him, the deep forest they had come through stopped, opening in front of him to the scattered leafy trees and huckleberry bushes. The way the berry field swept down the mountain made Tor wonder if a long-ago wildfire had taken the forest, leaving a place where sunlight could reach lower plants. Wildfire, like all the powers of nature, could be a friend to one thing and an enemy to another.

  He sat on a downed tree. With the sun at his back, he feasted his eyes on the distant mountain. The broad base of She Who Brought the Waters of Life rested in forest. Her snow-covered peak was bright white in the late sun, except for a strip of cloud near the top. He watched the shadow of night creep up the slopes until the tip of the mountain was a shining light in the darkening sky. Then he joined his tribesmen to sleep in the mountain air so crisp it crackled.

  In the morning they picked berries to take home, using more care than before. As the piles on their sleeping skins grew, juice squished out, making dark purple stains.

  Hamish said, “Look at these skins. My mate will yell at me. She just finished this one.” But he laughed to show that he wasn’t serious.