“Dead!” people cried. “The Moonkeeper’s dead!”
“No!” Pushing Tenka away, Tor shoved his way through the mob. “You’re lying! All of you!”
He dashed into their hut. Ashan wasn’t there. He ran to her place in the cliffs, barely aware of his son and others behind him. She wasn’t there. Tor could not understand the picture of a woman’s face carved into the stone.
“Ashan!” he cried. “Where are you?”
The story Tenka and Mani told was crazy. Coyotes could not kill a human. And if they had, where were the signs of struggle? Where was the body? No. Whatever the foolish women saw and heard was a trick of wind and rain, and Tor refused to believe it. Ashan was alive, because Tor couldn’t live without her. If ever he believed she was dead, grief would kill him.
He searched in wild desperation. His son and others came along, but Tor didn’t talk to them, barely noticed them. Every moment of every day and night was a hideous mix of emotions, uncontrollable, inescapable, unbearable.
Guilt: He was a terrible, worthless mate, had not been there when she needed him. By neglect, he had allowed this to happen.
Rage: He was angry to the point of hatred. At the spirits, the tribe, himself, even at Ashan. How could she do this to him?
Worst of all was wrenching sorrow: She wasn’t dead, no, but she was gone, and he needed her, ached for her.
He grew haggard from lack of food and rest, but he kept on as if he were a man running in front of stampeding bison. If he stopped, he’d be trampled to death. He didn’t care if people thought he was crazy. Nothing mattered but finding Ashan.
The people struggled to accept the disappearance of the Moon-keeper. No one would ever know what happened in the cliffs that day, but they believed their beloved chief was dead. They deeply mourned her loss. For some it was especially hard. Mani desperately missed her closest friend. Tenka, who wasn’t ready to lead the people, had no choice; they gave her no time for her own sorrow.
And Kai El… All alone one day, Kai El wept.
“Oh Mother, you are gone, and it hurts so much… help me… I can’t stand it… ”
Through tears he saw a white hawk fly up out of the canyon and soar over him in peaceful circles. He knew it was his mother. She was dead, but she was not gone. They would be together again. After that he could close his eyes and see the white hawk again. His own soul would rise up as a red-tail hawk and fly with her, love flowing between their touching wing tips.
Death had not broken the bond between mother and son. When he understood this, Kai El began to heal.
But Tor was destroyed by the loss of Ashan.
CHAPTER 35
FAR AWAY FROM THE VILLAGE OF HER PEOPLE, THE Spirit of Ashan was over, under, part of a world of water, witnessing the live birth of a whale that her people—except for Tsilka—had never imagined. They’d never seen fish larger than sturgeon, didn’t know about this ocean with its strange creatures. Though they lived in a world of water, these whales were more like humans than like fish. They spoke a language of whistles; they loved each other.
Ashan’s spirit would have followed the mother and baby on their migration, but she wanted to be at Teahra Village for the Ritual of Giving for the last baby she had brought into the world—named Chanok, Blood of Two Tribes.
… His birth day, my birth day…
… Or as humans understand it, my death day…
When they began their second summer, little ones were given gifts to honor their courage. People knew how hard it was to survive the first part of life.
All little ones were special, Chanok more than most.
… The first of mixed Shahala-Tlikit blood…
… As far as the people know…
After her last death, the Spirit of Ashan had been thrilled to discover that she could move around in time and space. She had always wondered about the time when Kai El was a baby and Tor had left them. He would never tell her much, and part of her had been instinctively afraid to push too hard. But, believing that spirits would be immune to the pain of their human counterparts, now she sought answers to all the mysteries of her life.
Traveling to that long-ago time, the Spirit of Ashan had found her beloved mate… making love to another woman. Tor had been Tsilka’s lover. He was the father of the twins. His youthful betrayal was bad enough, but to know that he had lied to her for the rest of her life—Ashan was devastated. She learned that—whether joy or pain—spirits feel much more deeply than humans.
Why, she wondered, had she discovered this now, and not when she’d traveled in the otherworld after falling from the cliff when she first reached Teahra? It was because that death, her second but not her last, was to learn what she needed to fulfill her destiny of uniting the tribes. Now, in the death that would last forever, she had freedom to travel and learn anything and everything. In death as in life, though, there was danger in the search for knowledge. One should be prepared for whatever truth might be discovered.
Ashan was not prepared for this truth, in life or in death. She was tossed about in an ocean of pain, felt she might drown in it. She struggled for a way to save herself, and found it.
… Iforgive you, Tor… I forgive you…
Forgiveness healed her pain, but the Spirit of Ashan would always have a fear of traveling in time.
When she desired it, Ashan was at Teahra Village. Still perfecting wingless flight, she sped toward her rock in the cliffs for a high, wide view of the celebration for the child Chanok.
The sight of Tor made her lose focus. She came down almost on top of him. A living person would have landed with a thump and a cloud of dust, but the spirit was silent as mist in motion, invisible in the way of wind. Whether she wanted to be or not.
Time was different for the spirit, but in any measure of time, she’d been too long away from her beloved mate.
The warrior Deyon stood by Tor.
“When I think of her, I miss her,” Deyon said.
… Tor, I love you… If only I could hold you…
Ashan became strandlike and wrapped around Tor, but she couldn’t feel him, any more than he felt her. She had no fingers, no skin, no body.
“I miss her, too,” Tor said.
Ashan saw past the brave voice, saw emotions as plain as bones and blood. Tor was overwhelmed with anger and pain, but he refused to scream, refused to weep.
Ashan longed to comfort her soulmate. She’d always thought they’d be able to feel each other after one of them died—their love was that special. But she could not make Tor aware of her existence. He didn’t want to know of her existence. It might light the way out of his black pit of grief, and he wasn’t ready for that. He clung to his grief, believing it was all he had left of Ashan, that letting it go would mean letting go of her.
At least Kai El knew the spirit his mother had become. She could enter his dreams and comfort him. He was journeying through grief on a straight path.
His father was not. Like a star when too much heat builds up, Tor could explode, flying apart with such force that he’d never pull himself together again.
“I’m going upriver,” Tor said.
“Say hello to her for me,” Deyon said.
“I wish I could.”
Tsilka stepped out of her hut as Tor passed.
As always, it surprised the Spirit of Ashan to feel a flash of hatred for the woman.
… Iwould have thought spirits would be more understanding of humans…
If not for Tor, Tsilka would be a different person. If not for Tor, there would be no fatherless twins.
… Ishould be more generous toward her…
Tsilka ran after Tor and stopped him. She held out a piece of dried red meat.
“I made saltfish, the way you like it.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Try it, and tell me what you think. Does it have too much white rock?”
He tasted, and spat. “Too much.”
“That’s what I thought,” she sai
d. “Drink this to clean your mouth.”
Tsilka held out a ram-horn cup. Ashan became the liquid in it: A tea of mushrooms sweetened with honey, shimnawa mushrooms that could put a man’s better senses to sleep. She remembered finding the two of them on a moonlit night—Tor stupid with mushrooms, Tsilka dancing naked.
… With all these men, why can’t you leave Tor alone…
Tsilka did not hear the Spirit of Ashan.
“It will make you feel better,” she said in a voice sweet as the honey in the poisoned cup.
… No, Tor, don’t take it…
He said, “I feel fine, Tsilka.”
“I know you better than that, my warrior god.” It was a name Tsilka used to call out when they made love.
Tor reached for the cup. Ashan heard him thinking, What would I give to feel better for a while?
The spirit put all her effort into making a sound, any sound. She’d tried before, but maybe this time…
It was hard to get used to being nothing.
… Why do I care if Tsilka makes him drunk… Doesn’t he deserve some relief from his misery…
Tor drank the mushroom tea.
… Stop it, Tor… She’s bad for you…
The spirit wasn’t jealous, as she might have been in life, but she had to stop Tor from hurting himself. She liked to believe he’d grown past that, but she knew better. If he drank enough mushroom tea, he’d give in to the part of his mind that lived between his legs. Taking pleasure with Tsilka would be bad for him anytime, especially now. Tor was capable of desperate acts; he might regret it enough to end his life. As much as the spirit longed to feel her mate’s embrace, it wasn’t time for him to join her in the otherworld.
Tor drained the cup. Tsilka took it, and refilled it from a shoulder pouch.
… What am I going to do… Tor can’t hear me… A bodiless creature can’t slap the cup from Tsilka’s hand…
The Spirit of Ashan might have left. She could be anywhere faster than an eyeblink, didn’t have to know what happened in this village. Part of her wanted to leave. It might be said that Tor deserved whatever he got at Tsilka’s hands.
Or… she could go further than a spirit should, and interfere in the affairs of humans. Ashan believed she had powers not yet discovered. The spirit also knew the gravity of harming people. Just because she could do something did not mean that she should.
… I can’t let Tor hurt himself…
Without knowing how it would end, the Spirit of Ashan pulled herself into a ball and exploded in Tsilka’s face.
“Fire!” Tsilka shrieked.
She dropped the ram-horn cup and fled.
… I can get her attention…
“Fire?” someone said. “What’s she talking about?”
“I don’t know,” Tor said. He hadn’t seen the flash, though he’d been looking at Tsilka, reaching for the cup.
“Maybe she had too much of the mushroom.”
Now that the father was safe, the spirit should have looked in on the son. And she should have left a gift, a prayer perhaps, for the mixed-blood child. That’s why she’d come to Teahra Village instead of following the migrating whales. But Ashan had had enough of people. She desired to return to the ocean, and she was there.
CHAPTER 36
KAI EL WAS SEVENTEEN SUMMERS, THE AGE OF UNEXPECTED stiffening under his loinskin, of watching girls and imagining the unknown.
He was tall like his father, wide of shoulder, long of arm and leg; with well-shaped muscles under brown skin dusted with gold; thin Shahala nose and high cheeks. Girls called him handsome. He saw in himself his Spirit Guardian, Skaina the Hawk—wings folded in a dive, keen eyes focused, powerful legs thrust out to kill—but once a girl said he reminded her of a stalking cougar. He tied his hair back with thongs, keeping it long for the night he’d loose it to brush across a woman’s breasts. He loved the feel and smell of animal skin. Because people brought gifts to the Moonkeeper’s family, even now that she was dead, he had many leathers and furs for different seasons. On this summer day, he wore only a fringed loinskin and moccasins that came to his knees.
Kai El’s spirit brother, Jud, would never be mistaken for his birth brother. Except for their age, they were different in every way. Who knew what made best friends?
Jud was short like most men of Tlikit blood, with muscles so large they threatened to burst through shiny, dark gold skin. He could make his bearlike body do almost anything. When hair got in his face, he cut it off. He wore a loinskin because it was expected, but it took an ice storm to make Jud cover the rest of himself.
The two stood watching the tribe’s young, unmated women. Kai El felt the throb of the great One Drum in his blood.
“TUN TUN TUN, tun tun tun, tuntuntun. TUN TUN TUN… ”
The fascinating creatures danced in a loose circle around the drum. Of different shapes and sizes, each dancer wore what she liked best. Hair was tied up, or let loose to bounce and sway. Feathers swung across faces, fringed skirts opened for glimpses of legs, breasts moved in pleasing ways. The young women were supposed to be dancing for the little one, Chanok, but the dance was really for the unmated men—like Kai El and Jud.
Kai El stood tall, flexing his arms and shoulders. He snapped his head so his heavy black hair went behind, leaving the feather of a red-tail hawk and some thin leather strips to brush his bare chest. He kept a disinterested look, as if he were only watching them dance because there was nothing better to do.
Tsilka’s daughters of fourteen summers danced side by side with matching movements.
“Those twins,” Jud said. “It’s hard to tell them apart. If a man took his pleasure with one, it’d be like having both.”
Kai El elbowed him. “Where do you get your ideas?”
“I get them at night while lazier men sleep.”
Kai El laughed. Jud always made him laugh, one thing he liked about his friend.
Kai El said, “I have no trouble telling them apart. Have you ever looked in their eyes?”
Jud said, “I don’t waste my time looking at eyes when there are bodies to be looked at.”
Kai El watched the twins, thinking about when his feelings had changed.
One day last summer, he had looked at Tsagaia, and there was something different about the way she looked back. Maybe it was that she did look back. She was so shy that Kai El and his friends laughed about it.
“Tsagaia must know every crease in her moccasins,” they said, “as much as she stares at them.”
Of all the girls of Teahra Village, Kai El knew Tsagaia the least. Long ago, when the twins lived with his family for a time, Kai El and Tsagaia had started becoming friends, but that all changed when Rattlesnake Woman returned. Tsagaia changed back to the way she was before: timid; afraid to play, or talk, or look in anyone’s eyes.
And then one day last summer, Tsagaia had looked at Kai El. From under thick lashes, soft eyes reached across a blackberry bramble. Her eyes seemed to say: “No one has ever been inside me before, because no one has ever been trusted, and I am waiting.”
Then Kai El’s mother Ashan had disappeared, shaking his life to pieces, casting the pieces everywhere. He’d taken part in the hopeless searching, though his heart knew that the one who loved him more than anything was dead. Some people still searched for Ashan, as if she could be alive after all this time. But they said, “She’s been gone before,” and, “You know how Moonkeepers are,” and refused to give up hope.
When Kai El had stopped looking for the shell of his mother, and instead welcomed her spirit to his dreams, healing had begun.
Lately he’d been thinking of Tsagaia again… Gaia, the voice in his mind called her.
The unmated women finished their gift of dancing.
“They’ll be going to bathe. Maybe we can get a look.”
“Grow up, Jud. That’s for boys.”
“You grow up, Kai El. It’s for men.”
“Men need to eat. Let’s go see what the women put
out.”
A group of girls headed down the river trail.
“I can eat anytime,” Jud said, going after them.
“Don’t let Tahna catch you again,” Kai El said, shaking his head.
The gray-haired drummers stood, stretched, walked around, then took up their sticks again and began a lively song. Little ones danced next—some playful, others serious, small adults. They made Kai El smile.
He saw Tsagaia off by herself, unlacing her knee-high moccasins, special ones for dancing. He swallowed, licked his lips, and went to her. She looked up long enough to see who he was, and went back to her laces. Inside the tan leather painted with flowers, her feet were small.
“Have you seen the world from my mother’s place?” he asked.
“Up in the cliffs? Where She Who Watches lives?”
He smiled. “She doesn’t live there.”
The girl shook her head. Loosed from the dance feathers, her shiny black hair swayed back and forth.
“People are afraid of the Moonkeeper’s place,” she said.
Kai El smiled. “There’s nothing up there but wonderful sights. I’d like to show you.”
“I shouldn’t… the celebration… ”
“We won’t be missed. Rattlesnake Wo—I mean—your mother is hiding in her hut. After her screaming fit, I doubt we’ll see her till tomorrow.”
Tsagaia looked down. A wing of hair fell over her face.
Kai El thought it must be embarrassing to have Tsilka for a mother. He didn’t like the woman who gave him strange looks that he didn’t understand. He couldn’t think of anyone who did like Tsilka. Especially since she’d left the tribe to go with the strangers who came up the river. Even though she’d returned, with wild stories about being kidnapped and killing a chief, people never trusted her again.
Tsagaia brushed her hair back and looked at him with a shy smile on her pretty face.
“I would like to see the world from up there.”
The girl stayed close behind Kai El as they climbed. She said nothing, but he felt her there. His chest swelled. He would show her things she’d never see if not for him, give her gifts for her eyes.
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