Children of the Dawn (15 page)

Do you see why the ancestors called this the tabu land?
asked the voice in his head.

Tor said, “I’ve known for a long time.”

As his shadow lengthened behind him, he realized that the blue mountains were much farther than they had seemed. He stopped
at dark by a tiny spring-fed pool. Willows garbed in new leaves made the place smell fresh and alive. He drank woody-tasting
water, ate leathermeat, rolled up in a carrying skin, and stretched out under the stars with his head on a
sweet grass clump. Chewing a manroot, he saw the star group Hunter and Bear low in the sky toward Colder.

“Well,” he said, “I haven’t found what I’m looking for, but I did find another water place. A hunter can never know too many.
Isn’t that right?” he asked the star man with his spear raised to the star bear.

He was glad that the tabu land had the same sky. What if people had to learn new stars and their stories, along with everything
else?

Tor thought of Shahala land and its bounty of useful trees.

Mountaintop pine, gnarled and tough, clinging to Takoma’s flank higher than anything else—too rare to be touched by men.

Grandfather pine, in forests that reached the sky, giving people many things they needed.

Ridge pine, short and round, with excellent nuts if you could stand the sharp needles. Of course, women had to worry about
that, he thought as he fell asleep.

In the morning, Tor noticed an unmoving heap on the ground nearby, and went to look.

It was an eagle, with black wings spread, white tail flared, head thrust to one side, dead eye fixed on the sky.

He fell to his knees. His stomach lurched. Shahala people revered eagles, sacred to Amotkan, not to be killed. No one loved
eagles more than Tor. They were sons and daughters of his guardian, Takeena, the Eagle Spirit.

Filled with sadness, he stroked the feathers on its back. For a moment he thought he would weep. But however sacred, it was
only an animal. And as he’d told Ashan, everything dies.

He turned the stiff bird over. One taloned foot was tangled in a cord weighted with stones—a Tlikit sling.

Tor ripped the sling off and threw it to the sky.

“I warned them!” he cried. “I’ll kill whoever did this!”

Tlikit men were good at sling-hunting, and took many ducks, geese, swans, and other fat low-flyers. To bring down an eagle
would take impossible skill. Tor never imagined they would try. Then one day some proud fool had brought a dead eagle to the
village.

Tor was shaking the man by the throat when Ashan came
running and tore them apart. She called the Tlikit together and told them about sacred animals.

“Wear what you want, eat what you want. But you must not kill sacred animals, or terrible things will happen.”

Tor had said, “I will kill you, that’s what will happen.”

He’d thought they understood. Until now.

“Kree-e-e!”

Tor looked up. The eagle’s mate circled above the desolate plain. He felt her sorrow like cold, invisible rain. She spoke
in his mind.

Sky Dancer should not be wasted. Use him to make people learn.

Closing his eyes, Tor saw a deadly predator: A winged man… Eagle from the Light and Sky Dancer become one. He opened his eyes
and searched the sky. He wanted to tell her that he understood. But the eagle’s mate was gone. Tor made a promise to the sky
where she had been.

“When I finish with them, the men of Teahra will never kill another eagle.”

As if they knew he would need them, a flock of geese landed at the spring. Tor lobbed a flurry of rocks. They squawked away,
except for five. He killed and gutted them and tied their feet.

He headed out for Teahra Village with geese slung over his shoulders, an eagle in his arms, and fury in his heart. Stopping
in a grove of oaks, he made a fire and kept it going as he worked, pulling out coals before they turned to ash.

Tor plucked the geese, thanking them for their feathers, and the yellow fat he would use later. He took the eagle apart, cutting
the wings off as one piece, connected by the muscle and bone of the back. Straightening the long flight feathers, he wondered
how it felt to glide. He plucked the remaining feathers, cut off talons and beak, and put what was left on the fire.

“Sky Dancer,” he said to the rising smoke. “Go to Takeena. Say hello to your mate on the way.”

From the white feathers of the eagle and the geese, Tor made a tailpiece that covered him from his rear to below his knees.
The remaining goose feathers were brown. Rubbing
them with coals made them black like the eagle. He tied them in bunches with strands of his hair.

He blackened the soft leather of his loinskin, and stripped thongs from the long side, keeping one piece just wide enough
to fit between his legs and hide what made him unmistakably a man.

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.

T
HE
T
LIKIT 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 can 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.