Children of the Dawn (17 page)

“You don’t think forcing yourself on a woman is so bad? Then let me tell you what else Chopunik did. He got right in my face
and—”

Tor sprang to his feet.

“Did he touch you? I’ll kill the stinking savage!”

Ashan shook her head, holding her hands up. “No, Tor. No.” She was glad he’d cut her off. She’d nearly blurted the man’s words
about taking his pleasure with her. That would have been a mistake.

“He didn’t touch me. But he challenged me. I almost had to hurt him. If we don’t do something, I’m going to have to kill one
of them. You know I don’t want to do that.”

“I’ll be glad to kill as many as you wish, beginning with Chopunik.”

“Well, that’s not what I need. If you’ll sit back down, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.”

He settled beside her again. She took his hands and looked into his eyes.

“Tor, the Forest Women and their little ones must be taken back where they belong.”

The way she said it did not allow argument. Whatever else they were, Tor was a Shahala warrior, and Ashan was his chief.

S
EVEN
S
HAHALA MEN, CHOSEN BY EACH OTHER FOR
hunting ability and bravery, were known as the First Warriors. They would lead the defense if the people were attacked, but
that hadn’t happened in living memory. Their purpose had become to hunt ceremonial animals. Now that was in question, since
no one knew yet—in the six moons they’d been here—what kinds of animals the new land would provide.

As a young man, Tor had worked hard to become a First Warrior, as his father and grandfather had been in their time. After
other tests, he was given his chance at sixteen summers to kill Mahto, the bear. Spirits sent a grizzled male so huge it took
many trips to carry it all home—meat for the tribe, the hide for his mother, the claws to wear around his neck. Tor became
the youngest First Warrior ever, to his family’s great pride. And Ashan… he remembered the desire in her young eyes as she’d
watched him dance, firelight gleaming from the polished claws around his neck. But all of that was long ago.

The morning after Ashan told Tor what must be done about the slaves, he gathered the First Warriors at one of the ledges where
the Shahala had lived when they’d arrived. No one could come up behind them.

Tor, Lar, Lyo, Deyon, Takluit the Outsider, Kowich, and Hamish, between the ages of seventeen and twenty-four summers, were
the best that men could be in strength, endurance,
and cunning. They had reason to be proud of who and what they were.

Tor said, “How long has it been since we’ve been out, just the seven of us?”

“Too long,” Hamish grumbled, rattling his necklace with his fingers. “I finally get to wear these claws, and now we’re not
needed anymore.”

“The tribe may not seem to need us,” Tor said, “but our mates would appreciate what I found yesterday.”

“What?” they asked.

“A rainwater pond not far from here. It will dry up by summer, but now it’s covered in blue-winged ducks.”

“You want First Warriors to hunt
ducks?”
Lar said, stiff and proud as he’d been when they were boys.

“The ducks don’t matter. I was just thinking of having a day with each other, like old times, for the fun. Am I the only one
who is tired of women and strangers?”

The men smiled at each other. The spring day was lush, and being together did seem like a good idea. They thrust their hands
toward each other and slapped them, the sign of First Warriors agreeing.

“Get your bird-hunting weapons,” Tor said. “And be quiet about leaving. Shahala men know better than to ask to come with First
Warriors, but who knows about Tlikit men?”

Hamish, the newest, said, “I’ll bring one of those Tlikit slings.”

“Fine,” Tor said, stiff-lipped.

In the Moonkeeper’s hut, he nodded to Ashan, and she nodded in return. They had said all there was to say last night. She
had his things ready: A leather pouch that held several spears, thin as a finger and long as an arm, and the notched stick
for throwing them; and a waist pouch with dried food. That’s all he would need besides his heavy Shahala spear, which he took
everywhere.

He embraced his mate.

“Here,” she said, opening her hand. Seven white stones lay in her palm.

’ ’One for each of you. They’re magic. They’ll protect you.”

“It’s only a day of hunting ducks,” he said, taking the stones and putting them in the waist pouch.

Ashan shook her head. “It’s the beginning of far more than that.”

Tor left the village, followed by the others. They walked along, talking the talk of longtime friends, laughing and slapping
each other’s backs. If they’d known Tor’s real purpose, they might not have been so happy.

He stopped on the wind-free side of some boulders.

“The ducks are on the other side of that hill. But that’s not the real reason I wanted you here. I have something to say.”

They looked at each other, then settled on the grass in a half circle with their backs to the boulders. Tor squatted in front
of them.

“We have to take the slave people back to their own home.”

“You’re crazy,” Lar said.

“I know that’s how it sounds, but I’m here to tell you that we must. You know it’s wrong to keep people.”

“They’re not tied,” Kowich said. “They could run away if they wanted to.”

Tor shook his head. “Four women with seven little children? I’ve been where they live. It is far.”

Takluit, who had once been a slave, said, “It’s not as easy to run away as you might think. I had to leave my mother and my
sister behind.”

Lar said, “But you became one of us. You lived.”

“I lived, but I wake up every morning wondering what happened to them.”

“This is a Tlikit problem,” Hamish said. “Why should we get into it?”

It was time for Tor to bring the discussion to an end.

“Because the Moonkeeper commands it. We are not here to decide yes or no. We are here to plan how to do it.”

There was no reason to argue about a Moonkeeper’s command. They nodded and touched hands in agreement.

Tor took the stones from his pouch. They were all alike—smooth, ice white, the size of flattened acorns.

“The Moonkeeper made these for us. They are magic. They will protect us.”

He handed them out. Awe settled on the men as they fingered polished surfaces. Shahala people loved the Moonkeeper. Her
life was busy, yet she had made these stones and filled them with magic. The men knew they were loved in return. And protected.

The stones also said how much it meant to their chief that they do this for her.

“We’ll do it at night,” Tor said, “while the Tlikit sleep in their cave. As loud as the snoring gets, they shouldn’t hear
a thing.”

Lyo said, “The slaves don’t seem to understand either language. How will we explain what we’re doing?”

“We’ll have to sneak up on them,” Tor said. “Kidnap them.”

Hamish laughed. “You have practice, Tor! You’re the only man who ever had to
kidnap
a mate!”

They all laughed, but Tor ignored it.

“So,” he said. “We will kidnap the slaves and their little ones—”

“Little ones?” Lar said with alarm.

“The little ones aren’t slaves,” Kowich said. “They treat them as well as their own.”

“I don’t see any problem with the little ones,” Hamish said.

Tor let them go on. Then he cleared his throat loudly.

“The Moonkeeper says mothers must have their little ones.”

The men grunted. The sound meant,
Women
—
what can you do?

Tor continued. “When we’re far enough away from the village, we’ll let them loose. We’ll make them understand that we’re taking
them home. The rest should be easy. They’ll be happy to follow. We’ll be back in little more than a moon. By then—”

“A moon? What about our families?”

“They’ll be fine, Lar. By the time we get back, the Moon-keeper will have everyone’s fur smoothed. The Tlikit will think the
slaves ran away, at the same time as we left on a long hunt.”

“Even the Tlikit aren’t that stupid, Tor,” Hamish said. He talked too much and lacked respect for his elders.

“Maybe they’re not, but Shahala First Warriors have no reason to fear them.”

The warriors grunted in agreement.

Lar said, “Seven against four—I can see us kidnapping the slavewomen—they sleep out by the fire. But who’s going to fight
off the Tlikit when they wake to find us stealing little ones from their cave in the middle of the night?”

“Have you ever been in their cave?” Tor asked.

Wrinkling their noses, the men said no.

“I’ve looked in there,” he said. “The children of the slaves don’t sleep with the Tlikit children. They sleep near the front,
where it’s colder. Look tonight.”

The men nodded.

He continued. “We’ll creep in. Each of us will pick a little one. We’ll cover their mouths with our hands—maybe stuff them
with leather—get them out of the cave, leave them tied, and come back for the women.”

“I help,” said a child’s voice.

The men jumped to their feet as Elia stepped from behind the boulders.

He was listening,
Tor thought,
and we didn’t even know it! The Shahala First Warriors have turned into sleepy old men!

“Get out of here!” he shouted.

“You need me,” Elia said.

The men sat back down, laughing at the boy of thirteen summers acting like a full-grown warrior. Except for Tor, angrier than
he should be without knowing why.

“We do not need a boy,” he said.

“You do. Your plan about the little ones.” Elia shook his head. “Not work. They think bears got them. They kick, they bite,
they scream whole village awake.”

The others laughed, but Tor yelled. “Warriors can handle little ones! Now get out of here before I beat you!”

“Show them your plan, Tor,” Elia challenged. “Carry me off.”

He dropped to the ground, curled up, and pretended snoring sleep. Tor
would
beat the little dungball.

“Get him, Tor!” the warriors said.

Tor picked Elia up by his head and slammed him against his chest, where he dangled, kicking and squirming. Neck
clamped in the crook of Tor’s arm, he squalled like a stuck deer. Tor squeezed until he stopped gurgling, took him to the
others and dropped him. Elia lay on the ground gulping air. The warriors rolled over laughing.

“We heard him!”

“Try again, but be careful you don’t kill him by squeezing!”

Tor didn’t think it was funny.

“See what I mean?” Elia said, coughing.

They looked at each other. They did see what he meant.

“Tell us your idea, boy,” Lar said.

“I go with you?”

“No!” Tor yelled.

He remembered his brother: Beo with dancing black agate eyes; Beo dying in his arms, because Tor persuaded their father to
allow a child of only eleven summers to go on the hunt for the last mammoth, the hunt that found man-eaters instead of mammoth,
bringing the Time of Sorrows that tried to destroy the tribe.

Like Beo, Elia had black agate eyes that danced.

But the others said, “Listen to him, Tor. At least listen.”

Elia said, “You not steal little slaves. Too noisy. But I know slave talk. I say they going on hunt with great Shahala warriors.
Little slaves be ready when you want.”

“We need him, Tor,” the First Warriors said.

Tor sighed. They did. He prayed he would not regret it. The place in his heart that held sorrows was already full.

Several nights later, the half-round moon lit a cloudless sky. The First Warriors agreed that the time was right.

Though Tor had been against it at first, the heat in his blood, the tingle on his skin, the challenge in his head—any man
thrived on these. He made rousing love to Ashan before he went out into the night.

Seven men and a boy did as they had planned. The slave-women and their children might have been carried away by spirits, or
turned into mist to float away in the first rays of the sun.

Ashan didn’t sleep after Tor left that night. She thought of the ways tomorrow might unfold, and how she would handle each.

Whatever happens, I will prevent violence.

There had been many arguments between Tlikit and Shahala, but none had yet come to blows. Ashan had a terrible, perhaps unreasonable,
fear of that. Once violence was loose among them, the tribes could become like a stampeding herd of bison that throws itself
off a cliff, trampling anything that gets in the way.

At first light she emptied her mind of her own thoughts, and invited spirits to enter. She waited in the Moonkeeper’s hut.

“The fire is dead!” someone shouted. “Where are those stinking slavewomen?”

“Gone! The new-blood children, too!”

“How can they be gone?”

“Well they are! Look around!”

The loudest, angriest voice was Tsilka’s.

“Tor! Where are our slaves?”

The doorskin flew open.

“Come out, Tor!” Tsilka shrilled.

“Tor went hunting.”

“Our slaves are gone! You are the big chief! You tell us what happened!”

Ashan stalked toward her.

“Get away from my door.”

Tsilka didn’t move. Ugliness twisted her face. Ashan had to push by her, getting invisible poison on her hands.

“Rattlesnake’s daughter,” Ashan hissed.

By now, all the Tlikit were outside, milling around, angry and upset. Women cried. Men threatened agonizing death to whoever
had taken the slaves. As soon as they saw the Moonkeeper, they started talking at once.

“The Lost People! Someone stole them! And the new-blood children! All of them—gone!”

Tsilka shouted, “Look in Shahala huts!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Ashan said. “Why would we take them? We think keeping slaves is horrible.”

But some of the Tlikit started toward huts. Shahala men bristled, ready to stop them. The Tlikit might be happy sleeping together
in one place, but no one entered a Shahala home unless invited.

The Tlikit hesitated.