Children of the Dawn (7 page)

“I’m going to take the people to the village now. They need something to do, or they’ll start fighting.”

“I’ll stay here. I’ll take care of Ashan. Trust me.”

So many refused to take Tenka seriously. With all that had been laid on her young shoulders, she needed her brother’s support.

“I do trust you, Other Moonkeeper. Spirits be with you.”

And with you, my love,
he thought, turning away from Ashan.

Tor looked around for Tsilka. He could have used her help, but she wasn’t here.

Kai El walked up, pulling Tor’s spear along the ground by its point. The boy spoke with pride, holding out the spear that
was twice as tall as himself.

“I looked for it. I found it up there.”

“Thank you, son. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Tor could not have meant it more. He took the spear and hefted it. Made long ago of oak, hardened by fire, bloodied by many
kills, its balanced weight felt good in his hand. It made him more than just a man: With this spear, he was a warrior.

Tor stood tall, bison robe thrown over his shoulder, spear butt in the ground at his side. He spoke in a loud voice.

“It’s time for us to go to Teahra Milage.”

People voiced concerns, but they followed Tor when he walked off. He did not need Tsilka’s help after all.

A breeze freshened the bright afternoon. Sheer rocks edged one side of the narrow trail. The water, flowing in the same direction
they walked, was close on the other side. People made a long line behind Tor, but he couldn’t hear them for the river’s voice.
How good it was to hear that sound again. He thought of the words “power” and “forever.”

The trail widened. The line bunched up behind him, his people eager to see their new home. The trail opened onto flat ground.
Cliffs curved back away from the river.

Tor stopped. The view filled his senses. He raised his arms to embrace it.

In the Misty Time, before there were people, River Spirits
could walk if they didn’t like where Amotkan put them. Chia-wana had done a lot of walking—signs of it were everywhere. Once
she had carved a bend from the cliffs, only to abandon it, leaving behind a piece of land shaped like an eye. This was Teahra
Village, the place of Tor’s dreams and destiny.

Even better than I remembered,
he thought.

A wall of stone rose at the back—slabs heaped on slabs, looming dark against blue sky, giving refuge from the wind that pushed
against the river as if trying to hold it back. The only tree, a huge oak, spread gold-green leaves against the sheltering
crags. Bushes of various kinds clumped along the base.

The ancient, fickle river had cut a long, low cave into solid rock. When Tor had come here with Wyecat and Tsilka, they’d
slept in the cave. The Tlikit must be sleeping there still. Tor imagined future huts on the flat middle ground of Teahra Village.

At the outer edge, fish-drying racks held their bounty up to wind and sun. Water lapped at a gravel shore. A bit of the shore
jutted into the river, like a connected island, ready to catch any driftwood the River Spirit sent.

Back near the cliffs, smoke rose from the village fire. The people sitting around it stood when Tor and his great herd arrived.
Others came out of the cave. The seven or eight young men who had stormed off in anger before now approached with raised spears.

What fools!
Tor thought. He’d done what he had to to keep people from fighting when they were clumped around Ashan. But now, with her
safe, he felt strong with his warriors ready behind him. Ashan could worry about making them all into brothers and sisters
when she awoke.

“Listen to me!” he said in a menacing voice, and the Tlikit halted their threatening approach.

“This is
my
place,” he shouted. “Without me, you would still be living by a lake with no water. I dreamed this place, I found it, and
I allowed you to live here. Now it is
ours.
My people will hunt the prairie and fish the Great River, and live on this flat piece of ground. We don’t want your cave.
The way you live, the way you dress, or don’t dress, you need a cave.
This
is what we want.” He waved his arm to show the
ground just waiting for Shahala huts. “We are here and we will stay. We are many more than you. If you try to fight, you will
die. Die!”

He raised his spear to a thrusting position, and felt the tense heat of the Shahala warriors ready behind him.

“We will live
here,”
Tor went on, jabbing the butt of his spear in the ground. “And you can live there.” He pointed to the cave. “Unless you want
to find some other place. Now bring us food. We are hungry.”

Tsilka walked up. Tor was glad to see her—which was not a thing he thought he’d ever feel again—even though her face was full
of unwanted lust.

“I’m happy to see you, Tor,” she said thickly. “I thought you might take your people and fade away.”

“No,” Tor said. “A man does not fade before destiny.”

“Not a man like you,” she agreed. She turned to her tribe, and Tor saw the lust in her face change to command.

“Put your spears away! These strangers are hungry, and we are not savages without food!”

Some relieved, others reluctant, Tsilka’s people obeyed her. A great variety of food was brought out of the cave. Tor’s people
ate on and on, washing it down with flavored teas. The Shahala who had eaten mosscakes and chewed grass stems last night kept
looking at each other, laughing, saying, “Tor spoke the truth about this place!”

The Tlikit watched the newcomers eat. Some seemed proud of having hunted and gathered it all. Others seemed resentful at being
forced to give it away, but they said nothing.

When the Shahala had eaten their fill, Tor spoke in Tlikit.

“We left our belongings on the prairie. You will help my warriors get them. Elia, you go along so they can talk to each other.”

After a group of men had gone, Tor and Tsilka talked with the others, putting words in both languages so all could understand.
The woman could not hide her lust, but he didn’t allow it to distract him. His brain was busy as he tried to keep up with
questions in two languages. To Tlikit complaints that they did not have enough food for two tribes, Tor replied that the Shahala
were skilled hunters, and soon there would be enough to feed three tribes.

“The Shahala are a people who
like
to share,” he said. “Your lives will be better because we have come. We will change this spot by the river where some people
live in a cave; we will make it into the fine village that it was meant to be.”

Tor knew there would be problems, stresses in learning each other’s ways, in understanding each other’s thoughts when words
weren’t understood. Some of the Tlikit would not easily get over resentment that the Shahala had come and chosen to live in
the place they thought of as theirs. Many things would have to be worked out in the coming days…

Like what to do about the four women who never left a crude shelter against the trunk of the oak tree, unless it was to tend
the fire. It took a while, but Tor realized where he had seen them before: They were the forest women he and Elia had spared
long ago. They were slaves now. Tor was disgusted, and his people would be too when they realized what slavery meant.

He saw how hard it would be for Ashan to take control without being able to talk to the Tlikit people. Only three knew both
languages: Tor, Tsilka, and Elia. The boy would go along with him. As for Tsilka, he would have to keep her wings pinched,
like a bug that a man didn’t want dead, just flightless.

Night settled on the river village. The slaves made the fire large. Tlikit women offered more food. With full bellies, people
settled into quiet talk with others of their own blood—the Tlikit on the downriver side of Teahra Village, the Shahala on
the upriver side.

Tor had to return to Ashan. He’d left her for too long with only his little sister and some magic rocks for protection.

But first, he must deal with Tsilka, the she-cat he should have resisted, but to his regret had not—long ago, many times,
loving to the rhythm of the river—

Tor told Tsilka to come with him. She eagerly agreed, must think he wanted to make love. He refused the hand she offered.
Walking up the riverbank in silence, they came to a flat-topped boulder with its bottom in the water. They had once spent
time here, looking at the hills beyond the river, talking about what might be on the other side.

Tor sat down, remembering too late that a rock can hold memories for a man and give them back again, whether he welcomes them
or not. This rock offered memories of love-making that should be forgotten. He put all that out of his mind, watching Teahra’s
fire flicker in the distance, listening to Chiawana’s murmur.

Tor spoke in Shahala, the language that Tsilka had once been eager to learn.

“We were lovers, but not in this life.”

“What a strange thing to say.”

“It’s true. The life we had is over. Ashan is my life now. If you ever tell her about us, I will have to kill you.”

Tsilka looked straight into his eyes. The firelight made sharp shadows on her face. Her look was one she’d give a stupid child.
Her voice wasn’t fearful, or desperate—as he’d expected—but sneeringly confident.

“It’s not over, Tor. It will never be over.”

“Look, woman, I’m telling you—”

“You wait here,” she said with a toss of her head. “I will show you.”

She got up and headed off toward the village. Tor thought how good her naked bottom looked retreating in the moonlight—all
round and firm. He thumped his head, and the unwanted thought fled. Would he never get control of that part of himself?

He drummed his fingers on the rock. Tsilka had better hurry. He was anxious to be with Ashan.

Tsilka strode toward him out of the night, pulling two reluctant children. She stopped before Tor. They hid behind her.

“Girls?” he asked stupidly—in the moonlight, anyone could see that the naked toddlers were female.

Tsilka pulled them out by their arms, and thrust them at him.

“Your daughters, Tor. Our daughters. While our mingled blood flows in their bodies, it will never be over between us.”

“But I never knew!”

“That makes them no less real.”

Tor’s thoughts tripped over themselves.

Twins. Creatures of heartbreaking beauty no taller than their mother’s knee.

He blurted, “Do they know who their father is? And your people, do they?”

Tsilka took her time, then answered with her nose in the air.

“I say the god Wahawkin is the father of these girls. No woman ever birthed one baby right after another like that, so people
believe me. People love them to think that their father is a god. Maybe even fear them.”

Exactly alike,
Tor thought.
Unbelievable.

He remembered a Misty Time legend about brothers born to the same mother at the same time. Hoofed animals were known to have
twins. But human twins? Not since any living person remembered. Powerful feelings surged through him. They had
his
blood!

The little girls clung to their mother like outgrown leggings. They peered at Tor with suspicious curiosity, frowns pulling
on round faces. Dark eyes captured and held him.

“What are their names?”

The proud mother patted one on the head, then the other.

“Tsurya. For the graceful water skimmer. Tsagaia. For the big tan cat. People say they are the finest children ever born.”

Tor could not disagree, though he could have picked better things to name them for than a bug and a cat.

For a long time he said nothing, allowing his eyes to feast on the twins as people feasted on the sprouts of spring. Tsilka
demanded no talk, as if she knew that her daughters could most affect their stunned father in silence.

Tsurya
…

Tsagaia…

Tor rolled the names over in his mind where they made pleasing sounds. The girls were like shy sunbeams peeking through clouds,
like sweet water quenching thirst. Moving no closer, they crawled inside him, grabbed on to something never touched, and held
on talon-tight. What was it about them that could make him feel like this? It must be that he was male, and they were female.
Precious, fragile, lovable. Girls who would grow up and be women, who carried the future within their bodies.

Tor was being overwhelmed by something close to worship. But he
must
think without passion, and
now,
or in an eyeblink he could destroy his happiness, and Ashan’s and Kai El’s. Tor had experience with the power of will, and
he was glad: It would take tremendous will to distance himself from these dangerous creatures.

He said, “It’s good that people think these are the daughters of a god. They are that special.”

A look of triumph stole onto Tsilka’s face.

He went on. “But I don’t want people thinking I’m the god Wahawkin. It’s too much work to be a god. I think I’ll tell them
I’m Wahawkin’s special friend, and they shouldn’t make me angry. That will be enough.”

Tor took a deep breath, and when he let it out, sent with it lingering feelings of awe about the twins.

“I cannot be their father, or your mate. I can only say they’ll never want anything as long as I’m alive. I promise you, Tsilka.
Now you must make me a promise: What you and I did long ago must be kept secret. Forever after forever. I belong to Ashan.
I will never be yours.”

Tsilka’s triumph collapsed, Tor saw it, though she tried to hide the misery taking its place. He left no space in his heart
for pity.

“I would never harm your daughters, woman, but I could kill you. And I will, if you do anything to harm Ashan or Kai El. I
mean it: I will kill you if I must.”

Tsilka said she would keep the secret. But her unspoken thoughts were so strong that Tor could feel them: With all her strength,
Tsilka wished, hoped, prayed that Ashan would die.

As if even then,
Tor thought angrily,
she could have me for a mate.