Red Moon Rising (14 page)

My eyes are gritty with exhaustion when I wake Natka. He is slumped against the wall, a blanket over him. The suns are not yet up, but I know they will be soon. Wantosakaal left to tell Klara and Fist where we were and she did not
return. They must have offered her dinner and a pallet. She is old and no doubt the walk from the edge of the village exhausted her. I feel bad about this.

Natka wakes and sits up straighter. “Tootie,” he says, a smile growing on his face. “What is this?”

I smile and kneel down next to him. “Give me your arm,” I say. He holds up his stump and I lash on the new lower arm and hand I have built. With metals and fabric and skin from
Kwihuutsuu
, it is a somewhat successful replica of a lower arm, hand, and five fingers. I pull fine strings of metal up Natka's arm and show him how they tie around his shoulder, padded with fabric.

“If you move just so,” I say, moving his arm back and forth and side to side, “you will be able to move some of the fingers.” He tries on his own, his eyes growing wider and wider.

“Of course, it is not the same as your own . . .
lomtar
,” I say, chewing my bottom lip and making a few adjustments. “But it is as good as I can do. I think with practice—
tokonata
—you will be able to fly Suu again.”

I show him how he can lock the fingers in a grasping position and then unlock them. “You can use this hand to hold the reins while you shoot . . . or scratch your
pitar
with your other.” I smile.

“You . . . this . . .” It is the first time I have seen Natka struck dumb. He clacks the fingers together, slowly moving his new arm and hand back and forth in front of his eyes.

He grabs me in a tight hug and I can smell that we
both have not bathed in too long. Then he pushes me back, looks me in the eyes, and playfully shoves me.

“
Flotaka
,” he whispers, putting his new hand on my shoulder. “It is . . . miracle.”

“Well, I don't know about that,” I say, feeling delight in his delight. “But maybe it will help Klara and Fist decide that you can ride again. Someone needs to take Suu to the skies before she eats us all.”

Natka lets out a whoop and runs from the cave, leaving me to clean up the whole gum mess by myself.

It is still dark outside, but I'm sure Natka's whooping is waking the whole village. I can only hope I have not violated some ancient law of the Cheese by doing this. My luck tends to lean that way, and yet, even if I am once again subjected to Fist's wrath, I do not care. There is light again in Natka's eyes. Light that was removed partly because of me.

I have given him back the hand I took. As best I can, anyway.

I look around the cave once more before I leave, peeking into the jars, stirring the pots. It is a nice place even if it is hot and smells like a
Kwihuutsuu
nest.

There is shouting now, coming from the center of the village. That I can hear it all the way out here is either very good, or very bad. I pull my hair tighter in its horsetail and walk from the cave, back straight, chin high.

Whatever judgment awaits, I am ready.

21

“
NAA OWA'A,
” KLARA SAYS. IT
won't hurt. But she's leaning over me with a jagged piece of metal so I do not trust her assessment of the situation. She motions for me to open my mouth.

I lick my lips and take a deep breath. Then I open up. My head is in her lap. There is a ceremonial bowl of water on the floor next to us. She begins to hum in that Cheese way . . . the insectlike buzzing sound that is both unsettling and beautiful. As she hums and chants, she files away at my right incisor.

Fist and Natka sit across from us, both uncharacteristically silent. They, too, begin to hum and chant, closing their eyes. The
scritch-scritch-scritch
of the metal on my tooth is maddening, but I lie still.

Klara dips a piece of rough fabric into the water and wipes it over my tooth. Then she smiles and pats my head. All done. I sit up and run my tongue over the sharpened tooth. I hope I do not slice open my lip while chewing hashava fruit. That would not be very warrior-like.

I smile at Klara and then ask the question that has bothered me since she told me the ceremony was to occur. “Why did you do this? I have killed nothing.”

“
Paha'a haikonta
is not just for killing,” Natka answers for her. “Is for bravery, for good thinking, as well.”

“You think good,” Klara says in her halting grasp of human language. I smile at her and she hugs me roughly, squeezing tight.

Natka clacks his fake fingers. “Not as
ro-ri-ta
as we all thought,” he says. Fist gives a warning flick to the side of Natka's head, but smiles.

I rub my tongue over the tooth again. Smart? This is what they think? Well, I do not know if they are right, but I will take it.

Fist stands and then returns with a plate of dried plini meat and several bowls of seeds and hashava. Now it is feasting time. Celebration. I shall try not to gash open my mouth while we celebrate my smartness.

“Mayrikafsa.” Fist's voice is low as he shakes my shoulder. I roll over and open one eye. My piles of blankets have been especially soft and comfortable lately, after weeks of intense running drills and knife practice and learning how to fly
Kwihuu in complicated maneuvers and in formations with other
Kwihuutsuu
and their riders. Yesterday was no exception. Natka and Suu chased me from one sun to another, so that by the time the suns went down both Kwihuu and I could barely move from exhaustion.

I sit up on my pallet of blankets, rubbing the dreams from my eyes. Racing horses with Boone. Aunt Billie mixing tinctures. Temple before her red hair and sharpened teeth. Old Man Dan with flames in his eyes. Papa, pale, bent the wrong way on the cooling flats, his mouth moving with no sound. It is the same dream I have over and over. Though I am tired, I'm happy to see Fist's face leaning into mine. It is much nicer to be awake.

Natka stands along the cave wall, attaching his hand, pulling the ties tight with his teeth. His hair stands on end, proving he has just been woken as well. While I'm glad to no longer suffer my haunted dreams I do not know why we are awake before the suns.

Klara goes to Natka, fussing over him, making those vibrating Cheese noises that I've learned to listen to for comfort. He mutters to her to please let him be, so she offers him a biscuit and then offers one to me and Fist as well.

As he does most every morning, Fist puts out a pair of
nantolas
for me, and as I do on these mornings I refuse to even look at the gum ugly shoes. Fist is more insistent than usual this morning, giving me a light smack and pointing at the shoes. When I shake my head again he gives me another smack, this time a little harder.

“
Naa
,” I say, regretting that “no” is the first word out of my mouth for the day.

“Is not choice today, Mayrikafsa,” Fist growls. He throws the shoes on my lap. “Do not bring
tonton
upon this house.”

“
Tonton
?” I say.

“Failure,” Natka says through the crumbs in his mouth. “He not want you to bring disgrace on us. Though I know this might be . . . difficult . . . for you.” He walks over and slugs me in the shoulder with his fake hand.

“You cannot hit me with the hand I made for you,” I say, frowning and shaking my finger at Natka.

He shakes his finger back, mimicking me. “You took my real hand, Tootie. I hit you all I want.” He slugs me once more, smiles, then picks up my boots from where they lie at the foot of my pallet.

“Hey! Give those back!”

Natka walks to the fire pit.

“No, no no! Okay. Wait. I'll wear the
ro-ri-ta nantolas
today. Just please don't burn my boots.”

“Boots,” Fist says. It's as if he has just said a word for excrement. He shakes his head, but holds his hand up indicating that Natka should put the boots down. Klara takes them from him and disappears with them.

I tighten the twine on my pants when Fist shakes his head again. “
Naa
, Mayrikafsa. Only
peltan
this day.”

What is this? No boots. No pants. “Only
peltan
?” I whine. “But I will be mostly naked.”

“You will be like . . . Kihuut,” Natka says. Fist nods once.

Klara returns and hands me the
peltan
—it is one piece of clothing that is made from
Kwihuutsuu
skin and serves as both shirt and pants, but the pants are very short, showing off nearly the whole length of my newly muscled legs. I disappear to the back of the cave and change. Oh, gods, am I really to spend my day nearly naked,
and
wearing indecent shoes? What makes this day any different from other days?

I come back to the front room and Klara nods her approval. I tug at the short part, which barely covers my bottom, trying to get it lower. Seeing myself out of the baggy fabric pants and shirt, I realize that while I am growing taller and my muscles look more like boys' muscles than girls', my form is also slightly more ladylike now. Well, as ladylike as a form can be that is flat as a washboard, with a skinny waist, skinny bottom, and long matted black hair that is as wild as the winds.

Fist goes to the carved-out kitchen area and returns to us holding a small pot. He hands it to Natka and Natka begins to paint Fist's face with the golden and silver swirls that still my blood.

We are going on a raid. Now I understand. My heart shoots into my throat like a light arrow. A raid. Is this what comes of the success I've earned from creating Natka's new hand? Is this an order from Klara? If we come back “successful,” I will be a warrior in the eyes of the Kihuut. But I
do not know what “successful” entails. I cannot go against my own people.

But are they my people still? My dreams say yes. My life says no.

Natka has finished with Fist's face and hands him the bowl. Fist slowly continues to paint thin spirals down his arms and across his chest. He uses the tips of his claw-nails to create a filigree across his abdomen. It is somehow both beautiful and menacing, like the Kihuut themselves.

When Fist finishes with his body paint, he motions for Natka and me to stand next to each other. I've grown taller since coming to the village, as I am nearly the same height as Natka now. My white skin has become browner as I've spent so many days under the suns. My hair is so long that even pulled up in a horsetail it tickles the base of my neck. I am still scrawny compared with my Cheese brother, but not as much so.

Fist begins to hum—starting low with a buzzing coming deep from his throat. He alternates, painting part of Natka's face, then part of mine, back and forth until he's done. Fist spins his hand, motioning for us to turn. I feel his hand pull back my horsetail and the coolness of the paint covers my third-eye scar. He paints Natka's third eye, then turns us back around.

Klara has been standing to the side, watching; now she comes to us. “Mara be with you this day, my
kakono
,” she says to Natka, her mouth set in a line, stern, but with bright eyes. She turns her bright eyes to me, and says, “Mara be
with you this day, my
kakoni
.” She kisses the tops of our heads, then steps back from us. Fist motions that we should leave the cave.

“What is
kakoni
?” I whisper to Natka.

He puts a hand on my shoulder. “It means ‘daughter.'”

Daughter.

The word echoes through my skull and lands in my pounding heart.

“May Mara bless all the
Kihuutkafsa
today,” Klara calls after us with a buzz in her throat.

I turn and see her standing in the opening of the cave, so tall, so regal. Her face is set, her mouth proud. But her eyes give her away. I see the worry there. I feel it, too.

The whole village has turned out to see us off. It is me, Natka, Fist, Jo, and a few others who make up the raiding party. Ben-ton stands off to the side. He flicks his wrist, magically producing a bunch of scrub flowers tied with twine. He holds the bundle out to me, his lips smiling but his eyes dark.

“For the young warrior,” he says, “wearing the future on her shoulders.”

I work hard to ignore him.

“For luck, then,” he shouts after me, tossing the scrub into the air. My instincts cause me to catch it without thinking.

I walk briskly to the
Kwihuutsuu
, saddled and waiting for us by the always-burning fire in the center of the village.
I look to Ben-ton, who continues to stare at me with . . . what . . . in his eyes. Curiosity? Cunning? Jealousy? Could it be hatred?

I hold up the flowers and he smiles.

Then I feed the bundle to Kwihuu, twine and all.

She is laden with provisions. Bags attached to the saddle are full of biscuits, old but sturdy handbows, canteens of water; there is even a blanket carefully folded and tied to the back of the saddle.

The village does not cheer as we take to the skies. They remain silent, praying to Mara for our safety and success. It is an eerie business seeing so many Cheese and only hearing the howl of the wind and the crackle of the flames.

As the village becomes smaller and we fly higher, I glance at Natka. His face is set, his eyes clear, his bony upper lip clasped tightly over his lower lip. He favors Klara remarkably this morning. His new hand grasps the reins well, as it has through our many practices. He has a handbow tightened around his other hand. He does not look as shaky and bile-filled as I feel. Not even close.

I hug Kwihuu with my knees and she turns to nip at my
nantola
-clad foot. I must admit, the gum ugly shoes feel nice around my toes. It is like not wearing shoes at all. My feet are as light as the wind.

Our journey is on its second day when Fist signals for us to fly in formation. Most of his words catch in the wind and I miss them, but I do recognize his hand gestures. When
we get to the township, Natka is to be part of the landing party. I am to stay on Kwihuu and protect the
Kihuutkafsa
from the air. I can do this. I can do this.