Zadayi Red (45 page)

Before the sun was high, the two of them stood at a gap in the ridge and looked down on the village. Hundreds of Galayi men and women were assembled outside the council house.
The building would never hold so many people, and many would have to watch from outside. Several chiefs were on their way, ready to make an entrance when the crowd was seated.

Klandagi said, “Tsola said to tell you this. You have to make your appearance in eagle form.”

“No,” said Zeya.

“And she said you’d say no. So I’m to tell you that it’s a gift from Thunderbird to all the Galayi people. They need to see it, to feel the power given them through you.”

Zeya nodded.

Soon he coasted toward the council building. People didn’t take notice of him until he made a soft landing next to the smoke hole. Then some pointed and many laughed.

With wings still spread Zeya turned slowly to each of the four directions, showing his eagle self to all the people. Then, feather by hair, talon by leg, wing by arm, he changed himself into the young leader Zeya.

People buzzed and then roared. They cried, “Chief! Chief! Chief!”

Zeya slid down the mud-slabbed dome, and Ninyu gave him a hand to the ground. Jemel rushed up and hugged him tight.

“Come sit by the sacred fire,” Ninyu said. “The people want you to be a chief. The chiefs want to make you . . . They’ll explain.”

“How silly,” said Zeya.

“How necessary,” said Ninyu.

“You’ll do it,” said Jemel.

“Yes,” said Klandagi.

“All right,” Zeya said. “Klandagi, will you go get Tsola? All of this—
all
—is her doing. Meanwhile the three of us will talk to people.”

So they did. Each going his own way, they sat with as many people as they could. They listened to the never-ending
laments of Tusca women who had lost their loved ones. They listened to women glad to have more children and a second wife coming to the house. Talked to men who worried about the coming hunt, and whether they would get enough food for so many mouths for the winter. Gathered children together and told stories. Several times Zeya told the one about how Buzzard gave the world its shape.

The other chiefs caught on and followed the example of Zeya, Ninyu, and Jemel.

Zeya encouraged everyone to eat heartily at midday. Not long after they finished, Klandagi led Tsola into the council house blindfolded, and the people assembled.

Zeya greeted Tsola, introduced Jemel to her, and sat behind the Seer.

“Join me,” she said, and patted the ground beside her. Zeya did, feeling odd.

When all the chiefs were seated, she smoked the sacred pipe and passed it to Zeya. Feeling more uncomfortable, he smoked and passed it. When all the chiefs had sent their breath, their prayers to the sky as smoke, Tsola said, “Who wants to speak?”

Ninyu led the way with a canticle of his grief at the deaths of so many Galayi. Each chief took his turn, a chorus of loss and sorrow.

Tsola asked Zeya to speak of his mother. He did, and he then he plunged on. “I feel devastated. But I know that this single death, even if she was the most important person in my life, was small compared to what the people have endured. We abide in anguish today. We have walked in desolation since the day I was born.”

Everyone knew the story of how Zeya’s mother fled from Inaj, who then killed Tensa and launched twenty years of war.

“I ask us all to make the shed blood into life-giving water.
Let us find a way to make horror into wisdom. Let us use tragedy to make our spirits buoyant. Let us turn death into resurrection.”

He fumbled for more thoughts, found none, and sat down.

Ninyu stood and said, “We can take Zeya’s words and turn them into a song of hope.”

When he sat down, Tsola waited for the other chiefs, wanting someone to add his voice. No one did—it was too soon.

So she told a story. How the word came to her of a boy born to save the people. How her friend Sunoya raised the boy to walk the path of prophecy. When the young man resisted, the force of life itself seized him and carried him into the Emerald Cavern and to the journey he was born for. How he defeated the assassins to gather 108 beautiful feathers. How he crossed into the land beyond the Sky Arch, encountered demons, earned an audience with Thunderbird, and brought the Cape of Eagle Feathers back to the people. How he brought a personal power as well, which they had witnessed the last several days.

“The nine remaining village chiefs have conferred,” she said. “They are unanimous. At this time and in this place, I, the Medicine Chief of all Medicine Chiefs of the Galayi people, declare Ulo-Zeya, The One Who Dwells in Clouds, the supreme chief of the nation, the chief of all White chiefs, Red Chiefs, and Medicine Chiefs.”

People cheered.

Tsola turned her blindfolded eyes to Zeya and smiled.

“I can’t,” he said softly.

“It’s your destiny,” said Tsola.

“I’m still foolish.” He looked at Jemel, and they both thought of his bout of jealousy.

“We all are,” said Tsola. “But you are chosen. Stand up and say something.”

So he spoke to all his people. “I’m afraid you trust me with too much. But I will do my best to help you all.”

They cheered louder.

Ninyu stood up. “Next week we will celebrate the marriage of Zeya and Jemel.” Sorrowfully he added, “After many burying songs.”

Jemel got up and showed off her belly. People laughed.

“I will sing songs in their honor,” said Tsola, “and all the people are invited to join in.”

When the sun fell, Zeya and Jemel spent their first night together as a married couple in a house loaned to them by the White Chief of the Cheowas.

Sitting by the fire naked, they sang to each other the traditional song to bind their affections forever. Together they sang four times, “
Our souls have come together
.”

And alternately, four times,
“Your name is Jemel, you are born to the Soco people,”
and
“Your name is Ulo-Zeya, you are born to the Tusca people.”

Then each of them warmed hands by the fire and tongued spittle onto their fingers. While they rubbed this spittle onto the others’ breasts, they sang four times together:

Your body, I take it, I eat it

Your flesh I take, I eat

Our souls have come together

Your heart I take, I eat

O ancient fire, now our souls are meshed

Never to part

Zeya watched the firelight flicker on Jemel’s face, her arms, her breasts. He was filled with love, with purpose, with dedication. They continued together.

Black spider, bind us in your web

Until I met her [him] I was covered with loneliness

My eyes had faded

I went along sorrowing

I was an ancient wanderer

Spider hold us together in your web

Our souls have come together

Ancient fire, hold us firmly in your grasp

Never let go your hold

They curled up together and slept.

Jemel’s cry startled Zeya awake.

“It’s time for the baby!”

He bolted outside to get help. Against the darkness light was a breath in the east. He ran downstream to Ninyu’s brush hut.

“The baby’s coming!”

Ninyu’s wives scurried upstream to Jemel.

Ninyu quickly prepared the sacred tea. He and Zeya walked in a stately manner to the river. Zeya looked for the moon, which his people called “sun living in the night.” A fingernail of darkness chipped off its right edge. They passed the house of Jemel’s tribulations and stopped at the river bend, within sight and sound of the house.

In the house Jemel lay on hide blankets, catching her breath. The pains were terrible. Poles crossed and tied together slashed over her head.

“This is the pain of life,” said her aunt, the midwife.

Jemel smiled tartly. Birth was painful, death was painful. Life? Life was joy, if you had the strength to tear it out and eat it. That was the way the Moon Woman saw things.

P-a-a-a-i-i-n-n!

She reached up for the poles, lifted her body up a hand span,
and pushed. This was the old way of birthing. The midwife wanted it and so did she. But now everything was kicked out of her mind but pain.

When it eased and coiled back on itself, she let herself drop down and rest. Why so much pain? She wished she could take a whip and scourge it.

“Think of the child coming to you,” said the midwife.

She couldn’t, not now, and certainly not when the pain swamped her.

“I’m excited to see if its left fingers are webbed,” said the midwife.

Jemel choked on a laugh. That was the last thing she cared about.

Pain came roaring back, and she inched herself off the ground. Torture.

Zeya stripped off his clothes. Ninyu set down two small pots of paint, one red and one white, which only members of the Paint Clan could make.