Children of the Dawn (37 page)

“My friend!” Jud said. “I’ve been wanting to see you!”

“Me too,” Kai El lied, slapping Jud’s outstretched hand.

“Good to see you,” Talak said, and Kai El nodded.

Willow baskets called creels hung from straps over their
shoulders. They were knee-high, round, wide at the bottom, with a small hole on top to stuff eels into, woven with open spaces
to let water move around the captured eels while others were gathered.

Kai El saw light through the spaces between the willow sticks.

“No eels?”

“The boy didn’t want to get wet,” Jud said, casting a scornful look at Talak. “So he told them we were coming.”

Talak dropped to his knees.

“I did not, oh wise one! But if you’d told me eels have ears, I would have.”

“Did you ever look?” Jud said. “Do you know where their love-spears are?”

They broke into laughter. Kai El joined in, though he no longer thought their jokes were funny.

Jud pointed to Kai El’s stuffed pack.

“Looks like you raided the village,” he said, shaking his head. “And they gave you a new pack to carry it away in. Is there
any place in there for a gift from your spirit brother?”

A gift? Kai El’s mood brightened.

“If it’s not too big.”

“You’ll like this so much, you’ll throw out other things to make room.”

“Well, show me!” he said, unable to hide his excitement.

In a time the young men knew of but didn’t remember, the Shahala had taught the Tlikit about gifting, as Shala, the Wind Spirit,
taught them in the Misty Time. People gave useful things to little ones at birth, at their first summer, and when they took
their names; to girls becoming women; to new mates. When something was lost, a friend replaced it. Gifting showed the love
of one for another, but was also expected—with or without love—because sharing reaffirmed the oneness of the Teahra people,
as Shahala, Tlikit, and Firekeeper had come to think of themselves.

The three young men sat at the river’s edge. Jud looked in his empty eel basket, turned it upside down, and shook it.

“Hmm,” he said, giving Kai El a worried look. He unfolded his shoulder pouch, took everything out, poked around in the corners,
put everything back.

“Hope I didn’t lose it.”

Gifts were too important to lose—Jud was just stirring the fire of Kai El’s eagerness.

Jud thumped his head. “Now I remember where I put it!”

He opened his waist pouch, and held out a worked stone.

“A scraper!” Kai El shouted, taking it. “Mine broke in the fire!”

“Not just any scraper,” Jud said with pride.

“It fits my hand perfectly.”

“I know my spirit brother.”

Kai El gripped it, made a motion in the air like cleaning a raw hide.

“The weight is just right—heavy enough to do the work, light enough to use all day.”

Jud shrugged. “Can I help it if everything I make is perfect?”

“So smooth a girl could use it,” Kai El said, fingering the top.

“I walked a long time to find the mother stone.”

A man used his scraper to clean hides for his woman to make into leather—not that these three had women, but they had hope.
Gray rocks from the river made the best ones. The rounded mother stone was split in half lengthwise, then sharpened along
one edge. Ten spearpoints could be made before one good scraper. The rock might refuse to break, or break in many pieces,
instead of splitting clean. The edge might chip dull instead of sharp. Fingers were wounded. It pleased Kai El that Jud would
do this for him.

“Nice, my friend. Really nice.”

Talak pointed to the faint shape of a bug etched into the top, almost worn away by the river.

“Look at this. Like a beetle died in mud, and the mud changed to rock, and the rock rolled down—”

Jud interrupted. “That’s why I picked
this
rock. You know these Shahala and how they love beetles. I’d step on my sister before I stepped on a beetle, rather than make
Kai El mad.”

Kai El laughed—Jud didn’t like his sister, Makust, any better than Kai El did.

He put his new scraping blade in his new pack.

“Thank you, Jud. Good beetle—I mean, good blade.”

Jud smiled. “Now you can return mine. Someone else might want to borrow it.”

“I’ll bring it the next time I come to the village,” Kai El said, getting up to leave.

Jud jumped to his feet.

“I never see you anymore,” he said in a hurt voice. “You spend all your time alone. We never hunt or fish or talk. What happened
to my old friend?”

Kai El sighed, looking away, adjusting the band of his pack against his forehead.

“Things change. People change.”

“That’s no answer, and I deserve one. I saved your life more than once.”

“And I’ve saved yours. But you’re right, Jud. You do deserve an answer. I just wish I knew it.”

Jud pointed to the cliffs. “Why don’t you take me up there where you spend all your time? Maybe that’s where the answer hides.”

Kai El took a deep breath. Someday, someone would have to see the halfway place. Gaia should have been first, but…

“Come on,” he said.

With a grim look, Talak shook his head.

“I’m not going to that ghost place. When Jud doesn’t come back, I’ll tell his weeping mother that Spilyea turned him into
a rock, too.”

Kai El remembered that people of slave blood feared spirits of all kinds.

“It’s just a quiet place with a good view,” he said. “And no ghosts.”

Jud snickered. “It can’t be worse than drowning while you pick eels under a waterfall. Should we tell the girls you have weak
legs?”

Talak had no choice. Once girls believed that about a boy, it was hard to convince them they were wrong.

“I may be younger, but my legs are stronger than yours,” he said. But Talak couldn’t help looking over his shoulder as they
climbed the trail.

Kai El tried to reassure him.

“Ghosts are invisible. You couldn’t see one if it came.”

“
That
makes me feel better. I won’t see them coming to carry me off.”

“Even if a ghost comes, don’t worry. They are only as mean as the people they used to be,” Kai El said, thinking of his mother.
She had a Moonkeeper’s power, but she had never been meaner than a person deserved—though the victim might think otherwise.

“Stop talking about ghosts, and I’ll feel better,” Talak said. Then he jumped at a little noise somewhere behind them. The
boy couldn’t hide his fear.

Jud tried, but Kai El knew him too well: His bravery at the river faltered as they climbed. He tried to cover it by tricking
Talak, hiding pebbles in his hand to toss when the boy wasn’t looking, making him think they were being followed.

They both kept going. Male pride gave them no choice.

Kai El stopped at the halfway place.

“What do you think?”

“Good place to rest,” Jud said.

“This is where I’m going to live.”

“That’s crazy,” Talak said.

Jud said, “This is a joke, right?”

“No. I’ll move these boulders—I could use your muscle, Spirit Brother—then I’ll make my hut back against that overhanging
slab—”

Talak cut him off. “You’re crazier than your father ever was. No one’s ever wanted to live away from the village. Why don’t
you want to live with us? Aren’t we good enough?”

“You always think people think they’re better, Talak, but they don’t. It has nothing to do with that. It’s a nice place, and
I like it here, that’s all.”

Jud said, “You’ll be lonely. You’ll never get a mate.”

“You’re wrong,” Kai El said. “The girl I love is different. We are soulmates. I like it, so she’ll like it.”

Jud and Talak looked at each other. Kai El hadn’t told his feelings to anyone.

“What girl?” Jud asked.

“Gaia.”

Their mouths dropped.

“Talak is right,” Jud said. “You
are
crazy. The twins will
never mate. They’ll be taking care of Rattlesnake Woman until they’re old and ugly themselves.”

Kai El said, “Rattlesnake Woman will either get well or die. Besides, Gaia doesn’t owe her life to her mother. No one does.”

“Well,” Talak said, “they’re both good to look at, but Gaia’s the one I’d take. Once I
accidentally
walked by the women’s washing place. Tahna caught me and almost poked my eyes out.”

The laughter of friends was a little too loud, but it sounded good. Kai El wouldn’t admit it, but he
did
get lonely sometimes. He gave them antelope leathermeat and old-berry juice, and they stayed for a while. Kai El told his
ideas for the place, and they seemed interested. He laughed at their jokes.

Shadows lengthened. Talak spoke in a serious voice.

“We need to get home. Ghosts are more powerful at night. If we wait any longer, we’ll break our legs in the dark.”

“You’re right,” Jud said. He nudged Kai El. “You can stay with us. You know my sister’s cooking.”

Kai El said, “Stay here, my friends. It’s best at night. The stars are brighter, the river’s quieter. I have food, and we’ll
make a fire. Tomorrow I’ll show you trails you never knew about.”

Jud shook his head. “Maybe some other time.”

“Some other time,” Talak agreed.

They left. Loneliness came. Kai El was not going to sit there feeling sorry for himself. He had spent enough time in the cliffs
to know them. He could move silently without using the trail, knew places to hide and listen to what they
really
thought.

Following them, he caught bits of conversation.

“I don’t understand him,” Jud said.

“He’s crazy,” Talak said. “But what do you expect? Look at his parents.”

“His mother wasn’t crazy.”

“She wasn’t like anyone else. And his father—they don’t get any crazier than that.”

Jud didn’t try to argue that Tor wasn’t crazy, and Kai El didn’t blame him.

Farther down the trail, he heard them again.

“Soulmates! Phht! He could have any girl. Why does he want one who’s not interested?”

“I told you, Jud, he’s crazy. We’ve heard the last of women saying what a fine mate he would make for their daughters.”

“Spit on you both!” Kai El said, not caring if they heard.

He went back to the halfway place, and watched night suck light from the world.

“Jud and Talak,” he yelled. “A fatherless Tlikit, and the son of a slave. Who do you think you are to judge the son of legends?”

His words bounced from the rocks and came back sounding like someone else’s. Kai El was not an arrogant man, just a very angry
one.

As stars took their places in the darkening sky, anger changed to discouragement. Talak didn’t surprise him. But Kai El and
Jud were spirit brothers. He’d been so sure Jud would understand. And so wrong.

“My best friend,” Kai El said. “And he understood none of it. Not one thing.”

Now you know,
his inner voice answered.
No one will understand.

“Except maybe Gaia,” he said. Even now, he didn’t give up hope. What would he have left?

“She’s different, you know. We are soulmates.”

But he felt so lonely.

K
AI
E
L
’
S DEEP LONELINESS REACHED THROUGH SPACE
and time, calling the spirit of his mother. She found him lying in the cliffs above Teahra Village, rolling back and forth
in unsettled sleep.

…
If I
could just talk to him
…

Ashan’s love for people—especially her son—was as great as it had ever been. Now she knew so much more, knowledge that could
make life better for people—if only there was some way to
tell
them. But people couldn’t hear spirits with their ears, any more than they could see them with their eyes.

The Spirit of Ashan could enter Kai El’s dreaming mind, and create pictures for him to take back to the daytime world, but
this was flawed. When he awoke, Kai El kept only what he wanted, and forgot the rest. It wasn’t perfect, but it pleasured
her to be with her son. It allowed her to comfort him, and sometimes help him make decisions.

If Ashan kept the dream-path between them open, Kai El might someday be ready to learn that Gaia was his sister and could
never be his mate.

On this night, her son felt crushed because he’d been scorned by his friends. Kai El wanted to be liked and respected. But
Destiny would lead him down a different path from others, so Destiny had made him different. Sometimes being different hurt,
as when you were young and could see no farther than tomorrow.

As Kai El slept, the Spirit of Ashan painted him a dream.

He dreamed that he was here at his place in the cliffs, but it was as he had imagined… with a large hut under the overhanging
rock slab, and a wide, flat place where people could sit outside… a home to be proud of.

In Kai El’s dream, he sat on a stone. People sat on the ground, all looking up to him. He was the chief, and they had come
to ask him questions. He was glad he didn’t live down in the village with them; he’d never have time for himself.

A beautiful woman stepped from the hut.

Not Gaia.

He stood with his mouth open.
I
want her,
he thought.

“Kai El,” said the most soothing voice he had ever heard.

Kai El woke himself up. He remembered dreaming…

This place… all finished, with a large flat spot for sitting, instead of these boulders. And a hut of wood and skins, with
a rock slab roof. In the dream, people had accepted this as his home. They had come up to visit him.

Gaia had been in the dream—it didn’t look like her, but he knew it was her.

Kai El looked up. A pair of hawks called to each other as they circled the cliffs.

Skaina, the Hawk Spirit, must have given him the dream. He remembered Skaina’s words on his long-ago power quest.

Amotkan wants people to listen to themselves. You are the first.

It meant more than just picking his own name. That was only the beginning. It meant that he was to follow his own thoughts,
about everything, no matter what others said.