by Suzanne Weyn
Though May was not of high rank because her mother’s mate was dead, no other female intrigued him in the same way. He recalled clearly the day he first noticed how lovely she had become and realized that he longed to touch her. But her beauty wasn’t the only thing. There was power in her. It shone from her eyes and could be read in the sureness of her movements. It was in her to be the mate of a leader, his mate.
He recalled the disdainful way she had gazed at him when he kicked old blind Asa’s pet hare from his path. A hare was food — it had no place running freely among them, leaving its droppings to foul their eating quarters. If blind Asa wanted it as a pet, it was the responsibility of his mate to clean up after it and keep it penned. By kicking the animal, he’d shown that he knew and respected the ways of The Clan, and that he would not let softness for one keep him from doing whatever was needed to maintain the good of the greater number. It was a gesture Gaj would have witnessed with appreciation, even if May did not.
If May saw him now, so revered by the people, she might understand where he was headed, why he behaved as he did. She would see all the good things that she would partake of as his mate, all that he had won for them.
Sha, another female of The Clan, smiled at him; her eyes lit with admiration. He knew Sha would gladly have him as a mate. She had her own allure, with her bright eyes and reddish-brown curls, but she was not May. She did not possess May’s beauty or her sureness. It was only May that he wanted.
Where was she?
Gaj pulled an axe from the belt of the fur tunic he wore beneath his cloak. With a powerful swing of his arm, he brought it down on the creature’s head, severing one of its impressive curved horns. The beast’s hot blood spurted and it ran down Gaj’s arm as he presented the horn to Lenar.
“You will lead after I am no longer,” Gaj announced in the language of The Clan.
Bowing his head deeply, Lenar accepted the honor, thrusting the horn into the air for all to witness. All around him, the people thundered their approval, shouting and pounding on the beast, shaking their torches excitedly so that sparks flew through the darkness. The scene swirled around him under a fat, yellow, night-sky creature that stayed especially low, as though even it had come unusually close in order to see Lenar’s triumph.
Looking up, he stared into the cheering, moonstruck crowd, willing May to appear, if only by the sheer force of his desire to see her there — and to have her see him.
She was not there. And it caused a frustrated rage to roar within him.
May knew she was expected to return. It was dark once again and she was long overdue.
Somehow she could not bring herself to leave the peace of this solitary perch. Was Lenar still alive after the battle and the hunt?
He had probably survived. He was fierce.
But as long as she did not know for sure whether he was dead or alive, there was hope. She preferred the not knowing to the prospect of returning to discover the truth.
A snap in the bushes made her turn sharply toward the sound. The weasel was awakened from its curled sleep and lifted its head.
She was being watched! The feeling was strong.
Standing, she peered into the darkness. Whatever had made the sound was in the brush by the path, near the side of the cave. Not moving, hardly breathing, she waited.
A breeze lifted a handful of dead brown leaves that had collected at the cave’s base. They lifted and fell, rustling along the rocky ground.
May relaxed her shoulders, inhaling slowly. Anything could have made the sound. As her anxious pulse quieted again, she settled back on the ledge, watching the glowing night creature continue to climb the light-speckled sky. The night creature was especially full and round, glowing yellow in the darkness, a color different from its usual silver light.
May felt The Great Mother’s presence all around her — in the breezes ruffling the leaves and trees, in the chirp and buzz of night insects. She heard it all as a song.
She began to hum, her voice plaintive, aching to reach The Great Mother, the longing so intense that it became physical. Making musical sound released the loneliness, fear, and confusion. The sound suffused her body, pouring from her mouth, lighting fires of feeling within her. This new emotion made her chant higher, wilder, until her voice was an aching throb lifting into the night air.
Though her song was all ache and wail, she prayed to The Great Mother as she sang, using the language of her people. “What use is a green stone? Reveal your meaning, O Mother! Is it a treasure I can use to be free of Lenar? Will it give me rank of my own?”
She continued to sing as her mind raced.
A rank of my own.
That must be it! With the green rock, she would gain rank without Lenar. She would be the keeper of The Clan’s treasure.
There were female spirit women who had rank due to the healing secrets of plants they possessed and knew how to use. The stone that The Great Mother had shown to her would give that kind of rank to her, as well.
But where else could this valuable green rock be found? She could not dig it out of The Great Mother’s belly.
Her song grew higher, louder, and more desperate. She stopped making words and let her song become pure musical tone. This desperate chanting welled up from the base of her being, filling her with emotion.
Feeling safely hidden by a bush, Kye listened, captivated by the female’s song. When she had arisen, alerted by the branch he’d snapped, he’d considered overtaking her. She would be a prize he could bring home to make his people forget his shame in the battle. He might even keep her for a mate.
That idea pleased him, for he felt drawn to the female. She raised a keen desire within him.
He got onto his haunches, considering if he was truly strong enough to win a scuffle with her. Blood had stopped running from his wound and was caking on his face. His head throbbed but he was growing used to it. Yes, coming home with this female and claiming her as his mate would help his situation.
She walked to the ledge overlooking the valley, and sounds such as Kye had never heard before poured out of her mouth. It reminded him of the drumming his people loved so well, but it was higher and flowed magically around her like rushing water. She was making the talk of The New Ones. But to whom was she talking?
There was sorrow in her heart. Her sounds infused him with that same pain. He became suddenly, overwhelmingly sad.
Her form was still lovely but, to him, it had also become radiant with her suffering, the grace of her lifted arms, the desire written across her face.
His desire was now tempered with another feeling. He had connected to her in a way that was mysterious, even frightening. All he could do was listen, rapt with awe as she sang in the night’s light.
He cursed his softness.
What kind of male was he? He had run from the battle and now he was so touched by a female’s plaintive wail that he would not — could not — take her by force!
A breeze sent dead leaves running away from the base of the cave. The weasel had awakened and pounced on a mouse that had been slumbering beneath the leaves. Kye’s eye was drawn to the movement, but he soon forgot about the mouse struggling in the weasel’s jaws.
Something more captivating had been uncovered when the leaves blew away.
In the moonlight, a brilliant green light sparkled at the base of the cave.
He’d seen green rocks like these before, usually embedded in coarse stone. Sometimes there were flecks of it in cave walls. It was rare to see an entire stone this large all in one piece.
This was the prize he would bring back instead of the female!
His people would value it even more highly than a captive. He would say he had fought a New One for it. It would restore his prestige, his pride. And he could spare the female.
He decided to wait until she departed or slept, and then he could chisel the precious green stone loose.
Slowly turning, the female spied the green rock just moments after Kye saw it.<
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Her song trailed off into the air as her face lit joyfully. Kye had never imagined anything as lovely as the rapturous smile she directed at the stone.
Digging in a hare-skin bundle, she produced a flint-blade knife with a bone handle. Deftly wielding the knife, she eagerly hacked at the surrounding black rock that held the treasure fast in its grasp.
Kye leaned forward, watching avidly. He couldn’t let her take the green rock. He had to get it from her. Now!
Slowly, he rose from the bush. She was so intent on her work that she didn’t see or hear his approach. He paused a moment at the side of the cave, looking down on her feverish activity.
He longed to explain his situation to her, to request that she give him the prized rock and let him depart with it. He did not want to fight her for fear of causing her pain. Even more, he didn’t want to be at odds with this lovely creature.
He took a step closer.
The female’s head snapped back. Wide-eyed with fear, her every muscle tensed as she held tight to the knife stuck in the rock.
“Mine! Go!” she barked fiercely, waving him off. “Go!”
He did not know her words but he understood. He shook his head and thumped his chest, taking a step closer.
Her eyes grew wider. A shiver shook her shoulders for the quickest moment.
“Mine!” She shrieked in a voice he could barely recognize as the exquisite thing he had just heard. This voice was all rage, aggression, and desperation. It was a voice he could deal with.
Boldly approaching, he knocked her aside with one powerful sweep of his arm. Her knife slid across the rocky ground and he seized it. He used it to come down on the rock once, twice. Three shattering blows was all it took for him to dislodge the gemstone.
Moonlight played on its indents and turns. Peering into its depths was like gazing into fathomless water hardened into rock. Surely the power of the green growing earth was captured in its brilliant hardness. His people would be right to hold this treasure in great awe. He would be their hero for bringing it to them.
The green prize suddenly flew from his hand. The female was on his back, pounding his wounded head, screaming with the wild fury of an injured animal.
The pain made him furious, and he hurled her to the ground with greater force than he had intended.
The stone lay on the ground. He bent to seize it.
The female ran into him, leading with her shoulder.
He staggered backward, though he kept hold of the stone. He recovered in time to see her charge toward him again, her enraged stare locked on the stone in his hand.
She slammed into him more forcefully, throwing her entire weight onto his arm.
This time he was seriously off-balance, and she was locked onto his shoulder. Instinctively, he reached for something to hold on to as he felt himself lose balance.
The back of her neck was the first thing he found to grip.
She screamed in his ear, her voice no longer combative or aggressive. She was screaming in terror.
At first he did not realize how tightly he was gripping both her neck in his one hand and the stone with his other. His only thought was to hold on — to keep from being knocked down.
Nor did he understand, until seconds after that, that they had stumbled backward off the high cliff. There was nothing beneath their feet now and they were turning, spinning.
Still he held on to her, unwilling to release his grip. He would not let go of her or the green prize.
They were plummeting, locked together, toward the gorge below.
I hear the sickening sound before we even hit the gorge. A bone has snapped. It rings up into my ears, vibrating in my skull.
There is no pain.
The Ice Being tumbles into the racing water beside me, his eyes wide with terror.
Then there is another Ice Being. His face is softer. He looks at me and I gaze back at him.
For a second.
A surge of water pulls one Ice Being away, the one with the stunned wide-open stare frozen on his face. The other Ice Being begins to rise toward the surface of the water.
I swim after him, wanting to know where he is going.
Breaking the water’s surface, the insistent call of an overhead bird makes me look up to investigate. I have never seen a bird this large; not even the great gliding birds of prey have such a wingspan. Slowly, its great wings spread, and it spirals toward the water.
With darting eyes, I search out The Ice Being and find that he still is in the gorge, but is now surrounded by other Ice Beings. They are not of this world. I know this because they hover just above the water. The Ice Being begins to rise into the air and they touch him, aiding his ascent, lifting toward the sky along with him. Together, they sail up to meet the descending giant bird. They let go of The Ice Being male as the bird grips him in its talons. I watch the bird fly away with him as the others fade.
I realize that I must get out of this icy water. I am already so late getting home. They will all want to hear how I fought The Ice Being and survived. They will gather round tonight by the fire and I will tell them.
The current is strong: I will have to swim like the water beasts if I am to free myself.
A thing from the depths of the river rises behind me and I turn quickly to see what it is: a face, pale and crazed with terror. Dark hair tangles around it; the head is bent at an angle that is painful to see. Shoulders, torso, belly follow. An arm springs up, fingers splayed, jostled by the current.
It is me! I am staring in horror at myself.
But I am here at the same time.
I slowly understand that I have split apart from my broken body — and yet I still exist.
I cannot make sense of this.
I am here. I exist. Then what is this twisted other floating in the water beside me?
The broken self is caught in a wave and sinks again just below the river’s surface. Racing water carries it downstream, around a jutting rock, and then out of sight.
I begin to understand what has happened to me.
I scan the sky, searching for a bird to carry me away.
No bird comes for me. No spirit ancestors.
What am I to do?
And then I begin to rise above the river.
I sail through the blue sky and pass into a black, light-sparked night.
My mouth opens. The back of my head falls away. Stars shoot through me.
The top of my head floats off painlessly.
That part of me that is me at its center gives way. I am scattered, dispersed among the stars.
I am blissfully blown apart. Terrified by the shattering, yet so willing to go.
Swirling balls of fire soar through light-spattered darkness and I watch them, awestruck but not afraid.
I watch them for a long time.
Voices speak to me in whispers. They ask me questions. I don’t know the answers.
I do not know why or when it is that I begin to float in a certain direction. I am on a river, traveling the current.
I come to what I think is a waterfall. I see that it’s not water — but light. White light standing tall as the oldest, most giant of trees, inside a crystal pool.
As I swim into the pool, my thoughts grow so vivid that I can’t tell if I am voicing them or not. I have the sense that it all has to be expressed before I am swirled into the vortex of the towering light.
Great Mother, do not abandon me.
Show me your sign again. Return your blessing to me.
Where is The Ice Being who took it from me?
Make him return the prize he stole.
I want rank of my own.
Do not let me freeze in another time of ice.
Do not make me mate with a male I despise.
I am floating in a warm darkness. Time has returned. I am aware of the moments passing in every beat of the steady thunder that pounds everywhere around me.
And then, once again, the river begins to rush. Again I am carried forwa
rd.
Tetisheri, my baby girl. We name you for the queen of old now entombed at Luxor. May our divine mother, the goddess Isis, bless you. Let her son, Horus, the falcon god, always watch over you. We are not rich, but your father is respected for his craft. May you grow in beauty and talent so that a wealthy, powerful man may take you as a wife.
The sun blistered Taharaq’s back as he pulled on the oars. The bitterness in his heart was not lightened by the increasingly lush beauty of the palms on either side of the rushing Nile, nor the silver crane that spread its majestic wings as it flew from a marshy inlet or even the comical hippo that rose to observe the passing barge before submerging once again.
All these sights only meant that they were nearer to Luxor and farther away from his beloved home in Nubia, the home that he might never see again.
The young Egyptian officer at the bow of the long, narrow boat snapped a whip over the heads of the laboring prisoners. The striped headpiece he wore shielded his head and neck from the burning sun. The golden cobra at its center flared brilliantly, its glare occasionally blinding. A golden cord around his neck boasted a single gleaming medallion in the shape of a golden fly, an Egyptian award for military valor. His white linen tunic, knotted firmly around his trim waist, gave him a look of cool authority over his laboring, sweating, black-skinned prisoners.
Sweat coursed down Taharaq’s sides.
The officer snapped his whip once more. Had it hit, Taharaq didn’t know whether he would have been able to contain his rage. These men, his fellow prisoners, were proud men, archers so skilled that their prowess was legendary.
Taharaq glowered at the whip-wielding officer, filled with hatred. More than any other of the guards, this arrogant captain raised a murderous fury within him. When this Egyptian even glanced his way, Taharaq felt the stinging humiliation of defeat more keenly than at any other time. Perhaps it was the captain’s smug self-assurance; whatever the reason, Taharaq had never known another who evoked these feelings in him.
