Great Sky Woman

by Steven Barnes

  There was no distinct call to begin, but the men surrounding the circle stamped their feet against the ground. Frog felt his pulse vibrating in his rump.

  The two combatants responded to it, stepping to the beat, slowly walking the circle. As they tested each other, one gradual sliding step at a time, Hawk spiraled within reach of Break Spear.

  Lines of sweat streaked furrows along their dusty skin and streamed from their hairlines. Hawk Shadow shook his head and flicked the salty droplets aside, never taking his eyes from his opponent. He raised his right hand to wipe the perspiration, and in that instant of diminished vision, Break Spear charged him. They were so close together that there was almost nothing Hawk Shadow could do.

  Almost.

  He sprang to the left side, planting his right leg in Break Spear’s path. That trip might have worked with most, but Break Spear hopped nimbly over the obstacle, simultaneously uttering a trilling shriek that would have frozen Frog dead in place.

  Hawk Shadow threw himself to the dirt, tumbling as Break Spear came after him. Hawk performed a perfect baboon roll, jumping to his feet in time to meet Break Spear’s charge. The impact almost threw him out of the circle, but Hawk dug in his heels to resist.

  In fact, as he tensed he not only stopped Break Spear’s charge but pushed him back. Then the broader man stooped just before Hawk Shadow jumped in with another push, and Hawk Shadow sailed over Break Spear’s shoulders.

  Every man and boy around the circle groaned with empathetic pain. Hawk Shadow crunched into the ground, whuffed air and rolled away—but Break Spear hadn’t leapt in to continue the attack. Instead, he retreated a step and watched the younger man as he staggered to his feet, shook his head and prepared to continue.

  The two fighters crashed in the center of the ring, slapping with open-handed buffets that tore skin and snapped heads to the side. Hawk Shadow charged in, suffering a mighty wallop along the way, slamming in his shoulder and grasping Break Spear around the waist, right hand gripping left wrist at the small of Spear’s back. Grunting, he actually levered the heavier man from the ground. Break Spear linked his fists and clubbed Hawk Shadow’s right shoulder.

  The drums thundered, and the boma howled with sympathetic pain. Father Mountain, that must have hurt!

  Frog snuck a glance at Hawk’s wife, Flamingo, who watched with wide, worried eyes.

  Hawk Shadow’s eyes rolled up in his head. He staggered back a step but didn’t release the older man. Instead he squeezed so hard that muscles leapt out from Hawk’s arms and back. Break Spear’s neck swelled with his own strain, but he still seemed measured and calm as he brought his fists down a second time, this time at the juncture of Hawk’s neck and shoulder. Hawk Shadow groaned and sank to one knee, releasing his hold.

  Swift as Hawk’s namesake seizing a mouse, Break Spear attacked. Snaking behind Hawk Shadow, Break Spear wrapped his legs hard, locking his ankles, squeezing against Hawk’s lower ribs.

  This was a reversal of the previous position. Hawk’s face purpled and puffed with blood. He struggled and twisted but was unable to free himself. Break Spear’s grip tightened, so that Hawk could draw little breath.

  His fingers clawed at Break Spear’s strong arms. Frog sensed the exact moment that panic shaded Hawk Shadow’s face, the moment he understood that he was finished. At that very moment Hawk Shadow gasped, “Father Mountain!” and Break Spear relaxed his grip.

  Break Spear loosed his big booming laugh and released Frog’s brother, slapping him affectionately on the side of the head as he did. Hawk’s chest heaved as if he had run to Great Sky and back without stopping. His face was lowered in shame, sweat dripping from his forehead to puddle in the dust below.

  Break Spear encircled the defeated boy with his arms, roared and lifted him off the ground before thumping him down on his heels. “This one is a great wrestler and hunter!” he said. “He will lead many hunts, kill many lions. I say he is to be honored!”

  The boma folk stamped their feet against the ground, screaming their approval, Frog louder and harder than any of them.

  The other men came to Hawk Shadow and slapped his shoulder, grinning. Then the younger boys approached more cautiously, touching him and then running away as if to transfer his power to themselves. Soon Hawk Shadow was smiling again, his breathing returned to normal. He basked in their admiration, grinning, big square white teeth shining as they congratulated him on surviving Break Spear. Although none of the women would ever stand in the circle, they fully understood the importance of what had happened. Some of the young girls gave Hawk appreciative side glances, nothing too bold. After all, Flamingo had run to him, embracing him eagerly, and flirtation might earn a boxed ear.

  But that wouldn’t keep them from accidentally touching him or cutting their eyes at him. Frog had begun to see something different and frightening and delicious in girls. He felt great envy and wished that he could be even half the hunter his brothers had grown to be.

  Then he looked down at his own small hands, his thin weak arms, and was consumed with despair. Surely one so frail as he would never, could never, grow to be nearly so strong and brave and sure as Hawk Shadow.

  He was feeling sorry for himself, but a sidewise glance at Fire Ant stopped the swell of sorrow. Fire Ant watched the celebration, and although he smiled, Frog knew that his heart must ache. Once, Ant had been Hawk’s equal. Perhaps he had even been better: certainly he had been faster and more agile. But that injured leg had taken something away. He could no longer run shoulder to shoulder with his brother. That leg might never be the same, and without strength demonstrated in the circle, Fire Ant would never rise high in the boma, had no chance to be chosen as a hunt chief or become boma father.

  So even as Frog rejoiced for one brother, he was sorry for the other. He loved both Fire Ant and Hawk Shadow, and to see the balance shift between them hurt his heart.

  In respect for his struggles and courage as much as for his wounds, Fire Ant was allowed to marry Ember, a thick-waisted girl with laughing eyes, without the customary year of service. Her parents had but recently joined their boma from the north. This was a good marriage: Ember’s father was Cloud Stalker’s younger brother. Their children would be honored indeed, and it seemed to Frog that this very nearly satisfied Ant’s ambitions.

  Their marriage was performed at the next Spring Gathering by Cloud Stalker himself. Frog danced and feasted until the couple retired to their hut for their first night of love, then he joined Scorpion and their friends for races and games.

  He noticed that something odd seemed to be happening, possibly because he was now the oldest unmarried brother. The girls were casting glances at him and flirting in a way that made his root throb.

  He relished the new attention and flirted back, walking with his shoulders high and hips forward, strutting as if he already had his scars. The girls tittered appreciatively and made the small changes in their expression and posture that best displayed their beauty.

  There were girls from all of the other groups, but as always, those who kept the fire were apart from the others, unattainable, untouchable. He saw the girl T’Cori, the one without a name. Despite Owl Hooting’s prohibition he would have spoken with her, but she avoided him, made excuses and went away with the other dancers. In some strange way it merely made Frog wish to know her all the more.

  Did she hate him? Feel guilty for her lie? He did not know but wished he could have asked.

  He saw her several times over the days of festival. Owl Hooting was one of the finest of the young hunt chiefs, and T’Cori seemed to thrive when he came near, like a morning glory blossoming for the sun. Frog’s back and shoulders still remembered the beating he had suffered at Owl’s hands. He avoided the young man whenever possible.

  Frog had to wonder: what kind of union could hunt chiefs and dream dancers share?

  Whenever Frog glimpsed the nameless one, she was deeply involved in learning, going with the older women to hear their songs, watching their
dances and studying their ways. At times she was with the fearsome Stillshadow, and she seemed to do exactly as Stillshadow did, following with eyes and body and facial expression, following in her footsteps as if she might absorb the older woman’s wisdom through the soles of her feet.

  On the last night of that year’s gathering, a girl of the dream dancers approached Frog. Frog thought she was not particularly attractive, but her moon-shaped face was very clean, her teeth scrubbed brightly, her hair twisted up with sticks and daubs of mud into a morning-glory pattern. Beneath the leather flap her young breasts were small and high. He had seen her at the previous year’s festival but had not experienced the same sensations when he looked at her. Was this what Lion Tooth had meant when he laughed and said that Frog would learn?

  “Frog,” she said. “Your name is Frog?”

  “Yes,” he said, somewhat dazed that one of these dazzling creatures knew who he was.

  “I am Fawn,” she said. “Come, help me find berries.”

  They were alone, away from most of the others, who sat circle. One after another, the men or women would enter the circle to speak, sing or dance their story. When one person was done the clan would smoke and discuss, and then another would take his or her place in the center, and the process began again.

  There were many important things to be settled: territories, marriages, feuds and division of spoils. No one was paying attention to Fawn and Frog.

  His cheeks burned, and he didn’t know why. “I’m not hungry,” he said.

  She stared at Frog as if he was the stupidest creature in creation, then shook her head irritably and walked on.

  Frog wasn’t certain why she was angry with him. He heard a familiar laugh behind him.

  “You see faces in clouds, but not what’s right in front of you,” Fire Ant said. “When a dream dancer asks you to go with her, you go.”

  Frog felt his face flush even more to know that his brother had heard and seen. “I didn’t want berries.”

  “She didn’t want berries either.”

  Confusion warred with anger, but some deep part of him already understood the answer. “No? What, then?”

  Fire Ant grinned. “Why not go and find out?”

  There was one part of Frog that wanted to leap on his brother and wrestle him to the ground, as Break Spear had done to Hawk. Another part, the one that remembered his humiliation by Owl Hooting, wanted to run away and hide.

  Then there was another part altogether, and that bit of flesh was interested indeed.

  Frog slid his chipped rock into the pouch at his waist and went running after the moon-faced girl. Her hips swayed, dizzying him so that he felt as if he viewed them from the top of the Life Tree itself.

  He caught up with Fawn by the time she reached the riverbank. In most times wandering off by herself would be considered foolish, but festival attracted so many Ibandi and bhan that lions and leopards rarely approached.

  She doesn’t want berries either…

  “I thought you weren’t hungry,” she said, her small white teeth nibbling at her lower lip. Somehow, she was becoming more attractive with every passing breath. His root’s increasing rigidity might have had something to do with that.

  “I thought that maybe I could help,” he said.

  Although she was shorter than he, in some odd way it seemed that Fawn was standing above him, looking down. “Perhaps. Come.” Fawn reached out her hand for his and led him down by the banks of Sweet River, smaller than Fire River but known for its delicious sky-colored fish. His hand, clasped in hers, felt almost as if it had been chewed by fire. “Where do we go?” he asked. His voice sounded high and embarrassingly thin.

  “Not far,” she said. “This looks like a good spot.” She led Frog to a place sheltered by bushes but lush with soft green grasses. From this secluded vantage, none of the major trails was visible. He could hear distant singing but could see no one.

  “Where are the berries?” he asked, turning back to face her.

  Fawn had slipped the hide covering from her breasts and lifted them in presentation. They were small and firm and beautiful. “Here are berries,” she said.

  He could but stare. Ibandi women rarely covered their chests. Young, old, large, small, firm, withered—he saw them all. Except for the dream dancers, whose breasts and sex-eyes were concealed from Ibandi view.

  Fawn’s exposure struck him like a blow over the heart. He could barely breathe. This lifting…the sensual softness of her mouth, the fact that he and Fawn were alone…perhaps the difference was in him. He was older now, and Father Mountain had given him more understanding of the world, as if the deities were rolling rocks aside to expose the mouths of secret caves.

  “Pick them,” she said.

  He watched his hands reach out to her, fingers trembling as they touched. Her breasts felt like soft deerskins filled with warm water, or ripe fruit.

  And there by the riverbank, one breath at a time, she taught him what his body could feel. Demonstrated that his own clumsy childish root-rubbing was nothing compared to a young woman’s first feathery touch. That the touch of her tongue against his cheek, his chest, was like a brand of fire. When she pushed him back against the ground and mounted him, and for the very first time in his young life he felt the joining that made all other sensations pale in comparison, he knew that he had never known anything at all. With every movement of her body she urged deeper and deeper fire from him. Her eyes said that this was not the end, but merely a new beginning.

  And he thought, after the time in which all thought vanished and he floated in a warm, calm current deeper than anything he had ever imagined: Am I now a man?

  Chapter Eighteen

  T’Cori was often the first girl up in the morning, awake in time to listen to the old women clearing their throats to sing the sun to life. From morning until night the nameless one rushed from one task to another, tending the eternal fire and raising the coals back to full flame, cleaning and creating, teaching and learning. The world was opening itself to her.

  T’Cori was beginning to remember more and more of her lessons, so that instinct was joined to knowledge. Even if she could not be a fleshly daughter, she could be Stillshadow’s best student. Under the circumstances, that was a victory of sorts.

  Even with no name, T’Cori was determined to be more than that, to be the most powerful dancer in her people’s entire history. Some of the others laughed at her fantasies, but T’Cori was certain her eyes were open wider than any. And when Stillshadow deemed it time to open her sex-eye, as several of the other girls had done just within the last moon, she knew that she would understand and see farther than she ever had, and that would be a wonderful day.

  At this moment, she carried a load of ground pigments down to the riverside, humming and deliberately stepping on rocks to hide her footprints, just for entertainment. A girl with no name should have no footprints, she thought, feeling herself in an excellent mood.

  A nameless girl was not bound by the attributes of any totem. She might become anything she wished. Five times now Stillshadow had thrown the bones, and every time had failed to find a name for T’Cori. This was almost unknown. Six was the most times anyone had been denied a name by the gods. What might happen after that, no one knew.

  At Sweet River, T’Cori would mix the pigments carefully until they were a mudlike paste. She would fill three gourds with this preparation, intending to bring them back to Stillshadow for her blessings and the addition of whatever final ingredients would transform this into the ceremonial paint that bonded their people together. These pastes would be given to the boma mothers. At certain times of the year, these powerful women would mix them with water or urine and use the pigments in their sand paintings, for their hunt chiefs, or when women wished to bless the unborn children sleeping in their bellies.

  T’Cori was almost down to the river when a brown-banded ant caught her eye. This was a very special insect, one she’d never seen in the gathering grounds,
but she knew it by the bristling black hairs on its rear. This was a smoke ant, known to make a very potent medicine when mixed with mint, lionroot and menstrual blood.

  She followed the insect for several minutes before it encountered one of its sisters. The two brushed antennae and then traveled in different directions. Taking a chance, T’Cori decided to follow the second one. “I follow you, little brown,” she said. “I find you, and I find your people. And when I find them I will grind their bodies to paste.”

  How happy Stillshadow would be with her! T’Cori crept on, following that second ant until it met a third, and a few moments after that, a fourth and fifth. Now T’Cori was following a trail, and if she was both careful and lucky, that trail would lead her to the colony. T’Cori would mark the location, then call the other girls, and they would spend a day drowning or heating the smoke ants out and killing them. When they were done, they would have medicine for the entire year.

  The line of insects led through a stand of tall plants, and when she brushed them aside she could hear the gurgle of moving water and something else….

  Laughter.

  She crept closer. What was this? T’Cori knew that it was rude to spy on her brothers and sisters, but her blood heated at the sounds of murmuring and cooing. She knew the things that some of the other girls did, the girls who were not promised to the hunt chiefs on Great Sky.

  What she saw was a naked girl and boy, touching and playing with each other. She watched as they brushed lips and tongues, as the girl offered her breasts to his touch. The girl was Fawn. At first, T’Cori could not see the boy’s face. Then it became clear, and she backed away.

  It was that miserable Frog! He was awful, a terrible boy, and she was angry with Fawn for playing with one so low. True, she was not beautiful, but one must have standards. Stillshadow must have made a mistake in judgment, allowing Fawn to open her sex-eye so soon. T’Cori saw the num-fire flare around the two of them, and it was disgusting. Surely if Fawn wanted sex, one of the hunt chiefs would have done it with her.