by neetha Napew
“But most of you are leaving the birds that you kill!”
“What do a few birds matter? Soon the sky will be filled with so many birds that anyone who makes the mistake of looking up will be sorry! Those of us who will eat their flesh will take the fattest geese and leave the rest with thanks to their spirits for allowing us to perfect our stone-throwing aim.”
“But there might well come a time when you will hunger for the meat that you have thrown away. The birds could be smoked and dried and—“ “Look who would tell us about bird hunting! Just because your man walks with dogs and teaches the men of Zinkh to throw their spears farther than our men can, that does not mean you know everything! Why do you have to make a special weapon to hurt birds, one that nobody but you can use?”
“I would gladly teach you.”
Oga snickered. “For what purpose? All the women here know that when the berries are ripe, the white geese lose the big feathers that allow them to fly. Why waste time hunting birds before then? And not one of us would go out from camp alone and make our men come after us!”
She walked with them, trying not to be angry as they left the dead geese where they lay and set to picking berries in earnest. She blamed her irritability on exhaustion; it had only been a week since she had returned from the butchering camp. Even her hands were still sore. She reminded herself that these were women of the open tundra. They would never believe her if she told them that in a far and forbidden land that their men feared, she had hunted as a man beside Torka and Karana, using a spear and spear hurler as effectively as any male. If they knew that, her companions would surely shun her as one who had offended the spirits of Creation.
A dark thought crossed her mind. Perhaps she had? Perhaps that was why the land had shaken and the Mountain That Smokes had rained fire from the sky. But no, it could not be! While working at the butchering, other women had spoken of how the earth had shaken this part of the world and how a great cloud of smoke and ash had drifted across the sky from the east, pouring down dirty rain for many days. They had wondered among themselves if this was the reason that the mammoths had not come. She had kept her thoughts on the subject to herself. If Torka had heard of it, she did not know; he was so busy with Zinkh and the other hunters that he hardly spoke to her these days.
She sighed, longing for him and for the love that they had shared in that far, sweet land. Perhaps it was best not to think of it. It only made her unhappy. As she filled her skin basket, eating her fill of berries as she walked, she smiled down at Summer Moon, who strode happily in her shadow with her own little basket, scrupulously plucking her own berry harvest.
Pomm caught up with her. “Do not worry about the other women. They be not magic women, like Pomm and Lonit! They all have noses stuck up like Sondahr. Bah! Women they be jealous that you have fine man like Torka. Girls they jealous that Pomm has fine young man like Karana.”
Lonit felt sorry for the ungainly old woman. She still honestly believed that Karana, given time, would see her in the same light that she saw him.
“Where is that Karana? He is never around when Pomm looks for him.”
“He will not be found picking berries and braining geese with a bunch of women,” Lonit answered while she thought: Nor will he ever be where you can find him, poor woman. Unless you catch him by surprise .. . and Karana is not one to be caught—unless he wishes it.
Pomm stuffed a fistful of berries into her mouth and chomped noisily until juices appeared at the corners of her lips. She backhanded them away with a fierce look of determination in her little eyes. “Tonight Lorak has called a great meeting of all men and women. Tonight, while
children sleep, at the plaku dance, this woman will dance naked for Karana. He will see what he is missing and come hard and hungry to—“
“Plaku?” If another earthquake had moved the ground beneath Lonit’s feet, she could not have been more shaken. Not even the thought of fat old Pomm dancing naked in the firelight could obliterate the sick, sinking feeling that had suddenly overwhelmed her.
“Lonit knows the plaku dance, yes?”
“Lonit knows it.”
“What is a plaku dance?” asked Summer Moon, her wide eyes, so like her mother’s, growing heavy lidded with drowsiness in the warmth of the morning sun.
“It is a dance to call the spirits of the great mammoths to this camp before those who have chosen to fast become so weak-kneed that they cannot hunt, let alone dance.” Pomm answered for Lonit, enthusiastically smacking her lips and sucking the last traces of juice from them. “When you are a big girl, someday at some camp you will dance the plaku for the men of your band—for the man that you like best. He will come happy to your fire, and the spirits of Creation shall grow strong because of the dance you will do together.”
“Will you dance for Father, Mother?”
“No! Never!” Again the fat woman answered before Lonit could speak.
“On the night of the plaku dance, a woman may not dance for her own man. She must choose another for that one night.”
Summer Moon looked very serious. “Father will not like that.”
Perhaps he will not care.
Lonit very nearly said the words aloud, but once again Pomm went on euphorically about how the women would wear paint upon their bodies and masks of feathers over their faces. “It is a much long time since a plaku was danced, at the last Great Gathering. Surely now that Lorak has called for a plaku, the mammoths will come! It will be a good thing! Pomm will look her best for Karana! He will see what he has been avoiding and be sorry, this woman can tell you that. Yes!” Lonit took her daughter’s hand and turned away. “Come, my little one. We have more than enough berries. This woman no longer feels like picking, and it is time for your nap.”
As preparations for the plaku began, Karana stood back, observing with dismay. He had witnessed the ceremonial dance once before, years ago, when the cave that he had shared with Torka, Lonit, and Umak high upon the flanks of the distant Mountain of Power had been taken over by the despicable headman Galeena and his band of filthy, murderous usurpers. Only a boy then, he had hidden in the shadowy recesses of the cave, watching as men and women joined in a fire lit orgy of drinking and dancing. Torka had been forced to participate while a pregnant Lonit had turned away in shame for them both.
Now Karana was suddenly aware of Pomm looking at him lasciviously from her fire circle. He winced. He had told her a thousand times that he was not yet of an age when he felt ready to take on the responsibilities of a woman! How could the old hag be so insistent? Had she no pride? Her behavior was ludicrous! It was degrading! But it was also apparent that as long as Pomm deluded herself into thinking she was a young and attractive woman, she would behave like one. Behind her back, however, men rolled their eyes and women younger than Pomm who were sagging, graying, and toothless shook their heads at her. But the worst part for him was that while Pomm persisted in her aggressive pursuit, the eyes of many young girls were on him as they giggled conspiratorially with their mothers, aunts, and grandmothers.
They were giggling now, and blushing. And tittering together as girls had a tendency to do when they whispered secrets to one another. It suddenly occurred to him that he was the object of their secrets. Flustered by their unwelcome attention, he wondered if they knew that he was still a virgin.
And then, suddenly, it struck him: Tonight the men and women of this encampment would dance the plaku, and he was a man.
Over and over he had insisted upon that fact to Torka, claiming that he was no longer a boy to be bullied or a child to be coddled, but a man fit to make decisions and mature enough to live by them. But was he man enough to dance at a plaku and be initiated into sexual activity with every man, woman, and peeking child at the Great Gathering looking on?
No!
For this he would choose his own time, his own place, and most assuredly his own partner. If he stayed for the plaku, he would have Pomm; she would make certain of it. The thought was too m
uch to bear.
Several of the youths with whom he had hunted and engaged in contests and friendly bouts of wrestling sauntered by to make lewd, lustful boasts about the coming events.
“Come, join us. It is traditional for the men to build the great plaku fire while the women—except those who are pregnant—prepare themselves to pleasure us ... and the spirits of Creation.”.
“Which one do you want to dance for you, eh, Karana? That one there, or the little plump one sitting with her skinny sister? All will dance except the ones who are in their time of blood or who have not yet bled.”
“Girls! Babies!” scoffed the first youth. “They may have holes in the soles of their boots, but they can’t compare to their mothers when it comes to dancing under a man.”
“Holes in their boots?” Karana queried.
They laughed. They made crude, unmistakable signs with their hands to indicate that their statement alluded to the first piercing of a female by a male.
He blushed at his naivete. There was not a youth standing around him who was more than a year his senior, yet it was clear that not one of them was inexperienced when it came to joining with the opposite gender. It was also clear from their friendly, taunting winks that they all now knew that he had yet to lie with a female.
“Come,” they urged. “There are a mammoth’s weight in bones to gather for the burning!” He did not move. He watched them leap and dance off, flirting with the watching girls, who flirted back. He told them that he would be along as soon as he fed the dogs; but the dogs had already been fed and were dozing in the sun. Torka was off with the men of Zinkh’s band, and Lonit was inside the pit hut with lana, Aliga, and the children—resting, no doubt, for the activities of the night to come.
He went in. He told them that he was tired and lay on his bed skins. It was quiet. The children were sleeping. He waited tensely until, at last, shadows grew long and he crept out of the pit hut, wrapping himself in them and in his traveling robe, taking up his spears and making his way through the camp, avoiding all fire circles where he knew that Pomm or girls would be watching for him.
Just beyond the peripheries of the wall of bones, he broke into a run, heading for the tundral rise where he had made his invocation to the spirits of Creation, calling to the game while asking the mammoths to stay away. The air was clear of smoke this far from the camp, and the soaring vault of the sky swept all apprehension from his soul. He breathed freely at last, with infinite relief. Somehow, as always seemed to happen, he looked down to see that Aar was with him.
“We made it, Brother Dog!” He sighed, then ruffled the fur on the dog’s shoulders as he hunkered down. Alone with his faithful companion, Karana was profoundly happy. Content with his solitude, he stood and raised his arms, threw back his head, drew in the scents of the wild land, and heard the voices of the spirits whispering all around him in the wind.
Upon the Hill of Dreams Sondahr’s brow furrowed thoughtfully as she watched the large, wolflike dog follow the solitary figure at a lope across the tundra until the hunter paused on a distant tundral rise and lifted his arms to the infinite.
Behind her, heavy smoke was rising from the council house, and Lorak, on his way to join the other magic men within that structure, saw her and paused.
“Sondahr, will you dance tonight?”
His high, whining voice offended her. It was predacious, yet she did not move. She was conserving her strength; days of fasting were having their effect. She felt light-headed, yet more in control of her body and aware of her senses than usual. Sound, light, texture—everything seemed brighter, louder, more intense. Fasting was not alien to her, so she knew that if she did not eat soon, the brightness would fade, sound would grow dull, textures would seem flat, and what little power was left to her would become as ashes in a wind-scoured pit.
“Sondahr, do you hear Lorak speak to you? Will you dance for the spirits to bring forth the great mammoths for the good of the gathering? Will you dance tonight? And for whom?”
She heard the hope in his voice and despised him for it. He had wanted her for years but had never had the courage to confront her openly with his lust—no doubt because he feared that it might make him only a man and not a shaman in her eyes. No doubt he wanted her to believe that if he truly desired her, he could enchant her into a reciprocal emotion even if it were totally against her weaker woman’s will. Her mouth moved with displeasure. Lorak was a miserable old hawk who imagined that he might dare to fly with eagles.
“Sondahr will dance,” she replied obliquely. “For ...” “One whom the spirits have chosen.” She did not move. She felt him waiting for a more descriptive answer. She remained in silence, and when at last he turned away in frustration, she smiled.
Night came slowly to those who had gathered eagerly around the great communal fire circle that the men had made. They had come early to assure themselves a good spot for viewing. In the background, out of the direct light of the sacred fire, a grouping assembled to watch: pregnant women, women in their time of blood, the elderly, and even Aliga, who insisted that she be allowed to observe because of the healing powers that everyone knew emanated from the flames of a plaku fire. Torka carried her. Leaving the children in lana’s care, Lonit followed with furs for the sick woman to lie upon. She was pleased when everyone fussed over Aliga and expressed gladness to see her feeling well enough to attend the night’s festivities.
“The magic healing powers of Sondahr are great!” she told them. “Soon this woman will bear her child. Soon she will be completely well again! Next time there is plaku at the Great Gathering, this woman will dance, and you will have the pleasure of seeing this tattooed woman all over!”
Everyone laughed, and Aliga settled contentedly into her furs, contemplating the future with happiness.
Torka made no comment. The moon had shown its horns eleven times since Aliga had first danced in happiness over her pregnancy. Too long .. . much too long. And though she claimed that the child moved, he had watched her in the night, focusing on the mound of her belly, watching for ripples of life that never came.
One of the nearby crones startled him by winking at him. “This woman has heard much woman talk. Many will dance before Torka this night. Tonight we will all see what Torka’s magic can or cannot do! Best rest, man of Lonit! You would not shame your woman by not being able to rise to them all! And talk is that Sondahr will dance this night. Rare it is for that one to choose a man. Perhaps this night it will be Torka, and there will be great magic between you, eh?”
The old woman was trying to embarrass Torka, but he was not a man to be embarrassed easily, and he was not embarrassed now. He was annoyed. The old woman’s words had sent Lonit hurrying back to their shared fire circle. He was irritated over the fact that his woman would have to dance before another man and actually grew angry when he thought of her lying with anyone else but him. He had bad memories of the last plaku he had been forced to attend, and if there was a way of avoiding this one without offending the elders of the encampment, he would do so. He had said as much to Lorak, but the supreme elder had pointed a horny finger at him and made it quite clear that he must participate or take his women and children and leave the encampment. With the time of long dark coming on, he had no choice but to stay and join in the cursed ceremonies. Surely Lonit must know that he wanted no part of them—not for himself and most certainly not for her.
His eyes followed her as she disappeared between several pit huts en route to their own shelter. How tall and graceful and beautiful she was! Sondahr might match her, but only that, no more; it was the magic woman’s arrogant, almost masculine bearing that drew the eyes of all men to her—to the strong, confident line of her shoulders, to the careless way she walked and stood so that her breasts seemed always to be moving restlessly beneath her downy tunic.
Most of the men within the encampment resented the way she intruded into the council of elders at will, as though she were not a female at all but a man deserving o
f every privilege and courtesy accorded to their superior gender. A member of no band but welcomed by all who knew of her powers, it was said that she moved at whim from tribe to tribe, teaching and healing. Her presence was tolerated with a combination of awe and distress, for although she blithely ignored every rule that applied to others of her sex, her well-proven gifts of Seeing and healing were too valuable to disdain. Truly, it was said, Sondahr was a magic woman of great power. It was wise to fear her. And both men and women did; but Torka knew that there was probably not a man in the encampment who would not have liked to put her in her place, to take her down and ride her to submission.
He drew a breath. He had to admit that that would be an interesting endeavor; yet when she had called him to walk with her onto the Hill of Dreams, when he had seen her with Aliga, he had seen another side of the woman—a gentleness a sadness ... a loneliness—and he knew that if the choice were hers, she would relinquish her, powers for what seemed a gift to others was a curse to one who was, because of that gift, forever set outside the circle of friendship and easy companionship. For all of her beauty and haughtiness, Sondahr was one of the loneliest, saddest individuals that Torka had ever known. He thought of her wintering alone in her permanent hut of tusks and mammoth bones upon the Hill of Dreams.
“Go, Torka. Cleanse yourself now. The sun has set, and the plaku shall soon begin.”
It was Aliga who prodded him. He was glad to go from her, and from the others. He ignored their snickering and further comments as he followed Lonit, eager to talk to her now, to tell her that perhaps there was a way for her not to join in the dancing. She had only to declare that she was in her time of blood and she would be excused, allowed to sit out the ceremony with others who were similarly afflicted. He reached his pit hut and called to her to come out to him. She obeyed, her eyes red, as though she had been crying.
“You need not dance,” he said, and told her what was on his mind.
“It would be a lie. The spirits of the night would know. They would be offended. Besides, the other women would remember that I have only recently shared the hut of blood with them. They would know that it was much too soon for me.” She paused, her mood suddenly lightened. He does not want me to dance! He does care! For the first time in days she smiled and tried to devise a plan that would accommodate their purpose.
