by Joy Nash
Gina turned. The slender woman Gina had seen with Derrin was gliding down the stone steps into the forecourt. The image of a willow tree sprang into Gina’s mind.
The woman’s delicate features were framed by wispy curls that had escaped from her braids. Pink flushed her cheeks and her dark eyes glowed. A smile sprang to her lips.
A girl more beautiful than the summer sky. Eleven years hadn’t dimmed her beauty.
Maran and Geris detached themselves from their cousins and went to her. Gina clutched the infant in her arms.
“The face of the Goddess shines on you,” the woman said. “I am Rahza, Zera’s sister. I see you have met my boys.”
“I’m Gina.”
“I know. Derrin told me of you. Come,” she said to her sons. “There is someone I want you to meet. Goodbye, Gina.”
I’ll bet there is, Gina thought, doing her best to ignore a stab of annoyance. Rahza guided Maran and Geris from the hut. The other two boys trailed after them.
Lanya’s sudden squeal brought Gina’s attention back to the bundle in her arms. The infant was wide awake now, arms flailing. She gave Gina a toothless grin.
Gina couldn’t help but smile back at her. With an effort, she pushed the image of Derrin and Rahza from her mind and gave herself up to the entertainment of the tiny girl.
They were still playing when Zera returned with a basket over one arm, followed by a husky man carrying a huge portion of roasted venison. Trailing them were Zera’s three sons—Natis and Lorrin, and the toddler Gina had seen earlier, Mirris.
“This is Swift Tarma, my partner.” Zera settled her basket near the firepit. Gina thought of the beast that had run her and Derrin off the cliff and suppressed a shiver.
“You have already met my oldest sons,” Zera said. She shot a stern glance at the sheepish boys, then smiled and took her baby from Gina. “Oh, Lanya, you will never know the joy of a quiet home, with such brothers as you have.”
Gina eyed Zera’s partner. He was tall, standing a full head above his wife. His broad chest bulged with muscles. He nodded to Gina, then bent to stroke his daughter’s cheek with exquisite tenderness. Lanya batted at his necklace of claws and feathers.
The Baha’Na man produced a long stone knife and proceeded to cut the venison into smaller portions, which he placed in a wooden bowl. Zera laid Lanya on a blanket and emptied her basket of curled fern tips onto a rawhide platter. The ensuing meal was hectic, overwhelming Gina with its clamor.
Afterward, the older boys roughhoused with their little brother and Zera retired to nurse Lanya. Swift Tarma sat by the hearth, rubbing a soft bit of hide dipped in grease over a new bow stave. Gina watched him, noting the smooth movements of his large hands, as gentle on the wood as they had been on his infant daughter’s skin.
“How long have you been working on this bow?”
“Two winters. Since before Zera’s womb stretched with Lanya.”
“Really?” Gina took a closer look at the bow stave. It was beautifully wrought, and long, almost as tall as the man who held it, but she found it hard to believe it had taken two years to make. It was, after all, just a piece of wood.
“Why does it take so long?” she asked.
He looked at her, clearly perplexed by her ignorance. “A bow is sacred. Before I made this one, I asked the Goddess if my need was true. In reply, she brought me to the place where the bow hid in the heart of a young tree crowded by her sisters. ‘Little One,’ I told the tree, ‘if you are willing, I will transform your weakness into strength for my People.’”
Swift Tarma stroked the bow stave again, beginning at one end and moving along the graceful curve of the wood with the reverence of a lover. “I cut the sapling in the Moon of the Deep Snows. For three seasons it hung in my dwelling.”
He dipped the cloth in the bowl of grease and continued his labor. “At the Moon of the Falling Leaves I began to shape the bow. I worked most of the winter, first with a knife, then with fine-grained rocks. I steamed the ends and curved them as the snows receded, during the Moon of the Bitter Herbs. Now, with this grease, I add the strength of the tarma, my guardian. When I string the bow, my arrow will fly true. The spirit of the tree will provide food for my clan.”
Gina touched the fine grain of the stave. “Do Baha’Na women ever hunt?”
“Of course. Zera is an excellent shot, but it is a rare woman who has the strength to draw a longbow such as this. A woman uses a smaller weapon.”
He stood and hung the unfinished stave from a hook overhead. Then he retrieved a smaller bow and a quiver of arrows hanging a short distance away. “Come outside. I will teach you, if you wish.”
“I’d like to try.”
An hour later, Gina’s forearm was bruised from the impact of the bowstring and she had a high opinion of anyone who could actually hit a running animal with the weapon. She couldn’t even strike the hide target hanging on a tree at the edge of the clearing. A group of children, Natis and Lorrin among them, shouted instructions and encouragement, and gave eager demonstrations of their prowess. Finally, Gina’s arrow pierced the target. A cheer erupted from the onlookers.
Zera joined the group. Her partner greeted her, then turned his attention back to the children. The Na’lara’s gaze lingered on his broad back. “He is a good man.”
“Yes,” agreed Gina, smiling. “Did you enjoy your rest?”
Zera rolled her eyes. “How I wish every day for such peace! But as soon as it is quiet I want everyone back again.”
That evening, the clan assembled for a communal meal. Zera kept Gina by her side, presenting her to at least thirty pairs of curious eyes. Derrin was nowhere to be seen. Gina’s heart sank when she realized Rahza was also absent.
A huge pile of deadwood had been stacked in the central firepit, arranged in a pattern of radiating lines. When full night had fallen, the clan circled the pit, drawing close.
Zera’s partner appeared at her side and claimed the bundle that held his daughter, then joined his sons a short distance away. He gestured for Gina to join him. She did, but sat to one side, not feeling a part of the boisterous family, yet not wanting to be alone.
Zera stood before her people and raised her arms to the sky. “The Fire Clan gathers. The Goddess burns with love for her children.”
She knelt and took up the spindle and bow. The tinder sparked and burst into flame. Zera eased the bundle into a nest of kindling and fanned it with a long breath.
Gina watched, mesmerized by the grace of the ceremony. Though she had seen Derrin perform the same task many times, Zera’s fire and its making seemed more intimate, as if the Baha’Na woman had lit it from a spark of Gina’s soul. Flames rose, flinging red stars into the sky. Waves of heat rolled.
From a place outside the light, a drum beat a rolling rhythm, rising and falling with the flames. Zera backed away from the fire and joined her family.
Across the flames, Gina caught a glimpse of Derrin sitting with Rahza and her sons. An uneasy sensation rose in her chest, and she could no longer deny its significance.
She was jealous.
Long tongues of flame danced, enveloping logs of deadwood in orange sheets of wind. Gina pushed the unwanted emotion away. Despite the Na’tahar and the mental connection they shared, she and Derrin were friends, nothing more. She had no right to his attention. If he had rekindled the love he’d lost long ago, she would be happy for him.
Even if it hurt.
A crackling rattle joined the drum. The villagers danced, chanting, their long shadows thrown to the ground by the flames. A primitive drama unfolded, an ancient story that renewed its truth in the telling.
A hand touched Gina’s shoulder. Startled, she looked up into the cool gray of Derrin’s eyes.
Her surprise must have been obvious, for Derrin met it with a half-smile. He dropped to the ground next to her, but didn’t speak. Gina gazed into the rippling heat of the fire, acutely aware of his presence, of his body only inches from hers, and wondered why h
e’d left Rahza’s side to come to her.
After a time, the bonfire burned low and the coals crawled with the memory of the flames. The gathering dispersed.
Gina turned to face Derrin. “I met Rahza,” she said without preamble. “She’s beautiful.”
“Yes.” His gaze traveled to the Baha’Na woman, still seated with her sons. The tightness in Gina’s chest returned, but she ignored it. It was nothing to her if Derrin was still in love with Rahza.
Zera appeared and they rose to greet her.
“My two little ones have already shut their eyes,” the Na’lara said. “I will soon join them. Derrin, will you sleep by my fire this night?”
“No. I leave Gina to you. I am promised elsewhere.”
With a nod, he strode away. Gina couldn’t keep her gaze from following him to Rahza’s side. A moment later, the family disappeared into the shadows beyond the firelight.
Zera watched them, then turned to Gina. She made no comment, but the sympathetic expression in her eyes sent the heat rising to Gina’s cheeks.
The Na’lara showed Gina to her sleeping place, a pile of furs in one of the alcoves of her hut. “The space belongs to my older sons, but they are glad to give you use of it. They will sleep in the forest while you are here.” She yawned. “Sleep well.”
Gina smiled her thanks. She lowered herself onto the furs and rolled on her side, facing the wall.
A number of niches had been hollowed into the stone. In them lay the trappings of a boyhood spent in close contact with nature—small stones of various colors, sticks bent into interesting shapes, a bird’s nest, a snakeskin, a collection of bones, even the skull of an animal whose identity Gina could not guess. She touched a long, blue feather. Had Derrin collected such treasures as a boy and hoarded them in Zahta’s hut?
Thinking of Derrin brought a host of images to mind, most of them unwanted. Gina lay awake long after the fire had subsided to a soft glow, then slipped into an unsettled sleep. When she awoke, the edge of the sky blazed with color.
After a cold breakfast of leftover meat, an elderly villager came to Zera seeking relief from a toothache. Zera dispensed an herbal poultice and a steady stream of conversation. Then she placed her cupped palm on the old woman’s cheek. The crone’s shoulders relaxed, and she gave Zera a smile.
“What did you do to her?” Gina asked when the patient had left, remembering how, at the Wellspring, Zahta had cured Gina’s headache with nothing more than a touch.
Zera regarded her with an inscrutable expression. “A Na’lara is called to heal,” she said. “I drew the pain into my own spirit, then released it to the Goddess.”
Gina spent the rest of the morning in the forecourt with Zera, pounding roots with a stone mortar and pestle while Mirris stacked gourd bowls and Lanya cooed on her blanket.
At midday, dark clouds piled on the horizon and moved swiftly to blanket the sky. Zera and Gina moved to the doorway of the hut with the children and watched as the fury of the storm broke. White sheets of rain pounded the village. Across the clearing, three figures emerged from the forest at a run.
A moment later, Derrin burst into the hut with Natis and Lorrin on his heels. Gina tried to avoid the spray of water as the three shook off the worst of the rain.
The boys were in high spirits. Natis dropped to the floor and opened a hide pouch. He spread out several additions to his store of treasures—a songbird’s tailfeather, a turtle shell and a bright red stone.
Derrin spent the afternoon making arrows with the boys, then joined Gina and the others for the evening meal. Afterward, Zera and her family retired, and Gina found herself alone with him. Derrin stirred up the fire and settled cross-legged nearby, his dark head bent over a small piece of wood.
He passed the tip of a sharp bone through the fire and etched the fine grain, first lightly, then with a stronger hand. Precise strokes scraped away the ash. A cluster of mountain wildflowers emerged.
Gina marveled at his skill. “Where did you learn that?”
Derrin didn’t look up from his work. “As a boy, from an elder of my clan. Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful. What’s it for?”
“It’s a gift for someone I care deeply about.”
“Oh.” Then, with forced lightness, she said, “I’m sure Rahza will like it. She must have been happy to have you with her last night.”
The hint of a smile played at the corners of Derrin’s mouth. His gray gaze captured hers. “I wasn’t with Rahza last night. I was with her sons, and Zera’s, in the forest.”
Gina’s rush of elation was so strong she didn’t trust herself to answer. Derrin returned to his carving, working long after she had retired to her pile of furs. In the morning he was gone, as was Swift Tarma and the boys. Zera glided about the hut, gathering items into a pouch. Lanya lay on a fur, cooing and staring cross-eyed at her tiny fists.
“We have much to prepare today,” Zera said. “The dark of the moon approaches.”
“What happens then?”
“The Na’salah, the time when the women and men part. We will go to the women’s grove. It is a time much treasured by the women. No matter how much we love our men, it is good to be apart from them for a time.”
“What do the men do?”
“They do what men always do. They try to discover who is best among them. They hold races, contests of skill with the bow and spear, perform feats of bravery and strength. They teach the boys how to become men.” She chuckled. “At night they tell the men’s stories—tales they would not dare speak to a woman.” Her dark eyes danced.
She produced a rawhide bucket and asked Gina to pack the food and herbs she’d prepared for the short journey. With Lanya cradled in her arms, she hurried from the hut.
Gina knelt and began layering gourd bowls and hide pouches into the bucket. A noise came from the doorway. When she looked toward it, her breath left in a rush.
It was Derrin, but she hardly recognized him.
He was naked, or nearly so, a scrap of a loincloth his only clothing. A dark, twisting tattoo snaked up his arms and legs, across the hard planes of his chest to his neck and face before disappearing into the glossy blackness of his hair. Curved feathers hung from his headband. A cord strung with animal teeth dangled from his neck.
She sat back on her heels and stared.
The muscles in his powerful thighs flexed as he moved toward her. Then he grinned. The familiar expression helped her regain her wits.
She shook her head. “I am not even going to ask.”
“The Na’salah,” he said by way of explanation. “All the men have prepared in this way.” He glanced at his chest. “Don’t worry, it’s only dye made from calah root. It comes off.”
Gina snorted. “I certainly hope so.”
He dropped to one knee beside her. “I wanted to give you this before I left.” He placed a small object in her palm and closed her fingers around it before drawing back.
She opened her hand and looked down at the carving she had watched him work the night before. The fine grain of the wood shone amber against her palm. Delicate blossoms hung from a knot in their stems, through which passed a braided cord.
Her breath caught. “You… You were making this for me? I thought—”
“I know what you thought.”
“But Rahza—you care for her still, I can tell.” She didn’t look up at him.
He eased away a fraction. “It was difficult to see her again. You can’t imagine how I dreamed of her in my first years among the Galenans. Now…” He let out a long breath. “I’ve been gone so long, and changed so much. She understands nothing of the man I’ve become.”
He paused. She looked up to find him watching her. Tentatively, she reached her mind out to him. She could feel nothing. As always, he kept a tight leash on his emotions.
“I knew we’d be parted during the Na’salah,” he said slowly. “Most of the women will carry a small token given to them by a father, a brother or a p
artner. I know I’m none of those things to you,” he added quickly, “but I thought you’d like a reminder of your journey. From a friend.”
Gina placed the circle of cord over her head and watched the wildflowers fall between her breasts to nestle beside Derrin’s shadow crystal. The dark wood lay in stark contrast to the stone’s silver cage.
“What do the women give their men as a token?” she heard herself ask.
“Nothing, Gina.” A note of humor crept into Derrin’s voice. “Except, perhaps, a kiss.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. “You’re teasing me,” she muttered, staring at the ground.
“Am I?”
She looked up sharply, expecting to see his gray eyes flash with humor. Instead, they pierced her with absolute sincerity. Her breath went and her heart pounded into her throat.
Derrin rose, drawing Gina to her feet. She swayed toward him. Hands framing her face, he bent and brushed a slow, lingering kiss across her lips.
She leaned into his warmth, palms flat against the bare skin of his chest. His life’s blood pulsed against her fingertips. He kissed her again, deeper, his lips parting hers, his tongue teasing. The rough pad of his thumb stroked her cheek. Sparks sprang to life at his touch.
The shield on his emotions cracked. Just a tiny sliver, but the hint of the longing that seeped into Gina’s mind was enough to make her knees go weak.
Derrin slid one hand to the back of her neck. The other traveled a slow, heated journey across her collarbone and along the outside contour of her breast. It roamed lower, touching the sensitive dip at the base of her spine and pausing on the curve of her buttock.
He groaned and pulled her closer. His cock hardened against her stomach, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through her. Heat exploded in her breasts and stomach. It pooled as a dark ache between her thighs.
She twisted, trying to move closer, wanting to feel his cock against her throbbing clit. But Derrin eased back, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders and touching her once with his gray gaze.
Before Gina could gather her scattered emotions, he was gone.
