Crystal Shadows

by Joy Nash

  Derrin clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m happy to hear it, my friend. No girl should be burdened with your features.”

  White Otter grinned and started toward the village.

  The morning fog had vanished. Sunlight slanted through the green canopy and sparkled on foliage still bedecked with drops of water. Derrin’s cousin led the way along a narrow, twisting route. The terrain was difficult in some areas, but much less steep than the slope Gina had scaled the previous day.

  She looked ahead, searching for signs of the villagers’ dwellings. It wasn’t until she stood in the center of the village common area that she realized the Wind Clan didn’t live in huts at all, but in a series of caves carved into the rocky mountainside.

  Terraces of the higher dwellings formed the roofs of those below. An intricate arrangement of stairs cut into the hillside, providing access to the upper levels. The lowest tier of dwellings faced a level common area. Beyond the gathering space, the ground sloped toward a wooded valley.

  White Otter’s partner, Kaila, greeted the travelers and exclaimed over the men’s injuries, shaking her head as she tended the worst cuts. Her older daughter, a girl of about nine, brought food and water. Another girl, a few years younger, stationed herself next to Gina and chattered cheerfully.

  Gina met Derrin’s amused gaze over the top of the girl’s head and smiled.

  * * * * *

  The Voice of the Goddess called into the midnight sky.

  Gina fought the urge to shift her legs. She peered across the flames at Patah, Na’lara to the Wind Clan, and wondered when—or if—the crone would speak.

  Patah was ancient, older than any woman Gina had ever seen. Her slight frame was ethereal, more spirit than flesh. An expression of pure peace illuminated her wrinkled features, framed by thin braids that had long since turned the color of the morning mist. Her eyes were clear and dark, but sightless. Even so, Gina suspected Patah could see the spirits of her people, if not their physical forms.

  Blue beads decorated the Na’lara’s dress and the band at her forehead. The talisman glowed in the light of the fire.

  Patah’s granddaughter, a stout woman already well into her middle years, sat in impassive silence at her grandmother’s side. The night wind surged, whipping the flames. Sharp shadows danced past the women to the edge of a stone field pockmarked by pits and crevices.

  Eerie music rose from the depths of the mountain on the arms of the wind. It wrapped around the women, strengthening, probing, then dissolving into a whisper. A scant heartbeat later, the melody began anew.

  “I have waited long to greet you, Gina,” said Patah at last.

  “The face of the Goddess shines on our meeting, Grandmother,” Gina murmured. She pressed her palm to her forehead, though she knew the Elder couldn’t see the gesture of respect.

  The old woman smiled. Her mind pulsed across Gina’s consciousness. Gina inclined her head, allowed her thoughts to be touched and understood.

  “Long ago, a man of the Baha’Na thought to find his heart outside the wilderness,” the crone said.

  A sharp hiss from the fire answered her words. Patah nodded, then continued. “One day, many winters past, a man of the Seventh Clan left his village. He returned many moons later and told of a wondrous land beyond the wilderness. Its fields were flat and fertile, its winters mild, its waters sweet and plentiful. A great lake, filled with fish, stretched further than the eye could see. He wanted his clan to leave the wilderness and settle in the new land.”

  The keening melody poured from the depths of the mountain. Patah tilted her head, bird-like, and listened. When the ghostly whistle faded, she continued her tale.

  “The People argued among themselves. Some wished to leave the wilderness and go to this place of endless ease. Others believed a life far from the Signs was a hardship not to be borne. The factions could not be reconciled. The Baha’Na were cut in two. Some stayed in the wilderness, others traveled to the Outside. The children of those who left forgot their kin, forgot the Goddess.”

  Patah rose, surprising Gina with the fluidity of her movement. “The Great Mother speaks to all her children, Gina. Follow me to her Voice.”

  The old woman skirted the dying flames and glided to the edge of the rocky field. Despite her age and blindness, she moved with unerring grace across the maze of openings. The melody seeped from the rocks like a magic spell.

  It sank into Gina’s soul. She yearned to catch the heart of the song, but it danced beyond her reach. The route through the sea of crevices grew treacherous. Gaps in the rock widened, shrinking the path to a mere ribbon of rock.

  Patah walked as if unaware of the danger at her feet. She continued without pause to the center of the field.

  The Voice grew louder, driving away all thought.

  “Stay and await the dawn,” Patah said. The old woman retreated, retracing her steps to the fire circle.

  Gina sat cross-legged on a smooth patch of stone, feeling uncomfortably exposed beneath the endless sweep of the sky. The eerie song undulated around her.

  She found it easy, at first, to lose herself in it. But then the minutes stretched and the melody grew disturbing. Haunting tones rose and fell outside any pattern or harmony Gina could discern, leaving her bruised and unsettled.

  It probed her consciousness with relentless fingers, peering into each dark corner of her soul, merging with her joys and sorrows. She floated with it, weightless in time, until the first glow of dawn crept over the horizon.

  * * * * *

  The winged creatures of the wilderness called to the Day Traveler, urging the shining orb to peek above the edge of the world and begin its journey across the sky. Derrin lay motionless, stretched out on his stomach on a low rise just beyond the bank of the stream. The forest was awakening. Soon its creatures would make their way to the water’s edge.

  He brought one hand up to the quiver on his shoulder and closed his fingers on the shaft of an arrow. Moving so slowly his progress was barely detectable, he fit the arrow in his bow, drew back on the bowstring and waited.

  White Otter’s consciousness brushed Derrin’s mind. The clansman lay on the opposite bank of the stream, so well hidden Derrin couldn’t make out his position. The first clear rays of the sun glistened, casting pools of golden light on the stream. Derrin’s nostrils flared with the crisp, sweet scent of morning.

  Still, he waited.

  He knew the exact spot at which the buck would appear even before it stepped from the cover of the thicket. The Feathered People had told the forest of the mountain deer’s journey and Derrin had listened to their counsel. He slid forward on his belly, using his quarry’s movement to cover the sound of his own. He pulled the bowstring taut, and waited.

  The animal took a few steps in Derrin’s direction. It was one of the smaller bucks in the herd, partially lame. The People did not take the largest deer from the herd, no matter how great the need. The Deer People needed the strength of their leaders to thrive.

  The buck jerked its head upward and looked into Derrin’s eyes. “Forgive me, brother,” Derrin whispered.

  He let his arrow fly.

  White Otter loosed his arrow in the same instant. The projectiles struck their target, one through the neck and the other just below on the opposite side. The buck collapsed with a shudder.

  Derrin leapt from his hiding place. His cousin was already halfway to the stream, a cry of triumph on his lips. The two men pulled the carcass from the water and removed the arrows. Thick red blood pulsed onto the ground.

  White Otter found a long, stout pole and whittled its ends to a sharp point. Derrin pierced the legs of the deer, just above its hooves, passing his knife between bone and tendon, then inserted the ends of the shaft, securing the carcass for its journey to the village.

  When they had finished the task, Derrin and White Otter waded into the deepest part of the stream. White Otter took a handful of grit from the streambed and scoured the mud he had smeared on his body a
s camouflage. Derrin bent and sluiced the cold water in armfuls over his head, scrubbing his hair with handfuls of sand.

  White Otter slapped Derrin’s shoulder. “It was a good hunt.”

  “Yes.”

  “It has been too many years since we last hunted together.”

  Derrin met his cousin’s gaze. “In some ways, vohar, it seems as though no time has passed at all.”

  “Will you stay then, and join the Wind Clan?”

  An unexpected yearning washed over Derrin. What would it be like to stay, with Gina as his partner?

  He pushed the thought away. “No. I must return to the Outside, and Gina must return to her own land beyond the web.”

  “And what of your heart, Derrin?”

  Derrin froze in the motion of scrubbing his arm. “What of it?”

  “Do not think you hide your feelings from me, little brother, even as you try to hide them from Gina.”

  Derrin stared at a point downstream. “Is it that obvious?”

  White Otter laughed. “It is. And it is clear she returns your regard. Make her yours, Derrin.”

  Derrin’s heart clenched. “To what end? We will be parted soon enough.” He scooped up a handful of grit and scoured his other arm. “Despite what you say, White Otter, I’m not so sure Gina would have me, even if I were to ask.”

  His cousin sent him a look of disbelief. “Then you are blind,” he said. After a silent moment, he continued. “Derrin, the wilderness changes always, yet peace exists in each moment. Once Gina is gone you will regret the moments you let pass.”

  Derrin was silent for a time. “Gina doesn’t need a bond with a man she must leave,” he said at last. He trudged up the bank and took hold of one end of the branch holding the deer carcass.

  White Otter lifted the opposite end and together they heaved the weight of the deer onto their shoulders. “It is not for you to make Gina’s choices,” he said. “Think on that before you push her away.”

  * * * * *

  Kaila lifted a rock from the fire with a forked stick and dropped it into a hide pouch filled with water and herbs. The mixture sizzled. Above, the familiar patterns of the stars emerged. Derrin glanced back at the doorway of the cave dwelling, where his cousin’s daughters slept on their bed of furs.

  White Otter kept up an easy banter of conversation. Derrin gave an occasional response, but his attention was focused on Gina. She lifted a gourd ladle and stirred the herb tea. The simple movement of her arm enticed him. She glanced up and blushed, then looked away.

  A restless energy battered Derrin—a surge of fear and exhilaration, as if he were walking a narrow log spanning a deep gorge.

  Kaila handed Gina a wooden cup. Gina filled it and passed the drink to White Otter.

  He took it and said, “Last night you heard the Voice of the Goddess. Is it not a most beautiful sound?”

  “Yes.” Gina returned White Otter’s smile, then offered a second cup to Derrin. His fingers brushed hers as he accepted it. He didn’t miss the small catch of her breath.

  White Otter sighed. “When I first heard the Goddess sing, I was so overwhelmed I did not speak for a whole day.”

  Kaila and Gina laughed. Derrin shot White Otter an amused look and opened his mouth to speak.

  “No comment from you, little brother,” White Otter said. “Is it not enough that you bested me in almost every game we played as boys? Now you seek to embarrass me in front of two beautiful women.”

  The women in question laughed harder.

  “I never beat you at anything!” Derrin protested. “You always let me win.”

  “Is that true?” Gina asked.

  “It is not,” said White Otter. “Why, I remember the time I challenged Derrin to a race to an old skyeagle’s nest…”

  “Oh, no.” Derrin groaned. “Don’t tell her that story.”

  White Otter gave Gina a broad wink. “Not tell her? Why not? Do you not want her to know of your bravery in climbing to the top of the tallest tree in the forest?”

  “I was all of seven winters,” Derrin muttered.

  “Derrin was fearless, as always,” continued White Otter. “But I was no fool—I abandoned the race halfway. He laughed at my cowardice and scrambled up to the nest. Then he looked down and realized just how high he had climbed.” He chuckled. “He sat there and bawled. It was a full day before my father could coax him down.”

  Derrin’s face grew hot and he avoided Gina’s teasing gaze. To his chagrin, White Otter recounted several more tales of their boyhood exploits, each one more embarrassing than the last. Derrin had no choice but to retaliate with some stories of his own, ones Kaila found quite interesting.

  The laughter died as the last story came to an end. Derrin stirred up the fire a bit, but left the flames low, since the night was warm. White Otter disappeared into the cave.

  He reemerged a moment later, carrying a long wooden flute. It gleamed a rich gold in the firelight. Feathers and beads hung from strips of leather wrapped around its barrel.

  White Otter raised the instrument to his lips and blew a long, steady breath. Clear notes danced in the night air, rising and falling with delicate grace. Derrin watched Gina’s face as the melody swept over her. Her eyelids fluttered closed and her expression grew languid, as if she’d just made love.

  His cock responded.

  Derrin shifted, bending his knee and drawing his leg up to hide his arousal. His efforts to resist Gina had been doomed from the start. He could avoid being drawn to her no more than a moth could avoid a flame. At first his desires had been born of pure lust. Those needs hadn’t dimmed. If anything, they’d grown stronger. But at the same time, they had merged with other, deeper emotions—respect, friendship.

  Love. Yes, he loved Gina, though the emotion was not the tender feeling he had once held for Rahza. No, his love for Gina was fierce, uncompromising. The sheer power of it frightened him. And yet he could not push it away.

  White Otter’s soft notes continued. You will regret the moments you let pass, he had said. Derrin had a feeling his cousin was right. He’d already known too many regrets in his life.

  Deep inside his heart, a decision slipped into place.

  The flute song ended. White Otter placed his instrument on the ground, nodding at Gina’s exclamation of praise. With a decisive motion, Derrin picked it up and ran his hand over the smooth wood. Bringing it to his lips, he blew a few experimental notes. His fingers moved over the air holes.

  He looked up to see Gina regarding him curiously. “Can you play?” she asked.

  “A little.” He blew a note, low and haunting, and held it until it faded. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kaila’s head come up. She exchanged a meaningful glance with her partner.

  Derrin blew another note, a companion to the first, then a third. A melody formed, sprung from his hope. With his heart’s breath, he fashioned a slow, aching song.

  Each note hung in the air, nearly visible, before yielding to the next. The tune rose and fell and rose again, wrapping itself in the velvet darkness of the night.

  He dared a glance in Gina’s direction. His gaze met hers over the trembling notes of the flute song, notes that had become a question.

  The last, trilling breath faded into the night. Only then did Gina look away, but not before Derrin thought he’d seen an answer in her eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Come, Gina, let me comb out your braids.” Kaila held up a bone comb.

  Gina ran one hand over the plaits Tasa had fashioned at the Wellspring. The intricate hairstyle was unraveling in several places.

  She sat down in a patch of sun, facing the deep stream where she’d come with Kaila to bathe. The Baha’Na woman settled behind her and loosened the tangled braids. Gina closed her eyes. Kaila’s soft humming melded with the laughter of the women and girls already splashing in the water.

  She joined them in the stream a short time later, after stripping off her dirty dress and washing it out. She left t
he garment draped on a boulder and swam, cheered by the warmth of the summer afternoon, and marveling at how natural it felt to be frolicking naked with women she barely knew. When she stepped onto the shore, Kaila approached her with a white dress.

  A pattern of red and black beads danced across the front. “Do you like it, Gina?”

  “It’s lovely.”

  “Wear it for today, while your own garment dries.”

  Gina thanked her. She ran her fingertips over the intricate beading, then shook out the dress and slipped it over her head, relishing the cling of the soft material on her damp skin. Kaila once again produced the bone comb. She pulled it through Gina’s wet hair and left the dark strands to dry unbraided.

  The sun was low in the sky by the time Gina returned to the village with the women, still wearing the borrowed dress and carrying her damp clothing over her arm. Kaila stopped to talk with an elder, leaving Gina to accompany her daughters to their home.

  The girls each carried an armload of vines they had gathered on the stream bank. When they reached the terrace at the entrance to their dwelling, they sat in the sunlight and sorted the vines into various lengths and thicknesses. Gina spread her dress in a patch of sunlight and went to join them.

  The older girl, Liana, gave a shy smile. “Do you like to weave baskets?”

  Gina sat down next to her. “I don’t know. I’ve never made one.”

  “No?” Liana looked shocked. “Don’t people use baskets in your world? How do they carry what they gather in the forest?”

  Gina grimaced. “Yes, well, there are baskets, and…um…other things that are used for carrying. I’m just not one of the people who make them.”

  “Oh.” The Baha’Na girl considered this information, then brightened. “Would you like to learn?”