People of the Sky

by Clare Bell

  The shaman had noticed her slip. She saw Sahacat’s eyes narrow. “Imiya has his own choice to make. He may yet regain his place among his people, but it will be difficult. It is best for him that all contact with you be ended. As for the rogue flier that you have mistakenly claimed, its life will be sacrificed painlessly as it should have been before you came.”

  Kesbe tried not to flare. “That sounds cruel to me.”

  “Life is not always gentle,” came the croaking whisper of the Sun Chief from across the room.

  “You want me to agree to this?” she said, surveying the room. She saw Nabamida look away, Chamois eyes close in grief. In a way, it was tempting. She could drop all responsibility, stride back to Gooney Berg and leave it all behind. She could tear up the map on which she had drawn the location of the Pai Mesa. Perhaps she could even trust that Imiya would recover and be able to face his fate among his people without her help. It was tempting, but she knew that if she did walk away she would despise herself later. And there was also Baqui Iba…

  She squared her shoulders. “You have called me a warrior, yet you do not treat me as one. I have asked to take responsibility for my acts, whatever that may entail. If the only way to do that is by becoming an initiated member of the Pai tribe, I will take that path.”

  Eyes blinked. Lips parted. Pipes were taken from wizened mouths. Kesbe felt a certain triumph. They hadn’t expected this! Even the Sun Chief looked taken aback.

  “I told you I come from a tribe very much like yours,” Kesbe said. “My people have forgotten the old ways, the rituals, the chants. I remember my grandfather teaching me about the kopavi, the Open Door. I have always wanted to know…the things that were lost to my people.”

  She halted, feeling awkward. She had said more than she intended to, but it was the truth, finding a voice after all these years. She hungered for the heritage that had been all but stripped from her, the slow gentle ways of the lost Native American tradition. Though she had been raised in the modern world and had found a place in it, she felt she had never really fit.

  “I feel she speaks truth in this,” said the Sun Chief, and other nods came from around the room. She caught the startled look in Sahacat’s eyes, though the shaman quickly masked it. It was as if the healer might be thinking that she had misjudged her enemy

  “It is clear that she is from a people who are kin to the Pai,” said the Sun Chief, after studying her acutely while puffing on the pipe. “It is also clear that she was not taught the things she needs to know to be a proper member of any tribe. It is from this ignorance that the wrong has grown.”

  “You are right, honored one,” Kesbe answered. “I wish to learn those things”

  Smoke curled toward the shadowed ceiling while low discussion filled the room. The Sun Chief addressed her again. “The path from child-warrior to initiated adult requires that one make a bond with an aronan and bring that bond to its proper conclusion. Is this something you are willing to do?”

  Kesbe opened her mouth, wanting to protest that she could not make a commitment with full understanding, but the words that came from her mouth were, “Yes, grandfather.”

  “She has taken an aronan,” said the Sun Chief, looking toward Sahacat. “Is the partnership strong?”

  “It is,” answered the shaman, with an ironic smile on her face. “It has resisted all my attempts to break it.” A new quality entered her voice, as if admitting an unwilling respect for this newcomer. The slip was brief her tone hardened once again. “To the warrior-woman and the tribe I say this: the path once chosen cannot be left. It will require discipline, obedience and, above all, trust. It will bring great joy and deep despair. It will also bring danger, for the one who asks for initiation is already a powerful warrior whose strength can be used against us.”

  Eyes turned again to Kesbe, judging her, weighing the audacity of her request as an outsider to be accepted as a tribal initiate. Heads began to shake solemnly. No.

  “She is not Pai in blood or spirit. She wishes this only to gain access to the things we hold more sacred,” Sahacat hissed, pressing her advantage. Others murmured in agreement with her.

  “Listen to me,” said Kesbe sharply. “I am not seeking something from you. I am seeking to give something back. All I ask is the chance to redeem Imiya from whatever wrongs he committed due to my influence. If training as an initiate is the only way, then I will take it.”

  “Then this is your atonement for the evil?” asked Nabamida.

  Kesbe remembered Sahacat’s words. Great joy…and great despair. “Yes.”

  Now she could feel the atmosphere in the chamber change. She was willing to accept responsibility and undergo the unknown ordeals of initiation for the sake of the Pai youth. That had gained her needed respect.

  She glanced at Sahacat. The shaman too had sensed the shifting of sentiment among the villagers for she sat up stiffly and drew her robes about her. “All of us must think deeply about what this outsider has asked. If we take this path, we should walk it with open eyes.”

  “Yet the choice promises to lead to good, for us and for this woman,” said the Sun Chief solemnly.

  Discussion continued, washing back and forth across the room like a gentle wave. At last it ended, seemingly of its own accord. The room fell into quiet. Everyone sat, wrapped in blankets with head bowed. “We must move together,” murmured the Sun Chief and the words became a chant that moved through the gathering. “We must move as one.”

  Kesbe was not sure whether she had fallen asleep or merely into a daze. All at once the blanketed figures began to stir and a thin sunlight filtered in through the flap covering the door. She lifted her head. Had dawn come already? Had the tribe reached its decision? No one had said so, yet there was a feeling that a consensus had been reached. The divisiveness was gone. The tribe moved as one, gathering in all.

  Kesbe felt a strange sort of awe and respect for a people who had the ability to resolve their differences in such a way. Again she knew the regret that the old ways had been lost among her kin.

  “It is done,” said a voice that may or may not have been that of the Sun Chief. It didn’t matter, for it was not the voice of one person, but that of the tribe. “The woman Kesbe and her aronan will be accepted into the Pai Way.”

  The gathering was over. People rose and made their way out into the plaza, where food steamed over fires in the early dawn. The smell of baking waferbread in mound-ovens was enough to make Kesbe feel weak with hunger. She joined in with the others at the feast the village women had prepared, not sure exactly what she had said to persuade the tribe to accept her. Perhaps it was because you spoke from the heart, said a voice inside her that she hadn’t heard for a long time. Perhaps I did after all, Bajeloga, she answered silently.

  Chapter 14

  Feeling full, Kesbe turned from the feasting and yawned her way toward Chamol. After being awake all night, she wanted nothing more than to collapse on her pine-bough pallet. Someone plucked the fabric of her coverall. She turned, blinked at the shaman Sahacat, who stood with the brilliant morning sun coming over her shoulder. Kesbe put up her hand to guard her eyes, feeling irritation prickle the hairs at the back of her neck.

  “Where do you go, warrior-woman?” Sahacat asked.

  “To sleep,” Kesbe replied, trying not to sound testy. She failed.

  Sahacat smiled slowly. “You have asked for training. You will be given it. You start now. Before you pass into my hands, you must be purified.” She turned and beckoned to Nabamida. “The bowmaker of the Blue-Green-Water Clan shall be the one who guides you.”

  Kesbe thought the shaman would say more, but she turned with a rustle of garments and strode away. Kesbe eyed Nabamida, who stared impassively back at her. At last, he folded his arms and said, “If the gods had willed things differently, I would be performing such duties for my nephew Imiya. Now I must do for you what I cannot do for him.” He paused. “Come. You must be purified. The first step is ti-olva, the sweat-bath.”


  Kesbe was about to reply that sweltering in some dirty, cramped little lodge was not her idea of how to start a day, but she thought better of her response. Much as she hated to admit it, Sahacat was right. She had asked for training and she couldn’t place any conditions on how and when it would be done. Meekly, she followed Nabamida to a trail that led downward from Tuwayhoima to the foot of the mesa

  She was even more dismayed when she found out that no sweat-lodge awaited her. The job would begin from scratch. Nabamida told her how to build her own sweat-house by digging a shallow pit, covering it with a roof of dry twigs and grass, hauling water from a spring to soak the thatch and lighting a fire inside. The tools she had were provided by Nabamida: a stout digging-stick, a flint striker, an obsidian knife and a water-skin.

  He told her how to do it, then retreated a short distance to watch. Fuming and yawning, she began the task. By mid-afternoon, she had a crude pit-lodge built, the fire burning and water steaming from the top of the thatch. She had managed to tear her coverall, chip the obsidian knife, break all her fingernails and lose her temper.

  Stiff, dirty and bone-weary, she stood back, turned to Nabamida. It was hard for her to say only, “It’s ready.”

  “Cast off your wrappings and enter,” said the bowmaker.

  She thought of asking him to turn his back, but shrugged off the idea. His solemn gaze bore not the slightest degree of interest in her other than as a student to be taught. She stripped off her coverall and undergarments, crawled inside the lodge.

  Hot earthy fumes surrounding her, made the pulse beat in her face until she felt dizzy. She curled up in the tiny pit-lodge and wrapped her elbows around her knees, feeling the stickiness of her flesh growing slick with perspiration.

  How long would she have to stay in here, she wondered wearily, hoping she didn’t collapse from heat exhaustion. It would be awkward if Nabamida had to drag her out feet-first…

  One was supposed to meditate. She remembered that her grandfather had told her about taking sweatbaths to cleanse both the body and the mind.

  “What should I think about?” she shouted to Nabamida.

  “Becoming clean and pure,” came the answer from outside. She grimaced to herself. She was already feeling filthy enough and the sweat pouring from her skin was mixing with the clay from the pit and ashes from the fire. She would try and think about becoming clean and pure, but she couldn’t guarantee success.

  Oh hell. Bajeloga, where are you when I need you?

  Here, said the remembered voice of the old man. Right where I’ve always been. This is new to you, but it will be understood. You will master this, as you will everything else you have attempted, granddaughter.

  I’m glad you have such faith in me, Kesbe told the part of her that still spoke to her as grandfather had. I’m not sure that I share it.

  Just when she thought she would doze off despite the heavy heat, Nabamida’s voice penetrated her steam-fuzzed awareness. “Come out now,” he called.

  Gratefully Kesbe wriggled past the fire, dived for the door and emerged into the outside air, gasping like the proverbial fish. She was met with a faceful of cold water. As she stumbled to get up, Nabamida doused her again. She stood up, dripping, ready to unlease a torrent of indignant protest, but suddenly she realized that her weariness was gone and her body felt refreshed.

  “I’ll bet you enjoyed doing that,” she said, unwilling to give up all her annoyance. Nabamida only shrugged.

  She reached for the wreck of her coverall. Nabamida shook his head, no. Instead he offered her a short woven wrap. Kesbe took it skeptically. It offered no covering or support for her breasts. Well, hers weren’t so large that they really needed any.

  She bound the coarse cloth around her waist, threw back her hair and asked, “What’s next?”

  “Loma’asni,” answered Nabamida. “The head-wash.”

  Kesbe sat on the baked clay of the plaza in the late afternoon sun, tipping her head back. Nabamida poured scented sudsy water onto her hair while Chamol caught the runoff in a bowl. Nabamida bent over Kesbe, working the solution into her scalp with strong fingers and chanting a soft song. It smelled of some desert plant, such as yucca. She was surprised to find that, unlike soap, it didn’t sting her eyes. She could squint sideways to her aronan partner, who stood nearby. It tossed its head and flicked its antennae at her. Just wait, chosovi, she thought at it. You’re next.

  She had been pleasantly startled when Nabamida directed her to fetch Baqui Iba from Aronan House and bring it here to the plaza. Loma’asni, as it turned out, was not just for the human half of the partnership.

  Nabamida rinsed the herbal wash from her hair, wrung the hair dry and toweled her head roughly with a coarse cloth. “I have washed you. Now you must cleanse the winged one,” said Imiya’s uncle. “Use care. The aronan’s head-plumes are delicate.”

  Cradling the vessel of warm suds in the crook of her arm, Kesbe approached the aronan. It unrolled its moth-tongue toward the bowl.

  “No, you don’t drink this,” Kesbe scolded softly, pushing the tongue away. Baqui Iba arched its neck, its antennae fluttering over the suds. It evidently liked the smell. She stroked the creature, then scooped up a small palmful of the wash and spread it on the aronan’s neck. It turned its head inquisitively.

  She handed the bowl to Chamol, who was standing nearby, and chucked Baqui Iba under the chin, coaxing it to bend its neck. She laid an arm along the prickly crest of its neck, pushing down. She felt the aronan resist. A scent like that of red pepper tinged its sage body-smell.

  “Trust me, Baqui Iba,” she said softly in Pai. Knowing voice was not enough, she tried to make the gesture language of her body carry the message. She felt the aronan relax. Its alarm-scent faded.

  Carefully she caught the waving antennae and stroked them with wet hands as Nabamida had told her to do. She ladled handfuls onto the creature’s head, rubbing it lightly into the stiff fuzz between the horns. Baqui Iba’s scent changed again, becoming minty.

  She saw Chamol sniff and smile. “The winged one likes loma’asni.”

  Kesbe expected Baqui Iba to shake its antennae dry, but instead it drew each plume through its mouthparts in the manner of an insect, drying and grooming it. She took a soft cloth that Chamol provided and dried the creature’s head carefully, dabbing between the horns and around the faceted eyes.

  Loma’asni was complete. Both she and her aronan partner had been ritually cleansed.

  “Now Baqui Iba must go back to Aronan House and you must go with me to Aronan Kiva, where you begin your learning,” said Nabamida.

  She was not taken to the underground chambers that formed the kiva proper, but instead to a room that lay partially above ground. Nabamida explained that this area was used to teach those who were entering the kekelt stage of initiation. He said also that he would leave her. From this day on, her teacher would be the shaman herself.

  She listened to his footsteps fade as she sat on a folded blanket and waited. She expected that other new candidates for initiation would join her but she remained alone in the shadowed room. Her hair was still damp from the herbal wash and, though the room was warm, she felt little shivers run through her.

  She mulled over her reasons for being here. As she thought, she discovered a new one that involved Baqui Iba. The aronan had flown with Imiya and Haewi in their escape from Tuwayhoima. It must have seen what happened. And if the memory was still there inside its mind, Kesbe might be able to discover the answers she sought.

  Sahacat and others had implied that training as an intitate also involved learning the ability to communicate with her aronan partner. And Kesbe had already found that aronans displayed much more intelligence than she thought possible. Indeed, Imiya had seemed to speak to his mount and have it respond in a way he could understand. Would she be able to do that with Baqui Iba? The idea excited her and strengthened her resolve to endure whatever Sahacat asked…

  She waited. The room grew darker a
s the sun began to set outside. The first pangs of hunger started No one had said anything about an evening meal.

  Just as she was about to conclude that someone had made a large mistake, Sahacat entered the chamber. The twin-tailed scorpion tails on her bracelet rustled against each other, making a sound that reminded Kesbe of the live creatures she had seen when Sahacat cast her black flute illusion-spell. Or had they really been alive?

  She expected the shaman to light a lamp or provide some other illumination to counter the deepening darkness spreading throughout the room. Instead the shaman sat cross-legged opposite Kesbe, saying nothing. Kesbe got the eerie feeling that Sahacat didn’t need light in order to make an acute study of her.

  “I thought there would be others,” she said, to break the long uncomfortable silence.

  “You expected to be placed with the Pai youths who are becoming kekelt? But you are not a youth and you are not Pai. Our children already know the things that you do not. And I must teach you special things.”

  Kesbe asked what those things might be.

  “This. One who is Pai accepts silence and darkness, not wishing that they be replaced with noise and light. You are uneasy. You wish me to speak and light a lamp to lessen your fear.”

  She fought down her indignant denial. She examined herself. It was true what the shaman said. She wanted light. She wanted speech. She wanted things ordered and structured so she could predict and control them. The discovery dismayed her intensely, for she had always thought herself to be a nonconformist and a rebel.

  Bajeloga would have been able to sit quietly in the darkness and long silence, not demanding anything from his surroundings, but she was finding that she could not. She wanted to know what was to come what the shaman intended to do with her. And she knew that Sahacat would not explain, at least not in a way she could understand.

  Why had the shaman chosen to isolate her? This learning might be easier with others to talk to even if they were a generation younger than she. And why was she making the experience so baffling? Perhaps her intent was not to instruct, but rather to discourage.