People of the Sky

by Clare Bell

  It is too late to begin again. I must continue. I finish with red sand and take up pale blue-green. I chant the story that I told Kesbe-Rohoni long ago when we walked the terraces, about how Sasquasoha created Aronan from Dragonfly. I did not tell her all of the story then. I must tell it all now. The one who must listen is the broken part of myself.

  The story is called Tuwahan’s Daughter and the Children of Aronan.

  One day, a long time after the creation of Aronan from Dragonfly, a young man named Tuwahan took his bow and arrow and went out hunting. He could find nothing but an aronan. To him the aronans were beautiful, but his family needed jood. Tuwahan drew back his arrow and prepared to kill Aronan, but be saw the creature grieving.

  “Why are you sorrowing?” Tuwaban asked Aronan.

  “I am weeping because my children will die.”

  “Why will your children die?”

  “Because there is no one to care for them,” answered Aronan. “The ones who once sheltered them have gone and I am not able to do it myself.”

  Tuwaban put down his bow and arrow. He felt sorry for Aronan. He also had children and loved them dearly. Though he could not comfort the creature, he could not kill it either, so be left to hunt elsewhere.

  Tuwaban was in a side-canyon when the leaden sky poured forth rain. A flash-flood swept down the side-canyon, catching the hunter and carrying him along. He managed to grasp onto a rock, but was too exhausted to pull himself out. As he fought the surging current of the flood, he wept, for he knew he would be drowned. Aronan flew overhead and saw the man weeping.

  “Why do you grieve, Tuwahan?” Aronan called.

  “I am weeping because my children will die.”

  “Why will your children die?”

  “Became I will be killed in the flood and there will be no one to feed them.”

  Aronan felt sorry for the man. The creature hovered near the rock where the hunter clung and told him to climb onto its back. Aronan carried Tuwahan above the flood until the waters receded and the sun dried the canyons.

  “You are safe now, man,” Aronan said as it landed. “And your children will not die.” It flew with Tuwahan to a place that was good for hunting so that he killed plenty of game to bring borne. Aronan also flew with him to a place where the soil was good for growing corn.

  Tuwahan was grateful to Aronan and said so. “Since you have saved me and my children, I will shelter yours. Shall I build a pueblo for them?”

  “My children are not sheltered in a pueblo,” Aronan answered.

  “Then I will dig them a kiva.”

  “My children are not sheltered in a kiva,” Aronan replied.

  Tuwahan was puzzled. “How then can I shelter them?”

  “I will put the first one in your belly,” said Aronan.

  At this Tuwahan grew very frightened, for the only thing he ever put in his belly was food. He told Aronan to go away and fled back to his own people. Aronan was very sad because the man would not shelter its children.

  But Tuwahan used the knowledge that Aronan had given him of the good place to hunt and to grow corn. With this, he and his people prospered. He had many children, both sons and daughters. One day, his eldest daughter came to him and said, “Father, I have seen the strangest thing. When I was out hunting, I saw an aronan weeping. When I asked it why it was weeping, it told me it was mourning for its first child that had died because there was no one to shelter it.”

  When Tuwahan heard this, he was reminded of his broken promise to Aronan. He was ashamed, but he was still afraid, so he told his daughter to have nothing to do with Aronan or its kind.

  There came a time when drought dried the streams and Tuwahan and his family had to carry water to their corn. Each day they had to walk farther and each day they were weaker and more exhausted. One day Tuwahan’ eldest daughter was the water-carrier and while she was walking through the dust and the heat, Aronan came to her and said, “I can fly you to water much faster than you can walk.”

  Tuwahan’s daughter agreed to this, and so, mounted on Aronan’s back, she fetched water for the corn. When she returned to her father, Aronan came with her and said, “I have carried your daughter so she would not grow weak and die under the hot sun. Will you now keep the promise you made to me and shelter my children?”

  But Tuwahan was still afraid and so he told Aronan to go away. The next day the streams had dried up for so far a distance that the daughter was struck down by the sun’s heat as she walked and she died.

  When the next of Tuwahan’s children went to fetch water for the corn, he met Aronan, who was weeping over the death of its second child and fearful for a third. Aronan spoke with the boy and flew him to water. When the two returned to the father, Aronan again asked him to honor his promise. Again the man refused. The sun was so hot the next day that his son was struck by a fit of dizziness while on his search for water and fell over a cliff.

  Aronan came to Tuwayan, who was with his last child, a young woman.

  “Will you honor your promise to me?” Aronan asked the man.

  Tuwahan wept because he was so frightened. He also knew that he would lose his remaining daughter and there would be no children to follow him.

  “Father, why do you weep?” asked the young woman.

  The man told his daughter that he was afraid.

  The daughter looked at Aronan and said, “I will keep the promise my father broke. Place your last child in my belly.”

  And Aronan drew its last child from its body and placed it in the belly of Tuwahan’s daughter. Tuwayan’s daughter carried the aronan-child. When it came time for it to be born, Tuwahan’s daughter brought forth not one infant, but two, the aronan-child and a human son.

  “You have come from the same flesh. You shall be brothers,” said Tuwahan’s daughter. And the boy and the aronan grew up together, the aronan giving its gift of flight to the boy. When it came time for the aronan to birth its own offspring, the boy, counselled by his mother, was willing to shelter it. And so began the partnering of humans with aronans and it continues to this day.

  That is the end of the story. For Tuwayhan, for his daughter. But not for me.

  In orange and yellow sand, I draw the corn plants lifting their heads to the sun, while water brought by Aronan pours onto their thirsty roots. I draw the hunters riding out on Aronan to seek game.

  The oil lamp bums low. Nabamida brings another, moving quietly so as not to disturb the rhythms of my work. Now the image is nearly complete except for the last portion. That day on the terrace, Kesbe asked me if Aronan ever asked for the gift it was promised by our people. Kesbe knows the answer by now, for Sahacat must have told her. Aronan did ask the people for the most difficult gift of all. This is what I must know, understand and accept.

  I draw the image of Tuwahan, the man who feared what Aronan asked of him. I make him look like me. I draw Tuwahan’s dead children, the price he paid for refusing to honor the promise made to Aronan. I too have my dead to mourn. Haewi…

  I hear the words of the story again and they come out through my own lips as I draw the image of Aronan clasping a human form to its own. My hand sweats, making the sand run unevenly. “I will place my children in your flesh,” I say, in the words of the story. I bite my lip, forcing my hand not to tremble as I make the human figure the image of myself.

  And at the center of the figure I place in gold and black sand, the egg that Aronan is laying, must lay…has laid…within me.

  My fist clenches, jerks. The sand pours out in a jagged line like a lightning stroke across the figure of Aronan. My chanting falters. Nabamida leans forward to see what I have done. I am already drawing back my shaking hands from the sand-painting. It will do no good to repair the figure of Aronan. What I have done speaks of the hurt that is still within me, a hurt still too strong to be healed. The sand-painting is powerless. I watch through tears while Nabamida tries to cover my lightning streak with new sand. Even he knows the attempt is useless and his hand als
o trembles…

  I can not bear the pain in his eyes as he lifts his head to me across the ruined sand-painting. I jump to my feet and run out of the house, into the darkness that has settled over the village and my life.

  The morning was crisp, the sun brilliant as Kesbe walked Baqui Jba across the plaza from Aronan House. The creature tossed its head and fanned its wings in the cool air.

  “You want to fly, don’t you,” Kesbe said softly.

  The answer came back in a burst of spicy scents, freshened by spearmint.

  “Well, why not?” No one had said she couldn’t and Baqui Iba still had the leg-weights that balanced it for riding. Sahacat had said explicitly to lead the creature, but Kesbe was getting tired of obeying the shaman in every detail.

  She was scarcely aware that she had transmitted her agreement to the flier before it dived between her legs and bounced up with her perched on its thorax. It stood poised, wings starting to vibrate. She checked herself, pulled her feet into place.

  “Go!” she shouted in Pai. The word was left behind as the flier launched itself with a powerful kick of its hind legs. A rush of morning air struck her face like a pailful of cold water, snatched at her kilt as the flier arrowed out toward the rising sun.

  A short distance was all she could allow herself. Sahacat would be waiting on the mesa-top. Regretfully she turned Baqui Iba and flew a course that spiraled up along the edge of the Pai mesa to the natural amphitheater of tiers and ledges where the Cloud Dance had taken place.

  She flew over the rise and saw Sahacat standing on the highest ledge. Nearby was another aronan, Pesquit’s Dancing Water. Pesquite herself sat on a boulder. She jumped up and waved happily as Baqui Iba came into view. Sahacat’s head turned sharply, as if she hadn’t expected Kesbe to appear from that direction. A frown darkened the classic Mayan cast of the shaman’s features.

  “I told you to lead the aronan,” she said sharply as Baqui Iba settled and Kesbe slipped off.

  “The winged one must have had other ideas,” Pesquit giggled.

  Sahacat gave the girl a withering look, but that only subdued her slightly. “When I give instructions, I mean to be obeyed. I have reasons for what I say.”

  “You don’t always make them clear.” Kesbe tried to keep her rebellion from finding its way into her voice.

  Sahacat turned the full power of her gaze onto her. “You will fly the aronan when I say and only then. Do you understand me?”

  Kesbe tried to swallow her anger, but it wouldn’t go down. “I see no harm in my riding Baqui Iba”

  “You are not the one to make that judgment. If you do not wish to complete the instruction, your ‘Gooney Berg’ waits over there.” The shaman flung out her hand, pointing to the center of the mesa where Kesbe knew the plane was parked.

  “You know damn well we can’t stop now,” she retorted. “You said yourself that this bond between me and Baqui Iba is too strong to break. And you’ve put too much into this to see it die now, or am I wrong?”

  Sahacat’s long eyes narrowed further, but Kesbe knew she had called the shaman’s bluff. As much as Sahacat had tried in the beginning to discourage her, she was now as committed to this as Kesbe. There was a cold glitter in those eyes as the shaman said, “With your obedience, warrior-woman, we will continue.”

  “You have it,” Kesbe answered.

  “We will see. This next task I set you will be a test of the heart. Mount your flier.”

  Feeling puzzled and apprehensive, she swung aboard Baqui Iba.

  Sahacat said, “You are to fly a straight course across the top of this amphitheater. When you are midway, you must execute a dive off your mount and have it catch you.”

  Kesbe shook her head, not sure she had heard correctly. “You want me to jump off in mid-air?”

  “You have seen the child-warriors do it. It is an exercise in skill, but most of all in trust. You must convey to Baqui Iba what you intend to do and have the creature act accordingly.”

  Kesbe felt herself begin to sweat. Her communication with Baqui Iba was still on a vague level and so far had consisted largely of emotional exchanges.

  “Isn’t that a bit high for a first jump?” she asked, her voice starting to squeak as her throat closed.

  “The higher you are, the safer you will be, since the aronan will have more time in which to catch you.”

  Assuming the aronan understands what its crazy rider is doing and reacts in time.

  “Pesquit,” said Sahacat sharply. “Show her.”

  With a grin at Kesbe, the child-warrior hopped onto her mount and rode Dancing Water into a steep climb about a hundred meters above the amphitheater. She flew to one end, banked around and soared back. Kesbe watched over Baqui Iba’s raised muzzle, grateful that her mount was paying attention.

  Without warning, Pesquite flung herself sideways. The child’s figure fell half the distance in a graceful arc before Dancing Water swooped down and caught her. Pesquit scrambled from the aronan’s forelimbs back to her seat behind its neck, laughing delightedly.

  “She has no fear,” said Sahacat. “She trusts her life to her mount because she knows only the Pai Way.”

  Baqui Iba curved its neck, bringing its narrow-muzzled face around to nudge its rider. Waves of fear swept through her, each bringing its own cascade of sweat. She remembered how she had fallen from Baqui Iba on the first flight, but the memory only made her fear worse. Yes, Baqui Iba had caught her that time, but would it do so again? She caught the aronan’s muzzle under the chin and stroked it with hands that shook. I hope you were paying attention, chosovi, she thought at it. If you weren’t, I’m going to be spattered all over those rocks.

  A question came from the creature in shades of sage and anise. She knew it was asking if she was afraid.

  Yes, I am, she answered honestly, knowing it would do no good to try and fool the creature or herself. She made her scent carry the message. Immediately the strong warm-leather aroma surrounded her, bringing reassurance that almost spoke in words. It asked for trust.

  I will trust you, she thought in answer to the creature’s query, and found herself speaking the words out loud. Again she stroked Baqui Iba’s neck, feeling the perspiration rub off her hands onto the short dry bristles.

  Pesquite fluttered down on Dancing Water. Kesbe readied herself. She didn’t need hand signs to launch Baqui Iba. It knew when to spring skyward. It’s climb was swifter than dancing Water’s, leaving Kesbe less time for second thoughts. Before she knew it, she had made the turn and was gliding back across the amphitheater. Glancing earthwards, she saw the shaman and Pesquit as toylike figures on the stone shelf.

  Looking down was a mistake. She knew that even as her body froze and her feet locked behind the chitin plates to keep her seat. She remembered too vividly how she had accidentally tumbled off Baqui Iba in the midst of a steep bank. Again her heart raced as she felt the helpless terror of the rocks rushing up to claim her. It was worse now that she knew what it was like. Her muscles went rigid, refusing to obey such a ridiculous suggestion that she fling herself toward certain destruction.

  Baqui Iba reached the end of its glide, wheeled slowly around and started back across. The wind blew her flier’s odor in her face. The old-leather aroma of reassurance was tinged with a bit of spicy impatience. If you don’t trust me now, it seemed to say, you never will.

  Kesbe took in a deep gulp of air, breaking the tattoo in her mind that was beating, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” to the pounding heart. She willed her muscles to thaw. They began a violent quivering, but it at least allowed her some control. She stared straight ahead, set her jaw and forced herself to lean farther and farther out until her weight pulled her off the aronan.

  She had scarcely time to feel the drop before forelimbs snagged her and with a jerk, pulled her up. Again the ground swung crazily below her and she felt the downward blast of the aronan’s fanning wings.

  She wasn’t agile or light enough to scramble back to her s
eat from the cradle of Baqui Iba’s forelimbs. The creature had to set her on the ground first before it could land. Her knees turned to jelly and she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead as she sagged against her mount.

  She stood up straight as Sahacat approached. She thrust out her lower jaw pugnaciously. The shaman’s eyes were cool.

  “I did it,” Kesbe said shortly.

  “You did not perform exactly as requested. You were to jump on the first pass. You waited until the next. Do it again.”

  “Are you kidding?” Kesbe lapsed into English and had to translate awkwardly into Pai. “That nearly stopped my heart.”

  “That is why you are to do it again,” Sahacat said. “And again and again until you lose this fear. It is something that the Pai do not have.”

  Kesbe wondered what would happen if Baqui Iba snatched Sahacat up in the air and dangled her over the unfriendly rocks at a similiar height. Would the shaman discover that she after all had the fear she so easily scorned? Kesbe wished she could be more specific in what she told Baqui fba. The creature bumped its head against her playfully, as if it had caught at least the gist of her thoughts.

  You know, you and I are going to get along pretty well together, she thought at the aronan as she mounted again. She imagined Sahacat getting her comeuppance at the hands…oops…forelimbs of the aronan. That’ll give me extra incentive to improve the lines of communication with you, chosovi.

  She sat up straight, gave the shaman a glare and took off. She did the mid-air dive again, this time on the first pass. And again. And repeatedly until her head was spinning and she was sure Baqui Iba’s wings must be aching. She did it the next day and the next, diving from even greater heights and for longer distances. And each time she dove, she shed a little of the fear that had paralyzed her, while strengthening her bond with Baqui Iba.

  Kesbe tossed irritably on her pallet in the windowless adobe room, wishing she could forget about Baqui Iba long enough to get some sleep. But the smell of the aronan’s perfume was still in her nostrils and the feel of its stiff bristled coat still on her fingertips. She was also aroused and the feeling refused to go away.