by Clare Bell
“And to understand that step, you must take it,” Mabena said.
“And I’m scared as hell.” Kesbe hugged herself, shivering despite the heat radiating through the plane. Gently, Mabena pried her clutching hands from her shoulders and substituted his own. Strength seemed to flow from him into her with the solid warmth of his big hands. “Let us speak of more calming things,” he said. “More pragmatic things. I have the resource to pay you for the aircraft. Do you still want to go through with the contract?”
Kesbe took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about that. So far, Gooney Berg has proven to be just about the only aircraft capable of handling this terrain. And if I’m to be a buffer between the Pai and the outside world, I’ll need a way to get back and forth. The most important part is that the Pai are used to her. They call her Grandmother Aronan.”
“So then, you don’t want to sell the Douglas.”
“After all this, you must think I’m crazy,” Kesbe sighed. “I’m sorry. That’s a kink into your plans, doesn’t it.”
Mabena grinned. “One thing I have learned about plans is that one should always have an alternate. Lady pilot, I will make you a proposal. The Douglas is ideally suited for my purposes. It is also ideally suited to yours. How then do we resolve this conflict? Very simple. We reproduce her.”
Kesbe stared at him, at the sparkle of his dark eyes beneath the brim of his bush hat. “Pardon my asking,” she said, wondering if he was just jollying her along. “How in hell are you going to recreate something that was made on an ancient production line with techniques we don’t even have any more?”
“We study her. We measure her. We use the drawings and schematics you have. We use modern materials and construction techniques when we can’t recreate the old ones. My crew of engineers will love it!” He clapped his hands together triumphantly. “I was wondering what task I could give them to keep them happy once my safari installation was complete.”
“A copy won’t be the same,” Kesbe said doubtfully.
“It will be very close. With laser metrology and the kind of computer-controlled tooling I have available, I think we can extract the same performance from a copy. Perhaps we may enhance it.”
Kesbe grinned at Mabena’s audacity. Who but he would challenge the legendary engineering skill of those who had designed the old Douglas? “But making a copy will take time. What will you do until it is ready?”
“I will ask you to fly for me in the meanwhile. It can be scheduled around your…ah…obligation to the Pai. And you can impart your knowledge to me and my crew so that we can assume the duties when you are absent. What do you think, dear pilot?”
“I think you’re as crazy as I am. I also think you are going to do it. It’s a deal.” She grinned mischievously. “I take it that I don’t have to worry about elephant sperm this time?”
“The risk is minor. I plan to supplement my income by recruiting technical people with a hobbyist’s interest in ancient aircraft to work on the project. They, of course, will pay me for the privilege. I think it should work out quite well. And if it does, we may generate more than one copy.”
Kesbe raised her eyebrows, sighed and sank back in her seat. Well, old girl, she thought at the aircraft, we both will be producing offspring in one form or another. This should be interesting.
I have fallen asleep and wake with the robe against my chest. I find that I have gained strength from my rest and from the good food and care that my uncle and his wife have given me.
I will not wear the robe again, it is for Kesbe when she returns from the cave of ceremony. She said that she hoped I could lay it upon her shoulders with my own hands.
She did not hide her uncertainty from me. She is afraid, as I was. She cannot promise that she will have the courage to step forth at that last and final moment. But if the fear can be overcome, she will do it. For me and for Bacqui Iba.
Now she has gone. If she returns from the journey bearing the aronan egg, will I be able to place the robe on her shoulders without trembling’? Will I turn from her as I once turned from myself when the aronan’s spawn invaded my body? If so, then I am not healed.
I think of the sand-painting I tried to make under Nabamida’s guidance. In my mind I have already begun another, but thinking about it is not enough. I must create the image again. I must feel the sand running through my fingers in a smooth even flow to create a pattern without flaw. As Kesbe travels the path to her choice, so must I journey to find my own peace.
I ask Nabamida to aid me as I get up from the pallet, clear a space on the clay floor and gather the colored sands. He looks at me, his face neutral. I make the painting representing the story of Tuwayhan and the Children of Aronan, but this time I make it differently. Tuwayhan has my features, as before, but this time the central figure is Tuwayhan’s daughter, she who was brave enough to keep the promise made to Aronan. No. The figure is Kesbe and the aronan clasping her is Bacqui Iba. The sand still runs freely as I start to shape the gold and black egg that is Bacqui Iba’s gift to her as it would have been Haewi Namij’s gift to me.
I sweat, but my hand is steady. After a long time I sit back. The painting is complete, unmarred. I feel its power working within me, driving out (be ugliness and evil. This is the truth, in flesh as in sand. And I can look upon it without despair. I sit back, seeing the corners of Nabamida’s eyes crinkle as he smiles.
I will wait here for Kesbe, praying and chanting beside the sand-painting, adding the strength of my spirit to hers so that she can do the task she has set herself. And that she can do it with love and not fear.
I pray. I chant. I wait. And I do something I thought I would never be able to do again. I hope.
The sun dipped toward the ragged horizon of the Barranca, setting the sky ablaze with fierce color. Kesbe walked the trail from the mesa down to the village, feeling the evening wind whip her hair about her face. Tony Mabena had stayed behind in Gooney Berg, as she asked. She suspected that doing so was one of the more difficult tasks that had been asked of him. To do so without complaint, without further words about something neither he nor she could change was as valuable a thing as the most precious gift. He was, she decided, an extraordinary man. With a slight feeling of sadness, she wished he had known him earlier. Perhaps then she would not have needed to take the path that led to Baqui Iba…
She recognized the temptation and thrust it aside. To turn from such a strange and unknown union to seek the comfortable affection to be found with her own kind…no, it would be too easy. She faced into the wind that blew from Tuwayhoima. It brought the earthy small of adobe mixed with the spicy aronan-scent. She walked alone through the village and then to Aronan Kiva.
Two figures stood outlined against the sunset: one human, one aronan Sahacat and Baqui Iba. The wind carried the flier’s scent to her. It was metallic with apprehension, smoky with uncertainty. It lifted its head toward her. Kesbe cursed her eyes for seeing in the creature’s outline something insect-like and alien. She tried to recall the love she had felt on that last unforgettable flight. The feelings seemed washed out and flat in her memory. Had rage and fear scoured away everything she had ever felt toward Baqui Iba?
“I am ready,” she said, taking one last step to stand in front of Sahacat.
“It is not I who should be told,” the shaman said quietly. Kesbe turned to Baqui Iba, who stood with head and wings drooping. She laid her hand on the aronans neck, spoke gently with words and essences.
“Dear winged one…”
“The choice was mine, chosovi. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“I saw another human who was made sick by the embryo inside him.”
“I don’t know. If I am afraid and let the fear into my body, yes, it will make me sick. If I can learn
to bear it with love, that will keep the sickness away.” She felt herself tremble with emotions she could not keep from the aronan or herself. “Help me, chosovi. I love you, but this is so…unknown…to me.”
The aronan’s scent changed to a comforting woolly kind of smell, though it still had the smoky undertone.
“Then we shall walk in the dark together,” Kesbe said, stroking the aronan’s neck. She turned to Sahacat. “Shaman, why haven’t you taught me more about this?”
“You must draw what you need from Baqui Iba. This is the last and final testing of the bond.” With a sharp tug, Sahacat pulled loose the ties of Kesbe’s kilt and flung it aside. “You stand naked to the night and each other. Walk the trail of Pai womanhood to the place of ceremony. I await you there.” She drew her cloak about her and melted into the night.
“Wait!” Kesbe called after her. “I don’t even know where to go!” No answer came back. Sahacat had vanished.
Baqui Iba offered.
“Instincts?”
She touched Baqui Iba’s wings. One was nearly dragging on the ground. She lifted the wingspar to try and close the forewing, but it slid out of position and hung limply, neither open nor closed.
“Chosovi, can’t you fold your wings?”
A wave of sorrow swept over Kesbe as she remembered the strength and power of those wings as they bore her through the sky. Baqui Iba lowered its head and moved away with a leaden pace. Kesbe walked beside the creature, trying to support the wingtip so that it would not drag and be torn on the rocks. Even with Baqui Iba beside her, she felt an aching loneliness and need to speak to someone. She thought of her grandfather, whose wisdom spoke in her mind at unexpected times. Why had he remained silent for so long?
Because I was not needed, granddaughter, came the answer.
She halted and lifted up her head to the night sky, closing her eyes.
Bajeloga, are you there?
I am always here, granddaughter. As part of you.
I am afraid. Even after everything I have done, I am still fearful of what lies ahead. Give me courage, Morning Bird Man. Let me feel the strength of your hands on my shoulders. Turn me to face forward on this path, not back.
My hands are your hands, chosovi. My strength is yours. It has been so all along.
Without you I could not have come this far, I could not have made the decision. You kept the doors in my mind from closing, you taught me that the world I knew was not the only one. I almost feel that it was you who has acted and spoken to the Pai instead of me.
And how can I have done all that if I am but a memory, the old voice chided in the back of your mind.
Kesbe laughed, but she felt tears gather in the corners of her eyes. Don’t say that, Bajeloga. Don’t say that and then have me. I am not strong enough alone.
Chosovi, where would I go? I am after all, a part of you, a part you created from hearing my voice, understanding my teachings and sharing my love for the old ways. You are as strong as you need to be. For the Pai, for me and for yourself.
For Bacqui Iba, Kesbe added. And Imiya.
Baqui Iba stands beside you. Imiya waits in the village. The path lies ahead. We will take it together.
The trail had many switchbacks and sudden dips. Baqui Iba kept Kesbe on the inside of the dirt path, using its own body to bar her from the edge. She feared that the creature might make a clumsy step, one that might cost its life since it could no longer fly.
She kept one hand fastened to the bristles on the aronan’s neck, feeling the rhythmic pull as it guided her along. Soon she would be carrying Baqui Iba’s child in her body. She let the idea penetrate and waited for the backwash of fear to sweep over her. But what came instead was a calmness and understanding, not only for Baqui Iba and its gift, but for the Pai Yinaye themselves. Perhaps what they had done and made with aronans might not be called human. Yet it had touched that which was most deeply human in herself.
She wasn’t going to immerse herself with the Pai and leave everything behind, no, she was still too restless for that. But this is where her home would be. She would return to Tuwayhoima to call Baqui Iba out of the skies where it flew on new wings. She would come to the birth-house where Nyentiwakay had lain to bring the aronan-child from her body. She knew there would be many hard hours in Gooney Berg, and even more difficult ones in the records offices and courts of Oneway, fighting for the sake of her people. It would be a fight that only she could understand at first, but others would join once she had taught them how.
The Pai could no longer keep themselves isolated. That much was clear to her and, she suspected, to the Pai Elders as well. But the outside need not sweep over and around them like a flooding sea. She who stood between two worlds would be both their bridge and their barrier.
She stood still as another thought took her. Perhaps there would be others like her. Others who might have the same heritage, the same longing for old legends only half-taught and beliefs only half-realized. Those who might come and find that they must do battle with the most ancient and evil of fears, to find a strange and joyous new life spreading its wings before them…
She looked up to see an aronan glide between the sheer walls of the mesa and canyon. The coppery flash of the setting sun on its wings made her remember how she had first seen Haewi Namij from Gooney Berg.
She smiled to herself as the evening wind tugged her hair. If Nyentiwakay hadn’t chosen the name Haewi Namij for his aronan-child, she would place it among the ones from which would be drawn the choice of her own.
And if she did eventually marry and have a baby, her son or daughter could chose partnership with the aronan-child in the Pai manner.
She remembered Chamois voice, speaking again the words,
“It is the Pai Way. To know that there is another spirit destined to walk with you on your life-road.”
Wherever that road may lead, she added silently, stroking Baqui Iba. Her step was steady on the path as the aronan guided her.
This is the truth of things. Haliksa’i.
About the Author
A scientist and engineer with degrees in biology and chemistry, Clare Bell is the author of Ratha’s Creature, an ALA. Best Book for Young Adults, which won the PEN/Los Angeles Award for Writing for Young People, and was filmed by CBS-TV as a Storybreak TV movie, and Clan Ground. Ms. Bell makes her home in San Jose, California, and plans to celebrate the publication of PEOPLE OF THE SKY aboard a chartered DC-3, the civilian incarnation of the C-47 transport featured in this book.
