17 Stones

by Paul Telegdi

  Because Yael was so restless, Chaiko invited Yael to charge him, which he did with enthusiasm and more power than his size suggested. He would collide with his father and the two would then collapse into a heap. Yael laughed, his cheeks soon rosy from all the fun. Not surprisingly, it was Chaiko who tired of the game first. He then tried tossing Yael into the air and catching him, to his great delight. Again it was Chaiko who first grew tired of the activity. Then he threw a piece of skin over him and let him struggle with it. Chaiko was finding it more difficult to keep his son occupied and he was curious how Dawn managed, day in and day out.

  People wandered by, looked curiously at them, but did not break into their solitary play. Finally, all the activity had its affect and Yael quieted down, his cheeks aglow; his eyes grew heavy lidded and he fell asleep. Chaiko, too, slumbered, seated as he was in the sunshine. A voice of someone passing by in idle conversation would briefly rouse him but then he would soon succumb again. He dared not lie down for fear that Yael would wake up and, finding him sleeping, could easily wander off by himself.

  It was Otter-Cry, the wizened shaman of the Lesser-Bear-Claw, who shook him awake. Yawning, he looked inquisitively at the man.

  “Come, I will introduce you to the Sitting,” he said, meaning the Council of Shamans.

  “I can’t,” Chaiko replied; “there is no one here to watch my son.”

  The man blinked, seemingly surprised that no one else was around, then said tersely, “Well then bring him along.”

  So it came about that Chaiko, with a sleepy son in arms, went to join the shamans who were meeting in a small grove of gnarled trees. Perhaps it was not surprising that they were mostly old men, with a few like Corrigan of middle age. The Head-Shaman, however, was not in attendance. In their presence, Chaiko’s youth felt wildly out of place with a baby in his arms, in front of all these grandfathers who even had grandchildren older than Yael.

  The shamans looked at him intently, measuring him, scarcely believing that all the stories they had heard could be from such an unimposing a person as he appeared to be. Chaiko shifted from foot to foot. Some noted his wooden leg and thought maybe some of the stories could be true. Tomakon called out, “Come sit by me, the inventor of Falcon surely deserves the honor.” Gratefully Chaiko made his way over to him and sat down conscious of the stiffness of his wooden leg. Of course, Yael started struggling anew, but in this company Chaiko kept his son close to him.

  “Ah, he has grown since I last saw him,” Tomakon said leaning closer to the boy. Strange things happened to the man’s face when he talked or smiled, dissolving into a confusion of wrinkles. Yael, fascinated by this display, could not take his eyes off Tomakon. “He’s a year older now,” Chaiko replied; “since then we have twins, a boy and a girl.”

  Twins caught everyone’s ears; a double blessing, a very rare event. They again looked at the youth who claimed to be a shaman. He could father twins? A few blinked, the rest dozed, a bunch of old men sunning themselves. Chaiko suddenly had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His position tied him to these men, irrevocably perhaps. He did not like such a future. He thought perhaps Baer fared better; leaders tended to be younger and more energetic. How could he find fellowship with such a collection of ossified old men? Now he could understand how Corrigan could so easily raise himself to power. In contrast to these men, he was full of drive, energy and ambition.

  “Except for a few stragglers the clans are all here and we soon expect the ceremonies to begin. The horns will call the meeting, maybe by this afternoon. It is hard to guess what Corrigan has in mind,” Tomakon informed his younger companion. “Anyway, don’t let him shake you, you have a right to sit among us and don’t need his blessing to make it official, though no doubt he will try to tell you that his patronage is mandatory. That’s his way. Always looking for some leverage.”

  Chaiko merely nodded. He well remembered haggling with Corrigan, hour after hour. Chaiko had given a little, but not all the man wanted in spite of all the persuasions, threats and even blackmail. Yes, the Head-Shaman of all the clans had an ego to match his ambitions.

  “Not like Bogan,” Tomakon broke in, surprising Chaiko who was thinking the very same thing.

  “Tell me about Bogan,” Chaiko asked one who had been friends with the great shaman.

  “What is there to tell that has not already been told many times?” Tomakon replied tiredly, strangely reticent for a person whose reputation was based mostly on the fact that he had been a friend of Bogan. “He was a great man, but every time I try to explain him to people I just make him smaller.” He shook his head apologetically.

  Tomakon then tried to introduce the others: Kaladar, Cebu, Tashikey... but in his anxiety to remember Chaiko quickly lost track of the names. Finally he hung onto the last one only, Gamay of Pelican-Sands.

  “Is there a formal ceremony to join the Council?” he asked.

  “We have never used one before, so I do not think there will be one now. Unless Corrigan wants one for show. It’s enough that none of us challenges your right.” Then he looked at the younger man. “No person in their right mind would want this job, and the constant headache and worry that goes with it. For what? For the dubious honor of being old and wise?” Tomakon swallowed, trying to change the tone of his words. “It was not always like this. In the days of Bogan we were all infused, aglow with the fire he built in us. In those days we enjoyed respect, for we earned it. Today we exist mostly because people fear to live without us, but I tell you...” and he waved his hand dismissingly. He then lapsed into silence, seemingly asleep like the rest.

  When Yael started struggling again fitfully, Chaiko rose and excused himself, giving every sign of respect as he took his leave. He was confused by a mixture of feelings. He had been looking forward to this day a long time but was disappointed at what he found, a moldy collection of old men, with not even a sparkle among them. Samar in his most absent mood had more life in him than these. How was he going to sit here with nothing to keep him awake? He had been struggling to keep from yawning the whole time and would become as old as them in no time. “Patience,” he told himself. “Have the patience of a stone.”

  Back at the campsite he found that the women had returned and gratefully, he let Yael loose among them. Dawn was all excited, as she had been accepted by the Sisters of the Moon who had listened to her respectfully and with interest as she told them about her previous life among the Ekulan. It seemed that she had been introduced to the path to social success and was taking the first steps. Chaiko wished he had the same enthusiasm to share with her, but his meeting had been anything but that. Fire-Dancer noticed his despondent mood that her sister in her present state had overlooked, and offered him some sweet cakes to take his mind off whatever was bothering him. He smiled at her wanly, trying to enjoy the cake and respond with some glimmer to his mate’s effervescence. It was uncharacteristic of Dawn to react so strongly, but all the excitement had stirred her up, and their lovemaking last night had stripped away some of her inhibitions. As a result she was more spontaneous than Chaiko had seen her for some time. What he did not know was that the sisters had talked at length about parents and families and both had promised not to become the dried up prune their mother turned out to be, unable to take pleasure in anything. After a while Dawn’s excitement warmed even Chaiko up and after pretending at first, he started to enjoy himself again.

  In the afternoon a ram-horn sounded in the distance. Heads lifted in surprise and people looked at one another, hearts suddenly racing, all conversations ceasing. The horn was calling them to the Gathering! The horn persisted as a haunting sound, almost mournful, floating over the camp and beyond. Suddenly an echo answered from afar with fresh enthusiasm, then another and another as the clans one by one answered with a summons of their own. From near and far, the air was filled with their calls, the tones sometimes fighting with one another, sometimes strengthening the waves of sound.

  People dropped whatever they
were doing, drew together into excited clusters and started drifting toward the central meeting place on the close defined by the circle of huts. At the Standing-Rock camp, Stow blew on the mountain sheep horn with great vigor. His face soon turned red with the effort, the sound wobbling as he ran out of breath. As the clan began to move, Kray took over and blew with fresh energy. The horns blared in reply from all over the camp, broadcasting the summons again and again.

  Chaiko grabbed up Yael and started to shepherd the rest toward the main camp. Fire-Dancer looked a little apprehensive, for it seemed to her as if suddenly the whole world was moving—which it was. Nearby Tanya was issuing instructions. Take this, don’t take that. Makar was aglow, Ido barely able to hold him back. Crow came with Lana, and took Yael from Chaiko. Dawn, with one twin on her hip, hurried up to Chaiko. In her free hand she held out a new feather cape she had hidden just for this occasion. Her face glowed with the pleasure of his surprise. Chaiko was touched, put the cape on and preened to increase her joy; people turned to look for the new outfit was very eye catching.

  From all over the camp people hurried, drifting like a tide through the huts into the close. Already the place was filling up quickly. A phalanx of stables tried to keep order, moving people about, trying to fit each new group in.

  The horns still blared, proclaiming the coming convocation, vying with one another for breath and sound. The noise crescendoed as people tried to talk over the uproar. Restlessly the crowd shifted this way and that as the stables attempted yet to straighten lines and keep people in their assigned spots.

  The flood of humanity slowed to a trickle of stragglers rushing up, then ceased. It appeared that everybody was present. The horns stopped for a moment causing a sudden eerie silence which transfixed the multitude. A baby cried out, dispelling the strange pause. People whispered, then talked as the sound grew once more.

  The horns blew again, one by one joining in, growing in volume reinforced by shouts and clapping as the standards of the clan marched in. Led by Sharp-Owl with a stuffed owl mounted on a cross stick on top of a pole, the rest came: a turtle for the Dorgays; a crow for the Killebrews; stones cradled by a weave of rope attached to a pole for the Standing-Rock; and so on. To the cheers of the multitude the standards took their position near the centre of the close.

  Everything now seemed ready for this great event to proceed, so impatiently waited for the past four years. But Corrigan Lebow was still not in evidence, the dais prepared for him still empty. People craned their necks; where could the great personage be? A shiver of impatience passed through the crowd with sounds of murmuring. Someone among the Dorgays whistled a child’s rhyme and others caught up the tune and joined in.

  Makar improvised as he intoned in half voice:

  “Corrigan tarried as all the clans stood

  to await the pleasure of one man

  and to fill the time with wondering

  What importance could be keeping him?”

  Laughter greeted the impudent verse and people repeated the words, passing them on. By the time it reached the other side of the assemblage the verse had changed dramatically.

  “Corrigan left them all standing,

  to await his good pleasure,

  all wondering where time went

  as time grew long with each measure.”

  Someone started cawing loudly like a crow and it quickly caught on with a deafening sound. Then some started waving their arms like birds, something that was not so easily accomplished in the press. Still it was quite a sight as the sea of people moved, arms flapping. The cawing increased in cadence and urgency.

  No doubt the outbreak of noise motivated Corrigan to bestir himself and finally appear to a spattering of applause from his loyal Black-Pearl. The other clans joined in with polite reservation. The great man made his way through the crowd. He paused, to prolong the moment of his glory, but the applause became even more desultory that he had to hurry again to outrace the paltry homage. Finally he reached the dais prepared for him, glowering at his attendants. He threw a few words at his mouthpiece, who shouted an undoubtedly pre-scripted speech into the waiting quiet.

  “Once again the Black-Pearl welcomes all the clans to this great and noble Gathering. Corrigan Lebow himself bids you all welcome. It is a great honor to so serve the clans.” Then he paused while fresh words were chewed into his mouth. “You have come a long way to take part and we would like to extend to you all our hospitality...”

  And on it went, as all of Corrigan speeches tended to do, trying to elevate everything he touched and did to a new level of the superlative. His time-tested method was simple: blow hot air into it long enough and often enough, then repeat it. He had the firm conviction that people actually wanted to hear his words as eagerly as he was giving them. Thus the back and forth between Corrigan and his announcer dragged on heedlessly. The crowd stirred impatiently.

  Finally, Corrigan himself stood up for the final words, “I declare this Gathering open for—” The rest was overwhelmed by the upsurge of sound as the crowd took control, refusing to be denied any longer. An onrush of emotions swept the people surging this way and that. The stables could barely clear a path for Corrigan’s hasty retreat.

  The horns started up on their own and their blaring momentarily stifled the noise. Then general chanting broke out, and the assembly started to dance in the confined space. Everybody was in motion; hop, step, skip, jump. Women with children sought safety on one side. A line formed as people linked with each other, clasping hands, and snakelike it wove through the crowd. More and more joined into one twisting ribbon that at times broke, went off on its own, then rejoined.

  “The clans are all together! All the clans are here! The people are one!” The age old chant grew and reverberated through the crowd. “No one is alone. No one is forgotten. All are here, all belong. For the People are one! Strong together!”

  Caught up in the exuberance, Chaiko was blowing on his bone flute Crier-Bird, which emitted a shrill sound that cut through all the rest. People regarded him and his instrument in surprise but the general flow carried them away before they could really investigate. To Chaiko’s great vexation he was separated from the rest of his people. He had seen Dawn and the mothers to safety, but the rest were gone in the tumult of the celebration. Everywhere he looked was filled with strangers, the eyes briefly meeting, then away, lost in the constant motion of the crowd. To a person used to solitude and a quiet inner life, this was almost nauseating. Face after face swam by giving him a sense of vertigo, and at times he had to shut his eyes so he would not fall down in the midst of this commotion.

  All the while the chant rose and fell around him. Chaiko felt both at the same time, of being one and yet separate, conscious of the irony of such a testament. The people were indeed one, but he felt lost in the press.

  He thought he saw the tall form of Ushi to the side, but could not catch up to him. He thought he heard Ela’s laughter but could not even see her in the crowd. At times he was fooled by a stranger’s voice sounding familiar. Everybody was so damn close! Past Gatherings tended to be more spread out, not compressed into such a small area. Still, everyone was determined to gain something of the experience to take back home to mull over, for the next four years.

  Chaiko grew weary of working through the crowd, his disorientation welling up in him. He headed for the huts, thinking to find some respite from the constant movement, compelling him to move on. He flinched as braying laughter erupted near his ear. Passing a hut, he heard a man and woman arguing in a loud exchange.

  “I only wanted to look inside to see how it was...” the man defended himself.

  But the woman was not so easily placated. “I do not go into your cave and peek under your covers, now do I?”

  “I suppose not,” the man allowed reluctantly.

  Chaiko then passed out of hearing, heading for the periphery, hoping to find refuge in the copse of trees. He wanted to sit down with his back against a trunk to protect
him from being run over by a constant stream of people. He found every tree already occupied, but coming upon a rock he could rest on, he gratefully lowered himself onto it.

  A boy just across noticed his wooden leg and his eyes grew big. “You are... that magician... people are talking about... you know… who grew a leg.”

  “What of it?” Chaiko asked; he was in no mood to be sociable.

  “Well, if you truly are a magician, can you change... me?” the boy about eleven asked eagerly. “Make me bigger. Make me stronger, with lots of muscles.”

  “Probably. But if I were to do that and make you new muscles I would need to take meat from someplace else. Should take it from your head and shrink it a little? Or would you be willing to give up a leg like I did?”

  The boy shook his head no, such sacrifices were beyond his need for muscles.

  “Good,” said Chaiko gaily, “then I will change you back into who you were before.” He pretended to look the boy over critically. The lad quickly examined himself, his hands feeling if he still had all his parts. To his relief, he appeared intact. But then he decided it was too dangerous to be near so powerful a magician and moved on, looking back as he disappeared into the crowd. Chaiko thus had his tree and he snuggled into it, easing his back into the curve of the trunk. He closed his eyes and shut his mind to the commotion around him. This was all a little too much for a quiet man. He thought of his home cave overlooking a green valley with a peaceful river flowing through it. He tried to focus himself, to fight being swept away by this tumult that was the Gathering.