17 Stones

by Paul Telegdi

  The Society of Mothers was also quick to seize upon the moment and make their peace. The two groups mingled, hesitantly at first, then more freely, glad to be one again. How could it have happened? It was unbelievable how close the thing had come to an open breach that could have torn apart the clans. Tacitly, it was understood that Tara was free to be herself, and in her freedom they all had gained a little victory and deliverance no matter on which side of the conflict they stood. The men too looked at the women with a new-won regard. It was not to say that the imbalance between the sexes was rectified, for perhaps it could never be entirely, but a new measure of awareness was achieved.

  Baer’s head was spinning. Just as quickly as this conflict had arisen, it was suddenly over. A few well-chosen words had turned anger away and tamed wildly racing hearts set on such a destructive course. He was very glad it was over, as most were. Indeed by evening everybody threw themselves into the festivities with renewed vigor.

  Only Corrigan remained bitterly unsatisfied, for it was not his action that had solved the emergency. It had been that upstart boy of the Standing-Rock Clan. “I knew he was trouble the moment I laid eyes on him,” Corrigan muttered, striding up and down the short confines of his hut as two of his attendants scurried to keep out of his way. They knew by experience that in his present mood he would likely kick out at them. “The ungrateful wretch is not to be trusted,” he spat and indeed the great man delivered swift kicks to reward his slow moving servants.

  By nightfall the episode seemed to have been forgotten. Well, not entirely. In the flickering firelight Tanya and Lana came over to the shaman and again Tanya thanked him. “I do not understand how we could have reached such a fever pitch, so quickly. And us women against women, acting no better than men.”

  If given a chance, men can behave well, with kindness and generosity. And on occasions, women too will act out of character; Chaiko drew his conclusions but kept them to himself. Enough sensibilities had already been offended for one day. The real culprit had been Corrigan. His selfish attitude had tainted this Gathering from the start. He should have allowed the women’s request for a meeting on their own to discuss women’s issues, not rejecting it out of hand, as if women were of no account. Chaiko seethed with indignation. Careful, he warned himself, do not let your dislike of the man run away with you. He then sought out Ushi and thanked him. His contribution, just at the right time, had started the tide running the other way.

  “I knew what you were doing,” the trader admitted unabashed; “I just gave the rest a little push and they came cascading after.” Then as the shaman left, Ushi called after him, “Good night sister,” choking on his laughter.

  Chaiko just smiled, well pleased. A catastrophe had been averted, but in these moments of victory, the cripple reminded him how quickly life could turn from one moment of happiness to suffering and bitterness. Noting his expression, Dawn read his mood and helped him take off his wooden leg. He luxuriated in the feel of her hands working his stump; he relaxed. Then her fingers searched higher and the two of them disappeared under the covers careful not to awaken any of their children.

  The moon painted the landscape in its silver light, dewdrops sparkling on the grass. A raccoon circled the camp sniffing excitedly at a refuse pile it had found. It dug through rubbish till it found a delicious collection of bones. It chewed on the remaining scraps, worrying the bone, washing it between its paws. The raccoon took its time, unhurriedly examining every piece, and left only when it was sure nothing else could be found.

  Chapter 6

  The next day Chaiko met his and Baer’s only male relative that they knew of, a young man living with the far-off Dakars. His name was Tarue and he looked nothing like either of the two brothers. Where Baer was large Tarue was small, carrying his girth not around his shoulders but about his waist. He did not have the quick intelligent look of the brothers, his face glazed over by a bored expression. Chaiko was vaguely disappointed. Here was his father’s brother’s son, their only relative on the male side, who was not at all interested in seeing Chaiko in spite of the rarity of the event.

  “How is your family?” Chaiko asked him politely.

  The other merely shrugged as neither the question nor any associated feelings seemed to have touched him. “They stayed behind, not caring to exert themselves over such a long distance. I sometimes ask myself if they weren’t right. Do you think it was worth it, to come all this way and for what?” To Chaiko, nothing about the man seemed familiar.

  “For the pleasure of it, surely. For meeting all the other clans and to remind ourselves that we are one people.”

  Tarue flicked a hand in dismissal. “We have our language to do that,” he said in his first halfway intelligent utterance, “and our customs.”

  “True enough,” Chaiko agreed with him, not wishing to get into an argument, and swallowed the objections that rose to his lips. Instead he asked, “How is life among the Dakars? We hear so little of them.”

  “Same as everywhere else, I expect.” Tarue shrugged his shoulders again in what must surely be a very familiar gesture to those who knew him. “We hunt, we eat and we sleep. For the rest, we listen to our leaders, obey their orders and heed our shaman’s wise advice.” Was there just a hint of sarcasm in the voice?

  “Do you have children?” Chaiko asked, then thinking himself perhaps too inquisitive quickly added, “I have three.”

  “Yes, me too.” Tarue sighed heavily. “Two boys and a girl.” There was not even a hint of pride in the voice, just weariness as if children were a burden to the soul instead of a blessing. Chaiko squirmed uncomfortably. There was a strange, distant quality to the man that Chaiko found impossible to penetrate. He seemed not at all interested in his lineage, or any topic beyond the most commonplace. All questions seemed to be an imposition, all replies a profound effort of will. After a few more desultory exchanges, Chaiko escaped, infected by the man’s total lack of joy in living. He wished he could scratch, but could find no itch to apply himself to.

  Chaiko reported to Baer on the meeting, confessing his dissatisfaction. “I guess I expected too much. Perhaps I thought I would recognize in him a part of myself. But he was uninterested and uninteresting. I had to extract every word from him and those that I got tasted bitter.”

  “Father said little of that side of the family, but then he rarely even mentioned his brother. They had some early falling out and went their separate ways.” Baer scratched his chin, the stubble rustling sharply under his fingers. Time to use a sharp clam shell, he decided.

  “I do not remember father talking of family at all. In fact, I always found him a very quiet man.”

  “He was,” Baer confirmed. “It is a miracle that you and I grew up so talkative. We certainly did not learn it from him.”

  “But the strange thing was that mother rarely talked as well.”

  “Yes. Living with father must have changed her. He surely prized his quiet and solitude.” The two brothers looked at each other wondering what had they inherited from their parents.

  “It is said that a fruit falls not far from the tree that bore it, and the tree itself is reflected in the fruit it casts into the world, but I am hard pressed to see you and I in our parents...” Chaiko expressed rare doubts.

  “Father was very proud of us,” Baer said looking into the past, his face screwed up with the effort. “You should have seen him, beaming for all the world to see when you, hardly more than five, brought back a rabbit you hit with a throwing stick he gave you. He said you should have been named Falcon for the sureness of your aim.” The brothers looked at each other in amazement at the dredged up memory.

  “I do not remember that,” Chaiko mused but they both knew that Falcon was his favorite symbol. He remembered his mother better and felt the fierce love in her hugs and smiling looks. Often she acted as if there was some great secret hidden in her and she was constantly searching them for some signs of it. At times, when they achieved something of worth, she w
ould confirm, “I knew you had it in you.”

  A puzzle, Chaiko searched his memory, but the River of Rocks still barred free passage to the past. Frustrated, he shook his head. He had to get rid of that obstruction somehow.

  “I will ask the old people who knew them,” Baer said rising. Lana was coming toward them with Crow in tow. She smiled at them brightly, near the three men she loved so dearly. Chaiko looked at her intently; he had no trouble recognizing both her parents in her. He chewed his lips, lost in the riddle.

  A short time later Dawn found him still deep in contemplation. She did not want to disturb him but she had been invited to a special meeting of the Sisters and she needed to leave the children with him. Lana offered to take one of the twins, Ido the other. Thus only Yael needed oversight.

  “Have a good time,” Chaiko called after her, remembering almost too late that they were honoring his mate, naming her a First-Sister to share leadership in the Society. It was Tanya’s doing, of course, and so it was right that leaders looked to those who would help them. Chaiko played with his son, at times looking at him, searching for the parts of himself that he had given to his son. It was such a great mystery how the parent was replicated in the children and in what measure. The shape of Yael’s head was his, but the eyes and mouth were Dawn’s.

  Time and time again Yael ran off inciting his father to chase him and he chortled in delight at being caught. At times Chaiko found the getting up a little tiresome with the inflexible wooden leg under him, but he could not resist his son’s enjoyment of the game.

  It was afternoon when Dawn returned, a newly appointed First-Sister. Her face was radiant for she was enough of her mother’s child to appreciate the honor given her. Fire-Dancer danced her delight at her sister’s elevation. Suddenly the campsite was again full as people flooded back in. By all accounts the controversy had faded away and people were anxious more than ever to enjoy themselves. Chaiko saw Ela laugh gaily and even Nebu smile beyond her.

  “Dawn,” Chaiko called to his mate and she came running. “Please invite Nebu.” She looked surprised at him but right away recognized the shaman’s face that he donned for some official act, a calm, serene mask that gave nothing away. She ran to comply and returned shortly conducting an alarmed Nebu before the shaman.

  “Come sit.” Chaiko made a gesture for the woman to sit across from him. He smiled to reassure her and she sat down cautiously. “Ruba has grown into a strong, young lad. A credit to his parents.” Relief washed across Nebu’s face; she was ready to talk about her son but Chaiko did not pause there. “Ork has grown too. Tall and straight as a willow he is.” Nebu nodded warily again; this was coming much too fast and she feared his probing eyes. Chaiko sensed her reluctance and tried to approach a different way. “You know I often think of your man. Sometimes I find comfort in thinking he is at the back of the cave, working on that painting of his.” She nodded, sometimes she felt him there too. “I miss him,” Chaiko admitted; “He saw things the way a shaman sees them, the essence of things rather than just their shape.” She started glowing at the thought of him. No one mentioned Malek around her, to spare her feelings... but she needed to talk. “He was a quiet man, a thoughtful man and he taught us all the meaning of courage and sacrifice. What greater gift can a person give than his life to save a friend? I think of him and remember him...” Chaiko’s voice was peaceful and proud regarding the man he called friend. As he spoke she started to cry, soundless sobs shaking her frame. Dawn who had been keeping an eye on them, gently pushed people away to give them privacy to release all the stored up grief. Before long Chaiko too was wiping his eyes and Nebu covered her face with a soft skin as the shaman’s words washed through her. Wave upon wave of pain rose up in her but this time she did not push it away. The shaman led her a step at a time. He knew how to bury one’s hurts and injuries, just as he had learned how to uncover them—to let them heal. “It is right to feel the sorrow for a mate so lost. It is right to feel the anger at him having been so taken...” Nebu wiped away her tears but a fresh flow wet her cheeks. “You know, in Ruba and Ork I often see a shadow of him. It’s hoped that they grow into what their father was, an honored member of us all.” Even in this discussion it puzzled him that he and Baer had so little of their parents to show. “And we all miss him.”

  “It is still very hard to believe he is gone. He is so close still... in memory,” Nebu said between great racking sobs. “Sometimes, I turn around and expect him to be there...” an admission of a very private, protected thought. “And sometimes I hear his voice in my head. I am not crazy, am I?”

  “No, not at all. Everyone of us carries a piece of him inside. You were closer to him than anyone else and carry the largest part.” There was quiet after that and he tried not to break it. For the present this was enough. After a while she gathered herself and rose. He did not try to stop her. He uttered a silent blessing for her healing and peace of mind, and remained still a long while.

  Over the next two days the tensions subsided as the flow of the Gathering resumed with at least a semblance of normalcy. Two organizations had gained much from the encounter, the Society of Mothers and the Sisters of the Moon. Women joined them in droves, choosing one or the other. Except for Chaiko, the men did not really join them, nor were they expected to do so. It was enough that they had made the gesture of recognition and support at the time of the crisis, allowing everyone to save face and back out of the conflict without any loss of pride and self-esteem.

  The women themselves were glad that the incident finally lapsed into memory. Even at the height of raging passions they had felt very uncomfortable with all the aggressive impulses they had uncovered. We are not men to behave like them, they repeated to themselves. Gentleness, breathe in, tenderness, breathe out. Grace and kindness was their strength.

  As for Tara, the confrontation had made her even more entrenched in her deportment. No man, and certainly no woman, was going to dictate to her how she was to behave. It became thus Cora’s task to temper her sister’s sometimes uncompromising stance. The younger girl would point out to Tara that she was not being a good model for her to follow. “Would you like for me to behave like that?” Cora would ask, having grown thoughtful in this process, and Tara had to relent and soften her position. Chandar, who loved her in all her moods, was hard put to understand what the fuss was about. He had a mate that he could be proud of, who would continue to challenge him and she, because of his total acceptance of her, never disobeyed him or withheld respect due him. It seemed such a contradiction to see such an apparently headstrong woman become almost self-effacing in her mate’s presence. Who could understand that?

  The only smoldering of resentment that remained was nursed by Corrigan. He continued to fume and harbor rancor which he focused on Chaiko, for, from a pragmatic viewpoint, he could not very well exact revenge on the whole population. No, he needed them for their adulation. But the upstart Chaiko needed to be shown his place. Corrigan rubbed his hands with gleeful anticipation. But anger is best served cold, he reminded himself, or was it hate to be so served? No matter, the intent was to prepare and be ready. Thus it was that in the daily meeting of the Council of Shamans he hid his feelings and if anything, he was honey sweet to Chaiko. He even asked for his opinions and seemed to consider them. This was so much out of character for the man that Tomakon, who knew the Head-Shaman for a long time, felt compelled to warn Chaiko. “Watch out, when Corrigan is this nice there is surely some price to pay.” But nothing happened, then or the next time, so Chaiko relaxed.

  Back at his reed fire Chaiko complained to Dawn, “The Council seems like such a sham. They should dispense with it and confer all power on Corrigan and let him rule by decree as he is in fact doing.”

  Dawn, knowing how deeply her mate felt about duty and responsibility, sympathized. “It must be very hard for you to sit there and just listen, observing matter after matter pass without due consideration.”

  “Right. He does not even think about
the issues, just makes a snap decision and then a pronouncement with a casual wave of his hand,” the frustration bubbled out of Chaiko. “It is not right. But what can I do about it? I have been on the Council for only a handful of days, surely it should not be up to me?”

  “What does Tomakon say about this?” Dawn asked, steering Chaiko away from the resentment he was feeling.

  “He does not show concern about it.” Chaiko shrugged. “He says, ‘Let the moose run uphill if he will and carry its burdens so I can sit in the shade and take my ease.’”

  “What does that mean?” Dawn asked puzzled, her face crimped prettily as she paused in mid motion.

  “I do not know but can only guess. He holds that Corrigan is doing all the work and saving the Council the monotony of humdrum cases. In a way he is right, it keeps Corrigan busy and out of our hair. But what is our responsibility? I do not know what to say.”

  “You will think of something when the time comes. You always do,” Dawn said quietly but with such complete assurance that Chaiko had to swallow the rest of his dissatisfaction. Then Yael was all over him and he had little time for anything else.

  Ushi came by with a companion, breaking into this domestic interlude. “Guess what?” he almost shouted in great excitement at the shaman.

  Chaiko did not like guessing games but in this case he did not have to. The youth was the spitting image of Ushi in all respects, even in movement and mannerisms. “You found your son?”

  “Yes,” Ushi replied somewhat deflated, “but how did you know?” Obviously, he was oblivious to the striking resemblance.

  “Just a lucky guess,” the shaman replied.

  “And guess what’s more?” he asked but then could not wait to blurt out his news. “My mate took another man and I am free of her!”

  Chaiko, who had listened for years to Ushi’s description of her, now asked with a hint of sarcasm, “This is the soft-spoken one?”