“Sister Sun was not enough for Him. Rarely did they meet; rarely did they Dance. So Brother Moon asked the People; a’io, He asked the newest siblings born of Grandmother’s clutch, asked if they could find company for Him.”
Indeed, as if conjured, a mist-shrouded Moon and siblings chased Sun into the horizon. The ahlóssa gasped. One infant trilled, delighted, and his dam hugged him close with a laugh.
No conjurings here, n’da—Anahli recognised the gleaming-stones as the taleKeeper struck and hung them in their metal weirs, setting shadows to dance against the surrounding cliffs and make talk with River’s bottom mists.
“Hunh. Only in dawnLands.” Barely audible, misting Anahli’s ear. “Only here would storyKeepers cull all reference of which People Brother Moon truly asked.”
Anahli didn’t turn, instead shivered into the elder’s gifted blanket still over her shoulders. She was grateful for the body heat of the gathering, too, all of them leaning close to listen.
Chogah wasn’t deterred. “Yet your dam would leave you. Here.”
“It’s my right, to be hearthed with kin,” Anahli murmured back.
“Hsst!” a nearby elder censured.
“And when the Beloved One, first amongst equals, led the call—”
“The Beloved One, first of the Alekšuáhoklawyhahín.” Chogah growled the correction into her robes, tugging them closer.
“—what answered was neither what she nor Brother Moon expected. Sometime, wandering solitary is goodness, but it also can attract trouble…” The storyKeeper’s voice trailed to a hum. The drums followed, still whisper silent.
Another tug to Anahli’s blanket, this one fierce. She started to shift out of Chogah’s reach, turned.
But Chogah was gone. Instead Madoc stood next to her, still tugging.
Have you yet seen Tokela? he signed. He’s not been here all thisSun.
Anahli tucked her chin sideways in negation. As Madoc’s mouth opened as if to protest; Anahli laid two fingers there and pursed her lips towards the storyKeeper.
Sure enough, the drums began to speak deeper, sonorous warning.
“Ai!” The storyKeeper’s exclamation started low, throbbed up into a raptor’s cry, wavered away. “Ai,” she said again, soft, echoed by many throats. “Ai, my People, and with that answer came Other. With the coming of Brother Moon’s longed-for company came Other. With the birthing and Fire came Ša’s siblings. And with them…” She waited.
“Came Other!” It drifted like a sigh through her listeners. Anahli closed her eyes beneath the power of it.
Chogah was right. It wasn’t told this way in duskLands’ caverns. But neither did it have to be, no more than Anahli’s heart had to agree with Chogah’s. Or her dam’s. Or her sire’s.
“You know of what I speak, my People. We remember. We shall always remember and never forget. When Stars answered the Beloved One’s call, they brought forth not just one, but two small companions for our Brother’s loneliness. And in the doing, Stars also brought the tall ones. Not the tall ones from across Sea, not Matwau, who are unlike yet like to us save in their hearts, which covet Grandmother’s bounty. Remember and never forget the outland ones unlike any we’d ever seen or known: milk-grey, their hides; sparked pale as polished silver, their eyes. All the hues of Other. Ones that, it is said, looked nothing like to any beings even on Grandmother’s belly. Remember! They came with our Moon’s siblings and, once stranded, Shaped themselves to swarm over our Land, to twist Her and make Her theirs. Remember, my People, and never forget.”
“We remember!” an elder called, and it was echoed by many throats against the shadow-laced cliffs, as the storyKeeper’s eyes blazed.
“They came into our Land.” She stood, spun in a whirl of bright-hued skirts and scarves and finery, in a thunder of drums. “We made the Dance. We drove them away.”
Drove them away because we could. Then. Anahli’s thoughts etched like Fire against Dark. Because we were Grandmother’s children, with Her, able to defend Her. We truly were Alekšu’ín. Not reduced to a few charlatans whose only service is to hide in shadows and purge their own.
“We Danced. We chased the Shapers into the forbidden places, held them to a truce. Held our own to account for what our Grandmother suffered beneath the Winnowing brought to Her.”
Across the gathering, Anahla saw Inhya. Her eyes gleamed, darksight flickers from shadows and…
Something else. Something… culpable?
What blame could hearth-chieftain a’Naisgwyr lay upon herself?
Just as Inhya met her gaze, Anahli looked away, found Madoc still beside her, swaying and caught up in the storyKeeper’s spell. The drums, winding up as their storyKeeper spun and sang, stopped as she halted, holding up a fist.
She opened it. A handful of stonetree berries fell, bouncing and rolling across the ground.
“Ahhh,” the gathering answered, including Madoc, and Inhya—though the latter seemed more rote than real. Aylaniś had moved to stand beside her, speaking low. Palatan was not there—likely away with Našobok, Anahli thought with a roll of eyes. Then Aylaniś found Anahli, gaze narrowing.
Where have you been, first daughter?
I’m here now. Anahli looked away.
“And as did stonetree standingKin scatter ša’s berries upon Wind and Earth, so did we. Some of our People wandered far and wide, with only the Broken Stave and our animalKin to guide us. Some of us stayed put, to better guard our ways and places, while others wandered so far as to nevermore gather in First Running. We honour those with us, and those away from us. All of our People, scattered seeds across Grandmother’s belly, to grow and protect Her as She grows and protects us.”
The storyKeeper dropped her arms. The drums started again, booming against the cliffs.
“Dance, my People! Dance dreams, Dance memory, Dance all the tomorrows, in this Land of Dawn’s first glance!”
Silence after she had finished, then voices lifting joyously into the dark: open and noisy appreciation for the storyKeeper’s art, all making welcome to the festival of First Running.
“Kammalo has
