Prologue

“Tell us the story of the Great Winter.” Shara bounced eagerly, pale clouds of dust and ash drifting up around her, sending her into a fit of sneezing . The other children nodded and smiled, giggling and shaking with anticipation.

Shaman smiled, his cracked face crinkling up around his eyes. “I don’t remember that story. You will have to remind me.” Even to his own ears his voice was raspy, the hoarse whisper of old man who had spent many years telling stories around the campfire

The children laughed, as they always did at his joke. “You know the story,” little Oola challenged, her voice bubbling with mirth. “You always say you don’t know it, but you do.”

Shaman shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I am an old man. I don’t remember that story any more.” The children groaned in response. “You must remind me about it.” Lessa, ever eager, was happy to oblige. “It’s the story about the spirits, and the great snow, and the pecans.” Her long black hair drifted around her head, caught in the cool evening breeze.

“Pecans!? Are you sure they weren’t pine cones? I remember pine cones.”

The children laughed again. “No. Pecans. Pecans!”

Shaman nodded his head slightly, and brought his hands together quietly. The children immediately quieted and sat down in anticipation. The evening star was just becoming visible in the sky, just above the crest of Guardian Mountain. A flock of horsetail clouds streaked across the sky far to the south, orange in the sunset. It had been very similar five years ago – a fine spring day, just ending, just a few clouds in the sky. Red Cave had been just one of their winter homes, but certainly the finest, with a wide mouth and a sandy, even floor. It was warm in the caverns as well, thanks to the large, rot-smelling warm pond of water that tricked down a groove near the center, streaming out into the open ground, before joining the Silver River as it flowed past.

“For many lifetimes, our people have hunted from this valley, traveling across the plains to hunt for horses, and caribou and buffalo, returning to shelter, sometimes here to Red Cave, sometimes to other shelters as the snows came, to rest and prepare for the spring.”

“But the spirits were displeased, and they sent stars beyond count falling from the sky.” Throughout the night the sky had been alive with nearly continuous flashes of light as star after star streaked across the sky. They were no strangers to falling stars – many times a year the night sky was lit up with streaking lights. But this time it had been different. It had started in the daylight, sparks beyond count, leaving colored clouds in their wake, hurtling across the heavens. As night fell, a vast shower of stars lit the night up with blazes of gold. “We were very afraid, and we threw down our weapons, and sang songs to the spirits to appease them.”

“But we did not please them. And the next night, even more stars fell from the sky, and we threw ourselves on the ground, and sang again for forgiveness.”

He still remembered his people’s faces from that night, wide eyes, worried frowns, tears tinted with gold, reflecting the glowing skies above. Some had been excited, thrilled at the amazing power of the star-spirits. Others had been afraid, seeking shelter. Everyone joined together to sing and praise the spirits, begging them for mercy. They sang all night, and through the morning of the next day, collapsing at last, too worn from their worship to even crawl away to their skins.

“But it was not enough, and the spirits smashed the Mother Earth, and the ground rumbled and shook, and a great wind came up from the south. And we sang again, begging for the spirits to help us. But it was no use. The skies darkened with dust, and the ground was covered in golden ashes. The sun turned blood red, and clouds covered the sky.”

He studied the faces of the children. The oldest two had seen six summers, the rest three or less. They loved this story, even the sad parts. To them, it was just a tale from long ago, something to share over a campfire. Has it only been five years? He could still recall the quaking earth, the rain of golden ash, and the sun, pale and fading beyond the dirt-brown clouds that brought no rain, no warmth. He had tried to reassure his people and calm their fears as the temperature dropped, day after day, even though summer was fast approaching. He had tried to reassure them as the snow began, falling day after day, until the drifts stood taller than a grown man.

“We continued to sing to the spirits, every day, asking for kindness and forgiveness. But the sun hid beyond the clouds, and each day brought more snow, until it was as though winter had come again.”

“We journeyed south, to find warmer lands, but the spirits sent more snow to follow us, great snow storms that froze the children and the elders.” The game had vanished from the plains, and their traveling food was quickly eaten. “Finally, we could go south no longer. Out of food, we returned to Red Cave to seek another path.

Day after day of stinging ice storms and numbing cold had slaughtered his people. They had tried so hard to keep everyone alive, and together, but almost every morning another child would be found frozen; another old man or woman would have wandered off into the night to save the rest. And then one morning, cloudy and cold, he had woken to find his own wife gone. She had journeyed out into the wilderness to die, giving up her share of the food so that the others would live. The chief, and his hunters had wrestled him to the ground to keep him from following her and rejoining Mother Earth. “We need your knowledge, Shaman, if any of us are to survive.” He had said. “I cannot let you go.”

Shaman blinked back tears, sniffing lightly.

“The spirits were finally merciful, and we found Red Cave again. They had left the entrance free of snow, and the warmth inside kept us alive, even as the snow froze into rock-hard sheets of ice. And there we stayed, sending out our hunters to look for game, returning each day with nothing but frozen feet and stories of tracks leading southwards through the snow.” Many of the hunters had wanted to leave again, to go south again to find food. But he had argued otherwise – they had been punished for leaving Red Cave. It was the only home that was free of ice. Surely it was clear that they were supposed to stay here, or suffer further loss of life.

In the end, the chief had chosen his wisdom over that of the hunters. They had made soups from their extra clothes, and their dried gourds. They had chewed on leaves and twigs, and the frozen buds of flowers that would never bloom.

“One day, a woman of the Clan found a cache of pecans, hidden by a squirrel in a tree.” He pulled a pecan from a hidden pouch and showed it to them. “Just a handful, but still a blessing. With trembling hands, she cracked one open, eating the sweet meat inside. And then she fell to her knees, and closed her eyes sang a song of thanks to the spirits for their mercy.”

It had been strange fortune that Shena had found the pecans at all in the first place. Wolves had been seen everywhere. The hunters had even tried to hunt the wolves, but they were not dumb game animals. Wary of men, they were rarely caught, and many a speartip was broken, shattered on the ice. The chief had ordered that the women stay inside, while the men went hunting. But Shena had disobeyed, abandoning the cave in the early morning’s light, Shena somehow avoided the wolves and climbed high up into a tree to find the nuts. Her daughter, Shara was sitting here now, unaware of the role that her mother had played in the very survival of the clan.

Carefully, he reached in his pouch.

“And where there had been handful of pecans, now there were two.” He held up two pecans. The children hadn’t noticed his hands moving, and gasped in delight, as they always did. Such a simple trick.

“The spirits, in their great mercy, had taught her the Song of Thanks. And each time she sang it, more pecans appeared. Four handfuls.” He held up four pecans. “Eight handfuls!” The children gasped again. “Until she opened her eyes again to see a mound of pecans taller than you. And laughing in delight, she ran back to the clan, her arms filled with pecans. And we all sang songs of thanks to the spirits.”

A few moments of testing showed that it wasn’t just pecans that the song would multiply. The last remaining shreds of dried meat and fruits were rebuilt into abundance that all could share and fill their stomachs. “We decided then that Red Cave would be our home every winter, and we became the Red Cave Clan. After a time the sky cleared of the clouds, and–”

“Can you teach us the song?”

Shaman jumped, just a little. No one had interrupted his stories in a very long time. He turned towards Oola, annoyance creeping into his voice. “What?”

“Can you teach us the Song of Thanks? I like blueberries, and we never can find enough of them.”

Anger boiled up inside him. “Never!” he roared, standing up, scattering pecans across the ground. The fire framed his form, thin and frail with age, but terrifying to the children, who leaned back, staring at him. “You must never sing that song. It is the sacred music of the spirits. It is not here for you to make blueberries.” Oola hid her face in her hands, and burst into tears.

“The stars almost destroyed our Clan once for disobedience, and for wasting the gifts that they had given us. Do you want them to send another punishment upon us? Do you wish the spirits to strike us down?”

Oola had buried her face in her knees, and was curled up in a ball, sobbing.

“The gifts of the Song are not to be used carelessly. Only I may decide when our Song is to be used. Do you understand? Only Shaman” He pounded his chest, staring at each of their faces in turn.

The children murmured quietly. “Yes, Shaman.” Oola clung tightly to her knees, shaking with fear.

He looked up, and glanced around the sky. Only a tiny sliver of orange remained above the western plains, slowly dimming into the twilight.

“Go.” he waved back towards the entrance. “It is time for dinner.” His blood was pounding in his ears, roaring like a living creature trapped inside his head. The faint tang of blood ticked the back of his mouth. He sank back down to the log, legs and arms aching, heart pounding, closing his eyes, slowing his breath.

The children quickly rushed away. Except Oola, weeping miserably, her clothes stained with tears and ashes.

Painfully he stood up again, a whole new set of muscles yelping in protest. “Oola.” He gently touched her hair. “It is time to eat.” She shied away from his touch, pulling her shoulder to the right. Gently, yet firmly, he shook her again. “Oola. Get up.” He pulled her arm, lifting her into the air. She unfolded and yanked her arm from his grip, running away as quickly as she could, never looking back. He watched as she fled back towards the yawning cave mouth and the darkness beyond. As she reached the entrance, she collapsed to the ground, wailing in anger. Within moments her mother scooped her up and carried her back into the shadowy depths of their home.

Overhead, a single star streaked across the sky, swift and white, gone in a heartbeat.

Next Chapter

Monday, January 30th, 2006 at 7:46 am.
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