Gambit of the Gods Read online

  “What happened?” I exclaim, grabbing Spark’s hand. He squeezes it.

  “Don’t worry. Miklos says it’s not bad. He prayed over me and gave me medicine. I killed a moose calf,” he adds, pride evident in his voice, “but its mother kicked me.”

  Swift Blaze lowers him onto a log bench near the fire. Mumbling an excuse, he heads over to his group of friends.

  “Well,” I say, vastly relieved the wound isn’t serious, “congratulations on your first hunt. I hope I do as well on mine, though without the injury, of course.”

  We laugh a little at that. He’s looking at me funny…kind of staring. I blush and look down. He looks away.

  “You look nice tonight,” he says quietly.

  “Thank you,” I say awkwardly. “Thunder Echo just gave me this dress. And Song at Sunrise did my hair and my face.”

  I feel very warm all of a sudden, and my heart flutters, a bird trapped inside my chest. I think I like the feeling. A silly smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.

  “I like your necklace, too,” he says quickly. I nod, still smiling. “It…it looks like you. Always leaping headfirst into trouble.”

  We laugh again.

  “Always leaping into trouble with you, you mean.”

  “Of course,” he says, grinning mischievously. “It wouldn’t be any fun without you.”

  A young woman of the Wolf Clan, Fiery Grace, sidles up to Spark, concern on her face.

  “I brought the healer to your tent as swiftly as I could. Are you in any pain? Can I get you anything?” She doesn’t acknowledge my presence.

  Spark shoots me an apologetic look, but I shake my head, seeing more of his Clan headed our way.

  “I’ll come find you later.” Hurrying away, I scan the gathering crowd for Miklos and Artan.

  The main fire pit area is divided into eight sections, one for each Clan, and each section is marked with a wooden column carved to depict each Clan’s animal. They’re brightly painted and decorated with feathers, shells, bone necklaces and the like, depending on each Clan’s preferences and artistic choices. Right now, I’m in the Wolf Clan’s section. It’s perfectly fine for me to linger here and converse, but once the celebration officially begins, each Clan will eat and socialize within their own section for the most part. Once the music and dancing starts, however, Clan divisions are no longer observed because we let the music, and the Spirit, take us wherever it will.

  There they are, moving through the crowd toward me. They’re my true family, and seeing them makes me feel like no one else can—like I’m home, safe, and loved. I smile wide at the sight of them, wriggling my way through the crowd until I reach them at last.

  “Oh, how beautiful you look!” Miklos cries, grabbing my hand and spinning me around to get the full effect. “Doesn’t she, Artan?”

  Artan stares at me like he’s never seen me before. I blush, not knowing what to do. Artan blushes too and looks down at his feet.

  Miklos keeps talking as if he didn’t notice. “Where did you get such a lovely dress? Who helped you with your paint and your hair?”

  “Thunder Echo gave me the dress,” I stammer, “and Song at Sunrise did the rest.”

  “How wonderful!” Miklos exclaims, beaming. He takes my hand and leads me over to a bench in the Hunting Cat Clan section. Artan sits on my other side, suddenly very interested in watching the drummers. As welcome Outsiders, Miklos and Artan may sit in whatever section they wish.

  Just then, Distant Roar and Flame Petal sit down on the bench facing ours. They’re Striking Talon’s parents. Since I will probably mate with their son one day, I smile and pretend I’m completely at ease with all this attention.

  “You look beautiful, Little Squirrel,” Flame Petal beams. “Are you looking forward to your Quest?”

  “Oh, yes,” I gush. “It’s all so exciting.”

  Striking Talon saunters over. “I wanted to wish you good fortune on your Quest, Little Squirrel,” he says, assessing my dress and paint with obvious approval. “I will pray to the Spirit Over All for your safety every day.”

  Artan sniffs loudly. Miklos gives him a quelling look.

  “That’s so handsome, I mean kind, of you, Talon,” I reply shyly. The boy that all the girls sigh over cares about my safety. “I prayed for your safety when you went on your Quest last summer, too.”

  Thunder Echo, Song at Sunrise, and Shy Mouse join us.

  “I picked these for you,” Shy Mouse murmurs, handing me a small bouquet of wildflowers.

  “Thank you, sister. They’re beautiful.” We smile at one another self-consciously. Maybe when I come back from my Quest, Song at Sunrise will let me get to know Shy Mouse better…

  Naira chooses this moment to climb up my new dress and curl herself around my neck, her tail tip brushing my nose and making me sneeze. I push her tail down under my chin, afraid of what Striking Talon’s parents will think of me. But they just smile and nod, like pet squirrels are an everyday affair. I smile back gratefully, and Striking Talon winks, looking amused.

  Truth Seeker steps up next to the table covered with food where everyone can see him and blows on his wooden whistle to get our attention. We quiet. He announces loudly for all to hear, “The Hunting Cat Clan welcomes us all to Little Squirrel’s Questing celebration!”

  The crowd cheers, some shouting well wishes.

  “As always,” he continues, when the noise dies down, “their Clan will serve themselves first. And to Little Squirrel, may I be the first to say, ‘Be well, my daughter, and may the Spirit guide you on your Quest!’”

  I stand and bow slightly to him in acknowledgement amid more cheers. The drummers begin anew, their rhythms making me want to dance. Truth Seeker’s words are the same every time a child celebrates his or her Questing Day, but I’m thrilled nevertheless. Soon, I’ll be Changed and take my place among my Clan.

  Hurrying up to the table with my Clan mates behind me, I grab a wooden trencher. Normally I’d pile on boar cheek and moose liver, caribou tongue and marrow, corn cakes and wild mushrooms, roasted tubers and spring’s first redberries. But I’ll be fasting for the next three or four moons, so I need to eat sparingly to prepare my stomach. So instead, I scoop up some sunflower seeds and blueberries for Naira, then head over to the spit and slice off a bit of boar cheek, my favorite, and add some liver. The liver is the luckiest part of an animal, known to give strong, slow-burning energy to the body.

  The other Clans will line up behind us one at a time, based on which Clan is to the right of ours, then which Clan is to the right of them. That way, someone is always drumming, even while the other drummers are in line or eating.

  After we eat and talk, some augment the drumming with little wooden whistles, wooden rattles with seeds or small pebbles inside, stick clackers, and impromptu singing or shouting, all while dancing around the fire. I leave Naira sleeping on my bench, joining in the dance when the beat takes me over.

  We step in time to the drumming, becoming the rhythm, letting it fill us and wash all our cares away. With each step we thank the Spirit Over All for His blessings: for life, family, friends, health, sustenance, and Clan. With each step, our fears, worries and troubles fall away. With each step, we become one with the heartbeat of the earth, the faces around me blurring into one heart in many bodies, beating in time with the drumbeats. The smoke from the fire swirls around us, purifying us like the purifying smoke Prairie Blossom shared with me that first day, cleansing us, rejuvenating us, and carrying our prayers skyward.

  After a timeless interval spent in tune with All, the music slows and comes to a stop. People around me look like I must look, like they’re waking from a dream. Suddenly weary, we go to find our seats. Shy Mouse has chosen a seat next to Naira’s sleeping form. I sink down next to her, pleased. Song at Sunrise watches us, but says nothing.

  During this time of the evening, individual musicians and singers may choose to share a song. Someone with a rattle over in Fox Clan begins a famili
ar beat, and someone with a drum over in Otter Clan adds to it. We all start singing it more or less together—it’s a song that hunters have always sung, before or after a successful hunt. It’s simple, brief, and well-loved, with a simple, unmistakable beat:

  Take your bow and grab your arrows

  Grab your spear and grab your knife

  Bare your teeth, unsheath your talons

  For the best hunt of your life!

  Raise your hackles, raise your snout

  Sniff the air for hidden prey

  Hear the growls build all around you

  As we raise the hunt today!

  When the song ends, someone over in Rabbit Clan shouts out, “The Questing Song!” The drummers immediately begin that tempo. It’s a song we sing at every Questing celebration, but this time as I sing, its words take on new meaning, because they’re finally meant for me:

  At last, you’ve reached the age

  When your Change will come upon you.

  Quest for the Animal within

  To be with you in all you do.

  Carry no food and take no water;

  Wander alone in the wilderness.

  Let the Spirit be your guide

  And leave behind your childishness.

  You will enter the forest as a child

  And walk out as woman or man.

  The Spirit will illuminate the path

  And at last you’ll understand

  What it truly means to be Clan

  And we’ll stand together, united as one.

  We’ll always be there for each other

  And protect each daughter and son

  Until at last they all join us

  As you are about to do…

  Go questing for your Vision,

  And make your dreams come true.

  Miklos stands up after the song and pitches his voice to carry. “There’s a song we like to sing to our children when it’s time for them to go to sleep. We call it a lullaby. I’d like to share one with you all today. This is for Little Squirrel, the girl-child born in my home sixteen summers ago this summer who is now becoming a woman grown.”

  The crowd quiets in anticipation, for Miklos rarely sings us a song from Civitas Dei, and we’ve all grown to love the sound of his lute. We have nothing like it here. It falls upon the ear like birdsong, pure and lovely. The high voice of his lute compliments his deep voice like a harmony to its sweet melody:

  O little love of mine, it’s time to come home,

  For low behind the mountain sinks the sun.

  There will be time enough to play once more

  Tomorrow, when he rises and the new day has begun.

  The flowers all hang their bright heads down to rest;

  The bluebird covers her young with her wing.

  The angels gather ‘round your bed to keep watch

  And your daddy has chosen a lullaby to sing.

  O little love of mine, hear the frogs croak in chorus

  And watch as the glowbugs dance by your window.

  Say your prayers, thanking God for all he has done

  As he smiles down from heaven on us far below.

  See how your eyelids are beginning to droop now

  As the stars dance above us, awash in moonshine.

  Lay your head down to sleep, and I’ll watch over you…

  Dream on, yes, dream on, o little love of mine.

  The song casts a kind of spell over us. We all sit silently after the last chord fades away, savoring the beauty and delicacy of it. I see Flame Petal and Moon Song brush away tears, though I’d never dare say so to their faces. The People are a stoic bunch, not given to displays of emotion or tenderness. We’ve endured so much hardship, learning long ago to deny these promptings within ourselves as weakness we could ill afford. But they’re still there within us, buried deep inside. Our ability to feel deeply is what makes us human, no matter how much we revere our animal side.

  Miklos and I share a look full of meaning. I am his little love and always will be, whether I am a woman grown or not. I’m so grateful for his love, returning it with all my heart.

  At last, reluctantly, Truth Seeker breaks the silence.

  “I’ve asked Mountain Mist to recite the story of how the People came to be and how our Questing ritual began. Afterward, those of you who would like to speak at the Council of Elders meeting, please remain by the fire.”

  Mountain Mist, the Elder of the Bear Clan, stands, smoothing his black, bristling beard away from his lips, and gruffly begins the tale of our history:

  “Once, long ago, we were like other men. We lived in cities, doing what city people do. But then a terrible plague came over the whole land. Many people died. Some of us fled into the wilderness, hoping to escape that fate and survive. We banded together, but did not know the way of the wild. Soon we began to starve, to die.

  “A wise man among us said we should cry out to the Spirit Over All, and maybe he would have mercy on us. So we cried out for three days, wandering in the wilderness. We fasted and prayed. In this way, the first Vision Quest was born.

  On the third day, our prayers were answered. The Spirit Over All spoke to each of us in the form of a different forest animal. He told us he would unite our spirits and flesh with our Spirit Animal to cleanse us from the plague and make us strong. We would hunt with tooth and claw, at one with our new home. And ever since that day, our Spirit Animals have walked with us and kept our spirits pure.”

  Mountain Mist turns to me. “Be well, my daughter, and may the Spirit guide you.”

  Everyone assembled echos his benediction. Some move off into the night to find their huts. I give Miklos, Artan, and Spark a quick hug, then wave goodbye to my father, Song at Sunrise, and Shy Mouse before scooping Naira up and heading for our hut, storing away memories I will cherish for the rest of my life.

  I’ll leave on my Quest before first light, empty-handed, without speaking to anyone. Such is our custom. I doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight. Excitement and nervousness war within me, leaving me feeling light-headed.

  With a sigh, I deposit Naira on my pillow, then lie down and blow out the candle. When I wake, my new life will begin.

  Chapter 12: Kella

  I wake to the sound of birdsong outside my window and brush the sleep from my eyes. Pushing back the bedcovers, I rise to stretch. Maren comes in from the other room with my breakfast tray and places it on the table. I nod my thanks with a sleepy smile. He bows, then retreats back to the other room.

  His cot is in there, and knowing him, he’s happily setting to work, most likely mending the tear in the sleeve of my favorite dress—the one with daisies stitched across the bodice. My horse playfully nipped at my sleeve as I walked away, and it tore.

  Maren must mend many such tears since I made it onto our House’s Horse-Dancing team, the Klia Kestrels, three summers ago. My teammates voted to make me the new Team Leader this season, and we’ve won two out of our first three games. I hope I continue to merit their faith in me.

  I had the strangest dream two nights ago. I stood outside the doors of House Klia at night in my nightdress, when suddenly a threatening-looking shadow came toward me out of the darkness. My fear seemed to shoot out from me in a mighty gust of the Goddess’ breath, sweeping it away, then retreated back within me, leaving a little silver star just above my navel. When I woke, even though I knew it was just a dream, I was taken by a desire to see if the little star was really there. Teasing open the front of my nightdress, I gasped. It twinkled back at me, tiny but unmistakable. Gazing at it in the mirror again today, I wonder, What does it mean?

  After a light breakfast of juice, redberries, and a small cake spread liberally with preserves, I leave my nightdress laid out on the bed for Maren to launder. Tapping my finger against my lips in thought, I peer into the clothes-chest, considering my options. Perhaps the muted, dusty-green muslin with the lace collar, to set off my eyes? Yes. I’ll change into divided riding skirts later for Horse-Dancing practice.


  I call out, “Maren.”

  But he’s there behind me, waiting. Gesturing for me to turn around, he slides the shift over my head and we pull it down over my hips together, then the dress. He laces up the back as I look out the window, humming softly. When finished, he taps me on the shoulder.

  “Thank you.” He gives me his usual small smile, picking up the brush from my mirrored side table.

  Maren has been my personal servant since I was too small to remember. Personal servants are neutered at birth so they may serve us without dishonoring us or themselves with impure thoughts or actions. It’s a great honor for a slave to serve a Lady as her personal servant. They’re raised from birth in all the skills and manners required to do well in our service. I think of Maren as I’d think of a pet, sneaking back treats from the High Table for him. I know it pleases him. Most days he knows my needs before I know them myself. We have a special kind of unspoken communication few Ladies and their personal servants share.

  Sitting on the padded stool in front of the mirror, I watch as Maren brushes my hair until it shines. He holds up this bejeweled hairpin and that one until I nod my assent, then pulls back some hair from my temples, securing it at the back of my head with the pin so my hair won’t fly in my face when I ride later. I choose a slim silver ring and put it on my own finger while he brings me my boots and fastens them securely. With a smile and a wave to him, I head downstairs to kiss my mother, still humming a little.

  Mother is finishing breakfast in the Sun Room when I enter, her sisters, cousins and other daughters gathered close around her, gossiping and laughing. Breakfast is the only meal I’m allowed to eat alone in my room, a holdover from one time when I was so ill they had to bring all my meals up to me for several days together. Mother disapproves. But since I’m her youngest daughter, I’m usually beneath her notice. The cooks know to have a tray of food waiting for Maren to take up every morning.

  Leaning over, I give my mother a kiss on her cheek, which she barely acknowledges. She’s too busy listening to my two eldest sisters, Kliara and Koral, argue good-naturedly over whether to host a Tea or a game of Hoops and Strikers three Fifth-Days from now.