Children of the Dawn by Patricia Rowe Page B

mole through soft ground, coming up here and there in places secret from Shahala ears,
     talking to one or several. She scattered her thistle seeds as questions, knowing it would take time for them to grow.
    “Why must we share our home and our food just because Tor—who used to be our slave—speaks words about some Creator’s Plan?”
     she asked. “Why are we being so generous? What do we get from it?”
    “It’s not so bad,” they said. “We have enough to share.”
    “These Shahala think they are better than us,” she said. “Doesn’t that insult you? What’s wrong with our ways, our language,
     our gods? Where is our Tlikit pride?”
    “We still know our gods. What does it hurt to hear about theirs?”
    “You’re afraid of them,” she taunted.
    They grumbled, and said they were not afraid, but it was obvious that they were. And why shouldn’t they be? Of the Moonkeeper,
     and whatever magic she might have. Of Tor—who might be the god Wahawkin. Of the number of intruders who had claimed their
     home—there were nearly two Shahala for each Tlikit.
    Tsilka said, “I’m not saying we should raise weapons against the intruders—at least not yet. I’m saying we should stand up
     for ourselves like men and women, and not lie down like slaves.”
    Tsilka found little support. Most people didn’t mind—and some enjoyed—having the Shahala here. Even Tsilka had to admit that
     it was good to have so many children of new blood.
    A few agreed with her. Two men, Tlok and Chalan, seemed to hate the Shahala almost as much as she did. She asked them to meet
     her away from the village.
    “This is our home,” Tsilka said. “Life was good before these strangers came. What do we need them for?”
    Chalan said, “They are noisy. They fill the place up. You can’t even walk without stumbling over one of them.”
    Tlok said, “They eat our food.”
    “They think we are stupid and dirty.”
    “They insult us. They think they’re better than we are.”
    “We must rid ourselves of them,” Tsilka said.
    Chalan said, “Have you forgotten how many there are?”
    Tlok said, “How would you get rid of them, woman? We can’t throw rocks and see them run like a herd of animals.”
    “I know. We’ll have to be more clever than that. I think we must work on our own people first. The three of us will find times
     to talk to them alone. We’ll show them that this isn’t right. The Tlikit are a proud people, and there’s nothing wrong with
     the way we are. We don’t need new gods, new laws, new
chiefs.”
    They agreed.
    “Now go convince our people,” Tsilka said.

CHAPTER 12
    W INTER … IN SPITE OF T OR’S HOPE, IT CAME . T HE SUN deserted Teahra Village. The clouded sky varied from gray to grayer. The nights were moonless, starless black. Wind whipped
     the rivertop to froth, and slanted the rain, which never stopped.
    Drip. Drip.
    Splash. Ashan awoke with wet hair stuck to her face. One corner of their rough shelter had come loose. She shook Tor awake.
     He put on his leathers, and tied the flapping hide up again.
    “On, no!” she said. “My medicine pouch!” She picked it up. Water dripped from the fringe. She looked inside.
    “My herbs are all wet! They’ll get moldy, and make people sick instead of well. What am I going to do? If I had a hut, I’d
     just hang them up by the fire.”
    She couldn’t help sounding like a little girl with a broken doll.
    “I’m sorry, love,” her mate said. “I’ll make you a fire, and you can heat rocks to dry your herbs on.”
    “You’re sweet, Tor.”
    He headed off to get coals.
    As she always did when she had that lost little girl feeling, Ashan thought of Kai El and wished she could hug him. But Shahala
     little ones had been sleeping in the Tlikit cave sincewinter got serious. And besides, she was the Moonkeeper, not a little girl.
    Hunched under the stretched hide with water dripping from its edges, she separated wet clumps of herbs.
Winter in