Callisto

For My Gods and People

From the moment she woke, she knew today was different.

The air tasted stale, and when she sat around the village effigy and intoned her morning prayers, she heard whispers from her tribesmen that Ragged-Brow was soon to return from another raid.

And once again, this one was a failure.

She knew it as soon as she laid eyes on the downcast gazes of the brothers and sisters who marched home with the burden of defeat smeared over their bodies - the blood of their enemies dripped from them and sizzled as it hit the sun-kissed sands. The people near Rain-Born ceased their worship as the first hunters set foot in the village and turned his gaze from all of them.

Then, Patient-Coyote stepped forward from the crowd and knelt before the hunters - for she saw what they carried in their arms: the body of her Bonded, Sky-Caller.

She took his bleeding carcass in her hands, and for a time, she said nothing. She did nothing. The whole Tribe stood as one and beheld only her gradually sagging form collapse - like it was weighed down by the low-hanging sun of midday itself. Then she let a cry of sorrow burst from her chest and fill the air. It was a cry that brought fresh tears to the eyes of the people.

The hunters intoned their brother's last rites, and he was carried off by the grey-cloaked tribesmen belonging to the House of Ash. Since he died in battle, his spirit would be transferred from his body to the Hunting Grounds of the Great Spirit, but one of the Ash was needed to help his meandering soul make the journey. So, as his physical body was removed from sight, his Bonded let him go with only a fragile touching of his arm by means of goodbye. She would say her real goodbye tonight by lighting a fire that would burn just for her Bonded.

Rain-Born wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes as she looked away from Patient-Cayote and at the rest of the dwindling Tribe. In the last months, their numbers had thinned to nothing. Every day there was a battle. Every day there was anguish. Every day brought a new death to the people. The Guthra were as vindictive as they were numerous.

Why could they not see the error of their ways? How much death and devastation would it take to convince them to renounce their false Gods and evil constructs?

She ran to Ragged-Brow and tugged at the sleeve of his robe. He pulled away from her, disorientated, his face caked with dirt and barely dried viscera. But she did not relent. In her mind, she could see nothing but the image of Patient-Coyote's crying face and the crying faces of all her Brothers and Sisters who had lost their Bonded throughout this past year. They were not facing what a child should see.

"Brother," she said. "I can hunt with you. You have seen me slay our enemies. Why do you not bring me with you? Let me be your sword, please."

He looked down at her with pain and despair. He acknowledged that she spoke the truth - she had not been part of a raid against the Guthra since Antakram.

True, she had grown this past year - as she had needed to. But the mark of destiny was burned into her. Invisible, just like Ragged-Brow's own internal struggling as he answered her:

"You are not meant for our bitter work, Sister," he said. "It is not the Path you must walk."

"I will not watch more of my tribesmen die."

"Watch your tongue, child," he snapped back at her like a snake poised to strike. "They are my tribesmen, too."

He realized too late that he had allowed his still burning rage to overtake him, for elements of the Hanakh returning to prayer began to drift towards the two, expecting conflict, their faces smeared with shame.

"I am sorry, Brother," the girl said. "I just do not understand. I feel I am forgotten."

Her pained face wounded him. He looked away.