Moon Chosen

Chapter 5

     High above the forest floor, the female stirred. She uncurled herself from around the last of her littermates—the only other pup who had yet to choose a Companion. She snuffled at him, breathing in the familiar, comforting scents of their whelping nest, their mother, and the raw rabbit on which they had both recently fed. The big male pup sighed, yawned, and rolled a little toward her before putting his paw over his nose and drifting back to sleep. For a moment the female almost allowed the pull of sleep to reclaim her as well, but the call sounded through her body again, and this time it was more insistent.
     She must not sleep. The young canine must find the one who would be her partner, her life, her Companion.
     The door to the whelping nest was closed against the coolness that was coming with the lengthening of shadows. She sat before it and barked twice, two sharp bursts of sound that were far from the puppylike yaps that had been her norm until that evening. From a cozy spot near the opening, the man who had been drowsing came instantly awake —as did the big Shepherd that lay curled beside him.
     “Finally!” Pleasure filled the Guardian’s voice as he quickly patted his canine’s head and then untied and lifted aside the pelt curtain that served as door to the whelping nest. The man’s expression telegraphed excitement to the pup. She met his eyes, body trembling as she waited impatiently. Then the man smiled and gave her the most important command of her young life, “Seek!”
     With no hesitation, the female leaped from inside the nest onto the narrow walkway outside and began to run. The Guardian, with his canine close behind, called ahead of them, “The female has begun the choosing! It is time!”
     The Tribe often debated what it was that compelled a pup to find its Companion. Was it something in the look of a particular person? Something unique about their scent? Or was it luck mixed, perhaps magickally, with fate? Had the Tribe been able to share the moments just before choosing with the pup the factions would have been surprised to learn that neither and both were correct.
     “Clear the walkway! Clear the walkway! The female is choosing!” The Guardian cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, warning the people who were slowly meandering to their nests thinking more of the beauty of the waning sunlight and the aromas of simmering meals than of the young canine who ran silently and swiftly along the winding walkways with a single-minded goal.
     “It’s the female! She chooses!” The cry was caught up and the Tribe began spilling out of warm nests, eagerly watching the pup, whose pace was becoming increasingly more frantic.
     “Light the lanterns. Won’t do for her to slide from a walkway before she’s made her choice!” A voice boomed and torchlight began to blossom as sunlight faded and shadows continued to lengthen.
     As the pup scurried around and around the vast walkway system that tied nestlike dwellings together, the Tribe followed the young Shepherd, knowing smiles on the faces of those who were accompanied by their own canines—and eager, hopeful looks of anticipation on those who lived, thus far, Companionless.
     Within a very few moments, the pup’s quest was joined by music. First so faint that only the deep, sonorous sound of drums came rhythmically, as if to goad forward the tap, tap, tapping of her feet on the wooden walkway planks. Soon the drums were joined by flute and strings, and then, lastly, by the crystal beauty of women’s voices raised together in perfect harmony.

     “Verdant you grow—verdant we grow
     On and on and on
     Secrets you know—secrets we know
     On and on and on…”

     The sweet strains of the Tribe’s most sacred music surrounding her, the pup came to a drawbridge section of the walkway and sat, impatiently bouncing up and down with her two front feet and barking in time over and over, as if trying to hurry the song as well as those tending the drawbridge.
     “She’s not even waiting for the lift to catch!” the Guardian shouted, trying unsuccessfully to grab the pup’s scruff before she gathered herself and jumped from the partially lowered bridge. There was a collective sigh of relief when, instead of plummeting to her death on the forest floor more than fifty feet below, the young canine’s front paws caught the far side of the bridge and she scrambled onto the wide, solid platform.
     The music and singing fell silent. A dozen women of different ages had been lovingly tending the Mother Plants—singing to them—pruning them—worshipping them. At the young Shepherd’s very noisy entrance and the trail of eagerly watching Tribesmen and women that followed her, eleven of the twelve singers turned to greet the pup. The women who had canines close beside them watched with smiles and soft eyes, hands automatically stroking their Companions’ fur. Four of the women had no canines. They were young, having barely known eighteen winters. They watched the pup, expectation and desire clear in their rapt expressions.
     The pup ignored the eager young women, inexorably making her way to the only woman who was not watching her.
     As the pup drew closer to the woman her frantic energy calmed and the female slowed, moving with a maturity well beyond that of the scant five and a half months of her life. The woman who was the focus of the pup’s attention was sitting cross-legged before an enormous Mother Plant that looked as if it was close to opening. The woman’s head was bowed. The pup lifted her muzzle, touching the back of the woman’s neck where the thick mass of her hair, golden except for a few streaks of gray, was tied up in a loose but tidy knot.
     At the touch of the pup’s nose, the woman’s shoulders began to shake and she put her face in her hands.
     “I—I don’t think I can bear this. Not again. My heart may break.” The woman’s voice was muffled with tears.
     The young canine scooted closer to her, leaning against the sobbing woman and whining softly in shared distress.
     “Your heart may break if you choose to accept her,” the Guardian said from behind the pup. “But if you reject her, it is a certainty that her heart will break. Can you bear that, Maeve?”
     Maeve turned to look up at the Guardian. Her face was still beautiful, even though it showed lines of age, loss, and regret.
     “You know none of us understand why some are chosen more than once, but it is a blessing, Maeve.”
     “Speak to me of this blessing when your Alala is no more,” Maeve said in a voice that was sad rather than angry.
     “I dread that day,” the Guardian said, his hand automatically reaching for the head of the big Shepherd that was never far from his side. “Yet I would not change one moment of my life with Alala. Remember and honor the love you had for your Taryn, and for her blessed life as your Companion, but do not allow your mourning to stop you from living.”
     The older woman’s shoulders slumped, and still she did not look at the pup. “It is time for others to take on the mantle of Leader.”
     The Guardian chuckled, but not unkindly. “The Mother Plants flourish under your care. Your voice remains as crystal and true as it was two decades ago, and now this young female has sought you out—you— when she could pick from anyone in the Tribe. Maeve, think! A Leader’s pup is choosing you as her Companion—and that choice is never wrong, can never be undone, and will never be broken.”
     “Until death,” Maeve added, her voice cracking as she tried to stifle another sob. “At death the bond is broken.”
     “True, at death,” the Guardian agreed solemnly. “Remind me—how many winters did you have with your Taryn?”
     “Twenty-eight winters, two months, twelve days,” Maeve said softly.
     “And how long has Taryn been dead?”
     “Three winters, and fifteen days,” Maeve responded without hesitation.
     “And though your pain in still raw, in the three winters and fifteen days you have been without her, have you ever regretted that Taryn chose you?”
     “Never,” Maeve said firmly, her eyes flashing with anger as if even the asking of the question was offensive.
     “To be chosen by one Shepherd is a wondrous thing. To be chosen by two is a miraculous thing. But only you can decide to accept her—only you can decide to open yourself to the miracle.”
     The Guardian’s gaze went to the pup, who had not moved since Maeve had turned, but was staring at the woman as if there was nothing else in the world except the two of them. “Even if you do not need her, Maeve, this young one truly needs you.”
     Maeve closed her eyes and tears spilled down her cheeks. “I do need her,” she whispered.
     “Then do what many of us before you have done, borrow strength from the Companion who believes in you more than you believe in yourself.”
A shudder washed through Maeve’s body. She drew a deep breath, opened her eyes, and finally, finally looked at the pup.
     The pup’s eyes were gentle and brown, and reminded Maeve heartbreakingly of Taryn. But that is where the similarity to the other canine ended. This young canine was darker than Taryn had been, with beautiful brindle stripes of unique silver fur around her chest and neck. The pup was larger than Taryn had been—so much larger that Maeve was surprised by her size. She knew the litter wasn’t yet six months old, though she hadn’t known the pups were so large and well formed. She had not once visited the whelping nest, nor had she visited any of the Companions chosen by the other pups in the litter.
     I couldn’t stand it, Maeve thought as she studied the pup. Until this moment I have avoided each of the Shepherd litters that have been born since Taryn’s death. The Guardian had been right—since Taryn’s loss I have not truly been living. Maeve steeled herself and met the pup’s gaze again, only this time she released the sadness that had been shadowing her for more than three winters, and opened herself to the possibility of joy.
     The pup did not move. She continued to return Maeve’s gaze and suddenly the woman was filled with warmth. The pup’s emotions poured into Maeve, finding that which Taryn’s death had broken within her, and soothing her damaged spirit with unconditional love.
     “Oh!” Maeve gasped. “Mourning Taryn for so long I had forgotten the love, remembering only the loss,” Maeve admitted more to the young canine than herself. “Forgive me for making you wait.” Tears spilled down Maeve’s cheeks and her hand trembled as she gently cupped her face and completed the silent oath that all Companions swore to their canines. I accept you and I vow to love and care for you until fate parts us by death.
     Neither woman nor pup moved for a long moment, and then every canine in the Tribe began to howl at the exact moment Maeve opened her arms and the young Shepherd hurled herself, wriggling, into her Companion’s embrace.
     “What is her name, Companion?” the Guardian asked, shouting over the exultation of the Tribe’s canines.
     Still keeping her arms around the pup, Maeve looked up, her face flush with a joy so great that it made her appear decades younger than her fifty winters. “Fortina! Her name is Fortina!” Maeve laughed through her tears as the pup enthusiastically licked her face.
     “May the Sun bless your union, Companion,” the Guardian said formally, bowing his head in acknowledgment of their bond.
     “May the Sun bless your union, Companion!” the Tribe took up the familiar cheer.
     Making his way carefully through the controlled chaos of celebration, a tall man crossed the drawbridge. At his side padded an enormous canine, whose coat gleamed with the same silver highlights as the female pup. The women who had gathered around Maeve and Fortina parted respectfully to allow the Sun Priest passage.
     “Welcome, Sol,” the Guardian said, moving aside so that the man and canine could get nearer to Maeve.
     “Ah, Laru, your daughter chose wisely.” The man ruffled his canine’s thick scruff. Then he smiled kindly down at the woman, who cradled the pup in her arms. “What is her name, my friend?”
     “Fortina,” Maeve said, kissing the pup on her nose.
     The Sun Priest’s smile widened. “May the Sun bless your union with
Fortina.”
     “Thank you, Sol,” Maeve said.
     “It is a fortuitous choosing indeed that is completed just before sunset,” Sol said.
     Maeve’s gaze found the western horizon through the thick branches of the closest Mother Tree. “I—I hadn’t realized.”
     “Come, Maeve. I invite you and your pup to receive the last beams with me.”
     Maeve’s eyes widened with surprise, but Fortina had already moved off her lap and was nudging Maeve’s knees in encouragement. Laughing breathlessly, Maeve stood, then she and the young Shepherd fell into step behind Sol and Laru as they strode across the wide platform and hurried up and up the steps that wrapped, helix-like, around the cluster of Mother Plant–laden trees, leading to the exquisite landing that had been smoothed and oiled to an amber sheen. The platform jutted above the canopy of ancient pines, its baluster carved in the shape of howling canines on which a gleaming, waist-high rail rested.
     Maeve gazed around her, seeing the beauty of her Tribe anew. On other smaller platforms, both near and far, Companions, each with a mature Shepherd or Terrier at his or her side, turned and bowed briefly but respectfully to acknowledge Sol’s presence before their sharp eyes returned to their task, constantly scanning the land around and beneath them. A thrill went through Maeve, skittering down her spine like a cooling summer rain. When Fortina was old enough, Maeve would once again have the privilege of mounting her own platform and taking up her own watch.
     Alive with anticipation, Maeve gazed to the east toward the island the Tribe called the Farm—the fertile isle that kept them alive with its abundant produce. From the distance of the hillside on which the Tribe had fashioned their homes in the sky, the island appeared to be a green jewel surrounded by the Channel on one side and the Lumbia River on the other. Sunlight played on the closer of the two waterways, the Channel, turning the green water golden, and even lighting the rusted bones of the ancient bridge—the one way on and off the island—from the color of dried blood to amber.
     “Beautiful,” Maeve whispered to her pup. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it all is.”
     Feeling blessed and fulfilled, Maeve looked from the island to the Tribe that spread like a secret promise around her. Large round family nests, and smaller individual pods clustered in the enormous pines, perched among their sturdy branches as if they had been created by a huge and magickal species of bird. Jewel-like, strands of shells and bells, bone and beads and glass fluttered from the latticework walkway system. In the setting rays of the sun, the decorative strands winked a myriad of colors among the variant greens of pine needles, orchids, mosses, and ferns. On the graceful walkways below Maeve, the Tribe gathered, choosing places near the great, glistening surfaces of the precious mirrors that were mounted carefully, with the utmost consideration, fashioned for form and function—as the Tribe fashioned all things. Maeve blinked, marveling at the size and strength of her people—when did there become so many of us? Little wonder the Mother Plants have been hyper-productive. Babies were being born one after another, swelling the Tribe’s numbers, but I hadn’t stopped to realize how great those numbers must be.
     Sol flung out his arms to encompass the vast maze of nests, walkways, platforms, and pods that stretched below and around them. “Behold the majesty of the Tribe of the Trees!”
     First, the lookouts mimicked the Sun Priest’s actions, spreading their arms wide and facing the setting sun in the west. And then the people below them raised their faces and their arms to the reflection of the last of the sun’s brilliance as light struck the perfectly positioned mirrors, careened from the glossy surfaces, and filled the Tribe with the glowing essence of life.
     Joining her Tribe, Maeve opened herself to life. The ancient pines swayed gently, as if joining her in an exultation of joy, causing the sunlight to catch the strands of strands of beads, bone, and crystals that the Tribe’s artists draped all around the cluster of massive trees, making them to appear as if they, too, were celebrating life anew. Maeve thought she had never seen such an exquisite sight.
     “And behold the last beams of our lifeline—our salvation—our Sun! The Tribe of the Trees shall drink them in with me!” Sol’s voice was amplified by the power of sunlight, and as one, the Tribe embraced the light that the mirrors caught and reflected among the people.
     Above the Tribe, Maeve watched enraptured while Sol’s gaze locked on the setting sun. His eyes trapped the day’s last beams and they changed color, turning from the mossy, muted green that marked all of the Tribe’s eyes, to blaze a brilliant gold as the priest began to absorb the power of the sun. Laughing joyously, Sol spread his arms even farther apart, and as the sunlight coursed through his body, the filigreed patterns of the fronds of the Mother Plant became visible, glowing beneath his golden-hued skin.
     Maeve bent and caressed Fortina before her greedy gaze went to the light, and she, too, opened her arms to embrace the sun. Maeve was well used to gathering within her the life-sustaining energy the sunlight provided for all of the Tribe as each morning and each evening its power was trapped and reflected through mirrors, glass, and beads, and shone onto the Tribe within the protective canopy of their home. But it had been more than three winters since Maeve had risen above the canopy to taste unimpeded light, and she was not used to the brilliance of unfiltered sun. She gasped in pleasure as a rush of heat and energy coursed through her. Thank you, oh thank you for bringing Fortina to me, Maeve sent the heartfelt prayer to the Sun. Her own eyes glowed and the delicate patterns of the Mother Plant lifted through her body to mark her skin with the power of the golden beams. Maeve glanced down at her pup and felt another thrill of pleasure. Fortina’s eyes were glowing with the same golden light that radiated from hers, proving beyond any doubt that she had been chosen—that they were now linked forever through the bond of sunlight and love.
     “Movement by the Channel!” a strong voice called out. “South of the bridge. At the edge of the wetlands.”
     “I see them!” came anther voice, this one farther away than the first and faint. “Looks like a big male is trying to grab two females.”
     Jarred by the interruption, Maeve’s eyes automatically went to Sol. He issued a single command, “Stop them!” He did not take his gaze from the setting sun. And Maeve understood that he didn’t need to. The lookouts would do as they had been trained. The Tribe would have it no other way. All must have a purpose. In fulfilling the needs of the Tribe, the individual’s needs will then be fulfilled. Maeve knew the truth of that saying in more than words. She registered the right of it throughout her blood and her body, her heart and her soul. So she did not turn her gaze from the sun because she questioned the fidelity of the lookouts, but rather because she valued the certainty with which they would perform their duty.
     Movement on the platform halfway down the hillside to her right drew Maeve’s gaze. She smiled as the lookout lifted the beautifully carved crossbow, notched it, and aimed.
     Maeve followed his line of sight in time to see three figures emerging from the golden Channel. With a grace that was fluid and effortless, the lookout fired rapidly three times, Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Each of the escapees crumpled, one after another. The largest of the three and then the two smaller figures disappeared into the tall grasses that grew green and thick near the Channel as if they had come to the end of a beautifully choreographed dance and were bowing to kiss the ground.
     “Three Scratchers down!” the lookout reported. “Should I fetch them?”
     Without turning his face from the sun Sol answered. “I will not risk a Companion this near to dark. If they are not dead now, they will certainly meet death within the night, may the Sun make their passing as pain-free as possible.”
     The lookout saluted Sol and returned to scanning the distance.
     Maeve faced the sun as the priest spoke softly, “That they run shows the futility of trying to domesticate them.”
     Maeve felt a start of shock.
     “Domestication? Of the Scratchers? I haven’t heard the Tribe speaking this madness.”
     Sol shook his head. Maeve was surprised to realize he sounded sad and weary. “The Tribe does not speak of it, but sometimes I think of the
Scratchers and the horror that must fill their lives, and I am troubled.”
     “Sol, we care for them. We give them purpose. We protect them, even from themselves. Yet they are so base that over and over again they flee our safety and care and, heedless, rush to their destruction. And at sunset! They know what waits with the coming of the night. What can be done with such creatures?”
     Just when Maeve despaired of the priest responding, the cool evening breeze brought the muffled sound of the words he whispered more to himself than to her. “Yes, what can be done with such creatures…”