Y'Keta The Sky Road: Book One

SPRING

CHAPTER ONE

SIANN

Boom, boom, stop. Boom, boom, stop. Beating drums echoed the hearts of the People. I was only sixteen that night, and not a child—no matter what my mother thought.

The first moon of spring had trod the Sky Lords path the night before, and today the Kitna had come. They made their way to Esquialt from their home villages, hoping that by the end of the last winter moon the Salixt, Eldest shaman, would find them worthy of Walking the Sky Road with the People.

Over the past few days, the young men and women from the village had left to follow the ancient paths. They would pledge themselves as Kitna to other villages further down the Coast, or even inland. If they returned it would be as treasured friends, still loved and never forgotten, but no longer family.

Matra stepped out in front of the fire. Her dark hair sparkled as orange flames danced with the copper beads threaded through it. The Elder Stars shone above her. She stepped into the fire-lit circle. Her movements perfectly in time with the heartbeat rhythm of the drums. Step, step, stop. Step, step, stop. Tonight she wasnt just my mother, she was the Salixt, the one who hears the Lightning. The Salixt looked deep into the midnight sky, gesturing toward the six bright stars dancing overhead. We are here, my children, on the night of the Great Dance. Over our heads, the Waki'tani soar, above them the Sky Road leads to the Elder Stars where dwell the Sky Lords—Ever Watching. For just a second, a brilliant flash painted the clearing with a white ghost light.

The Sky Lords are watching, the people chanted, an unintended echo.

In the space between drumbeats, Matra spoke again. The Kitna have come among us, as they have always come, seeking to walk our Road in this life, and, at the end of life, to join us on the Sky Road." She looked intently at the newcomers standing just outside the firelight. Let us welcome them, my children. See if their steps can become one with our dance.

The children of the tribe stepped into the fire circle. A warm spring wind ruffled their costumes of green feathers as they proudly flapped their hand-stitched wings. Surrounding the newcomers, they pulled them into a merry dance around the campfire, their piping voices a bright counterpoint to the deep heartbeat of the drums.

We are the little ones, only begun;

Hatchlings know nothing of what is ahead

Send us protectors, who while we are young

Will stand between us and the darkness we dread.

As we take our first steps on the Sky Road.

Taking green feathers from their costumes, they presented one to each of the Kitna and, laughing, stepped out of the firelight. I remember how the drums sped up then. My heart kept time as the Warriors of the Red Lodge emerged from the darkness beyond the campfire. War and blood were in their eyes and they carried the spears and arrows of their calling. Their voices rang like starlight on cold metal.

We are the guardians, strength of the sky;

We walk the dark places, fight fear in the night.

Will you walk beside us to serve and to die;

To hold safe the People, keep honour alight

As we take up our spears on the Sky Road.

The Warriors handed a red feather—the tip sharpened, bloodied in battle—to each newcomer, bowed, and melted into the darkness around the campfire.

Grey as smoke, the old ones came. The Elders, the seekers, and more. Their slow steps and cracked voices made hardly an echo in the night, but each word rang clear.