On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [149]
The murmurings fell silent as the Arukani, after centuries, finally beheld the kulis who had so frightened them. The kulis in return stared back, their eyes round with terror. Some of them looked as though they were about to flee, to return to the safety of the mountain caves.
“Do you see?” Kevla cried. “Look not with the eyes of fear, but the eyes of understanding…of compassion!”
On the stones of the foothills of Mount Bari, wrapped in pathetic clothing, lean and pale and haggard looking, stood the abandoned children of Arukan.
Kevla went to one of them and took her hand. The girl, about eight years old, looked up trustingly at the Flame Dancer as their fingers entwined. Kevla stroked her hair.
“For thousands of years, we thought the Dragon wanted us to expose any child born with a withered arm, or without sight or speech, or…”
She gently touched a large red patch on the child’s sweet face.
“Or the so-called blood mark. We left them on the altars, and the older ones, the ones abandoned a generation before, and a generation before that, came to take care of them. They ate the food we left for the Dragon, made clothing from the fabric used to wrap that food. And they huddled in the darkness, afraid. As afraid of the Arukani as we were of our created demons.”
Still holding the girl’s hand, she walked to where Tahmu-kha-Rakyn stood. His eyes were wide and shone with unshed tears.
“For five thousand years,” Kevla said, her voice trembling, “the Arukani people have been afraid of their own children.”
Tahmu stared at the girl, who looked back shyly at him. Slowly, the khashim of the Clan of Four Waters knelt and opened his arms to the daughter he had left lying on the Clan’s altar eight years ago.
The girl hesitated, looking up at Kevla.
“Go on, my sister,” said Kevla. She looked at Tahmu and smiled. “It’s all right. He will take good care of you.”
The girl moved forward into her father’s embrace, wrapping her arms around him as he folded her close and buried his face in her small, slim neck.
Kevla put her hand to her mouth, fearful of sobbing out loud with joy. She turned to see what the others were doing, and despite her efforts, the tears slipped freely down her face.
One by one, the men and women of Arukan were stepping forward hesitantly, trying to seek out their own lost children, looking first for the distinguishing mark or deformity and then holding on to the whole child. She watched as some continued to search in vain, and pity welled up inside her. For these parents, reconciliation had come too late. Not all the kulis survived.
Some of the children hung back, clinging to the older ones and to the Dragon, but Kevla knew in her heart that with time, there would be no more kulis. No mother had willingly surrendered the infant suckling at her breast; no father had wanted to place a baby at the foot of a mountain to die. This was a second chance, for all of them.
She did not know how long she stood, watching the reunions and feeling deeply content. A touch on her arm roused her from her reverie, and she turned to see Sahlik.
With a cry of delight, Kevla flung her arms around the old woman. “Sahlik…I am so happy to see you!”
“And I you, child. And I you.”
They drew apart and regarded one another with moist eyes. A cough behind them caused them to look up. Tahmu stood there, holding his daughter’s hand.
“There is much I would say to you both,” he said. “Sahlik…I should have listened to you. You spoke wisdom, and I was too caught up in my own pride to hear it. Much has happened since you took your fifth score.”
“I know, my lord,” Sahlik said, softening. “I have heard what happened to the khashimu…and the khashima.”
Tahmu reached to stroke his daughter’s hair as he continued. “Jashemi and Kevla benefited greatly from your presence in their lives. I…I would that this little one know you, too. Would