tainted by his persistent conviction that he was the wiser,
the stronger, the superior of the two of them. He made
decisions for her without her leave, or tried to dissuade her
from decisions she had already considered carefully. When
they fought, he made a point of reminding her of their
youthful games to coax her out of her anger, tainting the
only pleasant memories she had of him.
Unfortunately, her father seemed to assume her
dwindling feelings of friendship for Hollow-sky would
grow into love because of his own need to keep the tribe
unified, and others whispered what a perfect match they
would be – he so strong, she so beautiful. No one could see
how her feelings had changed, and she had no mother to
counsel her.
Now Hollow-sky was up to some mischief in the weapons
tent, a place he should not even be near. Goldmoon knew
she should question him, but she did not want to confront
him today. She didn’t want to listen to his excuses or even
speak with him, so she said nothing as she approached the
guards posted at the opening to the weapons tent. Oblivious
to their fail ure, they bowed respectfully to the priestess and
held back the flaps of the tent for her to enter.
Left alone inside, Goldmoon found nothing apparently
amiss. All weapons were stored here on festival days,
ostensibly in acknowledgement of the chieftain’s
sovereignty, though it coincidentally cut down on injuries in
brawls that might develop as the celebration wore into the
night. Goldmoon shrugged. Whatever Hollow-sky had been
up to she would get out of him later. For now she must put
him out of her mind and bless the warriors’ weapons.
She took a deep breath to calm herself, but her eyes
caught on some feathers that she recognized as marking
Riverwind’s sparring pole. There was nothing shabby about
the rare and precious wood, probably something his
grandfather, Wanderer, had harvested on his journeys.
Angrily Goldmoon snatched it up and started to toss it to the
side. “We’ll see what a marvelous weapon this is and what a
great warrior he is without my blessing.” But then she
noticed the thin crack running along the upper third of the
pole. She saw at once that it was not a natural crack.
“Hollow-sky!” she whispered.
Knowing that Hollow-sky and his brother, Hawker,
were clear favorites to win the contests, Goldmoon
immediately assumed he’d done this deed for her. Perhaps
he’d even tell her later how he had paid Riverwind back for
the unbeliever’s insult to herself.
Unsure she wanted this sort of championship,
Goldmoon debated what to do. Perhaps ignominious defeat
was the fate the ancestors had decided for Riverwind. Yet . . . why
would the gods have let her discover the crack, if not to correct the
matter?
Her duty was clear to her.
Finding another pole of the same rare wood was not easy.
She had to substitute one of her father’s old poles, and
affixing Riverwind’s feathers to the replacement was a
nuisance. Finally, when she had finished the work and
placed the substitute pole among the blessed weapons, she
began to have second thoughts.
Her father’s sparring pole was a weapon her mother had
undoubtedly blessed, perhaps even the one her father had
used when he’d won the right to escort Tearsong to the Hall
of the Sleeping Spirits. Stubbornly she tried to recall if there
was a way to UNsanctify the weapon.
“Goldmoon?” Arrowthorn entered the tent and looked
quizzically at his daughter. A slight smile crossed his lips.
“Still praying? They are only going to fight one another,
you know, not our enemies 1”
Goldmoon lowered her eyes to hide her worry and
confusion. “Father, please. This is serious to me.”
“Forgive me. Of course. But everyone waits on you.”
Goldmoon followed her father and took her place in the
viewing stand. The contests started with a series of
wrestling matches. The tribe all gathered about, unreserved
in their cheers and boos. Goldmoon watched silently with
intense interest. She was the leader of a warrior tribe and
was herself a trained fighter, as were all Que-shu women.