DANCE OF WINGS

Ohmara, maiden of the Himadi, stood motionless on the mountaintop, her arms outstretched in the blustery pre-dawn light, reveling in the strong gusts of wind that rushed heedlessly over and around her. Her simple cloth shift rippled and danced against her slim body, her long tawny hair streaming out behind her like the tails of the wild mares that thundered across the low grass plains in summer.

As she watched, the sun-soul Kaaras awoke upon the farthest edge of the world, his fiery eye opening to bless the land with his warmth and light. Today Kaaras would shine longer than any other day of the year. It was a day of holy rituals, and her wedding day. Tonight she would dance the bride-dance, tonight she would be a bride. Ohmara lifted her arms in joyous greeting, as Kaaras kissed her upturned face. Now her vigil was over, the long night of prayer finished.

Yesterday, alone, she had walked the sacred paths, worn by the feet of countless brides, to the holy place on the mountaintop, the temple of the Winged-One, who is the One Un-Named and the Giver of Names. Last night she had bared her young body before the goddess and bathed in the icy pool of purification, while Silkka, the moon-soul, poured her milky light upon the waters. Ohmara had emerged from the water tingling in body and heart, reborn in spirit, pure as light.

Last night, she had knelt in the temple of the Winged-One and had spoken aloud her true name, Lark, the secret name known only to herself and to Nailene, the Seer. She gave the gift of her true name, and so gave her most true spirit self, to honor the Winged-One, the goddess whose name was hidden. Her name she gave also, that the goddess would know her as she danced. If she was found worthy this night, the goddess would join with her in spirit as she danced the bride-dance, the most mystical of rituals for all young women. All night, she had prayed, seeking the goddess’ blessing for her marriage, for the children she hoped were to come, and beseeching the goddess to come to her in the dance. Just before dawn, she had climbed the inner stairs of the temple and stood upon the roof, facing east to greet the sun-soul, exulting in the joyous spirit of the wind.

Ohmara now bowed her thanks to Kaaras for the warmth of his morning glances, and descended the inner stairs back down into the temple to pay her last respects to the Winged-One. A smile played at the corners of her lips. Tomorrow she would be girl no longer, but woman, bride of Nahobi, first son of the High-Chief. But now she must hurry, she must meet with the old ones this morning and she must sleep before the dance.

She knelt again before the altar of the Nameless-One. Suddenly footsteps sounded on the stones behind her. Ohmara rose up startled and turned. No one should have come here.

A dark figure filled the doorway; faceless because of the sunlight that streamed from behind. Ohmara pressed herself back against the altar of her goddess and her heart raced. Then the figure, who had hunched down to fit under the low doorway, straightened up and stepped into the room. Ohmara drew a sharp breath, for she knew him then, but his presence here alarmed her. Hiding her agitation, she stepped forward to stand between the altar and the intruder. His rank demanded her respect, but the bride vigil was private and sacred. He had no right to come here, to disturb her here. He took another step toward her and suddenly her apprehension turned to anger.

“Stop!” she cried. “No man may enter here!”

There was a gentle laugh. “And do you count me a man, Ohmara?”

Her next words caught in her throat, for Tamar, the Dream-Master, in addition to having been born outside the tribe, was not considered truly a man in the eyes of the young women of the tribe. By tribal custom, the age of manhood was seventeen and each young male of the tribe must prove himself. There were many ritual tasks and ceremonies to be endured before the young warrior could count himself a man and stand in the circle of the bride-dance. No maiden danced for one who failed, or refused.

When Tamar first came to Mara’s tribe, he was a thin and frightened eleven year-old. It was said that Tamar came from tribes of the far north, that he had been stolen by the Nogardi nomads while only a child, and eventually sold to the Himadi as a slave. But even if that was true, he was a slave no longer, for he had been found and chosen by Dream-Master Tobas and accepted by the holy elders of the Himadi. He had the dream-gift and was honored above all ordinary men. When Tobas had brought him to the Himadi, Tamar was formally accepted by the whole tribe, adopting their language and their ways. Still, his appearance marked him clearly as an outsider, his tall slender frame and coloring were different from the sturdy muscular build and appearance of the Himadi men.

But that had not been the only difference. When he turned seventeen, he refused to participate in the man-making rituals. He talked long with the High-Chief and the old ones, arguing logically that the exclusive training of his dream-gift as well as his different childhood, background and physical traits made him unsuitable for trials that measured hunting and survival skills, skills unrelated to his readiness for his future position. As there was no doubt that he would become the Dream-Master, he was proclaimed a man without need of proving himself. But even with the honor of position he would bring to a wife, no maiden had yet desired to dance the bride-dance for Tamar.

He was twenty now, three years older than Ohmara, and though his gift had given him the highest position in the tribe, his strange looks had always kept him a little apart from the others his age. He is Dream-Master now, thought Ohmara, but no matter how high his status, no matter how well he learns our ways and our speech, Tamar will always be different.

He spoke again, not waiting for her answer, and his voice, though soft, was now serious and stern. “Come out, then. I must speak with you.” Then he turned and left the temple.

Ohmara hesitated, then followed. “I am expected in the old ones’ circle,” she said shortly, as she stepped out into the sunlight. She turned to face him briefly, then moved away toward the path to the village. “I must not keep them waiting.”

Tamar reached out and snared her wrist before she had gone a step. She looked up startled. “You will hear this, Ohmara,” he said. “I have dreamed.”

Ohmara slowly drew her arm from his grasp and held herself still, belatedly remembering the respect owed him. “I am sorry, Dreamer,” she said, bowing her head. “Speak then. I will hear.”

“Today is an important day for you.” He spoke quietly, but his words felt heavy in her hearing. “Tonight, you will choose to honor or abandon all of our people.”

Ohmara gasped, and lifted her eyes to meet his in shock. “I...choose a husband, nothing more.”

“Not nothing more. Your choice changes the future of all of us. You must choose me, ‘Mara, not Nahobi.”

“But I am promised to Nahobi!”

Tamar raised his eyebrows a fraction and shook his head. “I know the laws of the Himadi. There can be no binding promise before the bride-dance. Until you kneel together before the eyes of all the tribe, you may choose any man.”

“No,” she said. “There may be no promise by law between us, but there is a promise made by love. And even if it were not so, why should I choose you, Tamar? The tribe would not approve. You are . . .” she faltered, her real thought unspeakable.

Tamar’s eyes flashed, but he answered evenly. “I am as much a man as Nahobi, though I cannot throw a spear to kill an antelope from the back of a galloping horse. Where I was born, there was no need for men to do such things. I am Dream-Master and will be honored above Nahobi even when he is made High-Chief. The tribe would be surprised, but I think they would approve our match.”

“And what of Nahobi? Do you think he will approve so easily?” Ohmara felt the heat of blood in her face, partly from anger and partly because Tamar had responded to the thought she had not meant to voice. A silence fell between them. Ohmara could hear the sounds of the ceremonial preparations in the village far below. She looked away from him, anxious to leave. She was already late.

“Ohmara.” He spoke her name gently. “I have seen your true spirit. He has not. I will honor you and give you the freedom to be your true self as he will not.” He reached out and touched her temple softly with his fingers-tips. “See my dream.”

Ohmara looked back and met his eyes. Power surged between them. Flashes of images flitted through her mind like wisps of valley mist. She closed her eyes and the mist filled her inner vision. Then, through the mist, as through a veil, she saw herself and she was winged. Winged as the Nameless-One, the goddess, the Winged-One, but she wandered on foot, shivering in the cold mist, lost in the dim light, afraid to fly.

In the distance stood the Jackal, and around the Jackal there was a brightness as if the sun shone and there was no mist. She ran toward the Jackal. The wings of the Winged-One were heavy on her back and dragged behind her as she ran, but still she did not try to fly. At last she struggled out of the darkness and the mist, and stood in that place of light by the Jackal, but the Jackal fell upon her, knocked her to the earth and placed his paw upon her neck. She felt the sharpness of his claws, the great weight of his paw upon her throat, and the wings of the goddess were useless, pinned beneath her back.

Then what had been light became darkness again and she heard the sound of all the voices of the tribe of Himadi crying out in mourning and great sadness, for they were nameless. Their voices filled the darkness but no light came, and there was no one to tell them their names.

Tamar withdrew his touch from Ohmara and the vision ceased. Ohmara hugged her arms around her body, and stared with awe and dismay at the Dreamer. “But what does it mean?” she whispered. “What does it have to do with me?”

Tamar reached out and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. His gaze was kind when she looked up to meet his eyes. “It has everything to do with you, Ohmara. It means you have a destiny you refuse to see. And if you choose to turn from it, there will be only darkness for our people.” He paused. “It means you have the seer’s gift, Ohmara. You will be the next Voice of the Goddess, the Seer and Giver of Names. Nailene grows old. The tribe needs you.”

Ohmara stared at Tamar. The words he had just spoken were words her mind could scarcely believe, but words her spirit could not deny. He was the Dream-Master, speaker of truth, and keeper of the sacred ways of the tribe, so she must believe him. But what did he know of her and Nahobi, of their feelings for each other?

Ohmara drew herself up straight and faced Tamar. “How could marriage to the chief of the tribe prevent me from becoming what I am? If I am destined to be the Seer, then I will be, no matter what.”

Tamar smiled, and there was admiration in his eyes. “Perhaps you could. Your spirit is very strong. But Nahobi is a proud man who will not care to have his wife out-rank him or to have duties and interests other than himself. Why choose to fight for what you could have freely? Can the eagle fly high or far if a heavy stone is tied to her leg? Does she not seek the wind to carry her to the mountain tops?”

“You are wrong, Dreamer,” she said. She spoke evenly and firmly. “Nahobi loves me. He will not deny me this . . . if it is true.”

Tamar shook his head sadly. “No, ‘Mara,” he said. “He will want to pin you to the earth so that you cannot fly. Only with the Wind can you be free to fulfill your true spirit.” He drew her closer, his voice and eyes soft. “And the Wind does love you, ‘Mara. I would help you fly with all my heart.”

Ohmara stood still in confused silence, her eyes held by Tamar’s gentle gaze. She did not understand what he was trying to tell her; he was so close she couldn’t think. His hands were warm where they rested lightly on her shoulders and his eyes were very blue.

He was strange to look at, for while the Himadi were all the shades of the colors of earth, he seemed made of the heavens. His eyes were an unheard of color, the rich blue of the summer sky, his skin the pale creamy color of moonlight. His hair was as black as the night sky, straight and spider-web fine and he often wore it in a long braided tail down his back. Children of the tribe dared each other to touch the silky black tail, and Tamar had laughed at their antics and made a game of trying to catch them at it. Curious, Ohmara had also longed to touch it, but was too old for such childish pranks.

Standing alone with him now, so close, Ohmara blushed at the memory and was completely unprepared as Tamar bent his head to hers and kissed her. It was a kiss so unlike what she was used to from Nahobi, so soft, so tender, that she did not resist him at all. When he slowly drew back, her heart was pounding. She looked up into his eyes and he let his hands slide down her arms until he was holding both of her hands. “You know very little of me, ‘Mara, but I want you to know,” he said, hesitating to get the words right, “that I would be so gentle with you tonight, that I would be honored to make you my wife.”

The meaning of his words brought her back to herself in alarm and she blushed again. Suddenly overcome with confusion and emotion, Ohmara panicked. She pulled away from Tamar and ran. Her feet flew down the ancient pathways, racing over the long flat paving stones. Ferah, she knew, would be waiting for her at the bottom, and she was breathless from running when she finally reached her friend. As she stopped to catch her breath, she stared up the path, a mixture of apprehension and shock clearly written on her face.

“What happened to you up there, ‘Mara?” asked Ferah, alarmed. “You look scared to death.”

Ohmara looked into her friend’s eyes and saw the genuine concern. “I need to talk to you, Ferah, but not now. I must go to the old ones and I’m already late. Please meet me later – at the willow.”

Ferah nodded. “Like we did when we were children. No one will expect it today.” She laughed and hugged Ohmara. “Don’t worry so much. You’re to be married today!” She shooed Ohmara in the direction of the old ones’ circle, but as she watched her walk away, her concern increased. It wasn’t like Ohmara to walk with her head down, and not today of all days. Yesterday she had practically skipped up the mountainside she was so happy.

As Ferah started to follow Ohmara back to the village, she heard footsteps on the path behind her. Turning, she saw Tamar coming slowly down the mountain path. Sudden worry caused her to stop, to wait until Tamar reached her. He stopped and would not meet her eyes.

“‘Mara was very upset when she came down,” said Ferah quietly. “What happened? Why were you up there with her?”

Tamar raised his eyes and Ferah drew a sharp breath at the hurt she saw there. His voice when he spoke was low. “I have dreamed of her, Ferah. It was a dream of much power and importance, but she would not listen to me.” He paused for a long moment, then sighed and looked away. “I can hardly blame her. I asked her to change her choosing tonight.” Ferah watched him struggle with his emotions, puzzled by a side of him she had never seen before. After another moment, he straightened and looked back into her eyes. “She must not dance for Nahobi tonight, Ferah. Perhaps you can help. The future of the tribe is at stake.”

Ferah unexpectedly found herself struggling with her own emotions, feelings she had fought bitterly to hide. Looking into Tamar’s eyes, she suddenly guessed that they had something in common, something they had both kept locked in secret. “How can I help?” she asked.

“Talk to her, Ferah. She may listen to you. And I . . . I have said too much.”

* * * * * * * *

After her meeting with the old ones, Ohmara slipped away and met Ferah beneath the curtained canopy of a certain great willow by the river. So they had done since they were girls.

Ferah was the first to speak. “Do you know, ‘Mara,” she whispered, “that you hold the heart of the Dreamer in the palm of your hand?”

Ohmara sank to the ground and hugged her knees tightly to her. “Oh no, Ferah. How . . . how do you know this? Please tell me it is not the village gossip.”

Ferah knelt to sit beside her friend and put her arm around her. “I saw him follow you down the mountain this morning. I’m sure I was the only one who saw him, and I’ve heard no gossip. He told me himself that he asked you to change your choosing tonight because of a dream he had.”

“Did he tell you he asked me to choose him instead of Nahobi?”

Ferah’s heart missed a beat. “No, he said only that you must not choose Nahobi. Will you dance for Tamar, ‘Mara?”

“No!”

“He loves you, ‘Mara. I saw it in his eyes.”

Ohmara turned her head and stared at her friend. “Nahobi loves me, Ferah, and I love him. I have promised that I will choose him.”

“And what of the tribe, ‘Mara? Tamar didn’t show me the dream, but he believed it was very important. And to be the chosen of the Dream-Master is the highest honor. Even if he is not truly a man,” she teased, laughing. Then serious, she added, “‘Mara, you must think and choose carefully tonight. I know that Tamar would not ask this unless it was of the most serious importance to the tribe.” She paused, studying her friend’s troubled expression. “Did he show you the dream?”

Ohmara nodded. “Oh, Ferah, if it is true, it is very important. But I barely know Tamar.” She shivered. “I will be a wife tonight,” she whispered. “How can I choose a man I hardly know, to be taken to his bed tonight?”

“I have seen him watch you, ‘Mara, when you were unaware. Until now, I didn’t realize what it meant, so I think he has loved you for some time, but wouldn’t speak because of Nahobi. But I have spoken with him often. He is as wise as an old one, and very kind. He would be a good husband.”

“Then perhaps you should dance for him yourself, Ferah,” said Ohmara, stung by her friend’s lack of sympathy. “The Harvest Circle is only three moons away.”

Ferah’s eyes dropped to her hands. “I will not dance at the Harvest Circle, ‘Mara.”

Before Ohmara could reply, there was a rustle of leaves behind them. They both turned, startled. Nahobi ducked in under the branches of the willow and grinned mischievously at the two young women. “I thought I would find you two here, though you, ‘Mara, should be sleeping.”

The eighteen-year-old first son of the tribal chief was tall for his people, his lean muscled form hardened by hours of practice with bow and spear. He had hair the color of golden wheat and dark hazel eyes. He was very handsome and knew it. He gave Ferah a wink and a dazzling smile, then arched one brow to let her know he wanted to speak to Ohmara alone.

Ferah squeezed Ohmara’s hand and got slowly to her feet. Their eyes met for one significant moment. Then without a word she passed through the willow branches and was gone, and no one noticed the way her eyes clung to Nahobi as she left.

Nahobi sat down cross-legged in her place. “You really should be sleeping, now, while you have the chance,” he teased. “You won’t have much chance tonight, you know.” When Ohmara blushed, he reached out and cupped her chin in one hand. “You will be the prettiest bride of any chief in all the tribes, ‘Mara. I will be the envy of them all,” he smiled, and leaned over to kiss her. His kisses were always demanding and possessive, and as he kissed her, he pulled her into a tight embrace.

Ohmara at last managed to turn her head to the side to avoid his persistent mouth. “Nahobi, stop,” she insisted, laughing. “Stop. I need to talk to you.”

Nahobi reluctantly pulled himself back and grinned at her. “I’ll stop now,” he teased, “but no amount of pleading will stop me tonight.”

Ohmara laughed again, blushing and pushed him back when he threatened to kiss her again. “We have to talk about something important now,” she said, “before tonight.” She smoothed a tendril of blond hair back behind his ear, studying him, searching for the right words to tell him what Tamar had said. She loved his face, the way his smile was a little crooked, the way his hazel eyes shimmered into green in certain light, the way they were now. “Tamar has had a dream,” she started hesitantly. “He told me of it this morning as soon as my vigil was over. He dreamed that I will be the Seer of Names after Nailene. I haven’t told anyone else, not even Ferah. I don’t even know if I believe him, but I told him it would make no difference to you, that I could be both your wife and the Seer. . . .” she stopped speaking as she watched Nahobi’s eyes darken with anger.

He shook his head. “The wife of a chief must be his full partner, his support in everything,” he said emphatically. “It does matter to me. It matters a great deal. How can you be my wife and the Seer?” He paused and his expression softened a little. “I’m sorry, ‘Mara. Tamar must find someone else – surely there is someone else who can be the Seer.”

Ohmara felt anger and disappointment building in her just below the surface. She pulled back away from him. “And if there is no other?” she asked coldly.

His brows drew down over his darkening eyes. “I will not allow it to be you,” he said, his tone commanding and final.

“Won’t allow it,” she repeated, stunned. “What about what the tribe needs? If I am the only one who can be the Seer of Names for our tribe, how can you forbid it?”

Nahobi stood up and looked down at her, anger and hurt written all over his face. “My wife will not be the Seer. If you choose this, then you must choose to dance for another man tonight. I will not be second-rank to my own wife.” With that he pushed through the hanging branches and strode away from under the willow.

Ohmara jumped up, tears welling up in her eyes, but she was too shocked by his words to call after him or follow him. She held herself tightly and let the tears fall. She knew that his pride would assume that given such an ultimatum, she would choose him over everything else. But how could he say such a thing? Until she had heard these words from Nahobi’s own tongue, she had not believed what Tamar had said about him.

Now, she had no idea what she would do tonight when she danced. If she was the next Seer, how could she turn from that or risk it by marrying Nahobi if he was so strongly opposed to it? But she loved Nahobi. And she couldn’t think of dancing for Tamar, a stranger. How could she make this choice? And what was that last thing Ferah had said, about not dancing at the Harvest Circle? What did she mean? She stood for a long time alone behind the swaying curtain of leaves, listening to the murmuring voice of the river behind her. But no amount of standing under the willow would answer her questions, so at last, she crept out from under the concealing branches and made her way back to her tent to get whatever sleep she still could.

* * * * * * * *

Her mother and two sisters came to wake her at dusk. They brought her food and drink; as she would not have another chance to eat until she joined the ceremonial feast after the dance. They also brought her wedding clothes. Ohmara’s throat ached when she saw them. She had picked out each piece with such pleasure. Bright ribbons and tiny bells decorated the edges of her beaded tunic and sleeves, and the hem of her many-colored skirt. Then she had believed they would echo her joy as she danced; now they would mock her in her confusion.

She longed to talk to her mother, but tradition demanded that this decision be hers alone. A girl’s family would find out the identity of her chosen with the rest of the tribe, although there were usually very few surprises. She knew that her family were all sure of the man she would dance for tonight and that they approved. What will they do, she wondered now, if I choose differently, if I choose a man from outside the tribe, a man who has not even proven himself to be a man in the tradition of the tribe? Oh Goddess, what will Nahobi do if I choose Tamar tonight instead of him in front of the whole tribe? And what if I am to be the Seer? How will I even know if that is true in time to make the right choice?

Her sisters helped her dress, and she hugged them both tightly before they left. Her mother smiled at her and made a last adjustment to the circlet of woven ribbons that Ohmara wore. Ribbons of many colors hung down from it, framing her face and covering her hair, each ribbon ending in a bright bead and a feather. “You are a beautiful bride, ‘Mara. Your father and I are both very proud of you.”

Then she clasped hands with Ohmara for the traditional words, mother to daughter. “Tonight, you are my child, the daughter of my heart, but tomorrow we meet as women and as equals. Choose your beloved well, my daughter, and trust the goddess to guide the dance. Blessings go with you now, and may your heart rest in the hands of the goddess.” Her mother, eyes shiny with unshed tears, kissed her on each cheek and hugged her.

Then she was gone and Ohmara was left alone to wait for her father. She sat down and thought about the ceremony. She was to be the only dancer tonight because she alone had turned seventeen during the last three moons, though often there were several girls who danced and the celebration might last far into the night. All the unmarried men of the tribe over the age of seventeen dressed in their ceremonial robes, and stood in a great circle around a huge bonfire. Each girl danced in turn, circling around and around between the men and the fire as the men beat out the rhythm of the dance with their hands and feet.

Girls were all taught the steps of the dance, and the rituals of the vigil night. But there was also a mystery in it, the mysterious experience of the joining of spirits with the goddess herself, that no married woman spoke of with an unmarried girl. It was the most sacred ritual of womanhood, to be found worthy and dance as one with the Winged-One, to know her true self as revealed through the eyes of the goddess.

When a girl was sure of her self and of her choice, she stopped dancing and knelt before her chosen. He would kneel with her and take her hands if he accepted. Then the chief of the tribe would pronounce the marriage binding. There was always a big feast in honor of the couples and afterwards, each bride was escorted with ceremony to her husband’s tent. Ohmara couldn’t think about that, could think of nothing beyond the choice she would have to make. She had two choices. She could only pray that the goddess would truly be with her in the dance tonight.

* * * * * * * *

Outside the tent, Ohmara could hear the sounds of the celebration. At last, she heard the beginning rhythm of the bride-dance. As more men joined the group around the circle, the beat grew louder and stronger. Clap, clap, stamp . . . clap, clap, stamp . . . stamp, stamp, clap, stamp . . . stamp, stamp, clap, stamp . . . . It was time.

A bride-dance was always a full tribal event, but even so, this dance was generating an unusual level of excitement. Though Ohmara’s choice was supposed to be secret, all of the tribe expected to see the first son of their chief wed tonight. Plus Ohmara was reputed to be one of the best dancers of the young women in the tribe and she was very pretty. The tribe expected quite a show tonight.

Her father stepped into the tent and offered her his arm. His eyes were shining with pride as he bent to kiss her forehead and Ohmara could not help giving him a full smile. He escorted her to the circle, where the crowd separated just enough to allow her to slip into the center. Her father gave her hand a squeeze just before he let her go.

Excited hoots and calls greeted her entrance into the circle as the men put a new level of energy into the beat of rhythm they were creating. The result was thunderous. The ground shook with each stamp sending sparks up into the sky from the bonfire in the center of the ring. Ohmara took a deep breath to settle her nerves and scanned the faces around the circle. It was dark and the ceremonial dress that the men wore made it difficult to recognize anyone in the wildly flickering firelight. But with a feeling of relief, she was, after a moment, able to recognize Nahobi. He was smiling and making a show out of beating out the rhythm of the dance. He was excited, he had no doubt of the outcome of this bride-dance, and the men around him were sharing in the fun.

Slowly, Ohmara raised her arms and began the intricate dance steps. Slowly at first, she reminded herself, feel the beat. It would increase in tempo as she danced, and she must not get ahead of it. She concentrated on becoming one with the rhythm, timing her turns as she came to the edges of the circle so that she could meet the eyes of the men and tease them with winks and smiles, dipping her knees as if about to kneel, as if they would be chosen, and eliciting laughter from them all as she swiftly whirled away. It was all part of the dance.

Women and married men stood on wooden benches behind the circle so that they could see over the heads of the single men. Many of the men kept time on drums, the women stamped their feet wearing ankle bracelets made of tiny bells. The whole tribe watched as Ohmara began to dance faster and faster as the tempo increased. Soon, she had lost any sense of direction, she had no idea where Nahobi was now, and she didn’t care. She was caught up in the crackling heat of the fire, in the frenzy of the beat. Whirling and stamping out the pattern of steps to the pulsing light and pounding sound, she became one with the dance.

And at that moment, when the dance took her over, so did the goddess. It was as if time slowed, and though her body kept its frenzied pace, she was able to look down as if from a distance above, from the center of it all. And what she saw now made her gasp in amazement. Each man and woman she looked at was surrounded with a pattern of light and in that light was woven the symbol of their secret name. And to her surprise, as the gift of spirit-sight came to her, it felt absolutely right.

She rejoiced in this knowledge and was filled with energy and a great surety and peace. To her newly awakened vision, light poured though her body and sparked from her fingertips, and great white wings thrust upwards from her shoulders into the night sky, beating with the rhythm of the dance. She was the Winged-One, chosen of the goddess, the Seer of Names. Tamar had dreamed true.

The thought of Tamar brought her mind back to the dance and to the choice she must make. She reached out with her sight, found Nahobi and saw what she already knew she would see. His secret name was represented by the sign of the Jackal. She sought out others, her family and friends; her mother was Deer, her father, Elk. Ferah was Puma, which made Ohmara smile. Her sisters were Brook and Willow. She herself had a new symbol and name which was the rare and beautiful white Eagle, the secret name and symbol of the Winged-One, known only to the Seer and the goddess herself, as was Nailene.

And then she thought again of Tamar. In all of the dance she had not seen him. She suddenly became desperate to find him, to know his name and the key to his secret self. She could not stop her dance until she knew.

A cool breeze caressed her face and she turned, at last finding Tamar across the circle. He stood mostly in shadow, his black hair and the cloak of black feathers he wore to represent the night-world and the realm of dreams made him hard to see. The breeze picked up, whirling and spinning with her in the dance. From across the circle she read the pattern in the shimmering light that surrounded Tamar and laughed. It was so obvious now, he had told her his name himself that very morning, and indeed she now fully understood all that he had told her.

He kept his eyes down as he stamped out the rhythm of the dance for her, and Ohmara’s heart went out to him. In the three years that he had stood in the bride-dance circles, no one had ever looked for him before. He did not expect it now, his hope for her hidden. And if he loved her, as he had told her, how much pain had he also hidden in his heart as he had watched her with Nahobi as they all grew up together?

A new realization came to her suddenly. She and Tamar and Nahobi, as Seer, Dream-Master, and High-Chief, would lead the tribe together someday. If she chose Tamar tonight, she might indeed create a future of anger and resentment between Tamar and Nahobi. Nahobi’s pride might be insulted past forgiveness. And for herself, though she trusted Tamar had told her the truth about how he would take her to wife, and for a shivery moment felt again the gentleness of his kiss, she did not know him well enough. No, she could not dance for him tonight, and she knew now, just as surely, that the Seer could never be the wife of the tribal chief. There must be another way.

At one end of the circle the shouting and stamping stopped for a moment when, as if in answer to her thoughts, another figure joined the circle. The newcomer caused a ripple of surprise in the circle and a few of the men stopped the rhythm to simply stare. And Ohmara thanked the goddess for she suddenly knew now that she did have another choice, the only choice the truth inside her would allow.

She brought her senses back to her body and sought then for that one face in the ring and finding it, she abruptly stopped dancing. Dizziness and exhaustion swept over her for a moment as she went down on her knees. The clapping stopped abruptly and there was silence followed by a buzz of whispered questions.

Ohmara caught her breath for a moment and then looked up. Deep brown eyes met hers with calm pleasure as Nailene reached down and raised her to her feet. Nailene steadied her with a strong arm around her shoulders and raised her hand to signal silence. All talking hushed immediately. Nailene smiled and spoke, her voice strong even at her advanced age. “Tribe of Himadi, behold the Seer of Names Who Comes After Me. She has learned the truth of her identity just now from the goddess herself as decreed by our most sacred tradition, and I too have seen her new name.” A murmur of awe and approval passed around the circle.

Nailene turned to Ohmara and spoke quietly. “I knew you as your sight came into you during the dance. I am well pleased with the goddess’s choice. But, daughter, you may still marry. Tell me what choice you would make.”

Ohmara looked out over the sea of faces before her. The tribe had gathered closer, the circle bent in upon itself. She found Nahobi in the crowd. He was slowly making his way toward her. He was hurt and anxious, she sensed, but he was not angry as she had expected.

As she watched him approach, Ferah appeared at his side to walk with him, speaking words to calm him. In that instant she saw the secret her friend had kept hidden. She loves him, Ohmara could see it now so clearly. And suddenly, Ohmara also understood what her friend had meant that afternoon under the willow. Ohmara smiled. Ferah would dance the bride-dance at Harvest Circle if Nahobi was still unmarried. Ohmara felt relief and then she laughed. The Puma would never lie trapped beneath the paw of the Jackal. It would be a good match, if Nahobi would accept it.

Her eyes sought again through the faces in the crowd as she looked for Tamar. She found him at last and their eyes met. In his eyes was acceptance, for whatever choice she would make, and behind that a glimmer of hope and love that touched her heart. She took comfort from his look, knowing he would support the decision she was about to make.

Ohmara turned and knelt again before Nailene. She took a deep breath. What she was about to ask was not traditional, but it was most truly her right choice. She looked up and spoke to Nailene, but clearly so that her words would carry to the rest of the tribe. “I ask to walk with you, Nailene, Seer of Names, and with the Winged-One, the goddess, and with myself until the time of the Harvest Circle. I must know my new self first before I marry. At the Harvest Circle, I will choose if I will dance again.”

Nailene raised her hand to silence the rush of whispered comments from the tribe and took Ohmara’s hand in hers. “The choosing of a Seer for the tribe is a sacred and joyous occasion,” she said, and her voice rang out for all to hear. “I accept Ohmara’s choosing. She will walk with me and the goddess and with herself until the Harvest Circle. Then, if she wishes to, she will dance again. So speaks the Seer for the tribe of Himadi.”

Nailene took both of her hands and Ohmara stood up. “Daughter, today we meet as equals. My blessings are with you now, and your heart rests surely in the hands of the goddess.” Nailene looked around at the astonished crowd. “The tribe of Himadi is blessed with a new Seer,” she cried. “Don’t we have a feast and a celebration to get on with?”

The crowd surrounding Ohmara erupted with cheers. Family and friends crowded in to hug her and congratulate her. She may not be the wife of the chief’s son as expected, but her family was if anything, even more proud of her now. A Seer in the family was a very great honor.

Her parents stood behind her as the crowd gave way at last for the three that must by sacred tradition welcome the new Seer. Tamar, the Dream-Master, the High-Chief Ruasji, and Nahobi, the High-Chief’s heir, came to greet her. Nahobi stood behind his father with Ferah, his expression a mixture of hurt, shock and disappointment.

As highest in rank, Tamar came forward first. He went down on one knee before Ohmara as tradition required him to in recognition of her new status, his eyes down-cast in respect. He took her hand and spoke. “For the Himadi who are now my people, I as Dream-Master welcome you, Ohmara, Seer of Names. May the goddess hold you always in the palm of her hand.”

He looked up then and met her eyes. Ohmara felt her face flush. Smiling warmly, Tamar spoke again, softly, just to her. “Of all your choices, ‘Mara, you have made the wisest one of all,” he said, “to know yourself. The goddess indeed was with you in the dance.” He stood and kissed her cheek and slipped away.

High-Chief Ruasji, came forward. He shook his head at her, but he was smiling. Ohmara knew him instantly as Bear. “Child,” he said, “I had thought to welcome you tonight as my daughter and my heart is sad that that will never be.” Ohmara understood him, that he had no illusions about his son and their future. “But my heart is more than glad to accept and welcome our new Seer to the tribe. Well chosen, Ohmara.” His smile was genuine as he knelt before her. Then he rose, kissed her cheek and with one subtle, warning glance at his son, hurried away to join the feast.

Nahobi followed his father’s example, going down on one knee before Ohmara as was required, but with less grace. The crowd around Ohmara, suddenly aware of the awkward situation, hurriedly began to move away to the feast. She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder give her a light, reassuring squeeze before her mother drew him away. After a few moments they were alone, though Ohmara saw that Ferah lingered close by, beyond the range of hearing, her back to them, giving them privacy.

Nahobi was obviously struggling with many feelings for the silence stretched out between them. Finally he spoke and there was a tremor in his voice. “I thought I would be kneeling with you ‘Mara, not to you like this.” He looked up at her with hurt in his eyes, then stood up. “I thought you wanted to be my wife – that we were promised to each other.” He raised his arms out to his sides, palms up, then let them fall. “I don’t understand how you could do this. And you heard my father, if you dance again at the Harvest Circle, it will have to be for someone else, not for me.” His eyes, looking down at her, were dark with emotion. He lifted one hand and traced the length of a ribbon that hung from her circlet with one finger. “I thought you would be mine tonight,” he said softly. “I still want you, ‘Mara. Maybe I can talk to my father . . . .”

“No, Nahobi,” she said gently, “you were right this afternoon, your father’s right. The wife of our chief must be undivided in her duties to him and the tribe. I can’t do both.” His eyes closed, and she saw him move as if he would walk away. She reached out and gripped his arm. “You have to understand that this was not a choice I made. I am the Seer. It was not given me to choose, any more that it was given you to choose if you would be the next High-Chief.”

He put his arms around her then, and held her tight, his cheek against her hair. “I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” After a minute, he loosened his hold and drew back a little to look into her eyes. “So we must do as our positions require,” he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “The chief of the tribe must be married and it cannot be to the Seer.” He lifted his hands to gently hold her face. “But, ‘Mara, who can I marry, when I love you?”

Ohmara closed her eyes against the ache in her throat. He kissed her then, and they both knew it was for the last time. When he let her go, she reached up with one hand and touched her fingers to his temple. “Let me show you what I have seen,” she said.

Through her fingers, Ohmara projected the knowledge of what she had discovered of Ferah’s feelings. She watched the expression in Nahobi’s eyes change slowly from hurt to surprise. “She loves you too, Nahobi,” she said softly. “Will you give her a chance? I see much joy for you in this match, if you will.”

He was silent for a moment, studying her face. “Ferah has always held a place in my heart, ‘Mara,” he said quietly. “But I never thought. . . .” He straightened up and brushed his hair back from his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder to where Ferah was waiting and then back to Ohmara, his eyes now questioning her. “And are you sure?” At her nod, he said, “Then because you asked it. . . .”

Ohmara smiled at him, though her eyes were filling with tears. “I am sure. Go on now, you have my blessing. Both of you.” He returned her smile, though there was a sadness in it. She watched as he walked away, as he straightened his shoulders and rearranged himself back to his usual self, watched as he very charmingly offered his arm to Ferah to escort her to the feast.

Ferah turned and looked back at Ohmara. Ohmara nodded and smiled her approval. And she caught the look of surprise and wonder that flushed Ferah’s face as she accepted Nahobi’s invitation.

Ohmara watched them walk away, then stood for a moment gazing up at the stars. I should go in to the feast, she thought, but instead she walked over to one of the wooden benches that had formed the outer circle for her dance. In the quiet darkness, the tiny bells on her dress chimed together as she walked. She sank down on the bench, her back to the fire, her head bowed. She closed her eyes and let her heartache claim her. Tears spilled from under her lashes and slid unheeded down her face. Goddess, she prayed, help me let him go. Help me find joy in giving him to Ferah.

She heard quiet footsteps approaching. She knew, without looking up, that it was Tamar. He sat down beside her, not touching her, but she felt the warmth of his closeness. “’Mara,” he said softly, “I saw Nahobi come in to the feast with Ferah. Even hurt as he was, I didn’t think he would do that, wouldn’t leave you here alone . . . unless you wished it.”

She hesitated, then nodded and spoke. “I have asked him, and given him my blessing, to court Ferah. It seems she has loved him and hidden it from us all. I saw it when she stood with him tonight.” She sighed and wiped the tears from her face. “It was the right thing to do.”

He was silent for a long moment. “You have walked the path of honor in many ways tonight,” he said finally, “and though the spirit may be satisfied . . . that doesn’t make the heart hurt any less.” He swung one leg over the bench so that he straddled it facing her, his hands gripping the sides of the bench in front of him. “I know,” he added softly. He reached over and gently traced the track of a last tear down her cheek with the back of one finger. “I thought I would be losing you forever, tonight.”

She looked at him then. His eyes were dark in the dim light, his face sculpted of firelight and shadow. Oh goddess, she thought, do I see him now through your eyes? Have I been blind? He is a man and he is beautiful.

His hand dropped back down and again gripped the side of the bench. “I’m sorry, ‘Mara,” he said slowly. “I shouldn’t have spoken this morning – or now. There is a feast going on in your honor. You will be missed. Will you allow me to take you in?”

He moved as if to stand, but she laid one hand on his arm to keep him, the bells on her sleeve ringing softly with her movement. She paused, then looked up into his eyes. “This morning, you said that the Wind loved me. Tonight, I have seen your true name, Tamar. I understand now, what you were telling me.” She paused again, then smiled at him. “The feast can wait for us. I would hear what is in your heart.”

He returned the smile and she could read a glimmer of hope waking up in his eyes. She let her hand slip down his arm until it rested over his hand. “I have seen many things with new eyes tonight,” she added softly.

Even in the dying firelight, she could tell that he blushed. “‘Mara,” he whispered, taking her hand. “Do you remember, when I was eleven, when the tribe adopted me, it was you they chose to be the symbol bearer. You were only eight years old and you were terrified, of me, of the crowd, but you were also so terribly brave and so beautiful. You walked before the tribe, spoke the words of the ceremony perfectly. And when you knelt before me and held my hands as a symbol of welcome from all the members of the tribe, I felt your hands trembling in mine and I knew then that I loved you.” Tamar took a ragged breath and sighed. “But you loved Nahobi, and I had no chance. Until I had that dream last night, I never dared hope . . . .”

He paused and took her hand in both of his. “I am sorry, ‘Mara. When I came up the mountain this morning to find you, I never intended to force myself or my feelings on you. I meant only to show you the dream. But then, I thought that if you didn’t choose Nahobi, you must choose someone else . . . and I wanted with all my heart for that someone else to be me. I was wrong to speak of it, to kiss you when your heart was still promised to Nahobi . . . and the way you ran from me has haunted me all day. I hope you can forgive me.”

For a few heartbeats, she was lost in him, in his eyes, his words, in the sound of his voice. He does love me, she thought. Then she realized suddenly that he was waiting for her answer. “In the circle,” she said after a moment, “I said I wanted to know myself before I danced again. But though you may say that was a wise choice, what I really wanted was time. I could not dance for a man I barely know. It is you that I wish to get to know most of all, if you will allow me to.”

An expression of undisguised joy spread over his face and for a moment he closed his eyes. “Your wish is mine, the honor mine,” he said. He released her hand and stood, offering her his arm. “The Wind is yours to command, ‘Mara,” he whispered. “Always.”

She took his arm and they went in together to the ceremonial feast. And it was fitting, she saw through the eyes of her tribe, that the Dream-Master should escort the new Seer to the feast now being held in her honor. In fact, she saw, as they nodded in approval to one another, that Tamar was no longer an outsider, no longer not quite a man. The tribe was proud of him and now of her.

And her heart told her that though she might not know him well enough to be his bride tonight, with the turning of three more moons, she would be honored to dance for him at the Harvest Circle. She knew that the spirit of the white Eagle would soar high and far with the spirit of the Wind in her wings. It would be a good match.

Epilogue

Flames and sparks shot up into the night sky as the men clapped and stomped out the thundering rhythm of the Harvest Circle bride-dance. Ohmara, Seer of Names, danced with the power of the goddess filling all of her senses. High above the circle she flew in spirit, her snowy white wings carrying her higher and higher. And with her was the Wind, strong and sure, surrounding her, beneath her, adding power to her flight. Together they flew as if to reach the stars. And Ohmara laughed to herself as she gloried in this flight, even as her feet kept time on the ground, for she and Tamar had kept their growing relationship away from the eyes of all but a few. And though tribal ceremony had paired her with Tamar often, most of the tribe still expected her to wed Nahobi. Her choice tonight would be a surprise.

The first shock however was already past, as Ohmara had planned. Ferah had just danced and was now Nahobi’s bride. He had accepted her hand and knelt with her in such obvious delight that there was no doubt that the choosing was mutual, for Nahobi had indeed found love and happiness with Ferah. Whispers flew around the circle. If Nahobi was wed, then who would Ohmara choose? Who would wed the Seer, if not the first son of the High-Chief?

She slowly let her spirit come back down to earth, to rejoin her body in the dizzying dance. She looked for Tamar and nearly laughed out loud for he was glowing with excitement, caught up himself in the rhythm of the dance. He had waited long for this. It was time to bring his waiting to an end.

Our waiting, she amended to herself. For she had found in him a true partner, and a deeper love than she had ever expected. This had come to her slowly over the last three months as she had worked with him as Seer and Dream-Master must, as she watched the gentleness of his care for the spirits of the members of the tribe, young and old, through illness, death, birth. He was as Ferah had told her, very wise, and very kind. He was also, she knew now, beautiful of body and spirit, and capable of amazing tenderness. She loved him, unexpectedly, but with all her heart.

Let our waiting be ended, she thought, and now for the second surprise. Abruptly, she stopped dancing, dropping to her knees before Tamar. Swaying with dizziness, she waited for him to kneel with her. But he had his own surprise in store for them all. To her amazement, and the rest of the tribe’s, he took her hand and gently pulled her to her feet. Then he went down on one knee before her, bowing his head to touch his forehead to the hand he held.

Awed silence swept over the tribe. No one spoke. Ohmara felt her eyes fill up with joyful tears. He could do her no greater honor than this, that he recognized her as Seer, as Voice of the Goddess, first and above her status as his wife. He lifted his head, and met her eyes, then smiled, touched by her tears. He took both her hands, dropped his raised knee to the ground so that he knelt before her. Ohmara, smiling at him through her tears, knelt down again with him. Ruasji placed his hands on their heads and pronounced the marriage. When he finished, a cheer went up from the whole tribe.

As they stood up, Tamar pulled Ohmara into his arms. She looked up into his eyes, and for a long moment was lost in him, in the love she saw there. She felt him tremble in her arms as he bent his head to kiss her, heard the pounding of her heart echoed as the tribe responded with thunderous applause. The Seer was the bride of the Dream-Master. It was a great match.

The End

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