Nyx found his campsite easily, though Kalona was absent from it. She meant to leave quickly, to follow the connection she had with him and go directly to him, but the spot Kalona had made his own intrigued her.
It was at the edge of the grassy prairie where it curved into the cross-timber section of trees that lined a sandy creek, at the other end of which the Prairie People had a large settlement. Nyx thought it was a nice spot for a camp, and Kalona had certainly made it comfortable.
She looked through the piles of pelts, woven baskets, tools, and foodstuff, realizing that her lover had obviously made friends with the Prairie People—or she hoped he had. Nyx’s hand lingered on a particularly thick fur, much like the one he had lined her boat with the day he had crafted it for her.
What was Kalona trading for such a rich array of gifts? Nyx knew the native mortals—knew them well. They could be kind and generous, but they also rarely gave without purpose.
A small sliver of apprehension lodged with the Goddess as she remembered Kalona’s first encounter with the Prairie People. They had named him a winged God and had been ready to worship him.
“No! I will not think ill of Kalona. He is not responsible for the superstitions of the Prairie People,” Nyx told herself firmly.
The Goddess turned her face from the pile of gifts and left the cozy little campsite. She stood at the edge of the prairie and spread her arms wide, throwing back her head and drinking in the rising light of a full, silver moon. The night was clear, and the sky was filled with stars. The breeze was warm and gentle, and out into it Nyx sent her magick.
“Lead me to my love, so that I might make right what has become wrong between us,” Nyx commanded the night.
Wisps of magick, like the sparkling tail of shooting stars, flowed from the Goddess. Gently but surely they pulled her forward. Nyx followed. Confident that Kalona was nearby, she felt her heartbeat quicken in anticipation. He had been created for her; he did love her. She need only to look into his amber eyes, to touch the smooth strength of his body, and he would know as surely as she that there was nothing and nobody standing between them, that there never would be.
Nyx saw the black birds before she saw Kalona. They pulled her gaze to a distant rolling rise in the prairie that held a few small trees and some lichen-covered sandstone ledges. She could see Kalona’s silhouette. He was sitting on a large, flat slab of stone, head in his hands, shoulders bent. His wings glistened as if they were absorbing the light of the full moon. Nyx stopped and stood silently, watching him from a distance. He is so beautiful, so majestic, and so sad, she thought. I ache to ease his sadness.
Nyx had just begun to close the distance between herself and Kalona when a figure moved in the upper corner of the Goddess’s vision, drawing her gaze from the winged immortal. Above him, on an even larger outcropping of sandstone rock, a feather-bedecked old man had appeared. He stood, slowly straightening his age-crooked body. As he straightened, Nyx could see that he was not alone. A woman was with him—a girl, really. She was wearing an elaborately decorated dress of tanned hide, which Nyx thought was quite lovely. Actually, even from a distance the Goddess could tell that the maiden was spectacularly beautiful.
Nyx’s brow raised and she felt a stab of jealousy. Was the old man offering the maid to Kalona? What if he accepted her?
The Goddess was torn. Part of her wanted to fade into the night and to allow her love to take his pleasure where he could find it.
Another part of her wanted to rush forward and demand Kalona choose none other but her.
Nyx bowed her head and surrendered the knowing of what it felt to be jealous and vulnerable and full of despair.
The old man began to chant a wordless, rhythmic melody. His voice was hypnotic, and Nyx felt her own bare feet begin to move in time with it when Kalona spoke.
“Shaman, enough! I have endured too many miseries today. I do not need your unending song added to them.” He raised his head, and Nyx could see his body jerk in surprise. “Why have you brought a child here?”
“I do only as my dream commands.”
“About that dream, you could have told me that—”
The old man’s voice cut across Kalona’s. As he sang his song, the timbre of his voice changed, magnified with a strange power that glowed from the center of his forehead in a pure, white light the shape of a crescent moon.
What I do, I do for two
One for her
And one for you
Take this maid
Her blood runs true
Sacrifice for two
One for her
And one for you
Mesmerized, Nyx watched and listened, but as the Shaman’s song progressed, a terrible sense of foreboding filled the Goddess and she began to move forward, slowly at first, and then more quickly, until she was running.
Balance hold