A meadowlark’s voice carried in the quiet, its flutelike call melodious. As wind drifted over the mesa, he caught strains of whispers and thought he heard softly placed steps.
“What do you think he meant, thlatsinas?” Poor Singer whispered. “How do I face Father Sun as a baby would? A baby with no knowledge of the world. He told me not to speak, or…”
Realizing he had already violated Dune’s orders, he hushed, and fought to quiet his internal dialogue, focusing his attention on the luminous sky.
Bright white spikes punctured the horizon. Beneath them, quiet as mouse, Father Sun peeked, warily checking the world before rising. His gleam washed the land, driving away the last shreds of darkness, flowing over Poor Singer like warm honey. The black hair on his body prickled. Awe surged in his heart.
Never before had he experienced the suddenness of the transfiguration from coldness to warmth.
He rolled to his back and spread his arms and legs, baring himself to Father Sun. His head rested on a small rise in the stone, and as he gazed over his skinny body, past the mound of dark hair between his legs, and beyond to the sculpted red-gold land, he felt a joy he had never known.
His clothing had shielded him!
Euphoric at the revelation, Poor Singer laughed out loud.
The sky blued above him while he thought: So this is what Dune was trying to tell me. Newborns came from a solitary world of constant night, expecting nothing, comprehending nothing. When the sunlight flooded over them for the first time, it must have filled them with wonder—as it had him this morning. Indeed, the light felt as much a part of him as the warm blood in his veins.
“Blessed thlatsinas. That’s what Dune meant about being the light. Oh, yes, gods, please. I want to be sunlight, too.”
He filled his lungs with the chill air and the rich fragrances of juniper and dew-soaked earth.
I can’t wait to tell Dune! I understand! I really understand!
The frail scratching of bird feet made him turn toward the cliff’s edge.
A sage thrasher perched on a rounded hump of sandstone, its brown head cocked to scrutinize him. Love swelled Poor Singer’s chest. Once, long before the First People emerged from the underworlds, before the Made People walked the earth as animals, the bird and he had lived as one in the brilliant star that formed Spider Woman’s heart. Sparkles, they had laughed and twinkled together. Only when the Creator named them did they become different. The instant they knew their names, they had fallen to earth, and become bird and coyote.
“Brother,” Poor Singer whispered as he slowly extended a hand to the sage thrasher. “Come with me. Let us be one again in the sunlight.”
The bird uttered a sweet lilting call, and flew away.
Poor Singer smiled.
It took effort to rise to his feet. He tingled all over.
As he climbed down the rock steps, he Sang, “Our daylight fathers. Our daylight mothers. It comes alive. It comes alive, alive, alive.” His words echoed across the canyon like soft thunder, Sung in the deep voice that had brought him renown at Wind-flower Village.
When Poor Singer reached the bottom stair, he saw two men trotting down the trail that wound around the base of the cliff. Big men, burly and coated with sweat. They wore red shirts, belted at the waist, and had coral pendants around their necks.
Poor Singer loped for the house, calling, “Dune? Dune, two men are coming!”
Sunlight had driven back the cliff’s shadow, leaving Dune’s house sitting in a puddle of yellow. The sage growing up around the clay-plastered walls glimmered green.
Dune pulled the door curtain aside and stuck his white head out. “Who?”
Poor Singer trotted up, breathing hard. “I can’t say. I’ve never seen them before. But they are important men. They wear beautiful coral pendants—”
“Coral?” Dune asked, and stepped outside, still naked.
Both of them stood staring down the trail.
The men trotted up, squinted curiously at their nakedness, and exchanged knowing glances. Then the taller man bowed respectfully. “A blessed morning to you, Elder.”
“And to you, Wraps-His-Tail. What—”
“Wraps-His-Tail!” Poor Singer blurted. “The—the great deputy to the War Chief of Talon Town?”
Wraps-His-Tail inclined his head humbly, but Dune growled, “Great, great, great! Is reputation all that concerns you?”
“F-forgive me, Dune.” Poor Singer hung his head in shame. Whatever his soul had learned on the cliff, his mouth had immediately forgotten.
Dune glanced at the other man, shorter, but just as stout, with a round face and small eyes. “You are looking well, Cone.”
“And you also, Elder,” the man said with a smile. “It has been a long time since you graced us with your presence at Talon Town. We have missed you.”