loose wing-scale carefully into a drawstring pocket in his shoulder-cape. He stood back, arms folded, head lowered. From beneath coarse bangs he peered at her in an odd indirect stare.
Though his face was sharper and his body lighter in build, there was still the sense of solidity about him that spoke of possible Pueblo ancestry. She felt her eyes grow wide, although she tried not to gape at him in surprise. Could it be that some remnants of the Blue Star colony had survived?
She remembered again what her grandfather had told her about the Blue Star migration and her own family’s refusal to join in.
The Temiyas and a few other families who chose to remain on Earth had been a minority within the Pueblo tribes. The majority, intoxicated with the fervor of the Blue Star faith and its promise of a new Fifth World uncontaminated by the presence of the disruptive European culture, had left Earth in 2062. They settled on another world, hoping to revive their ancient tribal life, but the colony disappeared. No survivors or descendants had been found.
If this boy was a survivor of the lost colony, what were his people like? How did they live? The questions flooded into her mind along with an intense desire to see the boy’s home village. Obviously the boy’s people had made changes to adapt, his winged mount was proof of that.
Kesbe wondered what the youth saw in her face. Was there that much of the Indian left in her? Only her grandfather had given her any real sense of her past and her people. Again she wished Morning Bird Man could be here now, sharing his wrinkled wisdom. Bajeloga, you would know what to say to this boy.
As she studied him, he thrust his head forward, his nostrils widening, sniffing at her as if he were a young predator. His face distorted into the unsettling half-snarl that made her want to grimace back at him. Abruptly he withdrew. His expression shifted back to that of a wary human teenager.
“Baqui hanakomi?” The boy spoke in a hoarse tenor, his head cocked to one side.
Kesbe stared at him, her hope growing.
His word “hanakomi” sounded like the Hopi word “haqumi,” which meant “who are you?” It was a reasonable beginning to a conversation.
After a moment of unexpected silence she decided to take the initiative and used his greeting back to him. “Baqui hanakomi?” she asked.
A line formed between his straight brows. His lips pursed pugnaciously and his nostrils flared. “ Ba hanakomi,” he said. All right, he was correcting her. “ Ba hanakomi,” she replied.
“Apinu’i.” He clenched his fist emphatically against his chest. Kesbe was about to respond by pointing at him and repeating the sound. She averted her eyes slightly, knowing it was impolite to point or stare. “Apinu,” she said, thinking it was the boy’s name.
She gestured at the aronan. “Ba hanakomi?”
“Haewi Namij.” The beginnings of a smile twitched across his lips. He walked to his flier, tossing back a loosely bound horsetail of dusty black hair. “Haewi Namij, chosovi poko.”
With a surprise, she recognised “chosovi,” from her grandfather’s name for her. And poko she knew from Bajeloga’s stories. It meant an animal who would do things for you.
The aronan butted its master playfully as he stroked it. Little ripples of metallic gold played across the velvet of its compound eyes, giving life and expression to an otherwise opaque stare. Its head was very unlike that of an insect, having an elongated snout and a slightly dished-in face. It had an attractive elfin shape, with a small muzzle and mothlike proboscis coiled up in a delicate watch-spring beneath its chin.
Two straight horns sculpted from chitin guarded the hemispheres of its compound eyes. The eyes themselves were slightly recessed beneath a spiny ridge, giving the aronan less of a bug-eyed look than it might otherwise have had. Above the horns were a pair of plumed antennae that continually stroked the air as if searching for
Though his face was sharper and his body lighter in build, there was still the sense of solidity about him that spoke of possible Pueblo ancestry. She felt her eyes grow wide, although she tried not to gape at him in surprise. Could it be that some remnants of the Blue Star colony had survived?
She remembered again what her grandfather had told her about the Blue Star migration and her own family’s refusal to join in.
The Temiyas and a few other families who chose to remain on Earth had been a minority within the Pueblo tribes. The majority, intoxicated with the fervor of the Blue Star faith and its promise of a new Fifth World uncontaminated by the presence of the disruptive European culture, had left Earth in 2062. They settled on another world, hoping to revive their ancient tribal life, but the colony disappeared. No survivors or descendants had been found.
If this boy was a survivor of the lost colony, what were his people like? How did they live? The questions flooded into her mind along with an intense desire to see the boy’s home village. Obviously the boy’s people had made changes to adapt, his winged mount was proof of that.
Kesbe wondered what the youth saw in her face. Was there that much of the Indian left in her? Only her grandfather had given her any real sense of her past and her people. Again she wished Morning Bird Man could be here now, sharing his wrinkled wisdom. Bajeloga, you would know what to say to this boy.
As she studied him, he thrust his head forward, his nostrils widening, sniffing at her as if he were a young predator. His face distorted into the unsettling half-snarl that made her want to grimace back at him. Abruptly he withdrew. His expression shifted back to that of a wary human teenager.
“Baqui hanakomi?” The boy spoke in a hoarse tenor, his head cocked to one side.
Kesbe stared at him, her hope growing.
His word “hanakomi” sounded like the Hopi word “haqumi,” which meant “who are you?” It was a reasonable beginning to a conversation.
After a moment of unexpected silence she decided to take the initiative and used his greeting back to him. “Baqui hanakomi?” she asked.
A line formed between his straight brows. His lips pursed pugnaciously and his nostrils flared. “ Ba hanakomi,” he said. All right, he was correcting her. “ Ba hanakomi,” she replied.
“Apinu’i.” He clenched his fist emphatically against his chest. Kesbe was about to respond by pointing at him and repeating the sound. She averted her eyes slightly, knowing it was impolite to point or stare. “Apinu,” she said, thinking it was the boy’s name.
She gestured at the aronan. “Ba hanakomi?”
“Haewi Namij.” The beginnings of a smile twitched across his lips. He walked to his flier, tossing back a loosely bound horsetail of dusty black hair. “Haewi Namij, chosovi poko.”
With a surprise, she recognised “chosovi,” from her grandfather’s name for her. And poko she knew from Bajeloga’s stories. It meant an animal who would do things for you.
The aronan butted its master playfully as he stroked it. Little ripples of metallic gold played across the velvet of its compound eyes, giving life and expression to an otherwise opaque stare. Its head was very unlike that of an insect, having an elongated snout and a slightly dished-in face. It had an attractive elfin shape, with a small muzzle and mothlike proboscis coiled up in a delicate watch-spring beneath its chin.
Two straight horns sculpted from chitin guarded the hemispheres of its compound eyes. The eyes themselves were slightly recessed beneath a spiny ridge, giving the aronan less of a bug-eyed look than it might otherwise have had. Above the horns were a pair of plumed antennae that continually stroked the air as if searching for
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