Chapter 7; The First Morning
As the first light came into the cave Lar returned to his seat on the bridge of the Watcher’s nose. Below him, he watched as Kal came out of his tent to begin the Gathering Time Festival. He was surprised to see the Watchman already in his seat where he had last seen him. He called up, Have Thee sat there all night long, my son?”
“No, father, I have just arrived. It comforts me to see all of you here at home.”
“Will Thee break thy fast at my humble table, son?”
“I would be delighted.” Lar leaped nimbly from the nose into an eye socket cave and soon, reappeared coming from the mouth opening. They hugged warmly and proceeded to the older man’s tents. Just before entering, Lar was surprised to catch a brief glimpse of the red haired woman from the vision of the gathering at the Desert Well. She stopped only for a second to stare at him. Then, she was gone.
Kal, Kiv, and Lar sat easily together. As they ate their boiled grain and fruit, they talked and laughed and retold old stories. That is until, the post meal coffee was brought in by a red haired beauty. Lar dropped his cup as he recognized her. He jumped up, “Aiya!!!” He told himself that she could not be Han, but except for the different color of hair, she was the exact likeness of his dead wife.
“I am so sorry, sir,” she said quietly, brushing at his clothing.
“Who…?”
Kal’s wife swept in, pushing the girl aside. “She is an insignificant girl…We are so sorry for her clumsiness!”
The spell of the meal was broken. Lar looked around him. Lar shook his head as if to clear it. “Well…good sirs, shall we begin?”
He lead the elders across the sands to the base of the mountain. They knelt together to intone a brief prayer. Proceeding into the dark mouth of their god, a long line of people formed up behind them. Stronger men had large bundles of sticks. Some carried ornate sandle wood boxes. These boxes held the ashes of People who had died since the last Gathering. Women carried bundles of fragrant shrub they had collected in the Great Forest to honor this moment. Silently, the little parade followed Lar up the well-worn steps to the top of the Watcher.
Lar waited for them all to reach this level, then went on ahead of them to the front of the plateau. He sat in another carved stone chair in front of a rectangular depression that had been carved down into the head. Following centuries of tradition, the pyre was built. The depression was filled with the bundles of wood that had been carted across the desert. The ash bundles were arranged carefully on top of that pile. Some unburned bodies were placed there as well. Four men had brought a large jug of oil to fill the depression.
As he was approaching his son in law sitting stiffly on the Watcher’s throne, Kal thought how sad Lar looked. Maybe this year he will replace his mate. “Again, I greet Thee in the name of the People.”
“And I greet the People in the name of the Watcher.”
Lar stood and faced the sun. He drew his hood forward to hide his eyes from the men. “Oh, Watcher, Lord of our tiny world, bless Your People in this gathering time.”
“O mein…” intoned the gathered few.
Kiv opened a carved box that he had brought. He poured the ashes of his mother down the center of the pyre. “We return the remains of those passed on in the away time.”
“The Watcher accepts their return.”
Kiv handed him an oil soaked bundle of sticks. Lar noticed that a name had been carved in hunts men runes on each stick. A bird’s nest was jammed over the end of the bundle as a fire starter. Kiv struck stone to steel. The spark leaped into the nest. A coal burned down into the nest. The nest began to smolder. Kiv blew on the coals and a small flame quickly spread to the bundle of sacred sticks. The bundle holds one stick to mark each dead soul that season. Lar wrote the names in a book for safekeeping. Kiv put the book into the carved box.
Lar waved his arm at the crowd. They began to make their way down to the ground. Once there, they joined their families kneeling in the sand. Once they were safely below, Kiv threw the bundle on to the pyre. When the oil soaked wood of the pyre caught, they headed down te steps, shooing goats away from the heat. The leaders went down the steps to wait. Lar and Kal burned a special stick together for the Watchman's lost mate and Kal’s lost daughter. Kal was sad, too, as this had been his eldest daughter that they now mourned.
The banns having been met, the People turned to begin the gathering. At the bottom of the face of their god, the women waited to be released. Lar went up the stairs to the seat at the bridge of the Watcher’s nose. Through the long day, until the dune shadow reached the hands gate. Lar watched from his seat as each woman touched the counting stick held by Kal and headed out to begin gathering.
The men went about their work of tending the animals. The women headed outside over the hidden hands to the hot sands out side of the wadi. Kal thought back to a conversation with his mother, “Why can’t the men gather stones, too?”
She smiled softly, “The banns say that the tears cannot be touched by men until they have been cleaned in the blood of a new lamb.”
“What would happen?”
“We don’t know…something bad… I do not wish to find out. Now, scoot, I have work to do.”
That ended that. He watched as the women hurried to their work outside of the arms of the Watcher. They appeared as large dots against the dun colored landscape as they began to search for the stones along the surface of the hot sand. The men set about driving the animals out along the dry streambed were scrub brush fed them and shallow sink pools watered them. The men looked often at their women, hoping that their mate would be the lucky one to kind the best tears.
As Lar watched the tiny dots moving to and fro, there would be an occasional whoop of joy and a woman would hold one high to the cheers of the others. Then the stone would be placed in a basket tied cleverly to their billowing skirts. Encouraged by each find, the rest would look harder hoping they would be next.