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Title: Star of Rebirth

Author: Bernard Wall

Release date: November 9, 2019 [eBook #60655]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STAR OF REBIRTH ***




Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









                            STAR OF REBIRTH

                            BY BERNARD WALL

                     _Atanta knew the red star was
                     the home of his people after
                     death.... And for months now
                    it had been growing brighter._

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
             Worlds of If Science Fiction, February 1959.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Everyone should have known. They should have known as surely as though
it were written in the curved palm of the wind. They should have known
when they looked up at the empty sky; they should have known when they
looked down at the hungry children. Yet somehow they did not know that
their last migratory hunt was almost over.

The straggling band had woven its slow trail among the mountains for
forty days of vanishing hopes and shrinking stomachs. Ahead of the main
party, the scouts had crawled until their knees and palms were raw; but
still there was no track of game, and the only scent was that of the
pungent air that rose from the ragged peaks of ice.

At last they halted, only a few footsteps from The Cave of the Fallen
Sun, the farthest western reach of their frozen domain. In the rear
of the column the women threatened the children into silence and the
scouts went first to the mouth of the cave to look for signs of an
animal having entered. Presently the scouts stood up with their massive
shoulders drooping, turned to the rest and made a hopeless gesture.

Atanta, who stood alone and motionless between the scouts and the
rest of his band, knew that all were waiting for him to use his
magic to make a great leopard appear in the empty cave. "A _very_
great leopard," he thought sarcastically. Enough to feed them all
for a hundred days. A leopard so huge it would whine pitifully while
they killed it. A leopard so gigantic that it would not leave its
footprints in the snow. Indeed, Atanta was sure, the leopard his people
wanted would be much too large to fit into the cave. Well, perhaps
there would be a bird.

He held himself very tall and straight so that his dejection might not
show to either his people or his gods. But after forty days of the
trackless hunt, Atanta felt with certainty that the gods were deaf or
dead ... or at least very far away.

The sun was hot and the gods were gone, and he would not keep his
people waiting with false hopes. He closed his eyes and took up the
crude bone cross that hung from his waist, and he cursed the gods with
silent venom. And when his chastisement of the delinquent gods was
done, he dropped the cross to dangle at his waist again.

Two hunters moved stealthily forward, their spears disappearing before
them into the cave. It was somehow pathetic, Atanta felt, the way they
moved so courageously into the empty darkness.

How many caves had there been, Atanta wondered, since they left the
mouth of the river? Fully a dozen, always empty, except for the
scattered bones of bears and men. Perhaps he should have kept his
people at the river. No, he told himself. He had done the only thing
he could do. The season had been bad and their meager catch of fish
carefully stored. But the already heavy ice thickened with the approach
of winter and made fishing almost impossible. When their supplies were
almost gone, he had done as so many had done before him. He had led his
people on the futile hunt, hoping for the miracle of a dozen sleeping
bears or a great white leopard. Such miracles had happened in the past.
Once he had gone with his father on such a winter hunt.

But miracles without footprints were quite another matter. That was the
way his people lived: just existing when the catch was good, starving
when it was not.

Presently the two hunters stepped out of the darkness with the blunt
ends of their spears dragging behind them, and their countenances told
the others that the cave was indeed empty.

Children began to cry. Women picked up their packs and slung them
across their shoulders. The men mumbled inaudible words that turned
into whisps of smoke in the icy air. At Atanta's signal, everyone
entered the ice-floored cave, thankful at least to be out of the
blinding brightness of the sun and snow, and into the soothing dark
where they could rest.

Atanta stood while his people stretched their furry bodies out over
the frozen ground. He looked down at his woman who lay before him,
watching him with her black eyes large and warm. It made his stomach
clutch itself into an angry knot, to see her young face so drawn with
exhaustion and hunger. There were lines in her face he had never seen
before; the fur of her head and body had lost its sheen and was now
brittle and dry. She patted the ice and motioned him to lie down beside
her; but he turned his eyes away from her, because he knew that he must
tell the others before he could rest.

"Listen to me," he said, and his voice rang through the ice-sheeted
cave. The tired eyes of the men and women opened and everyone sat up.

How should he tell them? They were waiting now. Should he simply say
it swiftly and have done with it? Tell them that they had followed an
impotent god until now they were to die? Surely he should prepare them
somehow. Prepare them for the importance of what he was to say.

"Listen, for I tell you of the end of the empty caves."

He stood silent for a moment watching hope filter into their faces,
hope that made their dull eyes shine in the semi-darkness.

"Do not let joy curl your lips until you have listened, for it would be
a false joy."

The lines of tiredness and worry returned to the faces about him.
Atanta did not look down at his woman's face, for she knew him very
well and she would know what he had to do.

       *       *       *       *       *

"We are told of a time long ago, when the cave of man was filled with
food as the night is filled with stars, and the caves and the men
covered the five corners of the world. But these were not the caves
that we know now. They were magic caves, and these were magic men. The
men of that long-ago world created the very mountains into which they
dug their caves. The mountains they created raised their peaks through
the highest clouds, and every mountain held countless caves ... caves
stuffed with bear and fish and captive winter winds. These were magic
times when every man was a priest. Every man could make fire blossom
from nowhere and every man could fly through the air like a bird.

"All this was long ago when the world was young, and the world was
hot, and our people could live in the heat. But Nuomo the God of Night
became jealous of these magic men, for he had seen them fly into the
night itself in search of the stars. And so Nuomo wrapped his black
wings around the world and shook it for ten tens of days. The world
cracked and burst with flame that sprouted up into the darkened sky.
The people ran in terror and their mountain-caves were sucked down into
the earth or burned into ash by the flame. At the end of the ten tens
of days, Nuomo thought that all were dead and so he rolled a sheet of
ice across the earth to cool it.

"Only one man was able to escape the wrath of that ancient god. He was
an old man with only little magic and he felt himself on the edge of
death. He look from his body a rib which he fashioned into a son. But
he made the son in such a way that he could live upon the ice itself,
as we do now.

"The son knew that the old man was about to die, and so he said:
'Father, use your magic to make a woman to keep me from being lonely.'

"'Woman!' the old man cried. 'I should think you would want me to teach
you the use of magic.'

"'Yes, father,' the son answered, 'if you can.'

"'No,' the old man told him. 'I am so near to death there is no time. A
woman will have to do.'

"And so the old man drew from his chest another rib which he fashioned
into a woman. This being done, he turned to his son and said: 'My son,
the time has come for me to die. Do not mourn for me, for when each
evening comes you will see my home--the red star which travels quickly
in the night. For many ten tens of years, I have been preparing it to
become a suitable place to be born again. When your time comes, you too
will be welcome there.'

"Thus saying, the old man placed his hands upon the shoulders of his
son. Then he wrapped his cloak about him and rose up into the heavens
to the star of rebirth.

"Only when the old man had gone to the star of rebirth, did the son
turn to his woman. Only then did he see that she had not been made in
his image, for she was hairless and delicate and not made to live upon
the ice. She was a Hotland woman. But the son, whose name was Dectar,
took his woman whose name was Sontia, shielded her from the icy winds
and comforted her as best he could. Some of their children had hair
and loved the cold; some were weak and hairless and did not. In those
days the hunting was good and the strong sheltered the weak, fed them,
carried them on the long hunts. But Sontia was a jealous woman. Jealous
of her strong husband and their offspring of his kind. She prayed
to Ram, God of the Sun, and begged him to melt the ice. And so the
ice began to melt, leaving the Hotlands a paradise for weak selfish
creatures. Sontia deserted Dectar, taking with her those of their
children who were hairless and weak like herself.

"When the ice began to melt, we sons of Dectar were forced to hunt
farther northward year by year. The game became not so plentiful as it
had been. Our people learned to fish and hunt as we do now--to fish in
the summer, to hunt when the ice becomes thick.

"But the jealous sons of Sontia who swarm in the Hotlands were not
content to see us perish year by year. Even to this day, if we should
wander down to the edge of their domain to beg for a few scraps of
food, they would answer our plea with death. And even in death they
would allow us no dignity, but would strip us of our hides and wear
them in mockery.

"I tell you of this now, because when a man comes on a long hunt which
ends in an empty cave, it is well to remember and be proud of the
successful hunts of other years."

Atanta took the white bone cross carefully from about his waist.

"It was I who first saw this god go across the sky." He held up the
cross for all to see. "It went slowly like a bird from horizon to
horizon and I knew that it was not a bird for it did not flap its
wings, but kept them still and outstretched. I believed it to be the
god who would fill our hunting trails with game, but now I know that
this god is impotent. At worst it is a foolish god, lying somewhere on
the white floating ice of heaven, wallowing in idleness while my people
starve."

He dropped the cross to the smooth ice floor, knelt and smashed the
cross into pieces with one swift blow of his hammerstone.

When he looked up the people were silent and unmoving. Perhaps he had
been a fool. Perhaps he had told them nothing they didn't know. Perhaps
they had already given up and knew that they would die here in the cave
and that he could produce no magic to help them.

"Will you take another god?" one of the scouts asked.

"I see no other god to take."

"Then do you think we can be delivered without a god?"

Wasn't it evident? Surely they must know. Should he tell them there was
no deliverance, with or without a god?

"I don't know," he lied. "I don't know."

Ark's woman drew a strip of leather from the mouth of a sleeping child
and put it in her own mouth. "Then you'll have to deliver us yourself,"
she said and lay down to go to sleep.

A sudden rage burned in Atanta's brain. The muscles in his square jaw
trembled as he glared at the sprawling furry figures, who would lie
there and die while they waited like children for him to provide for
the future.

Abruptly he turned and left the cave, and walked out under the yellow
sun that made the ice-covered mountains shimmer. He felt that he must
get away from them. He did not want to die with fools.

       *       *       *       *       *

The sun blazed hot upon the hair of his head and back as he traveled
rapidly downward and away from his people in the cave. He traveled too
quickly to think of anything else but where his next footstep should
be, and within an hour he was at the edge of a great ice field that
stretched itself out before him like the footprint of a giant. There
could be no more swift traveling now. Cautiously, he started out over
the empty plain, prodding the ice before him with his spear.

It was not that they were children. He knew that he had been wrong to
judge them so. There was nothing they could do. They had walked their
lives away on the long hunt that ended now without a sign or scent of
prey.

And he, Atanta, had led them. They were strong and loyal people, too,
for if he ordered them up and back along the trail that they had come,
each man would go without a word and hope that there was some magic
Atanta had yet to use.

But the animals were gone and the gods were gone, and there was but
one thing left. He would go down below this range where the Hotlanders
were known to be. Probably he would simply die in the sun. If not, the
Hotlanders would kill him on the spot, as they were usually so quick
to do. The Hotlanders had good magic. Not as good as his ancestors',
Atanta was sure. But still, they could kill a man from a great
distance, simply by pointing a magic charm and making a certain noise.

Perhaps the Hotlanders wouldn't see him and perhaps he would not
die in the sun. Perhaps he would find some game by the edge of the
Hotlands. Perhaps....

The sun had tucked itself behind a white western peak when Atanta at
last came to the end of the ice field. Tired now, he crouched for a
moment like a bird with his bottom sitting squarely upon his heels.
Presently his tiredness became true exhaustion, so he dug himself a
little space in a shadowed snow bank and then covered himself with a
mound of snow.

While Atanta slept, a great lost bird came on the last feeble rays of
light, flapping its black wings because there was no wind to glide upon
and there was no footing but the frozen ground. When above Atanta, the
bird caught a slight scent in the air, held its wings stiff and tilted
itself to glide in slow circles that became smaller and smaller and
ever lower until at last the bird's tired feet sank deep into the snow
beside the mound where Atanta lay. The bird folded its wings about
itself and pecked at the mound, its beak digging cautious holes in the
snow. Atanta stirred slightly at this intrusion, and the bird drew its
beak away and flapped its wings against the windless air and flew away.

When Atanta woke, the night wind had curled itself with a scream about
the mountains and brought with it a fresh snow. He dug himself from his
bed and smiled with his eyes closed at the night that sent the wind and
snow to caress his hair. When he opened his eyes, his face was tilted
upward to the sky, and he smiled at the lonely stars.

The moon was full and heavy tonight, and it hung low in the western
sky. Atanta wished his woman could be here beside him, nestling close
to him in the soft snow, her delicate hands caressing the hair on his
cheek. He thought of her hands rubbed raw from the straps of the heavy
pack. Perhaps it was better that he had left without saying goodbye.

He felt rested enough to go on, and was about to hoist himself to his
feet when the red star caught his attention. For months now it had been
growing brighter with every night that passed, as if heralding some
important event. This was the red star of rebirth, and he wished he
could believe that he and his people would someday go to live there;
but he no longer believed in anything.

It was then that Atanta saw the god. It was a great and fearful god
that turned the black night yellow and screamed louder than the wind.
In an instant it fell out of the sky; then the yellow light was gone
and the voice of the god was gone, and the dark night returned and the
voice of the wind returned.

Atanta fell to his knees and his trembling hand etched out the sign of
the cross in the snow. Surely this must be a sign. The god had come out
of the sky and fallen in the path before him--forbidding him to go into
the lowlands. He knew he must pray and ask forgiveness but for many
moments he was too frightened to pray, and when the fear subsided, he
was too proud. Why should he pray to a god who would let his people
starve? He raised his eyes, and saw the very head of the god peering up
above the next rise.

He stood up with a semblance of dignity on his unsteady legs. When
the god did not move from behind the rise for many minutes, Atanta's
courage overbalanced his fear and he kicked the snow with his foot and
obliterated the sign of the cross. He waited for the god to strike him
dead, but nothing happened. The head of the god was motionless.

Atanta set out with cautious steps. Presently he hid behind a little
ice dune where he could see the god in its awesome entirety. Now he
was close enough to hurl his spear at it if the god suddenly struck in
anger; and he gripped the spear in readiness. Suddenly he was filled
with a new awe, for he realized that this was not the god of the cross!
There were no stiff wings at its side. It was like a huge shining spear
with its dull end stuck in the snow and its point stretching up to the
sky. But how could this be a god?

Perhaps he should not yet pray. Time had shown there were many false
gods.

Presently a black mouth appeared magically in the side of the great
still thing. The mouth sucked in the icy air for a moment and then
extended a long jagged tongue down to the fresh snow.

Atanta saw something move in the blackness of the gaping mouth and then
a figure stepped out onto the tongue and looked about at the falling
snow and the white jagged mountains in the darkness. It was the figure
of a man. At least it was in a man's shape, but it did not look like
a man of the mountains nor did it look like the man-creatures of the
Hotlands. It walked slowly and laboriously down the tongue, and it
seemed to be made of the same shiny stuff as the tongue and the flying
wingless god itself. For a moment, Atanta wondered which was the god.
The great huge thing with the mouth and the tongue, or the man-thing?

The stranger stepped off the tongue into the snow where he knelt and
scooped up the snow in his arms, tossed it into the wind which hurled
it to the ground again. Then he stood and clutched his head. For a
moment Atanta thought he had taken his own head off, but then he could
tell that he had taken a covering off his head which he tossed into the
snow. Then it seemed that the man had been entirely covered, like the
men of the Hotlands who wore furs.

Presently the man had taken off all his covering, and stretched his
furry arms up to feel the sweetness of the wind. Atanta leaped up,
shouting his surprise. For this was a true man.

For a moment the man was startled and then his face filled with joy.
Showing his empty palms, he began to walk slowly toward Atanta.

Atanta moved to meet him, the dark fur of his shoulders glistening
in the moonlight. He spoke, but the man did not understand. Then
he pointed up to the sky, then to the man, and tilted his head
questioningly.

The man smiled and nodded his head. He pointed to the sky, but not
straight up. He pointed to a spot low in the west.

He pointed to the star of rebirth.

While Atanta watched in unbelieving awe, the man touched his own chest,
then stooped to lay his palms on the snow at his feet. Then he pointed
once more to the red star and made a rapid upward gesture. Then he
laid his closed hands beside his head and pretended to be asleep. His
fingers opened and closed, again and again. "Many sleeps," said Atanta,
understanding. "Tens of ten sleeps."

Smiling, the man straightened and made a rapid downward gesture, ending
with his palms again on the snow. Then he stepped forward, placing one
hand on his chest, the other on Atanta's.

The two furry men stood as tall and straight as their dignity could
make them, and their faces were bright with joy. Then Atanta took the
hammerstone out of the binding about his waist, and tossed it into the
snow.

The man nodded. Stepping back, he lifted his hand in an arc across the
sky, and offered Atanta the stars.







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