Chapter One
He was lucky. At least that was what the old women of the tribe had been telling him, as well as his mother. But there were moments when he didn’t feel like that. When he could clearly see that something was missing. Whether he lacked only on the outside, or on the inside, too, he could not tell. He had noticed how he was different from his sisters. They had parts he didn’t, and he had parts they didn’t. That was why he was now asking his mother:
“Mother, what am I? Am I a boy or a girl?”

“Ay’len,” his mother caressed his long black hair. “You are lucky.”
His mother was often speaking in mysterious ways like that. And he still had no answer.
“If I am a boy, why father doesn’t take me with him when he goes hunting for boars?”
His mother smiled.
“If I am a girl, why am I different from Ha’naa and Ja’cy? I do the things they do, but I am not like them.”
A sigh was the only answer.

“Aren’t you happy? You like going to the river and wash and sing with them, don’t you?”
Ay’len pondered for a while. “So I am a girl. When I grow up, I must take a man, like you took father.”
His mother’s beautiful face contorted like in brief pain. “No man should touch you.”
“Why?” he asked, puzzled.

“No one must feast alone on your luck. You belong to the tribe, and the tribe belongs to you. Only the one who wants to destroy the tribe would put his hands on you.”
“But …,” he wanted to protest.
“Go now. Your sisters need your help. The hunters will return, and we will have to cook.” She pushed Ay’len out of the hut.
He loved swimming alone. Since he had grown, he could no longer swim naked next to his sisters, although at first, he could not understand why. When he saw other boys swimming in the river, he realized what his mother had never told him. On the outside, he was a boy; on the inside, he felt more like his sisters. And such a thing was rare, and it had happened to him, only because he had been born under a blue moon.
He knew he was prized. His family loved him; even his father, although he could tell the tall, strong man was always at a loss around him. When Ay’len served him food, he always took the cooked meal from his hands with his eyes down, like he did not want to look at his offspring. Ay’len remembered how his parents had been fighting over him when he had been but a child.
“He must come with me.”
“His life cannot be put in danger! What bad omen do you want to bring upon us?”
“He will grow weak! Let the great Pala’ka decide whether he lives or dies! If he’s so lucky, he will live!” he remembered his father’s words.
“You will not take him! I’ll cut my hair, and scratch my face, and throw myself in the river with a rock tied to my neck if you take him!”
His mother always won, his father leaving alone on his next hunting party, Ay’len never with him.
Letting his long hair float on the water, his eyes lazily followed an eagle across the clear skies. Summers were sweet, and they were Ay’len’s favorite time. The food was plenty, and he could stay on the river for as long as he wanted.
Getting up from the water, he laid on a warm rock, waiting for his hair to dry. He was unaware of the eyes following him from behind the bushes, curious, innocent eyes, staring at him in awe.
Ma’ki could not understand.
“Why is Ay’len not hunting? Why does he stay with the girls at the river? Why is he allowed to wear his hair long, like a woman?” he kept asking his parents questions.
“He is different. He is not a boy like you. He will never grow up to be a real man. You will.”
“So, is he really a girl? Can a man seize him and claim him like a woman?”
“What questions are these?” his mother chided him. “Ay’len is too young, and no one can claim him. He will not have a man. The whole tribe is his family.”
Ma’ki could just not understand. Ay’len had the most beautiful long hair, in the entire tribe. Not even his mother, the chieftain’s woman, had hair so long and so lovely. He had to be a girl, somehow.
The boys were laughing at him. He grabbed the hem of his long dress so he could run faster. Words cannot hurt you, he said to himself, but he knew stones could. One flew through the air, walloping him in the shoulder; another hit his calf. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain. He tried to get up fast, but the pain in his leg was too much; seeing their long shadows on the ground in front of him, he sensed panic rising in his chest.
“Let’s see if he’s a boy,” one of his hunters commented, and the hem of his dress was snatched from his hands, to be pulled upwards, exposing him. He tried in vain to pull it back, wanting nothing but to cover himself from impure eyes.
“He’s a boy, but he dresses like a girl,” another voice was heard, something akin to disgust and surprise in it.
He was pulled by the legs, while he tried to fight off the unwelcome, intrusive touch. Apparently, his chasers were all now staring at his sex which he was trying to hide, by pulling down his dress, but his hands were pushed roughly apart to allow them to keep watching.
“He has no hair there,” they were laughing.
One voice, sounding scared, tried to warn them. “We should leave him alone. Ma’iala says he’s not to be touched.”
“Ma’iala is an old witch. My father says we should cast him away. He’s not like anyone else,” another commented, but Ay’len could sense that they were hesitating, still unsure what they wanted to do with him.
“Leave him alone,” another boy’s voice intervened, and Ay’len looked up to see Ma’ki, the first born of the tribe’s chieftain, approaching, his hands stretching his sling with determination.
Ay’len took advantage of the element of surprise Ma’ki had just offered, and push against the hands holding him, slipping away with speed and force he had no idea he had in him. His assailants cried out in surprise. Two took out after him, while the other two preferred to face Ma’ki. As he was running, he heard a hissing sound slicing the air, and when he turned, he saw one of the boys who’d chosen to run after him falling to the ground, like hit by an invisible hand. The other, taken aback by what had just happened, abandoned his pursuit and turned to face Ma’ki who was now calmly stretching his sling again.
But he was one against three, and Ay’len felt a pang of guilt. Limping, he turned, hoping to draw some of their attention on him, and leave Ma’ki enough time to deal with his attackers.
A hand on his shoulder stopped him. Seeing the bony fingers seizing him, he felt like screaming. He was afraid of Ma’iala, like everyone else. Her eyes were watery blue, and no one could say whether she could still see with them or not. But she could see better than anyone with all her other senses, and her words sliced through anyone trying to break the unwritten rules of the tribes. She carried the words of the wind, and the words of the earth, and the words of the eagle god, and no one doubted her. She raised her twisted cane, made of vines and old branches and dead leaves, above her head, on which only a few white hairs were still trying to hold on, and bellowed with a cavernous voice:
“I curse you!”
The boys stopped and turned, fear evident on their faces. Ma’ki let his sling down. No one had the right to yield weapons in Ma’iala’s presence. Ay’len assailants did not need any other incentive, and they scurried away, screaming like attacked by a wild beast. Ma’ki remained, staring at the old woman.
“Be gone!” Ma’iala gestured at him, agitated. Ay’len felt the bony fingers in his shoulder clutching him, although he was not trying to run away. After a few seconds, Ma’ki finally turned and left, not without looking Ay’len straight in the eye. That look was one of hurt and longing, and Ay’len felt a pull towards the other boy, but the firm grip on his shoulder stilled him in place.
“Let him go,” Ma’iala talked to him, her voice suddenly warm and soothing. “Don’t look him in the eye, Ay’len. He is dangerous for you. You should fear him most.”
“But … he tried to save me”, the boy murmured.
“Heed my words, Ay’len. Your heart is big, so big it could swallow him whole. But he can hurt you, too. Stay away from Ma’ki. When he becomes a man, he’ll take a woman and have children. His destiny is in his blood. Don’t turn him from his way.”
What was the old woman talking about? Ma’ki was a good son and a good boy. He could never hurt Ay’len.
His sisters were chirping happily. Although there were still summers before they could be claimed and take a man, they were allowed to show their interest in the boys of their choosing at the end of the hunting season ceremony. They had spent the whole afternoon picking up flowers, having a tough time to decide which one was the most beautiful. Ha’naa and Ja’cy were confident, though, that Ay’len’s flower was the most beautiful. They teased him.
“Ay’len, who will be your man?” they were laughing and brushing his long hair, exchanging glances, like they knew everything.
“No one.” Ay’len was keeping it a secret because no one was to know. His heart was beating with anticipation. Would the boy he liked accept his flower? There was no bigger insult for a girl than to be rejected. He knew he was not a girl, not like his sisters, but still, his young heart wanted nothing but to pay its tribute to love.
He had put on a new dress, one he had embellished with small beads and stones gathered from the riverbed. Those had been a pain to sew into the leather he had scratched and beaten and washed until it had become supple, and now was caressing his body, like soothing hands. The dresses the tribeswomen wore were plain, meant to cover them from neck to toes, but still, allow them to move freely. On special occasions, like this one, they could make them more beautiful, by adding any decoration they wanted.
He watched his sisters as they braided their hair.
“Should I braid my hair, too?” he asked, and they giggled.
“Yours is beautiful as it is,” Ha’naa commented. “All the boys will want your flower if you make yourself even more beautiful. Don’t let your two poor sisters without men”, she laughed while exchanging glances with her sister.
“Hey, you’re not to marry yet,” Ay’len laughed, too.
Outside the hut, their parents had another fight.
“Let him enjoy being a child. What can happen?” their mother was seizing their father’s strong arm with determination.
“They will laugh at him.”
The man was angry.
“He always helps everybody. Why should they laugh? They should be proud for having him in this tribe,” the mother continued.
“They should … but Ma’iala is dying, Kaa’sa. Look around. They don’t respect the old ways. Who will be Ay’len’s guardian when I'm gone, too?” the man spoke with bitterness in his voice.
“Many respect them. And Ay’len will take Ma’iala’s place when she goes to Pala’ka. They will learn his ways; who is going to heal them? Ease their suffering? And you are still young, Pa’tan,” she embraced him. “Ay’len will see that we live in good health for many summers and winters from now.”
Pa’tan shook his head. “Look at the young ones. How can you not see them? And not just them. They want to hurt him. They want to touch him. Their eyes are on our Ay’len, but they fear Ma’iala’s curses and my axe. When we’ll be gone, who will protect him?”
Kaa’sa laughed softly. “He is your most precious child. You don’t worry like this for Ha’naa and Ja’cy.”
“They’re women. They know how to protect themselves. He … Ay’len is blessed and cursed at the same time. And in his kindness and tenderness, he will not even know how to defend himself. They will fight for him unless they choose to strike him down. The strongest will claim him, and he will be shamed. His eyes will become clouds, and his soul, a desert. Let the one soiling Ay’len be cursed forever!” he raised a closed fist towards the skies.
His wife tried to calm him down. “You’re worrying too much. Let Ay’len go with his sisters, laugh a little, dance. We’re not wild dogs. He will be protected by his tribe, always.”
“Woman, you always do what you want. If someone makes Ay’len cry …”
“He’ll be fine,” Kaa’sa embraced him with shiny eyes. “We will have some time alone tonight, as the children will go to the ceremony. I miss you, Pa’tan.”
A bear-like hug was the only response Kaa’sa needed to know she had succeeded convincing her man once again.
Ma’ki had many flowers next to him. Many girls had come and gone, leaving their tokens in his hands, smiling and talking to him, and he had talked to each and every one. Ay’len had seen everything from afar and was still biding his time. Ma’ki was to be the next chieftain; that kind of attention was expected.
He wanted the moment to be special. He had played it in his head many times, and the butterflies in his belly showed no sign they wanted to stop. Finally, he saw Ma’ki alone. He was playing with his sling, oblivious to the world around him. Most youngsters were now singing and dancing around the big fire, but he most often chose to stay alone, like this.
With little steps, Ay’len drew near.
“Ma’ki,” he called, and the boy’s head snapped upwards, surprise clear in the dark eyes. His hair was shoulder length now, but it was coarser than Ay’len’s. His skin was getting darker, too, as he was going now on almost all hunting parties and spending more time in the open. His calloused hands had grown bigger, and Ay’len liked those hands. They were not as big as his father’s, but they were still large compared to Ay’len’s delicate hands.
He handed the boy the flower he had kept hidden behind his back. Ma’ki’s eyes grew wide, and he took the flower without a word. He was contemplating the gift, not knowing what to say.
“Ma’ki got a flower from a boy,” a nasty voice shredded the mysterious veil of the moment, and laughter followed, as a few boys of about the same age approached.
Ma’ki’s eyes, filled with wonder, clouded in an instant. He crushed the flower in his fist and then, opening his palm, he let the squashed petals drop at Ay’len’s feet. The long haired boy stared at him, appalled.
Ay’len felt a cold chill and wetness in his eyes. He turned and left, the same nasty laughter following his steps. He had been rejected by the only person he wanted close, besides his family and Ma’iala. His young heart had known little pain by now, and the over flooding sensation was squashing his chest with a force that was knocking the air out of his lungs. Striving to breathe, he ran away.
Behind him, Ma’ki was surrounded by the other boys, his cruel laughter mixing with theirs.
He chose not to go to his parents’ hut. They deserved to be alone. He did not disturb his sisters either, and went directly to Ma’iala’s hut, far from the ceremony. He loved that place because it had always given him peace of mind. He needed that.
Ma’iala welcomed him with a small sigh. She caressed the boy’s black strands with her now weak hands.
“Don’t cry, Ay’len,” her soothing voice caressed him. Ay’len knelt in front of her and placed his head on her lap. The woman was growing smaller and smaller, year after year, and he did not want to lose her. He was not prepared.
His parents were proud.
“So many flowers,” his mother commented. “Ma’ki, you will have so many beautiful girls to choose from.”
“Beautiful?” his father boomed. “Pick one with strong thighs, my son, to give you many children.”
That earned him a playful slap from his wife. “Let him pick the one he wants. Son, are you upset?” she asked, sensing Ma’ki’s distress.
“No!” he almost yelled at them, and threw all the flowers on his bed, after which he left the hut, letting his parents wonder what had gotten into him.
I cannot pick the one I want, he whispered to the wind. Moving effortlessly through the dark, he went to the place where Ay’len had given him the flower. The one that he had squashed and thrown at the boy’s feet.
His hands felt the ground, searching. His eyes adjusted to the dark, but it was when the blue moon freed itself from the clouds that he could see the pale, delicate petals against the black soil. He picked them one by one and hid them in his pocket. Straightening up, he walked to the river. Stretching his sling, his old boy weapon he knew he had to soon part with, he aimed for the moon. An eagle flew across the sky, and for a brief moment, it looked like it was hovering over the surface of the blue heavenly body. He roared, releasing his sling.
“I want Ay’len! Give him to me, Pala’ka!”