1st 5 Pages Feb Workshop - Watson Rev 1

Cristy Watson

Middle Grade Fantasy

Awakening Dawn

Chapter One – Salt Sky-Seeker

The Cliffs of Ironrab

Today I must climb the cliff that dropped me from its rock face like a speck of dirt. A speck of dirt to be stepped on by my older brother. Slate is sitting by the fire, a smug look on his face as he wolfs down his breakfast. He knows he will succeed on the climb up Ironrab. He’s done it many times before. But as I sit down across from him, he shakes his head. He believes I will fail again.

As Father bites into his trout pie, he turns to my younger brother Seed and says, “I have asked the clan council for permission for you to join your brothers today and they have agreed.”

“Even though my Quest Ceremony is still twenty-three moons away, I can climb the cliffs of the Great Mountain with Slate and Salt?”

Ruffling Seed’s thick, black hair, Father chuckles. “Yes. Then I will have three boys conquering Ironrab today.” Father smiles at my younger brother and then at Slate. When he looks my way, I see disappointment flash across his face before he turns his gaze back to my siblings. “Three boys to bring pride to our family name of Sky-Seeker.”  

Father stands and places his arm around Seed, but my younger brother is so full of the heat of summer, he can’t stand still for long. Like a cougar cub ready to pounce, he shifts his weight back and forth, excitement at Father’s news lighting his face. Giving in, Father lets Seed go, and returns to sit by the fire as he eats the last of his morning meal.

When I was young, I thought Father had only enough love for one son, Slate. But then Seed came along and I realized I was mistaken.

Flames burn my cheeks while Seed bounces off to tell his friends he’s joining us. Like with my younger brother, Father wanted me to be ready for my Ceremony today, so he sent me to practice thirteen moons ago. He wanted me to be the best climber. One who would hold fast our tradition as Sky-Seekers – direct descendants of the clan who reaches for the Sun.

Father has no idea I failed.

But Slate does. Slate had to wait for me thirteen moons ago when I made my first attempt up the cliffs. I was frozen on the side of Ironrab. As the Sun climbed higher in the sky, and the youth of our clan made their way to the top, I was stuck. Wavering on the side of the mountain, while a wind storm brewed inside me. Eventually, that storm tossed me from the mountain.

The other climbers had already begun their trek back to our village. Only Slate had to wait. Only Slate witnessed my fall. Red-faced, he left me there, sprawled in a tree branch.

Since then, though we are not allowed to climb Ironrab at any other time than our Seven Moon Festival, or with permission from the elders if we are not of age, I have snuck out to the mountain in the deep, dark of night and tried to conquer my fear. But each time I began the climb, the cliff would move and twist, as if conspiring against me.

                                              

Now my brow knits into a scowl while I watch my brother gather more wood for the fire. Slate’s muscles ripple as he carries the heavy load before dumping several logs onto the embers. As the fire catches and the flames soar, our shadows leap out and cast an eerie story along the tree trunks. Slate’s shadow grows larger and larger, until it consumes mine. I turn to see him grinning as he steps in beside me.

“So, do you have your Quest set for tonight’s Ceremony?” Slate smirks, as he plops down beside Father.

Mother pipes in, “Let it be, Slate. My father will be honoured if Salt claims the role of Orator. You see how he follows in your Grandfather’s steps, constantly repeating the stories of old.” Mother smiles as she wraps the food left from last night’s meal in salted leaves.

Father stands abruptly, hands on hips. “That would disgrace our name. I have told you both before, a Story-Teller is no Sky-Seeker. He’s grounded and sedentary, like the dust left behind by the avid climbers.”

I focus my gaze on the crackling fire, the flames feasting on the new dry wood and I think about my dream from last night. I dreamt that I made the climb up the cliffs of Ironrab – and that Father gathered me in his arms and swung me around with joy. But to suggest I might inherit Grandfather’s place in our tribe at tonight’s Ceremony would only burn more shame onto my father’s brow. An acrid burn blisters my throat.

In silence, I head to our hut and dress in the ceremonial pants I must wear for the climb. I choose not to put on a vest, as it will be hot later in the day. I am sure I will be on the Cliffs of Ironrab for a long time. I close my eyes and try to picture my hands and feet gripping the rock face. But instead, panic grips me, taking hold in my bones. I have no Quest to share this evening at the Ceremony that Father will accept. The climb up Ironrab still looms before me. How will I succeed?

“Are you ready, brother?” Seed bounds into the hut, grinning widely. “Timber gets to climb, too! Aren’t you excited?”

“I am excited for you. I know you will have great success today.”

Because it is not time for Seed’s Ceremony, he doesn’t have to change his clothes. He grabs a water pouch from the pine table and runs back outside.

The Seven Moon Festival begins with a long walk to the Great Mountain. The elders remain in our village to prepare for the evening feast, while lean bodied youth run along the path, barefoot. I wish I could stay back with Grandfather, learning more stories of our people. But I put one foot slowly in front of the other – toward my fated destiny.

Ahead, Slate marches down the forest path with determination and strength, his hands knotted into fists, while Seed skips, his energy light and ready for the challenge. My feet shuffle along, stirring up the dusty leaves, and I have trouble keeping up with my brothers. Other youth pass me, sometimes knocking into my shoulders as they go by. And the whoops and cheers of my peers drown out the sounds of the birds and chirping squirrels.

I hear the echo of Grandfather’s deep voice booming through the forest. His resonating words from last night still sit along the branches of the Cedar trees: “Our ancestors named their tribe, Sky-Seekers. We come from this line of heroes.”

Not feeling heroic, I step out of the forest into a wide span of sand and shrubs that stretches to the Great Cliffs of Ironrab.  My stomach turns. Today is the most important day of my life, but as we approach the Great Mountain, a windstorm begins to brew inside me just like the last time I faced this cliff. I begin to shake like a winter storm that blows the dying leaves clear off the trees, and I feel naked and exposed.

But there is no way to turn back.