Gambit of the Gods Page 13
“Very useful indeed,” Kisto mutters. He and Jaereth walk away from Old Arn to join the others at work on the wall.
Sera smiles as she watches them walk away, though the emotions I sense from her are far from serene.
“I see why you care so much about them,” she says.
“We will save as many as we can,” I tell her, determination strong in my emotions.
Now that she’s touched Jaereth on such a deep level and I’ve touched Kella similarly, we can’t help but care for them in new, significant ways. I know we’ll stop at nothing to protect them both from what is coming.
Chapter 11: Little Squirrel
I return to the Village that afternoon feeling clean, refreshed in body and soul after a long wash in the river followed by a leisurely time spent basking in the sun. Tonight’s celebration is the very first time I’ll be allowed to wear my hair in braids, signifying my new status as a woman grown. I’ll also be expected to paint my face and wear my best adornments. Girls my age usually have their mother braid their hair and paint their faces for them this first time, weaving feathers, ribbons and beads into their hair to give a festive look. But I’ve never met my mother, nor do I know if she still lives. Even if she does, she wouldn’t know the People’s ways. So I leave Naira behind in a nest of my blankets, swallow my pride, and go to my father’s hut.
Thunder Echo isn’t there, but it’s his mate I’m looking for. Song at Sunrise mated with my father only a few moon-turnings after my father lay with my mother. My sister, Shy Mouse, was born two seasons after I was. She’s why my father didn’t come for me until five summers after my birth. With his dual responsibility of caring for a new wife and child, I’ve never resented him for that.
Though she doesn’t do it on purpose, Song at Sunrise always looks at me with disapproval. It’s why my sister and I don’t know each other very well. She sensed her mother’s distaste for me and, wanting to please her, shrank from me. After a miserable summer spent in their hut, missing my heart-brother and Miklos, the man I thought of as my father, I was allowed to move into Miklos’ hut. I’ve lived there happily ever since. But Miklos and Artan know nothing of the womanly arts, and custom dictates that my Clan-father’s mate must be the one to braid my hair the first time.
Song at Sunrise sits cross-legged at the entrance to her hut, skinning a deer. My sister kneels beside her, collecting its entrails in a reed basket. Both look up as I approach. Shy Mouse shows her surprise, but Song at Sunrise only nods grimly, handing my sister her bloody stone knife. Wiping her hands in the grass growing beside her hut, she studies me for a moment, unsmiling but not without pity. Though I hate it when others feel sorry for me, I have no choice but to accept it in this case.
“Come inside,” Song at Sunrise orders. Meekly, I follow. Once inside the hut, she loads my arms with various small clay bowls filled with different colors of powder, then snatches up a water skin, some stir-sticks, and some ribbon before pushing me back outside.
She motions, and I sit on the grass in the sunshine, near Shy Mouse. Kneeling behind me, she combs her fingers roughly through my still-damp hair until the tangles all disappear. Deftly, she separates my hair into several sections and begins her work.
“Some sections,” she expains to Shy Mouse, “I leave plain, and others I paint red. Some of the plain ones, I weave with sky blue ribbon that I’ve sewn feathers on at intervals.” Her fingers pull and twist my hair, but I accept the discomfort. Shy Mouse, still silent, sits and watches. “I weave the hair into two plaits and tie them off, then run a finger coated with red paint down the part in the hair, as a sign of fertility.”
Turning me around to sit facing her on the grass, Song at Sunrise inspects my face for a long, uncomfortable moment. At last, she takes up a boar-hair brush and sets to work again.
“I’ll paint her eyelids with red paint to symbolize joy. Then,” she hesitates over the paint pots, “yes, I’ll brush white paint across her cheek bones with white, like wings, for peace and rites of passage.” Shy Mouse nods at each new bit of knowledge. “Next, with the green paint, I’ll paint her forehead like so, to create leaves curving up toward the sun and the Spirit Over All, for life and power. Lastly,” she hesitates again, then dips her brush, “I’ll paint red dots down both sides of her nose, trailing down her cheeks, adding a red smudge on each of her earlobes, for celebration.”
Nodding silently at her handiwork, she pulls one more item from around her own neck. It’s a leather cord. Hanging from it is a carved wooden hunting cat in mid-leap, dark, smooth, and glossy with age.
As she hands it to me, Song at Sunrise says matter-factly, “I’ll want it back.” I’m deeply moved that she would trust me with something so beautiful. Standing, I give her the sign of deepest gratitude, bending one knee and placing both hands over my heart with head bowed.
She nods again, looking pleased.
Thunder Echo steps out from behind a cluster of huts and approaches us. For the first time in my life, I see pride on his face as he looks at me. I’ve been an embarrassment to him, I know, though he’s never said so. Nevertheless, once I go on my Quest and return Changed, I’ll at last be fully accepted into the Clan and among the People.
“Greetings, Little Squirrel. Today, you look like a woman grown. I am well pleased.”
He and I grip forearms briefly in the way of the People.
“Thank you, Father.” I’m trying not to blush, though the paint would likely mask it.
He turns to Song at Sunrise. “You have done well, my mate.” The look they share is for them alone, an intimacy unspoken but plain. Turning back to me, he adds, “I’m glad to find you here. I’d gone looking for you. I have a gift for you on this very important day.”
Reaching into the skin bag at his side, Thunder Echo pulls out a dress, dyed pure white, with beautiful dyed green fringes hanging from the sleeves and hemline. It’s decorated with hawk feathers, black stone beads, and green paint, with slim leggings and boots that match. These are the most beautiful garments I’ve ever seen, because they’re from my father. Blinking back tears, I give him the sign of deepest gratitude and hold out my arms for these precious gifts.
“Come inside,” Song at Sunrise says to me for the second time that day, surprising me. “I will help you with them. I don’t want you to mar the hard work I put into your hair and face.” Once again, I meekly follow her into the hut, leaving Thunder Echo chuckling behind me.
When at last I leave their hut, the sun still rides high in the sky. A slight movement in the trees bordering the Village catches my eye. It’s the falcon I call Tika, regarding me. She always seems to appear when I have an important decision to make, I muse, so I still my feet and consider.
I could walk back through the Village, feeling every eye on me in my new dress and paint, sensing the pity or distrust of every mother mending leggings, hoeing a field or weaving a basket as their eyes slide away from mine. Or I could visit my friend, Prairie Blossom. She’s our Village’s spirit healer. She lives alone in a hut by the river so she can meditate, chant and commune with the spirits without distraction.
Stepping into the forest’s shadowed sanctuary calms my heart. I take a deep, healing breath, filling my ears with the sound of birds calling and the river’s soft murmur. Before long, I’m wading through the long grass of the meadow. Beyond it lies the bend in the river, where Prairie Blossom’s little hut stands in a patch of stolen sunlight.
She looks up from where she kneels, picking herbs in her garden. Her smile wreathes her face in gentle light like the full moon sailing from behind a cloud. I smile back happily. Rising, Prairie Blossom dusts off her leggings, and we sit down together on her bench overlooking the river.
“You look radiant, little one.”
I remember the first time she called me that, on the day we first met, and step back into memory. Truth Seeker never said it, but I knew he brought me to Prairie Blossom that day because he felt I needed some feminin
e influence in my life, aware that Song at Sunrise and the other Clan women viewed me with distaste. And perhaps he wanted the Clans’ spirit healer to take my measure, as well.
“There you are!” she’d exclaimed brightly that first day, as if we had always known each other, and took my hand in hers. “Come inside, little one. Your tea is getting cold.”
When she called me ‘little one’, she used her native language instead of the Common Tongue. The word for ‘little one’ in the language of the People is ‘ayasha’. As you may recall, Miklos named me ‘Asha’ before the Council of Elders renamed me Little Squirrel. So when she called me ‘ayasha’, she was telling me she knew who I was and where I came from. It may have also been a not-so-subtle message to Truth Seeker that while the Council of Elders have the power to name or rename a child, it was the women of the Clans who raised the child and had the final say on who that child would become. Seeker only smiled wryly.
Leaving him behind, I followed her inside, warming myself before the fire crackling beneath her hut’s smoke hole. A pottery pot sat on a low table in a cushioned seating area off to one side. Next to the pot sat a small wooden trencher boasting some huckleberries, the first of the early fall. Naira, who had been drowsing with her tail clamped around my neck, perked up at the sight, for huckleberries were—and are—her favorite fruit. Jumping down onto the table, she began gobbling them before I could stop her. Prairie Blossom only laughed in delight.
“I thought she might like those,” she crowed. Gesturing for me to sit next to her, she poured tea into two small wooden cups, careful to strain the wet herbs at the bottom of the pot with her fingers to prevent them from following the mildly steaming liquid.
She lifted her cup and breathed in the steam, then drank. “Coneflower tea,” she explained. “Healing to body, mind and spirit.”
Emboldened, I breathed in the steam as she had, then took a tiny sip. It tasted faintly minty and the warmth was pleasant, so I took a larger swallow under her watchful eye.
Nodding in approval, Prairie Blossom settled back against the cushions and studied me. I gazed back, refusing to look away from her frank appraisal. Then she closed her eyes and appeared to pray, her lips moving silently. When she opened them, she reached for a nearby skin bag. From it, she drew an abalone shell polished into the shape of a small bowl, a feather, and a handful of dried white sage.
Placing the sage into the bowl, she pulled a slim, smoldering branch from the fire and ignited it. Once the sage began burning, Prairie Blossom smothered its flame until it only smoldered, giving off wisps of smoke.
“The sacred smoke cleanses us from negative spirits, trapping them and lifting them away as it swirls and rises.” Lifting the shell bowl and the feather and chanting quietly, she deftly moved the bowl above her head, shoulders, and body until she was wreathed in smoke, using the feather to direct it as she willed, then anointed me with smoke as well. I sat unmoving, my eyes fluttering closed in prayer.
“We invoke the good spirits of Water, with the shell, Earth, with the herbs, Fire, with the burning, and Air, with the feather. Wash our spirits clean and cleanse to the north, south, east and west. Bring us into unity with the spirit realm and fill our hearts with a deep sense of peace.” Resuming her chanting, she repeated the ceremony by burning cedar, sweet grass and tobacco leaves as well.
I opened my eyes when her chanting ceased and watched her dip the shell and its smoking contents into a bowl of sand, extinguishing its embers. Prairie Blossom looked over at me, her gaze thoughtful.
“The Spirit Over All showed me a vision while the sacred smoke cleansed us,” she revealed. “Your spirit is bright, like the sun reflecting on the water, and courageous, like the crow that attacks the eagle in order to protect its young. I have never seen its like before. Let nothing and no one ever dim your spirit, ayasha. It is a rare and precious thing.”
I blinked in surprise at her strange praise, but she continued before I could comment.
“Your hair, now…”
She tsked and reached behind her, shaking her head. Finding what she was looking for, she leaned toward me with something white and foreign in her hand. I flinched back. She opened her hand so I could inspect what it held.
“A gift from our brother, the porcupine. This is a sacred comb, made from the bone found under his tail.” It had a curved wooden handle, I saw, and delicate bone teeth. Reassured, I relaxed, allowing her to pull the comb gently through my unruly hair.
“It is the mother’s right and responsibility to comb her daughter’s hair and teach her how to style it. A woman’s hair is her crowning glory. Clearly the Civitas Dei healer” referring to Miklos “has not considered the importance of good grooming when undertaking the care of the young girl living under his roof.”
Normally, I would have bristled at any implied insult to my heart-father, but the comb felt so good against my scalp that I merely leaned into it. Blissfully, I closed my eyes.
“According to Clan custom, young children of both genders must wear their hair long and loose.” I smiled, glad that my appearance met with Clan custom. “But when you go on your Vision Quest in a few years’ time, your father’s mate must put your hair into two braids down your back to signal that you are becoming a woman.”
I started in surprise, thinking of how Song at Sunrise always avoided looking at me, but Prairie Blossom seemed adamant. “It’s bad luck to take your first braiding anywhere but in front of your father’s hut. Your Clan-father, that is.”
I nodded in acquiescence. That will happen a long time from now, I thought, once again closing my eyes.
“And when you take a mate,” she continued, “you will wear your hair in one braid to signify that you and he have become one.” Her voice in my ear soothed me. I let myself imagine for just a moment that she was my mother before forcing that image down.
“You will be Clan one day, and you need to learn our ways. I will teach you, ayasha.” I opened my eyes again, for she had set the comb down. She looked at me as if making a solemn promise.
“I am grateful to learn from you, wise one,” I told her earnestly, and bowed my head with hands folded to show my willingness to submit to her teaching. She nodded once, satisfied.
Picking up the comb once more, she pulled a few strands of my hair from it. Taking more sweet grass from her bag, she began to braid them together with my hair, chanting softly again as she did so.
“Sweet grass represents purity of thought and purpose,” she explained after a time. “We weave hair from our combs with it at the Full Moon, which is tonight, and burn it on the fire as a sacred offering. It heals our hearts and minds, lifting our thoughts to the Spirit Over All on wings of brightest moonlight. Take this, ayasha. Lift your heart to the Creator and throw this offering on the fire to heal yourself.”
Taking the bundle she gave me, I bowed my head as Miklos had taught me and stretched out with my spirit in awe and worship. I threw the bundle onto the fire and watched it flare up briefly, consuming my offering. Together, we watched the smoke rise up through her hut’s smoke hole and into the moonlight. Prairie Blossom smiled and I smiled back, feeling a joy I couldn’t put a name to. For the first time, I felt like I truly belonged here among the People.
Thinking back to that moment now, sitting with Prairie Blossom, staring out over the river, I feel a deep sense of gratitude. I began a life-altering journey with her that day, a journey toward knowledge, spirituality and identity. It’s a debt that I can never repay.
Almost as if she reads my thoughts, Prairie Blossom says, “When you first came to me, ayasha, I thought I was giving you a gift.” She hesitates. I’m shocked to see tears come into her eyes. “And perhaps I did, but I received one as well.
“As spirit healer, I sacrifice my life for the Clans by taking no mate and bearing no children. I become a sacred conduit between the People and the Spirit Over All, free of distractions and worldly concerns. But you’ve become like a daughter to me. I humbly thank the Spirit
Over All for the gift of our time together.”
Tears fill my eyes, but I know I must not let them fall and mar Song at Sunrise’s artistry, so I blink them away. Prairie Blossom wipes her eyes and reaches into the herb-bag at her side. Pulling out a bundle of feathers tied with a sacred cord, she places it into my hands.
“For you, daughter of my heart. There is a wren feather, symbolizing protection, a woodpecker feather for self-discovery, a kingfisher feather for luck, a hawk feather for friendship, a dove feather for love, a bluebird feather for joy, an owl feather for wisdom, and a falcon feather for soul-healing.”
Just then, Tika soars over us and glides silently away down the river.
Prairie Blossom nods solemnly. “Ah, a sign.” Together, we watch Tika fly out of sight.
“You probably don’t remember,” she continues, “but I told you when we first met that you have a very unique spirit.” I do remember. “The Spirit Over All has had His hand on you since the moment you were conceived for a great purpose He has not shown me. But all great purposes come with an extra share of hardship, suffering, fear, and doubt. They are the price that must be paid.
“The blessing I spoke over you then, I speak over you again now. You are a bright and courageous soul. Let nothing and no one ever dim your light, ayasha. It is truly a rare and precious thing.” We embrace.
“The sun stoops towards the horizon. You must go to your Vision Quest celebration. I will pray for you.”
“Thank you, mother of my heart.”
Holding my sacred bundle of feathers close, I walk away with a full heart.
I feel beautiful and self-conscious at the same time as I enter the main fire pit. A huge fire dances there, and drummers of all ages encircle it, calling us all to the feast. Then I see Spark’s brother carrying him toward me with his leg wrapped up. I gasp and run over to them, my heart suddenly in my throat.