Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear
It Wakes in Me (10 page)
“What causes the saliva to spoil?”
“A ghost person sends evil dreams. You said you often dream of being lost in the forest, of running and running, but never being able to get home. It’s possible that your illness comes from a ghost person, but it’s also possible that a living person, a Night-goer, has chased your soul away or captured it. Perhaps even buried it—that is the third cause of illness. In that case, we must find the burial place and release your soul.”
“How long can a person live when her soul has been buried?”
“Seven or eight moons, usually, but a very Powerful Night-goer can keep his victim’s body alive for many winters. Please understand even in the case of witchcraft every person is responsible for the illness he contracts. So our first step is to discover what you did that allowed the Rainbow Black to invade your body.”
“I did something?” she asked.
He eased her dress hem up and washed her thighs. “You must have, or you wouldn’t be sick.”
“I certainly can’t recall what.”
“That’s my task. To make you recall. There are memories locked in your bones and muscles that you do not realize are there.”
She opened her eyes, and his gaze seemed to peer straight through her flesh to the sinew that tied her bones together. “How do we do that?”
“First, I must cleanse you. I’ve started that tonight.” He rinsed the cloth again and washed the inside of her right thigh with such tenderness, it left her feeling weightless. “We begin with the flesh; then we cleanse the souls that live in the body.”
With a low despairing laugh, she said, “You mean if your people allow it.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
She couldn’t help it. His hands felt so soothing, she stretched out on her back on the soft blankets. As though he’d expected it, he slipped his hand beneath her dress and washed her abdomen, then gingerly touched her breasts.
“May I cleanse your entire body?”
She hesitated. He was a Healer. He’d seen a thousand bodies. And after what she’d been through, did it matter? “Yes.”
He washed her breasts in calm circular motions, then drew the cloth down her belly and left it resting over what her people called a woman’s “little manhood.” It felt warm.
“Let me tell you our stories of how illness entered the world.”
She nodded. “I’m listening.”
“In the old days, the animals, the fish, the plants and trees could all talk, and they lived in perfect friendship with human beings. But as time went on, people increased so rapidly that their settlements spread all over the whole island, and the poor animals—”
“The island?” she asked curiously.
“Yes. The earth is a great flat island suspended from the sky by four ropes and floating on a huge sea of water. The sky is a vault that covers the island, and above it is another world: the upper world, where the Master of Breath lives, our Creator, along with the pure forms of every animal and plant. Beneath our island and the waters we float upon is another world: the underworld.”
He washed her “little manhood” in light sure strokes, then soaked his cloth again.
“Do your Blessed Ancestors live in the underworld, as my people believe?” she asked.
“No. The ghosts of monsters and evil spirits live there. It is a strange place, though they have their towns and clans, just as we do. The seasons are exactly opposite of ours. So if it is winter here, it is summer there. The beings in the underworld wear rattlesnakes about their wrists and ankles, the same way we wear bracelets and anklets.”
“And what does all this have to do with Healing me?”
She jumped when he moved the cloth between her legs and squeezed it out. As the warm water flowed over her skin, washing away the taint left by Flint, she felt as though her lost reflection-soul was walking toward her, trying to come home. Hope filled her. A long exhalation passed her lips.
“As people spread over the island in the Old Days, the animals were crowded together into smaller and smaller spaces. Out of pure carelessness or contempt, humans crushed the smaller creatures—like insects, frogs, and worms—beneath their feet. To make it worse, people created bows and arrows, knives, fishhooks and spears, axes and nets. When people began to slaughter the animals, the animals had to do something.”
“What did they do?”
“Each type of animal called a meeting and determined to
make war upon people by sending diseases. For example, deer created rheumatism; worms caused the itch. Yellow frogs created kidney disease. When the plants heard of this, they resolved to help people by furnishing a cure for each of the diseases created by the animals. Every plant is a cure for something. Our task is to discover which plant works for which disease.” He rinsed his cloth again and said, “If you will roll onto your stomach, I’ll wash your back.”
make war upon people by sending diseases. For example, deer created rheumatism; worms caused the itch. Yellow frogs created kidney disease. When the plants heard of this, they resolved to help people by furnishing a cure for each of the diseases created by the animals. Every plant is a cure for something. Our task is to discover which plant works for which disease.” He rinsed his cloth again and said, “If you will roll onto your stomach, I’ll wash your back.”
She did as he’d instructed, and yielded to his soothing touch.
When he finished and dropped the cloth back into the pot, he walked across the floor to pull something from the bench.
“Your dress is wet. It will be uncomfortable to sleep in.” He held out what looked like a slave’s garment, a plain, coarsely woven brown dress. “I want you to put this on.”
He brought it back and handed it to her.
As she pulled her soiled blue dress over her head and slipped on the clean brown garment, he never once glanced at her body. He held her gaze, as though far more concerned with what was happening behind her eyes.
He filled her cup with tea again and gave it to her.
“Thank you, but I’m very tired. You should take me back to the Captives’ House now.”
“Not yet.” He crouched before her, still holding her gaze, and said, “What happened the night your father died? Flint said your mother was in a council meeting and you prepared dinner for your father.”
Images flashed.
As I sprinkle the herbs into the stew pot, I can see myself reflected in the broth. My seven-winters-old face is small and pretty. I have happy eyes … .
“Yes, Mother was gone. Father had spent that morning laughing and talking with a Trader who’d just come into Blackbird Town. He was joyous. He’d Traded pounded copper sheets for
buffalo jerky from the far west. When Mother found out, she shouted at him for paying too much, and my sister, Walks-among-the-Stars, made hideous faces at him, as though she, too, was disgusted by his carelessness. It broke his heart. I could tell. He looked very sad. During his youth, he’d loved the western jerky because it was seasoned with a plant called sage. He’d begged me to use the jerky to make him a stew for dinner.”
buffalo jerky from the far west. When Mother found out, she shouted at him for paying too much, and my sister, Walks-among-the-Stars, made hideous faces at him, as though she, too, was disgusted by his carelessness. It broke his heart. I could tell. He looked very sad. During his youth, he’d loved the western jerky because it was seasoned with a plant called sage. He’d begged me to use the jerky to make him a stew for dinner.”
“And you did.”
“Yes. We didn’t ordinarily prepare our own meals. The slaves did the cooking. But Father didn’t want to be bothered by slaves in the house. He asked me to cook for him. It was … a curious request. I could see in his eyes that something was wrong. He didn’t want to have ‘outsiders’ close that night.”
“Did he tell you what was wrong?”
She shook her head. “Not really. He said that he longed very much to be a Trader again, and told me that the only thing that kept him in Blackbird Town was his love for me.”
“That must have made you happy.”
“Yes. It did.” Sora shifted her cup from her right hand to her left and took a sip.
Strongheart watched the shift in handedness with an unnatural attentiveness. “Do you use both hands equally well?”
She glanced down at her left hand. “I—I’ve never noticed.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t say equally well. I just don’t have a firm preference, I guess.”
He didn’t seem to be breathing. All of his attention was focused on her hands. “As a child, did you shift hands?”
“Yes, often, though I don’t see—”
“Can you give me examples?”
“Well”—she gestured uncertainly—“my mother used to think it odd that I painted with one hand and threw a lance with the other. But I also—”
“Which hand did you paint with?”
Frustrated at the nonsense questions, she sharply replied, “My left.
Why
is it important? Doesn’t everyone use both hands?”
Why
is it important? Doesn’t everyone use both hands?”
His intent expression relaxed. He shook his head mildly. “No. They don’t.”
“You ask the strangest questions, Priest. I wish you would tell me—”
“What did you put in your father’s stew that fateful night?”
The quick change of topics caught her in midsentence with her mouth open. She closed it and grimaced at him. Did he do that on purpose? “You change subjects like I change hands, Priest. Are you trying to confuse me?”
His gaze focused on her hands again, and Sora glanced down to see what he was seeing. Anxious, she had begun tapping her cup with her right thumb while her left was mirroring the action, creating an odd staccato.
Strongheart lifted his gaze to her face again. “Please answer me. What did you put in the stew?”
She heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’m not sure. I had seen barely seven winters. I had virtually no experience cooking, but it pleased me so much that Father had asked, that I was determined I could do it.”
“You used the jerky?” he encouraged.
“Yes, I crumbled the jerky into the pot, and mixed in dried fish and cornmeal. Then I …” Her heart constricted as though a gigantic hand had reached inside her chest and squeezed.
“You used herbs you found in your mother’s bedchamber?”
She glanced up. “Did Flint tell you that?”
“Yes.”
Sora’s hands started to shake. She set her cup down, folded her arms tightly across her chest, and without realizing it, began to rock back and forth. “Mother kept herb pots in her bedchamber. I went down the hall and searched through the pots. I gathered a pinch of anything that smelled good. Dried blossoms,
mostly. Or at least that’s what I thought they were, but …”
mostly. Or at least that’s what I thought they were, but …”
When her words dwindled, Strongheart said, “One of them was poisonous?”
“I—I don’t know which one. Honestly. After Father died, I could never go near Mother’s herb pots again.”
His young face was smooth and serene. He might have been carved of wood. Only his eyes seemed alive. They searched her face. “Where was your sister?”
Sora gestured impatiently. “I don’t know. She may have been with Mother. My sister was destined to become high chieftess of the Black Falcon Nation. Perhaps Mother had asked her to sit in on the council meeting.”
Strongheart didn’t move.
Finally, he asked, “What happened then?”
“Father told me to go to my bedchamber and play with the cornhusk dolls he’d made for me.”
“Why didn’t he ask you to share the stew with him?”
Her heart twinged, and pain shot down her left arm. She rubbed it. “I don’t think I was hungry. I—I don’t remember, really.”
Strongheart watched her rub her arm and stood up. As he turned away, he asked, “What color was your father wearing that night?”
“What?” she asked.
“What color was he wearing?”
“Blessed gods, what does that have to do with anything?”
He picked up a stick, prodded the fire, and tossed the stick into the flames. Long yellow tongues consumed it. “Don’t you remember?”
“No. No, I don’t remember. Why does it matter?”
In a too-soft voice, he said, “It matters.”
“Why?”
He pointed to a roll of blankets lying on the bench at the rear
of the house. “I want you to sleep there tonight. Think about my question. If you remember what your father was wearing, I want you to wake me and tell me. No matter when the memory comes, even in the middle of the night, you must wake me and tell me.”
of the house. “I want you to sleep there tonight. Think about my question. If you remember what your father was wearing, I want you to wake me and tell me. No matter when the memory comes, even in the middle of the night, you must wake me and tell me.”
She shrugged nervously. “All right.”
“Good.”
Without another word, he knelt before the fire with his back to her and dipped himself another cup of tea.
Sora walked across the house, unrolled the blankets, and stretched out beneath them.
He was still there, staring at the flames, when sleep overcame her, and her shadow-soul slipped from her body to run backward in time down a dark hallway through a strangely quiet house that smelled like death … .
“CHIEFTESS?” STRONGHEART TOUCHED HER SHOULDER. “It’s time to wake up.”
Sora opened her eyes and saw pale gray light seeping around his door curtain. The delicious aromas of fried fish and bread filled the house. “Is it dawn?”
“Almost. I woke you early so you would have time to eat.”
She swung her legs over the bench and found her sandals lying on the floor within reach. As she picked them up, she said, “That is an unexpected kindness. I thank you.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. He’d obviously bathed and dressed while she slept. His short black hair gleamed as though freshly washed, and he wore a beautiful flaxen-colored shirt that hung to just below his knees. Shell bells decorated his hem, and clicked when he moved.
Sora laced her sandals tightly and got to her feet. “I would like to borrow a comb, if one is available.”
“Of course. After you eat.” He gestured to the woven mats that surrounded the fire.
Sora walked to the closest mat, where she sank down. The warmth of the fire penetrated her brown dress and prickled her skin. She shivered.
“My slaves prepared breakfast a short time ago. I hope you like catfish.”
“I do, but even if I didn’t, I would eat it and be grateful.”
Strongheart handed her a cup of tea first, then crouched beside a basket. He used a wooden spoon to scoop fish and a curious bread she’d never seen before into two bowls.
She took the bowl he handed her, picked up one of the tiny bread balls, and ate it. The sweet flavors of acorn flour and palm sap sugar coated her tongue. “This is wonderful. What is it?”
“We call them acorn balls. My people collect the palm sap from the flower stems and dry it, then mix it with acorn flour, water, and salt. The balls are fried in fat. My mother used to cut dried plums into tiny pieces and add them to the dough.”
“That sounds delicious,” she said around a mouthful of food. “Where is your mother?”
He pulled the skin off one side of his catfish and ate it. As he chewed, he said, “My parents are dead. They were killed by the Lily People when I’d seen nine winters.”
Sora glanced over at him. He kept eating as though the pain had long since vanished, but she wondered how that could be. The death of her father and sister had left holes in her souls that never stopped hurting.
“Was your village attacked?”
He shook his head, and the light flashed from his hooked nose. “No. My parents had gone north to attend the marriage of my uncle. They were ambushed on the trail. I was at home with my grandmother. I didn’t find out they’d been killed for almost a moon.”
“That must have been terrible. The hoping, I mean.”
He tilted his head and looked at her. The sadness in his eyes
was mesmerizing. “Hoping is always terrible. And wonderful. It sustains us, doesn’t it?”
was mesmerizing. “Hoping is always terrible. And wonderful. It sustains us, doesn’t it?”
She peeled back the skin of her catfish and pulled off a large chunk of meat. “I suppose so.”
They ate for a time in silence, both staring into the crackling fire.
When her bowl was empty, she set it near the hearthstones and drank her tea while he finished eating.
At last, he set his bowl down, and said, “Let me find you a comb.”
Outside, she heard people talking as they gathered for the village council meeting. Fear spread gleaming wings in her chest. She closed her eyes to fight it. If they decided she was not sick, they would certainly torture her before they killed her for Blue Bow’s murder. She prayed she would not embarrass her people by acting cowardly. No matter what they did to her, she had to be brave. She was the chieftess of the Black Falcon Nation.
Or at least, she had been.
“I hope this is adequate,” Strongheart said, and handed her a wooden comb.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Setting her tea cup down, she gathered her waist-length black hair into her hand and started combing out the grass and bits of leaves. She had to tug to remove the snarls.
Strongheart dipped himself a cup of tea and sipped it while he watched her. “Did you remember?” he asked softly.
“Remember what?”
His bulging eyes caught the orange light and held it like polished amber. “Do you recall what we talked about before you went to sleep last night?”
She blinked. “Oh. Yes, of course. I never woke you because I didn’t remember the color.”
“Keep trying.”
“If you wish, but I don’t understand why it’s important.”
The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “You will.”
Puzzled, she made an airy gesture with her hand. “If it’s so important, why don’t you explain it to me?”
“That would not help either of us.”
All priests are imbeciles. I knew it.
She tugged out the last of the snarls and ran the comb all the way through her hair until it was finally smooth; then she began plaiting it into a long thick braid. While she worked, she thought about Blackbird Town. What was Wink doing this morning? Was she still worried about being attacked by the Loon Nation? Was she, as Feather Dancer had suggested, occupied pulling together the war party to journey south for the jade?
Almost too low to hear, Strongheart said, “Do you often feel guilt?”
Sora’s fingers stopped. She
had
been feeling guilty. Because she should be there. Her people needed her. “How did you know I was feeling guilty?”
had
been feeling guilty. Because she should be there. Her people needed her. “How did you know I was feeling guilty?”
He propped his tea cup on one knee, and said, “Your fear shows on your face.”
“Fear? I thought you said I looked guilty.”
“Guilt is fear. You can’t have guilt without being afraid. Guilt is your way of punishing yourself for being afraid.” He turned toward the door when the voices outside grew louder.
A high-pitched drumbeat began. Then another drum joined in; this one with a deeper, more resonant tone.
Strongheart stood up. “It’s almost time. The guards will be coming. Are you ready?”
Sora let out a pent-up breath. “Yes.”
“Remember,” he said when she got to her feet. “Don’t defend yourself. You have nothing to defend. Our only goal is to
convince the people of Eagle Flute Village that you are sick and need our help.”
convince the people of Eagle Flute Village that you are sick and need our help.”
He pulled the door curtain aside, and a flood of pale blue light poured across the floor. People had begun to gather around Strongheart’s house. They peered through the door with wide eyes, clearly trying to catch a glimpse of Sora. Four guards dressed in breechclouts and carrying spears trotted toward them.
Strongheart murmured, “Walk closely behind me. Don’t speak to anyone.”
She jerked a nod and clenched her fists to fight back the terror. One of the hardest things she had ever done in her life was to follow Strongheart when he stepped outside into the crowded plaza. The four guards encircled them, and hoarse whispers eddied through the crowd. The Loon villagers glared at Sora as though she were some sort of foul biting insect that needed to be crushed.
As Strongheart led the way through the crowd toward the Chief’s House, people backed away and a narrow corridor opened. She couldn’t bear to look into the sea of hostile eyes, so she kept her gaze focused on the wood smoke that curled lazily from the rooftops. At this time of morning, there was almost no breeze, and the smoke twined through the trees like silent gossamer serpents. Birdsong flooded the air.
Strongheart stopped ten paces from the Chief ’s House and said, “We must wait. Chief Horned Owl will not appear until Mother Sun does.”
From the yellow halo that arched over the treetops, she guessed sunrise couldn’t be more than a few hundred heartbeats away.
Strongheart spread his legs and bowed his head, serenely allowing the moments to pass.
The crowd edged closer to examine Sora, and she glimpsed
the faces of children peeking around the adults’ legs. One little boy had a toy spear in his hand that he kept playfully jabbing at her, which made his two friends squeal with laughter.
the faces of children peeking around the adults’ legs. One little boy had a toy spear in his hand that he kept playfully jabbing at her, which made his two friends squeal with laughter.
Sora had to lock her shaking knees to keep standing.
A clamor rose behind her, and she turned to see the Oak Leaf Village prisoners emerging, one by one, from the Captives’ House. Feather Dancer was the last to stagger out. His face was hideously swollen, and he cradled his left arm to his chest, as though it was injured. Every captive stared at her, and their eyes went wide with hope and fear. Then the guards marched all of them, except Feather Dancer, away into the forest to work. Four men encircled Feather Dancer and ordered him to walk toward the Chief ’s House.
They’re gathering the witnesses … .
The four guards stopped twenty paces away, and she could see that dried blood drenched Feather Dancer’s left arm. After the beating he’d taken last night trying to protect her, he must be in misery, but he lifted his chin and gave her a stoic look, silently telling her not to worry about him.
A hush fell over the crowd when the first glimmers of Mother Sun’s face filtered through the branches.
While most people turned eastward, Sora stared at the door to the Chief ’s House. The curtain swayed. Murmurs and the sound of footsteps could be heard inside.
Just before Mother Sun blazed to life over the treetops, and a dark filigree of shadows crept across the village, Strongheart lifted his head and announced, “My Chief, our Mother has awakened and brings life to the world.”
Horned Owl threw his door curtain back with theatrical flair and stepped out into the newborn light. The crowd gasped, and many people fell to their knees. His massive bear headdress was stunning. Carved from wood, it had been exquisitely painted. The snout gleamed with red and white designs, and the huge
black eyes looked alive. Long leather fringes hung from the headdress, covering Horned Owl’s face and most of his chest. As though pleased with his people’s response, Horned Owl puffed out his young chest and paraded back and forth, growling like a bear.
black eyes looked alive. Long leather fringes hung from the headdress, covering Horned Owl’s face and most of his chest. As though pleased with his people’s response, Horned Owl puffed out his young chest and paraded back and forth, growling like a bear.
Strongheart watched without expression, but a distasteful tic started at the corner of his mouth.
Sora squinted. The sight struck her as so bizarre she was speechless.
When the new chief stopped growling and lifted the fringes on the headdress to gaze out at his people, a broad smile lit his face. “I
knew
you’d love this!” he called, and spun around. “I had my wood carvers work through the night to create it!”
knew
you’d love this!” he called, and spun around. “I had my wood carvers work through the night to create it!”
Claps and hoots of approval rang out. Only the elders seemed dismayed. They watched the spectacle with a mixture of disbelief and disdain.
Horned Owl gleefully clawed at people, and growled again before convulsing with laughter. Many of the young men in the crowd joined him, clawing and growling loudly.
“My chief,” Strongheart said and bowed. “It is dawn. Mother Sun is watching us. We should begin the Black Drink ritual.”
Horned Owl’s smile turned to an annoyed frown. “I was having fun with my people, Priest. I don’t appreciate your impudence.”
“Forgive me; it’s just that our people have a great deal to consider this morning.”
Like whether or not to kill an enemy chieftess.
Horned Owl pursed his lips and draped one side of the long fringes back over a hook on the headdress so he could see Strongheart clearly. “Oh, very well, let’s sit down.” He slumped to the ground like an offended child.
Strongheart gestured for Sora to sit near Horned Owl; then he knelt opposite her. From everywhere in the crowd, tribal
elders came forward and created a circle behind them. Yet another circle of children and adults coalesced behind the elders. Finally, the guards took up their positions along the perimeter of the gathering. She could see Snail and Black Turtle in the rear to her left, guarding Feather Dancer. They were keeping him far away, probably for safety reasons. Despite his injuries, they must realize that if he jumped one of the elders, they would never be able to pull him off before he snapped the woman’s brittle neck.
elders came forward and created a circle behind them. Yet another circle of children and adults coalesced behind the elders. Finally, the guards took up their positions along the perimeter of the gathering. She could see Snail and Black Turtle in the rear to her left, guarding Feather Dancer. They were keeping him far away, probably for safety reasons. Despite his injuries, they must realize that if he jumped one of the elders, they would never be able to pull him off before he snapped the woman’s brittle neck.
Horned Owl clapped his hands, and two slaves emerged from his doorway carrying large conch shells filled with steaming liquid. The men walked in slow measured steps, as they reverently Sang
“Ya-ho-la,”
over and over. The first conch shell was delivered to the chief, who lifted it to his lips and drank. After Horned Owl had finished drinking, the other servant delivered a conch shell to Strongheart; then five more slaves ducked out of the Chief ’s House carrying cups that they gave to each elder, as well one to Sora.
“Ya-ho-la,”
over and over. The first conch shell was delivered to the chief, who lifted it to his lips and drank. After Horned Owl had finished drinking, the other servant delivered a conch shell to Strongheart; then five more slaves ducked out of the Chief ’s House carrying cups that they gave to each elder, as well one to Sora.
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