Spirited (18 page)

Isabella cried out and ran forward, pounding at the bleeding monster with her fists. Her hands sank into bloody fur reeking of the grave. She was revolted,
but she continued to hit it, as Wusamequin stabbed it over and over again. Blood sprayed everywhere.

Then the creature threw back its head, screaming in agony, and toppled backward, into the fire.

Isabella fell to her knees, sobbing and retching, her hands coated with its blood. Wusamequin hurried to her, bending over her, gathering her up in his arms. He held her as he had held her before, and she buried her face against his chest, coughing and weeping.

“Mahwah,” came the voice.

It was darker in the chamber now, but she could still make out Wusamequin’s features as he leaned over her. He smelled of steamy warmth, and his hair had been pulled away from his face. It was wet, strands of it breaking loose from its restraint to curl around his temples.

He touched her face, pressing his fingertips against each of her temples, and the hollows of her cheeks. Tension sank away, and she felt herself come back to herself.

He gazed into her eyes, then moved back. He took her arm and helped her sit up. Then he deliberately laid his palm over her thigh. She began to stiffen, expecting it to hurt.

But it didn’t.

Amazed, she lifted her dress. The legging had already been moved down her thigh, exposing the wound.

The swelling was completely gone, and a scab had formed over the entire area, about the size of her fist.

“Oh, my,” she murmured. Carefully, she touched it with her fingertips. There was only the slight pressure of her fingers.

She blinked at him. “You healed me.”

“Mahwah,” he said again. His eyes focused on her, he gracefully rose and took off his shirt. Then he turned his back to her.

She caught her breath. The dark, ugly scar on his back had been transformed. It was thinner, much lighter.

“How…?” she began.

He replied, “You healed me.”

They stared at each other in wonder.

“How is that possible?” she asked. “How could I?”

He lowered his shirt and turned back to face her. “The evil spirit. You fought with me.”

“But … but that was a lot of nonsense,” she blurted, “brought on by a fever, I suppose. I did … I did nothing with you.” Her heart thudded in her ears; she was frightened by the proof before her that he was right.

He gestured as if to raise his shirt again, and she stayed his hand. He said,
“Wneeweh.
You are a spirit warrior, Mahwah. You have medicine.”

“No,” she said quickly. Then she laughed uneasily and said, “But I do hope my father was able to get the medicine to the fort.”

His face became stony. It had been the wrong thing to say.

The fairy queen, Titania, tapped his fingers, and
the three little men encircled a clay bowl and made an attempt to lift it from the ground.

With a heavy sigh, Wusamequin took it and drank deeply. Then he offered the gourd to Isabella.

“Water,” he said in English. “Drink.”

“Back home I never drank water,” she murmured, as she accepted it from him and took a long, grateful sip.

He replied quietly, “This is home.”

Chapter Thirteen

After three more occasions of performing the strange ritual together, Isabella’s thigh was thoroughly healed, save for a pink scar. Wusamequin’s scar was still visible, but it was very faint.

Other bits of magic invaded their lives: fresh shoots of flowering vines grew from the ceiling until a thick curtain of colorful, fragrant blossoms separated the chamber into two smaller rooms, one for Isabella and one for Wusamequin. There was always food and drink.

At night, he conjured shadows and threw them against the wall, using the images to teach her more of his language. She learned that
stau
meant “fire,” and
siipo
was “river.”

They would sit side by side on his side of the flower curtain, both cross-legged, as he conjured up a sweet berry drink and small chunks of smoked fish or berries. Together they would sip the juice and nibble the delicacies, as he fanned open his hands and cast sparkling dots on the crystalline walls, which darkened and formed the images to accompany her language lessons. Her four little friends would sit on her knees or her shoulders, playing with her hair or
taking bits of food. One night Titania dragged over a gourd filled with what looked like the juice of raspberries, and set to work dipping a piece of leather in it and rubbing it along Isabella’s toes. When she was finished, Isabella’s toenails gleamed a soft pink, and she giggled at the sight of them.

Wusamequin smiled, too, and said something to Titania. The fairy queen immediately set to painting Isabella’s fingernails as well. As she did so, he flung another image on the wall. This one was of a rose, such as Mrs. DeWitt had cultivated back in Albany.

He said, “Mahwah.”

So it means Rose
, she thought. She touched her ears, which had also healed, and thought of Odina, and she was grateful that Wusamequin had sequestered her in this hidden chamber. On the other hand, this hiding place would make it nearly impossible for her father to find her. She suspected that was the primary reason he had brought her here.

She didn’t know if the Indians had spotted any British hunting parties looking for her. She also didn’t know if Oneko was still thinking of selling her to the French. She lost track of time, and she began to feel panicky inside the small chamber, imagining herself like a firefly trapped inside a bottle for some young child’s amusement. She had not seen the sun in days. Had not seen another living person since they had come here. Was this to be her total existence? She could not imagine it.

She began to feel weary most of the time. She
was languishing; to pass the hours, she began to sleep more. Wusamequin watched her but said nothing. He often disappeared, and began to leave for longer and longer periods of time. She would have been lonely, had it not been for her four little friends.

Each time he left, he would point to the shadow at the threshold of the cave, and say to her in English, “Mahwah stay.”

He brought her hides to tan, showing her how; he gave her a beautifully beaded leather jerkin to mend with an English needle and thick, dark thread such as she had never seen before. Then he taught her to do beadwork. She beaded a red rose onto her skirt, and he admired it, smiling at her encouragingly.

“Mahwah,” she told him.

His answer was to cup her under the chin and echo, “Mahwah.”

Then came a time when he left, and did not come back before the fire had died out. The room stayed illuminated—through magic, she supposed—but soon even those lights began to dim. Then all at once, the chamber fell into darkness.

She was alarmed. She sat with her knees drawn beneath her chin, waiting for him to return. When he did not, she started glancing in the direction of the entrance to the chamber—or where she remembered that it stood, as she could no longer see it. She called out his name, but her own voice echoed softly, as if to mock her.

He had told her to stay. But what if something had happened to him?

Her stomach began to growl. Afraid-of-Everything, who had remained with her, as he often did, whimpered and paced in the dark.

He told you to stay
, she reminded herself. But next, one of the little people crept into her lap and made a sad, low moan.

Maybe they’re hungry.
She said,
“Gemeze?”
Whichever sprite it was tapped eagerly on her palm.

She hesitated. Then she searched in the dark for her tiny friends; accounting for all four of them, she scooped them up and carried them in her left hand, cradled against her chest. Then she said to the wolf, “Let’s go,” and he brushed up beside her.

She reached out her right hand, feeling for the entrance. The wolf moved its head; she felt a tug on her dress; and realized that he taken part of it into his mouth. He was going to lead her through the tunnel.

Then it must be all right
, she told herself.

Afraid-of-Everything padded forward. With her arm extended, Isabella moved with him, awkwardly at first, then finding a gait that matched the wolf’s. She couldn’t see a thing; she had to trust his instincts.

He led her for what seemed like a longer time that it had taken to first enter the chamber. Then a cold wind washed across her face. Gooseflesh prickled her face and arms. The wolf chuffed and moved forward.

A small circle of dark sky was lit up with stars; it
grew as they neared it. Afraid-of-Everything trotted boldly toward it, pulling her along.

He picked up speed and loped outside, into a vast field of snow.

Snow? Already? Has so much time passed, then?

The stars above were blazing like comets, flying across the black heavens, then falling and winking out. There must have been fifty of them or more, bursting into brilliance, and then dying.

A silver moon hung low in the sky, not quite yet full; silhouetted against it, Wusamequin glided gracefully, his arms raised over his head, as if he were guiding the stars to earth. As she walked toward him, her moccasins sank into the deep, powdery snow. She saw that they were standing on a hill; a distance below, bright lights flared in the moonlight whiteness, and then went dark. His silhouette was thrown against the sparkling vastness; it was like his shadow plays against the crystalline wall in their chamber, on a grander canvas.

Without turning, he lowered his arms and said, “Mahwah stay.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I was afraid. And your wolf was unhappy. And the Makiawisug were hungry.”

He turned to face her. She expected to see anger there, but instead, his expression was gentle. He bent down and scratched Afraid-of-Everything behind the ears. The wolf wagged his tail and then trotted off.

The four Makiawisug chattered at Wusamequin. He answered, sounding amused, and took them from
Isabella. He placed them on the ground, and they scampered away, dancing away on top of the snow.

He took her left hand and said, “Mahwah, medicine.”

She breathed in the cold night and held it. Then she exhaled, and her breath made vapors in the air. She closed her eyes, and he began to chant.

Swaying with his voice, she felt warmth build inside her, then move from her into the world. Something that was not part of her permeated her being, like light. She sensed that it came from him, and felt shy. He squeezed her hand as if he sensed it, and continued to chant.

After a time, he stopped. She opened her eyes.

They stood together in moonlight. The stars hung fixed in the sky; there were no flares of light at the bottom of the hill.

She expected to be cold, but she was not.

Wusamequin closed his eyes. She did the same. They stood in just that way, unmoving, for what seemed like hours.

The dawn broke, the rays of the sun washing the sky with pinks and purples, and then with a gentle yellow glow. The world was hushed, and beautiful.

“Mahwah,” Wusamequin said.

“Rose?” she queried.

“Mahwah,” he said again, and extending his arm toward the rosy heavens.

“It means ’Pleasing,’ then.” She flushed, knowing
that it was his name for her.

“Your heart knows,” he chided her.

“Beautiful. You have named me Beautiful,” she whispered.

“Mahwah,” he affirmed.

“Wneeweh”
she said feelingly.

He turned around, indicating that she should step in the holes he made as he walked. He began to walk back toward the cave entrance Afraid-of-Everything had guided her to, passing by a stand of spruce trees.

Then Odina, Keshkecho, and Wabun-Anung—Wusamequin had taught her their names—stepped from the stand of trees. Odina was carrying a basket of fish. Keshkecho had a tool that resembled a spade, and Wabun-Anung’s face was painted with white and black.

All three of them were staring in shock at her. Wabun-Anung spoke to Wusamequin quite angrily, gesturing at Isabella’s leg. His reply was measured and calm.

As he spoke, Isabella ticked her glance toward Odina, whose brows were narrowed in suspicious anger. Her jaw was clenched. She was seething.