The World Above the Sky (31 page)

Henry's pallor deepened.

Sir Athol inhaled deeply. He straightened, read with dignity and purpose. “Henry's bruise is the mark of his transgression. His agony arises from love and friendship betrayed. If the lance once charged with anger touches the wound with forgiveness, it is herein written, and I do in faith believe, the dead will rise again like Lazarus.”

Athol held the New Grail low, the Birchbark Grail of tar and spruce, the New Grail washed with the Royal and Holy Blood of the Christ, with the Ancient and Honourable blood of L'nuk, The People.

“Touch the spear to the blood.”

Eugainia and Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk anointed the tip of the spear.

Keswalqw lifted the poultice, exposed the putrid gash. A faint blue tinge fought the angry red streaks that flared from the wound like the rays of a malevolent sun.

“Great Chief Warrior,” Athol directed, “and She Who Sits at the Centre. Touch the wound with Wolverine, the Spear of Destiny.”

“Do so,” Keswalqw urged. “I tell you. This man will live. I have seen it.”

The anointed spear touched Henry's wound. The wound closed. The stench of death dispersed. A ruddy flush radiated outward, erasing death's pallor.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk set Tooth of Wolverine/The Spear of Destiny aside. Eugainia placed her hand over Henry's heart. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk leaned low. He spoke softly. “Come Henry Orkney,” he urged, “the Ghost World's fat with too much pride and sorrow.”

Henry stirred.

“Only the strong and brave return from the Ghost World. Come back, Henry Orkney. Come back and set my beloved's heart at ease, that I may walk the earth in peace and friendship with you.”

“Rise faithful servant from death's bed,” Eugainia commanded. “The evil that befell has been forgiven. Rise and be fed.”

“We ask it in Our Name,” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk said. “The name of the Two Made One.”

Henry opened his eyes. By his own strength, he sat upright. He touched his side and found no wound. Athol offered his arm. Henry accepted. He stood, steady, firm, to all appearances unaffected by his long dark sleep. He took Athol's hand. He kissed Keswalqw's face.

Henry looked about. He expressed no surprise that the chapel walls had turned to glass; that the green world arced high above; that clouds trailed through the luminous blue of the vaulted ceiling, uncovering not cherubim and seraphim and saints in celestial glory, but the eternal faces of Grandfather Sun and Grandmother Moon.

“The great wheel turned until it came full circle, ” he said. “I dreamed a dream of wind and fire. My Lord. My Lady. I dreamed I saw the blessed face of God: it is the face of man and man, of woman and woman, of woman and man, of you and he together.” Henry knelt before Eugainia and Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk. “Living for and with each other; living for and with all, in harmony. In the time of the Two Made One.”

• • •

It was knowledge common to both cultures: twigs graft best to the common branch when tides are high and the moon full.

The first wedding between L'nuk, The People, and the visitors honoured traditions sacred to both. In the end, though dual-branched, the nuptials were rooted in the same good soil; the couple would rise together, spread strength and happiness under the benevolent eye of the Creator who, they knew, loved them. Why would it be otherwise, all great shamans and spiritual healers of good heart before and since have asked? Would the Great Spirit create creatures as magnificent as human beings and then permit them neither peace nor happiness? Such cruelty, such caprice made no sense to the reborn Scottish Prince. In the same way, who among The People would hesitate to ease the toil and sorrow of their kin-friends? Nor would a clansman or clanswoman of clear conscience withhold the means to another's contentment, no matter race, creed or colour.

The People and the visitors gathered to celebrate the greatest of the Great Spirit's gifts, freely offered to each and to all. At the root of human joy, both cultures agreed, stirs the scared urge of the Two Made One. The greatest sorrow? The loneliness of the One Alone, the solitary soul an unsprouted seed fallen on a bed of stone.

The betrothed couple were subjected to intense scrutiny by their kinfolk. Were they of appropriate age? Was he a canny, agile hunter? What was his history in relation to his family and friends, his reputation in the tribe? Was the woman likewise of good character? Were the accomplishments of his youth and young adulthood impressive or ordinary? What reputation had she carried forward from her girlhood? Could she protect and advance the lives within her care? Was he considerate of the feelings of others, his actions rooted in compassion and self-respect? Did she command and give respect when and where respect was due? Would he work in partnership with his betrothed, fulfilling separate responsibilities equally valued? Were her contributions to the welfare of the community likely to be substantial and abiding? Would both put the welfare of the tribe before that of themselves and members of their own families?

Once the suitor demonstrated his ability to provide and protect, he was invited to display tributes worthy of the virtues of his chosen, and her family's standing in the tribe. Dogs, beaver pelts, weaponry and axes, all signs and symbols of the man's proficiency were acceptable. When the tributes were received and approved (the community assessment of his efforts was a time of great stress for the hopeful man who was obliged to watch and wait in silence) the principals were invited to repair to the
wikuom
inhabited by the woman and her extended family.

Solemn vows of fealty—the second to the last step in the three-day nuptials—were spoken shielded from public view in Keswalqw's cream-skinned wigwam. Its red and yellow ochre loon totem was recently refreshed for the event. The water bird's stark outline and spirit marks (wavering lines flowing back from the head suggesting its sweet, plaintive call) were defined by charcoal-blackened seal oil. The loon's red eye was focused precisely on the petitioners by the artfully placed dot of ground clamshell and seal-oil white.

The dedication and exchange of totems, the one act of intimacy the public was invited to witness and the final ritual of the nuptials, drew the wedding party and the villagers up the path to the Meadow of the Singing Stone. After long days of feasting, lavish exchanges of gifts, great high-blown orations thick with drama and suspense, afternoon games of strength and fortune flowing into nights of dance and song, a long nap in the warming sun held more appeal to the principal celebrants than further festivity.

Henry was relieved the grief and strife of the last six weeks had such a happy outcome. The New Order of the Two Made One was well established. The Grail Castle restorations were all but abandoned. It was decided the chapel, which had reverted from crystal to mortar and stone after the miracle of Henry's healing, would be maintained. Its cool high silence invited spirits skyward. Peace bloomed in the womb-warmth of its rose-coloured light.

Thoughts of time slipping past and tides rolling high still weighed heavily on Henry. He paused on the up-winding path. He glanced back and down to Claw of Spirit Bird Bay where his two seaworthy ships,
Verum
and
Reconcilio
, provisioned and disposed, strained at their moorings. Both seemed eager to taste the great salt sea on their maiden voyages. The late-spring outflow would carry Athol and his freshly trained
Verum
crew on a voyage of trade and exploration down the eastern coast as far, they hoped, as the much-storied Great Southern Gulf. Prince Henry Sinclair and his Scots adventurers would embark for the outer Orkney Islands and then Edinburgh abroad
Reconcilio
.

Henry's longing to be at one with his wife again, and to see his daughters, had been intensified beyond bearing in the presence of the lovers. God and Goddess had blessed him, he appreciated now more than ever, with the love of a woman of great intelligence, a woman strong-minded and generous of spirit. He offered a prayer of thanks and yearning. And sorrow. He knew, to his shame, he would not have acted as he had toward Eugainia and Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk with Igidia at his side.

His attention returned to the happy task at hand. Joyous whoops and ululations, Henry's among them, washed the meadow as Keswalqw and Athol entered the sacred circle smiling nervously, their little fingers linked. Henry, their chief witness and groomsman (the groom's “helper”... an imported tradition The People approved for its display of fraternal cohesion), fell in step behind the couple whose love for each other had, he reflected, grown with discreet inevitability.

A rare and lovely thing, a perfect union. Henry could think of no better match for Athol than Keswalqw. He fell back in step behind the betrothed couple. He quietly praised God and Goddess, hoping this wedding might be the beginning of many fertile unions of their Old and Older worlds.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk and Eugainia sat waiting in the shadow of the Singing Stone, ready to officiate the final binding rite. Their own nuptials had been forged privately in the snow-filled woods and frozen streams of winter, their witnesses the Great Spirit and the stars of the northern heavens, circling flocks of geese, the miracles of cold-running sap and hot maple syrup, and long, cold nights warmed by fire and fur.

From this point onward, like the Sacred Couple seated cross-legged before them, Keswalqw and Athol would walk the Six Worlds together, taking their greatest pleasure in each other and the well-being of The People.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk noted with mild alarm Athol's bagpipes slung over his shoulder. He recalled the day on Apekwit when the big man's goose with many necks made its first squawk and Athol began his peculiar dance. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk admitted growing fondness for the keening of the pipes. Daily at dawn Sir Athol, now known to The People as
Gelusit ta'pu
, welcomed the sun with the bittersweet hope of a slow air played gentle and low. Neither skreel of war nor call to battle, the piped morning meditation brought order and calm to the long stretch of peaceful days that unfurled as Henry's wounded side healed.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk set the New Grail on the ground before them. Tooth of Wolverine/Spear of Destiny, its star-stone head glistening black, stood behind propped against the Singing Stone.

At Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk's nod, Henry rose to speak.

“My cousin, Sir Athol Lochland Gunn, known to The People as
Gelusit ta'pu
, He Who Speaks Twice, is a good and honest man,” Henry began, his command of The People's language approaching fluidity, having evolved over the winter, he admitted with some pride, to a level well-past functional. “He has proven himself a loyal friend and consistent provider.” Henry paused, “I say, a loyal and a consistent provider.”

Athol flushed red at the laughter, kind though it was, that rippled across the meadow. He cast a sharpish glance over his shoulder at his cousin and in a loud voice replied, “Most things bear repeating, I say, bear repeating, laddie, especially praise!”

“Keswalqw, your wisdom has tempered a good man's fiery steel,” Henry continued when the laughter subsided. “One of Athol's much admired traits is his pragmatism. He is a strong man among willful humans, neither expecting more nor deserving less than any other. From our earliest boyhood days together, our Athol was never one to countenance injustice. That will never change. Thanks to you, Keswalqw, and the kindness of The People, Athol no longer acts swiftly or thoughtlessly when injustice is perceived. Your new husband is diligent, loyal and, above all, he is kind. I commend him to your love—You Who Sit at the Centre, Great Shaman Healer of The People, Great Mother of the Clan. And I commend him to the love and service of The People.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk stood to speak for Keswalqw.

“We like this tradition of yours, this standing and speaking of the suitability of your kin-friend at the time of union. We thank you, Henry Orkney, for your trust, for leaving this precious gift—your most beloved Athol Gunn among us.”

To Athol he said, “A great honour has befallen you,
Gelusit ta'pu
. She Who Sits at the Centre But Does Not Rule—the sister of my long-departed father, the kin-friend of my mother who went too soon to the Ghost World—cared for me as her own since I was a little child. Keswalqw is a woman great in spirit, wise in council, kind in kinship. Henry Orkney spoke the truth: Keswalqw is a shaman of great power and a gentle healer of The People. The Great Spirit has sent another bear-man to warm her sleeping robes. This brings selfish comfort to us all. When the great mother is happy, so are her children.”

A ripple of amused agreement circled the meadow.

“We thank you
Gelusit ta'pu
for your high good spirits,” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk concluded. “For your strength and courage. For your kindness, not only to the great, but to the frail among us. We even give thanks for your goose-strangling music and your dog-kicking dance. We are happy Keswalqw. You have chosen well.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk elevated the sacred pipe and then lit the
nespipagn
, exhaled a cloud, passed the pipe on to Eugainia. It travelled from her to Athol, from Athol to Keswalqw, from Keswalqw to Henry, then on to The People, whose communal blessing was carried to the Sky World and the Great Spirit beyond.

Eugainia ignited a braided cord of slow-smouldering sweetgrass. With the wing feather of the Spirit Bird given her by Keswalqw, she wafted smoke between and around the solemn couple.

As the pipe was passed from hand to hand, so followed the sweetgrass and the fanning feather. A translucent haze of sweetgrass smoke so faint as to be barely discernable hung low on the windless meadow, merging with the grass, brushing past the moccasins and leggings of the seated throng, the sacred smoke binding all in holy union before dispersing and ascending to the Great Spirit, lightening hearts, carrying the joy and hope of The People skyward.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk leaned toward Athol, removed the big man's stone-and-copper necklace. Eugainia lifted its lighter twin from Keswalqw's neck. Eugainia and Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk examined the symbolic stones, the polished thong-threaded globes signifying the Earth World, the burnished copper beads reflecting and representing Grandfather Sun. Like Grandmother Moon, the necklaces changed their size and shape according to the forces acting upon them. When worn they inclined toward the circle, the moon in its plangent state. On the warm flesh of the neck, the stone-and-copper neckpiece traced luna's cold journey around the sun-heated earth.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk and Eugainia elevated the circlets mindful, as were The People, of the leather thongs unifying round stones and copper disks. The binding strands of skin spoke of the Ways of the Animal Powers. Animals and The People bound together in a cycle of life and death grew strong, gathered Power for themselves and each other, as they walked through and lived in the Six Worlds.

“Thanks be to the Great Spirit for the circle of life,” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk said to the couple.

“Amen, I say amen to that,”
Gelusit ta'pu
testified. “May the great wheel ever turn.”

Eugainia lifted the lid from the Birchbark Grail, the New Grail lately infused with the Royal and Holy Blood of the east, the blood of King Solomon and the Goddess Isis, and the Ancient and Honourable Blood of the West, the blood of L'nuk, The People, the New Grail made by her Warrior God husband in the shadow of the Singing Stone, made from the skin and roots of a tree and the coal black blood of the Smoking Mountain. Inside lay Athol and Keswalqw's totem gifts to each other, their most intimate personal symbols, their spiritual essences given shape and substance. Once exchanged, the totems signalled their commitment to permanent union, and mutual expectations of fidelity.