The World Above the Sky (32 page)

Keswalqw withdrew her totem from the Grail. “The venerable loon,” she said as she elevated the stone-carved pendant, “lives in three worlds and carries her young upon her back.”

She attached mother loon, with three loon feathers affixed, to Athol's necklace.

Athol attached his thumb-sized black bear totem to Keswalqw's neckpiece, like the loon carved from soapstone traded with The People's cousins, who had prized it from the fierce Ice Hunter Thules far to the north. A tuft of bear fur had been artfully attached, the white fur of the ice bear Keswalqw so admired, whose fur she coveted.

Each accepted the other's spirit gift in silence. Keswalqw's loon nested in the fur of Athol's chest: Athol's bear slipped down to slumber in the warm cleft between Keswalqw's breasts.

The People gave voice to their approval. Eugainia felt a surge of warmth deep in her belly, and the beginnings of a steady pulse from the stone at her back. She exchanged a glance with Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk. His smile confirmed her suspicion: the Singing Stone vibrated in sympathy with the rising voices of the visitors and The People. The Great Spirit approved this union of two ancient worlds. The vibration became a steady unwavering vocal tone. Harmonic variations emerged, twisting and circling, blending with human voices, rising skyward as dense and taut as a plaited thong.

Keswalqw placed Athol's fingertips on her throat. He felt the Sacred Song of the Marriage Circle. Keswalqw slipped her hand in the side-slit of Athol's wedding vest (partly obscured by the shoulder swath of his sky blue, sea green great kilt), the vest she'd quilled and beaded while he sat with the men, carving his totem gift for her. With the flat of her palm she felt the sacred tone pulse within her loon totem, on the chest of the bear man from across the sea, who came to warm her sleeping robes and bring her joy.

For the first time in his life, Sir Athol Gunn felt peace. He turned his face, eyes closed, to the rising breeze. Under the touch of the hand he loved above all others, he felt the Great Wheel revolve. He opened his ears to the resonant harmonies of the spheres. He opened his mouth, released a deep and vibrant tone. Sir Athol Gunn became a Man of The People.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk, his heart a well of joy, turned to Eugainia. The People's song enfolded her. Her eyes were closed. Her face gently set. Her light soprano voice rose water-clear in the early summer air. The People's tone-song stirred the tiny heart beating in Eugainia's womb. The twitches and flutters of the past few weeks had lately become the toss and turn, the bunts and kicks of He Who Yearns to Walk Free.

“Not yet, little stranger,” Eugainia whispered. “Not yet.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk directed Eugainia's attention to Henry whose eyes were fixed in horror upon the ground. No sound emerged from his lips, moving in supplication then pressed tight together—tight, thought Eugainia, as the jaws of
Jipijka'maq
.

Henry couldn't breathe. Panic clenched his chest. He heard his Lady's voice:

Henry?

He knew without looking she spoke no words. Her thoughts were his.

What troubles My Lord Protector?

Henry's doubt—a shard of glass cold and sharp—hung in the air between them.

I would know my fate, My Lady. And that of my wife and daughters. If they no longer...if they have been...I see no point in returning to Scotland. I'd be better here, would I not, with you and with The People?

Wrap your dilemma in prayer, Henry, and cast it up to the Creator. We'll make a spirit quest together, you and me. All will be revealed. I promise. You'll have your answer before the turning of the tides.

Still, his heart was troubled. My Lady...leave or stay I cannot live a good and happy life until I confess my shame. Though I know you bear me no ill will, I can't forgive myself for the shame I brought You and My Lord your husband that awful day at the well, where I acted with no thought for your feelings, or for those of your husband, whose honour I was determined to destroy.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk opened his eyes and smiled. He sent a silent prayer of forgiveness across the short distance between them, echoed by Eugainia. His Lord and Lady's Benediction washed over Henry. He raised his head and opened his eyes.

Could the sun have moved so far in the brief instant Henry's eyes had been closed? Was it a trick of the light, playing off the jet black surface of the rock? Eugainia and Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk's heads were ringed with glory. Their gaze sat kindly upon his face. Guilt fell from Henry like the shed skin of a serpent. Remorse rose and vanished on the wings of the flock of tiny spirit birds Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk caused to flutter past. In a far distant chamber of Henry's strengthening heart, a cold breath, the final memory of a White Wolf, of a night of a soul turned to ice, hard with sorrow, dissolved.

Henry nodded his gratitude. Eugainia smiled her pleasure.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk sent Henry these thought-words...

Be at peace, kin-friend. Be at peace.

All three closed their eyes. Henry's throat opened. The thin man wanting, the frozen man waiting, the starving man dying, the man of the fallen temple overwhelmed by time and a sense of duty he must soon abandon became kin-friend to The People—Geleiwatl—Lord Protector of the Two Made One and He Who Sings When His Heart Is Full.

Time distorted, the stone-song became a band of colour, a pathway leading outward and up. Eugainia felt the earth slip away. She leaned forward, arms raised, her torso that of a diver prepared to leap forward and up with no expectation of descent, her eyes fixed on the far edge of the universe, her heart doubling and redoubling in size and Power with every sacred beat.

A sharp jab to her stomach killed the illusion. The infant kick wasn't born of simple restlessness: it was sharp with purpose. Eugainia rubbed her belly, prodding gently. The first kick was followed in quick succession by two sharp jabs, each harder than the last. Two strong kicks, she thought, the first to get her attention, the second more subtle. The child delivered a third kick, a strong kick. A warning.

Eugainia looked to her husband. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk's profile was set, hard, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Eugainia looked to the east. The turmoil in Eugainia's belly ceased. The unborn child lay still, a fawn in the forest, silent, barely breathing in the presence of fang and jaw.

The Singing Stone went silent. One by one The People's voices stilled. Moments passed before Henry realized he sang alone. He opened his eyes, surprised to find The People on their feet. All looked to the east. Henry rose to stand among them. What he saw chilled the marrow of his bones with a cold unmatched since his White-Wolf agony in the frozen grove of the starving time.

Sails. Ships. A great fleet of ships.

God have mercy on The People of the Six Worlds, Henry thought.

The Red Lion of Venice flapped at the mast of
Reclamation
, surmounted by the long tapered pennant of the Holy See, a whip cracking the trailing wind, pious and aloof, snapping orders above the helmeted head of Antonio Zeno.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk retrieved Tooth of Wolverine. Eugainia handed the Birchbark Grail to Sir Athol. “Keep this safe.” Athol secured the New Grail in the chest folds of his great kilt.

Athol and Keswalqw walked among The People. Athol placed a calming hand on a shoulder here, a back there. “Go quietly back to the village. No harm will come to you.” Keswalqw lightly brushed a bare arm. “They're not here for you. Go about your business.” Big-eyed children, sensing their parents' unease were comforted by hands laid softly on their heads. “All will be well,” Athol assured.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk spoke with quiet urgency. “My wife and child need time.”

Athol looked to the horizon. “The easterlies favour Zeno, Henry,” he warned. “They're not a quarter-hour from shore. They'll be on us before we can lift anchor.”

“If you truly love us, Henry,” Eugainia said, “you'll take this fight far from this place, back to Europe where it belongs.”

“How, My Lady?” Athol asked. “Twelve ships. A thousand men.”

Keswalqw touched Wolverine to the Singing Stone. A portal opened, bisecting the stone vertically. Sir Athol moved to follow when Keswalqw stepped inside. “Stay with The People, Husband,” she told him. “Tell them not to fear, though the ground will tremble and the waters churn. The Sky World will darken, and a great wind from the World Above the Sky will confound our enemy. Henry. Eugainia. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk. Our task is simple: we must reverse the tide and stop the world from turning. Follow me.” Eugainia stood ready to step through. Henry trembled before the gaping stone.

“Henry? We need our Lord Protector.”

“I'm only mortal. My poor body can't travel through rock. Except in dreams.”

“Your time of suffering has passed, Henry. Your spirit quest begins.” Eugainia passed into the stone. “Come.” Henry followed. The stone's surface closed, leaving no mark.

Athol scanned the horizon. The Red Lion of Venice was clearly visible against a darkening sky. He knew the hated symbol well: the King of Beasts, four feet planted on a white field, its humanized face wearing the scowl of an angry prophet. Athol adjusted the folds of tartan across his chest, assured the Birchbark Grail was safe. He inflated his pipes, tuned the drones and ran a scale on the chanter. He considered a stirring call to battle but thought better of it. He took the path down to the village, piping a hearty four-square reel.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk touched the spear to the wall of the Cave of the Seven Sleepers. A faint glow illuminated the high dome. The rumbling snores of the Seven Sleepers echoed. Their great limbs twitched. Their bear dreams were troubled.

“
Tugwa'latl
!” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk commanded. “
Tugwiet
!” One by one, at their master's call, the bears awoke. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk, Bear Master, raised Wolverine and traced a circle in the air. Groggy from a century of sleep, their minds still dense with The People's prayers, the bears rose on their hind legs to their full height, thrice that of their human kin, and roared. “
Gesigawwet
!” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk ordered. “
Gesigawwet
!” The bear-roar increased in volume, surpassing the sounds of the greatest thunders. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk touched the spear point to the floor. As one the great creatures dropped. Their massed weight drove down through shoulder bone and tree-stump legs, cracking the earth surface and waking the core of the world.

From the shores of Claw of Spirit Bird Bay, a great wave rose and rolled out to sea. Aboard
Reclamation
—her bowsprit no longer Eugainia but an oaken Mary, Virgin Queen—Antonio Zeno watched the massive wave roll toward him. How can this be, he wondered. How can a wave roll out from the land to the sea? The dozen ships were lifted twice their mast height, then set gently back on the surface as the wave dispersed. “Nothing to fear,” Antonio told his wide-eyed crew. “Only a curious rise and fall of the New World sea.”

Inside the cavern, the seven standing bears swung their great heads from side to side.

“Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk and the spirit bears have sent your countryman a warning,” Keswalqw told Henry and Eugainia.

“And summoned Tutji' Jipijka'maq,” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk added.

Henry blanched. “Jipijka'maq! The serpent pierced my side. Then slowed my heart and all but killed my spirit. Why should I not fear him?”

“Not the Jipijka'maq you remember, Henry,” Keswalqw said. “He calls Tutji' Jipijka'maq…Jipijka'maq's little sister.”

Hair-thin cracks criss-crossed the centre of the cavern floor. A slight mound of crumbled stone rose from the surface. A small snake emerged. The little serpent stood upright on its tail and spoke. “Who called me?”

The great bears swung their heads and sighed...

“Us.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk lowered the spear. “Come, little sister. Show us the way.” As Tutji'j Jipijka'maq wound her way up the shaft of Wolverine, the shaft writhed and twisted, became a living thing of muscle, bone and shining scales. The little serpent, now in length and girth the size of Wolverine, awaited her master's command. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk plucked the star-stone from the serpent's mouth. He passed the glowing stone to Eugainia. He held the snake in his hand, now stiff as a rod. The snake staff, Tutji'j Jipijka'maq, spoke to Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk, her sweet voice that of a human child clothed in innocence. “Are you ready, Great Shaman?” serpent-child asked.