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Authors: Kent Stetson

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BOOK: The World Above the Sky
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Long before Eugainia noticed any sound, Keswalqw hurried down the slope toward the riverbank. In what seemed the blink of an eye, life pulsed through the village. The People returned, emptied beached canoes of clay pots filled with shellfish. Fires were lit. Wigwams aired. Lobsters soon steamed in boiling pots of water, though much of the seafood—muscles, clams, whelks, oysters—was cracked open and eaten raw. Shells discarded in a pile to one side of the firepit would be reduced in intense heat later, their lime and calcium critical to the hardening of clay pots.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk pulled his canoe ashore. He stowed his gear in the wigwam he shared with Keswalqw as part of her extended clan, unaware of the sea green eyes resting upon him.

Late that afternoon, Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk built a substantial fire at the edge of a meadow on the terrace above Henry's camp. At the base of the blaze, a dozen smooth granite rocks absorbed intense heat. Keswalqw lashed a circular canopy of aspen saplings, the little trees still rooted, stripped of their leaves. A perfect dome formed, about three-quarters her height. In the centre she dug a shallow pit.

Athol Gunn emerged from the trees at the edge of the clearing carrying a small oak table. He nodded and smiled in their direction. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk and Keswalqw nodded and smiled in return as he left.

Keswalqw's opinion of Sir Athol formed instantly and, as it turned out, accurately, on their first meeting. “This one, this Sir-atol, seems friendly enough.”

“He likes to sing, and last night, Aunt, on Apekwit he danced with one hand on his hip like this, the other over his head, and hopped first on one foot and then the other, like this, all the while pointing his toe and kicking out from under his many-coloured dress as if pestered by dogs. He produced a musical instrument shaped like a goose with many necks. He tossed it over his shoulder, blew into one of its necks—the one with what appeared to be a small round beak—then pretended to strangle it. He strutted around as it squawked and shrieked. It was very funny. Then he played a mournful tune. We saw it seemed to have some religious significance, such was the flow of his tears. We attempted to listen with respectful silence. It was difficult, especially for the children. In time we felt what he intended the music to tell us: love and a certain sorrow. Then he played a merry tune and danced his dog-kicking dance. So we joined him. It was great fun. The children came to love him. Who is this white-as-a-ghost-person bear man?”

Sir Athol returned with two elaborately carved oak chairs. He sat, head back, arms akimbo, legs splayed, absorbing the sun.

“This bear man, this ochre-headed one...Sir-atol...he is all hair—ochre hair on his head, his face, and here, and here. He turned salmon-pink then fiery red in the sun. He wouldn't swim with us.”

A light breeze ruffled the edges of Athol's kilt, then whiffled its way across the grass. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk turned his head to the side, exhaling forcefully through pursed lips.

“Oouff! He stinks like a bear.”

“He may be a bear. Spirit bears sometimes quest in human shape, come to us for our medicine—come for the wisdom of The People.”

“For a bath too, I hope.”

Athol rose and stretched. He made his way to the terrace path. He nodded and smiled. They nodded and smiled in return. He continued on his way.

“He's quite friendly. And just your type, Aunt.”

“My type!”

“You like them large and friendly. Yes?”

“Yes. And clean, and hairless. Never mind. I'm beyond all that now.”

“Oh? That's not what Wosoqotesk tells me.”

“It's true. Wosoqotesk leaves my sleeping robes a happy man. But lately I think; why such energy for such a little pleasure? They've been here before, these white-as-a-ghost bear Persons. These kin-friends. They came in the time of my mother's mother.”

“This tale is new to me.”

“This tale isn't for everyone, Nephew.”

“Not everyone will be the chief of The People.”

“Time will tell.”

“Still. I wonder why they came.”

“It was said their land across the sea lost its medicine. The earth turned so cold snow fell in summer. Terrible wars cracked the earth. Great sickness fell from the stars. It was a starving time. They came to us across the sea in these great canoes with wind-catching blankets—”

“Like the one on its side in Claw of Spirit Bird Bay today.”

“Maybe. They came for our medicine. Then they built the great stone lodge along the river of the yellow stones, near the well by the sea.”


E'e
! The great stone lodge of the blistering deaths. That's how it came to be. Why was I not told this tale before?”

“Am I telling you now? The spear you carry was found by your father's father, found in the great stone lodge.”

“This? Found in that house of death?”

“The sickness they brought ended their lives. The few who survived, barely enough to man their great canoe, returned to the land across the sea. For many years The People were afraid, afraid of the great stone house of death. But one young man, your father's father, dared to enter. Among their whitened bones, he found your spear.”

“Tooth of Wolverine.”

“Yes. The spear still had good medicine then. Strong medicine. It flew through the air like a living creature. Flew of its own accord and never missed its target. Brought swift death to moose and bear and caribou; killed seal and walrus, whale and wolf and man. Killed quick, kind, clean. It helped The People. It helped the animals.”

“That was then. Its medicine is weak now.”

“Before they died they dug a great well on the island of the twelve trees, on the ocean shore of the great peninsula. It's said they buried strong medicine in their well in the World Below the Sea. That was a long time ago.”

“What strong medicine did they bury in this great well?”

“They say it was the severed head of their Great Father's messenger.”

“There's our tale from the Six Worlds—the Tale of the Speaking Stones.”

“Yes, yes. Inside the severed head of the noble warrior there was good medicine. It's the same tale.”

“It's our tale.”

“No one owns tales, Nephew. Only the Creator. Maybe we taught them, long ago. Maybe they taught us, long ago. No matter. So long as we learn we live. I should say their tale is similar to our tale. Not exactly the same. Similar. They said they'd come back one day, come back with their Creator's girl-child, open the well and retrieve the Severed Head.”

“And today is that day.”

“I think perhaps. Yes.”

“Then they are on some sort of spirit quest.”

“I think so.”

“And maybe they are not bears. Or whales. Or trees.”

“I cannot say. I don't know.”

“Is Eu-gain-ia their Creator's girl-child?”

“We shall wait and we shall see.”

“The 'Enry Orkney, I see today for the first time he wears a white cloak with a red cross on it.”

“I saw this too. What's special about today, I wondered. That same cross the woman who was my grandmother's mother marked on her breast in the time of summer feasting. Marked with red ochre in the feast time a long time ago, on Apekwit, before the sickness fell upon the strangers. Soon a child came to her, a child with sun-coloured hair. A child with eyes the colour of the sky. Its white-as-a-ghost-person's skin frightened her.”

“White skin and sky-colour eyes, yes,” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk reflected. “Now and then such a child is born to The People.”

“Yes.”

“There's nothing to fear in the eyes of such children. Is there, Aunt?”

“There's something to fear in the eyes of all people, Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk. But more than that, in the eyes of all, there's much to honour. Much to love.”

“That is truth.”

Sir Athol reappeared with poles and a canopy, which he erected over the table.

“Are we to honour these white-as-ghosts-persons?”

“We will wait and see. We will wait and we will see.”

“Look, Aunt. The 'Enry Orkney.”

Prince Henry emerged from the head of the trail and bowed to Keswalqw and Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk. A crisp white tunic emblazoned with the scarlet four-pointed cross pattée of the Scots Knights Templar fell from shoulder to knee. At the table, he extracted three rolled parchments from cylindrical leather carrying cases. With Athol's help, he flattened the fragile documents on the table, securing the corners of each with four small stones.

“Tall and yellow-haired with his sky-colour eyes,” observed Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk. “He's no bear person.”

“No. He has the Power of a sea creature. Lithe and swift like the dolphin. His heart's strong.”

“I like the Henry Orkney.”

“You're Moosewood Person. Moosewood Persons have much to learn from Sea Creature Persons.”

“And much to teach.”

“We'll see.”

Keswalqw extracted wet hides from bark buckets, draped them over the still living arced branches of the sweat-lodge roof.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk returned to tend the fire. The rocks quivered with heat.

Henry took a seat at the near end of the table. Athol sat opposite.

“The death of her child alters everything,” Henry began.

“In what way?” Athol asked.

From the terrace trail, sounds of men straining with great weight caught their attention. Both men rose. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk and Keswalqw turned from their work, intrigued by the apparition emerging from the forest: Eugainia, screened by muslin, reclined in an elaborate gilded litter carried by four burley men.

She directed her bearers to set her in full sunlight, a little distant from the canopied table. She drew back the airy curtain, secured it with a tasselled cord of braided red and yellow silk. Sunlight fell directly on her shoulder.

The crystal beadwork on the neck of her sea green overdress sparkled in the late-afternoon sun. The long tapered sleeves of the fine linen undergarment were beaded with the same fine crystals. Her elaborate headdress, sheer silk draped from a whalebone bow that arched up and out, almost to shoulder width, was secured with a linen chinstrap. Her hair, pulled back severely from her broad, high brow and temples, was completely concealed. Her features were set in a resigned repose.

“That woman—the Eu-gain-i-a.
E'e
! She is beautiful.”

Eugainia adjusted her veil and returned her attention to her distraction, needlework alive with leaves of grass and brightly coloured birds.

“She has Great Mother Moon in her eyes, and Great Father Sun for hair. Like the 'Enry Orkney. Keswalqw, do you think she is 'Enry Orkney's daughter?”

“No. He acts like her slave, always placing himself lower than her.”

“I think her people captured his village.”

Eugainia lifted her gaze from her work. She stared off into the distance. “God have mercy!” she suddenly cried. “I can't bear this ridiculous headgear a second longer.” She undid the strap and tossed the cumbersome thing aside.

Henry and Athol looked from one to the other. “The sooner the Grail Castle is restored and you installed, My Lady,” Henry said, “the easier I will rest.”

Eugainia's attention returned to her work, where it remained fixed.

Henry unrolled and then rotated the remaining parchment in his hands. “These fragments make no sense without the key. Summon the Little Admiral, will you Athol?”

“My Lord.”

“And wear your tunic. It's time we declared ourselves.”

“Aye, My Lord.”

Athol disappeared down the trail.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk stirred white-hot coals, heaped them about the rocks. “I think she has not yet seen eighteen summers.”

“Nor have you, Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk. Yet you become an old man. Alone, with no one to warm your sleeping robes or give The People sons and daughters. Before you become chief, you must take another wife.”

He looked toward Eugainia. “Never have I seen such power or beauty. Her yellow hair circles her head in little braids, look. And see where stones like water shining in an arc around her neck catch the light of Grandfather Sun. Look at the way her neck rises from her shoulders. And her breasts, I think, are neither large nor small. Have you seen her naked, Aunt?”

“Yes. Her skin has a white and rose-coloured beauty. Remember, Nephew. She bore a misshaped child, a child without life or breath. If you are to become the great chief and the signs say you will, you must become a great father, loved by many children, as well as a great hunter. You must take a wife who will bear The People strong youngsters.”

BOOK: The World Above the Sky
8.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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