Chapter 2

Samantha's story

It was a glorious trip. The cool breeze blew over the waves glistening in the sun. The cold spray coming off the hull made rainbows against the bright blue sky.

A short, dark sailor with large ocher-colored plugs in his ears came up to one of the new mothers and held out his finger for the baby to grasp.

He smiled as the baby tugged at it. "I remember when my children were so small. I ignored them as a proper warrior should. I was a fool."

He kissed the baby upon the brow and went back to his tasks.

The ship's cook grilled fish for all of us over a fire set in a large wooden box half filled with dirt and sand. The wood sides were covered in mud and clay. The high sides of the box kept the wind from blowing the fire about and scattering embers. We gave the cook our corn meal and dried venison. He was very happy with the trade. He told us that the cooks would trade news and receipts at the massed groundings during the winter months. That was why so little was asked to move our people.

I resolved that the spare wootz long knives and axe heads were to be left with the cook as a surprise for the captain and crew.

We were met by a large crowd as we warped in at the pier. The Iroquois vessel brought attention on its own and the deck full of people drew more out of curiosity. Soon my heathen little brothers and sisters popped out of the crowd, anxious to see what was happening. When they spotted me a great noise started. When we stepped onto the pier I could hardly speak for all the questions. Finally I made myself heard and let all know that my siblings were healthy and waiting with the other two-thirds of the people waiting to join our tribe. We cleared the deck of our debris and rolled a great barrel of smoked fish up the boarding plank to aid in feeding the rest and as a promise of filling their larder. The captain seemed a little disappointed as to the barrel being filled with fish until I asked him to try a piece cold. It had been heavily smoked and almost did not taste as fish. He appeared to like it more then. I promised the rest would be from game with four legs.

I searched out my family to give them the news of our well-being. I presented grandfather with a bag containing the proof of our tale and left him to discover its contents while speaking to mother and father.

"I fear your cabin is no more. It was burned to the ground by a raiding party of Sauk before we arrived. Chief Springing Buck is no more. His camp is gone, his people dead but for the ones seeking sanctuary.

Grandfather holds our revenge. The slaving Sauk tribe is no more."

I left the rest for my brother to tell, as was his right.

It was good that we were arriving in the spring. It was the work of but a few days with so many hands to level and prepare another field, build a long house and supply house as well as construct an oven. It would take days of heating to prepare before it could be fired to full heat without splitting or exploding from hidden water. I aided as I could and sat up at night keeping a low fire burning in the oven, watching the camp and stars. Some nights my brother James sat with me part of the night, curious as to our story. I spun him and him alone the tale. His eyes read the darkness in my eyes as I related the sights and smells of the morning after our attack of the village. He put his head to my chest and hugged me. Together we mourned for the ones we killed. Not all could have been guilty. We killed the children. We killed the children. together we wept. Those nights were very, very long. They are with me yet. They will never leave me. My chest aches. My mouth is full of ashes. We killed the children and nothing comforts me, then or now.

I waited for my brother and sisters to join me. I insisted that we search out a shaman. There would be a ceremony for the children killed in the destruction of the Sauk camp. But no--the shaman was proud, proud.

He did not want to honor the slavers in any way. I shamed him. I walked behind him for a while saying but one thing over and over. "We killed the children. We killed the children." Soon he sat and wept, as had I. We would have our ceremony. All of us involved took part. The warriors, my siblings and I sat before a fire, covered in ashes, from dawn to dawn, mourning the children. Then the mothers among the ones we had rescued circled us and mourned the children taken from them by the slavers. When it was over the camp was quiet.

Mary's story

A month does not go by in which my sister gives me reason to look at her anew, thinking what she is and what she is to me. It shames me that I am 'just Mary'. I take walks in the fields and woods trying to find my place in things. I was sitting upon a stone, thinking bleak thoughts when I heard the sound of steps coming up the trail. It was a trail that the long-distance traders used to cross the land to the great river many days to the west.

A tall, tall old native man came walking with a broad pace designed to eat up the miles. He wore his hair in braids and had several feathers caught up in his hair. He carried a bow and quiver. His eyes were sharp. They caught me sitting still on my stone in a place made to be unseen, yet I was not dressed to be hidden.

"We are Walks Together. Come in peace and be welcome."

"I am Black Chicken Hawk, chief among the Sauk. I come in peace." This could be bad.

I looked at the ground, then looked to his eyes. "We have blood between us. The slavers are dead."

He carefully looked at my tattoo. "We do not claim the slavers. Sauk are farmers. We grow corn."

With that we walked into camp. I spoke of our role as a sanctuary tribe.

He nodded his understanding. He smiled at the long rows of corn springing up and the dark green fields of squash and beans. He appeared to be in love.

I quietly said "None are ever turned away." and left him to my father's care. I left to find Joshua. We talked while touching foreheads for several hours. I felt as if it were the last time I could trust him with my honesty. He had another in his heart.

Samantha had taken up the task of quietly shadowing our new guest. He was not just a chief, he was a widely known war leader. She reported to us that night.

When Black Chicken Hawk saw the string of ears he seemed to age before her eyes. She heard him speak to himself. "So much anger. So much pain. It is good that it is over."

I then began walking with him each day. He taught me that being a farmer was not a bad thing. Being a protector was not a bad thing. He was a simple man made important by others. To him any field was a holy place.

Every forest, every glade. I taught him the knife game. He taught me the creation chants of corn and squash, bean and oak. We were comfortable together. Before winter he took a wife. I was alone again.

Deep within the powdery snow I would run. I would track the game and touch the deer with a willow wand. I hunted only to survive. I had no direction.

I spun about as the last winter leaves holding fast to the oak, spinning and fluttering about yet always coming back to the same place. I had a small cave that I kept warm and dry with a small fire. One night I dreamed as I slept. A hawk asked me if I wanted feathers so that I might fly. I said yes. The hawk said I must die and be reborn to gain feathers. I was ready to say yes when a great brown bear said no, there was much for me to do yet. The bear wrapped me within its great paws and went back to sleep.

The bear became the earth, the paws the cave about me as I woke. I could smell bear. It did not leave me. I rose and ate, thinking deeply. I put out the fire and went to find father. He was surprised when I borrowed his pipe, filled it and lit it between us. I told him of my dream, then sat back and watched his eyes. He looked out into the distance, giving away nothing. "There is onother one you should speak with." He put out the pipe and cleared it. Abruptly standing he strode out into the camp, searching out I knew not who. I struggled to keep up with his pace. He came to a hut away from the greater wickiups and long houses. He hailed the camp.

An old stringy man with head tattoos came to the door flap and bid us enter. It was an old shaman that I had not seen before. Father had given him sanctuary and succor for his final years. Father left me with the shaman. He had a hoarse, old voice. He could not call the chants anymore. He was frail in the manner of people brittle and thin from age, yet wiry. I had never seen anyone this old before.

I told him of my dream. He sat listening, slowly rocking to and fro.

"Shaman are always alone." Suddenly, like a flash, I felt it. Suddenly being alone was not so painful. He went on. "Bring sleeping robes, food, a pot. You cook, I talk. You need more dreams." He peered closely at my tattoo. He tapped the center marks. "Good start. You have heart."

He turned away to his furs to sleep, muttering "much to do. much to do."

I was alone no longer.

The lessons nearly drove me mad. I recited chants while sitting in ice water. I snuck up behind a blue jay to snatch a tailfeather. I learned to rub the belly of a bear drowsing in the sun. I traded insults with a badger. I had a pet skunk that thought pissing on someone was a great joke. I learned that birds grew bored. When I showed him I knew the growl that would totally panic a cat he pissed himself laughing. He tattooed my brow and would not tell me what it meant. We walked the woods almost daily. I learned wet herbs from dry, shady herbs from sunny. I could succor with a cup or kill with a scratch. Some mushrooms had to be cultivated to get the best juices.

I can make your skin break out in blisters with the essence of marigold and sumac. I can make your brain boil with essence of moon flower and blooming vine. I can make you run screaming thru the woods from imaginary terrors with three roots. I can calm, I can ease, I can heal as well.

Each time there was a birth I was sent first to watch, then to assist.

I remembered father's lectures about clean hands and argued this with the shaman. He agreed that as there were large plants there could be tiny.

I took bread from the kitchen. We watched for green mold and watched it kill other molds. He was happy with a new thing. We brewed poultices with the liquor from the mold. Other shaman took it up and I earned another tattoo, this time upon my cheek.

Father's books taught of turning a lamb within the womb to allow it to come forth. I reasoned that a baby was as an animal in all but proportion, and closer so at birth than not. When a child was turned feet first I reached within the mother and brought it forth alive. The women attending asked many sharp, shrewd questions of me, some mentioning witchcraft.

I turned to the eldest and measured my small hand against hers. She grunted and would hear no more evil of me. I showed her the books my father kept within his library and we became fast friends. The shaman heard of the saving of a turned baby and asked how it was done. I could not explain, only show. Many were disappointed that it would not succeed on a new mother, only one that had been stretched in childbirth before. I demonstrated on a cow and calf how the largest of men could aid the stock. I gained another tattoo.

A huge warrior crept into camp when the moon was dim, seeking out his wife. She had escaped to us as he preferred to beat her for his pleasure. I was walking thru camp that night, enjoying the smells of the pine needles upon the ground. I heard the screams. I saw the fist rise and fall. I pushed off my staff and kicked him in the center of his back with a heel. as he fell I punched his throat, then watched him die. they tattooed my right hand red after that. I got another feather, too. My teacher said that I should have just cut his ankles and watched the tree fall. I said that in the heat I took my game. He shrugged and smiled. I smiled.

We understood each other.

It had to come. He weakened with the turning of the seasons. There was nothing I could do. We spoke of it and discussed his coming time.

He thanked me for the distraction. I thanked him for his lessons and care. It was understood that we thanked each other for our love. I stayed with him until the end. I called the others and we honored him in death, in a bower high among the trees. We took turns drumming for his spirit. Before the ceremony ended, I was brought before the eldest remaining shaman and given my name. I learned that each of us has a name, the same as all the others. We call ourselves one alone. My shaman name would be child of bear. My public name would be sharp blade. I was a shaman at eighteen. The drink I had been given for the ceremony gave me a fever. I took to my bed for several days. When I rose I felt different--lighter somehow. I could see things I could not before.

Each animal and person had a light about them. They said that in the dark my eyes flashed silver in the light of a torch. Many would not meet my eyes. I had seen this before when people came before the shaman.

Now I knew why. I distanced myself from my family. I wished to remember them as I had before. I wished them to remember me as I was before.

My changes could be--disturbing and I did not wish grandmother to fret.

A young female brown bear came to be with me. I often slept within her paws. I am glad she liked the taste of goat and mutton. We kept the flocks under control by feeding her the eldest and most cantankerous.

I salvaged the sheepskins for winter leggings.

On rainy days we would play. She would roar out. I would screech like a wildcat. She would whuffle and snort like a pig. I would growl like a wolf. She wold baa like a sheep. I would whinny like a horse. Silence would watch us in awe. It was not often that any could put a cork in that one.

Deep winter was coming. Evangeline, the bear, was eating more to fatten up. She would hibernate due to her very nature. I would join her on the first part of her journey, then continue on with mine.

I prepared for the journey by weaving snow paws and sewing wool and canvas overcoats as was my family tradition. I rolled a sleeping fur and a large double span of canvas square that would form my shelter.

I packed bags of food and lard as well as a brass cooking pot all upon a drag to pull behind me in the snow. I always carried water and two fire kits on the trail. This was no different.I went fully armed and carried an axe to cut wood.

We left on the night before the full moon.

We walked thru the silence, watching the horsetails of snow whip up in the breeze. Our steady pace carried us far in the bright moonlight. We slept by day and walked by night. On the fifth day she snuffled at a rocky hillside and pulled away a growth of thorn. She had found her cave. I watched with a smile as she turned about, getting comfortable with her nest. Her breath slowed as the slumber of the season came upon her. I camped near her that day and night, then shifting to sleeping at night and walking during the day now that the full moon had past. I had far to go. I had seen pictures of mountains in the books of my father and would see them.

I traveled west, west and further west. I came upon a broad river that I could not cross without help. I walked down stream for days before I came upon a ferry. They would take a good knife for toll. I was happy to pay as I could not see the far side. I waited for several days to cross so that they could make up a load. They said that for two gold they would take anyone across immediately. I was not in that much of a hurry.

The trees gave way to a great grassland, in some places taller than I was. The great swales of grass were hard to walk thru.

The snowpaws allowed me to walk above them when the wind had not scoured the snow away.

I guested with many tribes. My tattoos gained me welcome, my flights and throwing stick allowed me to hunt at a greater distance than they could. I took several buffalo along the way to feed the tribes. I was given a tanned buffalo robe by one tribe. I traded my bearskin sleeping robe for a pony that would carry my goods. He would not starve in the grasslands.

The tribes made their winter camps in the deep valleys cut by streams and rivers long ago. This kept them out of the winds that never stopped. They burned dried buffalo flop for firewood.

They were hunters of the great herds of buffalo.

I heard tales of the great steaming lands to the southwest. I altered my path to go there. By spring I reached my goal. There were bubbling pits of mud and hot springs of water. Some smelled very bad. I walked around the great valley making sense of the place. The heat of the earth had made a wonderland enjoyed by men and beasts. I found bear and buffalo drowsing in the hot springs. I found three old men camped deep within the place over the course of several weeks. In one spring I found an evil thing that gave me wonder. I enjoyed my time there yet my goal had not been reached. It was still many days walk to the south.

I began my journeys again.

The high plains were dryer and the grass more sparse than that to the east. I carried much water as I did not know the sips and seeps of the land. I could smell out some nearby yet did not know the master trails that would keep me near them. The birds guided me.

I came upon my goal near the longest day of the year. It was high within a cluster of mountains. There I found the great medicine wheel laid out among the clouds. I sat there watching a thunderstorm overtake the plateau. I had to tie down my pony so that he would not bolt. I could not make him understand that we were not hunted. He did not like that place at all.

As I sat out the storm the great wheel seemed to drift in and out of sight. At the edge of my hearing I heard the drumming and chanting of a ceremony. I caught images of the dances from the corner of my eye yet I could not look at them directly as they would fade away.

I remembered the chant. It would not leave my ear.

I found my poor pony trembling and lathered. I calmed him the best I could and we made our way down out of the mountains after the rain had passed.

I was stopped half a day later by a patrol of mounted warriors. They calmed at seeing my tattoos. They took me to their camp, some distance away. I spoke with their wise man. I told him of my journeys. When I sang out the chant I had heard he rose from the fire and returned with a painted rawhide box containing dyes and needles. He said I had needed another tattoo.

It was the most painful tattoo yet as it went over the palm of my left hand.

It was a circle and spokes in four parts and four colors. I stayed with them until my flesh healed. I left them with the idea of the throwing stick and flights. I did not know how much good it would do them without a source of wands. I suppose that they could trade for them. I told their shaman that I had seen brush willow growing in the steaming lands to the north.