What had I done? I did not know what to say or how to act. I looked around for Fat Face, hoping that he might help me. But he was in another group of people far away from us, talking with a young woman who giggled at his every word.
“Husband-to-be?” a sweet voice whispered close to my ear. Warm breath caressed my cheek. It made my heart beat faster.
I turned to look into Dojihla’s eyes. My heart thudded to a stop. What I saw was far from sweetness. There was a challenge and a question, there was suspicion and stubbornness. I truly was in trouble. And I had no idea how to get out of it.
“Yes,” I answered. If you cannot think of what to say, I thought, say as little as possible.
Dojihla reached up a hand to touch my face. “You are feeling too hot?” she asked.
Her innocent tone made a chill go down my back. How could I not be feeling hot with all of the logs she had been piling onto the fire next to us?
“You are very warm,” she continued. One of her fingers brushed something wet from my forehead.
Warm and wet? I put one hand up to feel it. It was true. Moisture was leaking out of my skin. Was something wrong with me? I held my wet hand out by the fire. It wasn’t blood. Then I remembered that I had seen water like this dripping from Fat Face’s forehead when he tried to string my bow and from the forehead of Dojihla’s brother when we wrestled.
“You are sweating so much,” Dojihla said. “I am sure your headband is too hot.”
“Yes,” I agreed. I was feeling faint.
This time, as you have probably already guessed, saying the least was not the best. But I was confused. After all, I had not been a human for that long. When owls are hot, they don’t sweat. They just pant or fan their wings.
“Then let us take that headband off,” Dojihla said, reaching up both her hands.
“Yes,” I said, then, “NO!”
But it was too late. Quicker than a bat snatching a moth out of the air, Dojihla whipped that leather band from around my head and my two tall owl ears popped up.
All around us, people gasped.
“Kina!” someone said. Look!
“Ears like an owl?” said another voice.
Dojihla stood and stepped back from me. Triumph gleamed in her bright eyes.
“Look,” she shouted, pointing at me as she did so. “I promised I would marry the man who was the best hunter. But this one is not a man. See those ears? This one is not a human being. Perhaps he was planning to devour me as soon as he got me alone.”
“Wabi,” said Wowadam, “is this true?”
Dojihla grabbed her father’s arm and pulled him away from me. “Do not get too close,” she said. “He may try to harm you now that we have found him out to be a monster.”
“Be careful,” someone else shouted. It was Bitahlo. “Get away from him.”
Fat Face stared at me, shaking his head.
Dojihla’s mother was covering her mouth with both of her hands.
Melikigo had stepped protectively between me and his wife and baby.
My heart was breaking. I stood and looked around the circle of firelight at the shocked faces staring at me. I did not see a single look of friendship or understanding. I was a monster to them all.
I shook my head. “No-ooo-ooo,” I said. “No-oo-ooo.”
But that was all I could think to say. I knew as soon as I said it how I sounded. Not like a man at all. I turned, grabbed up my bow and quiver of arrows, and walked swiftly into the darkness.
CHAPTER 21
What I Needed to Do
I WAS IN GREAT PAIN. An ache had blossomed in the center of my being as soon as Dojihla had exposed me as something other than I had pretended to be. How could I have thought they would accept me as a human? What a fool I am, I thought as I stumbled away from Valley Village.
Stumbled, indeed. Admittedly, another part of my pain was from the big bump on my forehead. I’d gotten that by walking head-on into a large maple tree soon after I stalked out into the darkness. Not only had it spoiled the dignity of my exit (the Kabonk-Ouch! had to have been audible to all those I left behind), but it also reminded me that I no longer had the acute night vision of an owl.
I intended to go straight back to Great-grandmother’s tree, but it was much harder than I expected. I didn’t know where I was. Moon was not showing her face. There was not enough light for me to find my way. What would have once been an easy flight above the trees was now so difficult. My arms and legs became caught in the brush, tangles of berry bushes grabbed at my hair and scratched my face. In my usual stubborn way, I kept pressing onward. But nothing was familiar to me in the darkness beneath the canopy of branches that had been my home territory. On and on I went, my hands held out before me to help me feel my way. It was so different from flying.
I do not know how long I walked. But I do know that gradually yet another feeling came over me. It was something I had never felt before at night. Rather than being wakeful and alert, I was becoming tired. Very tired, indeed. Even though it was the middle of the night, I had to sleep. My human legs refused to carry me any farther. I allowed them to collapse beneath me.
A familiar growl came from the darkness nearby. It was Malsumsis. His large shadow came close, and his wet nose touched my cheek. I had thought I heard something following close to me as I walked through the dark, but I had paid it no heed. I had not been afraid. Quite frankly, there was an edge of anger to my despair. I had half hoped it was some unfriendly being planning to attack me. I was looking forward to such a fight. Any creature thinking I was no more than a weak and foolish human would be surprised.
Instead, it had been my only loyal friend. He had kept pace with me, waiting for the moment when he could give me comfort. He’d been waiting for me in the forest all the time I was in the village. Even though I was not the same Wabi he’d known before, Malsumsis still cared for me.
My vision began to blur. It was almost as if my second eyelids had returned. But that was not it. My eyes grew warmer, moister. I put my hands up and felt the water trickling out of them, down my cheeks onto my chin. Why was I sweating from my eyes? I had not realized that human beings had so much water in them that it came leaking out from so many places. Somehow, though, that moisture coming from my eyes seemed suited to the way I felt. I had never, ever been so sad before.
I pressed my face against Malsumsis’s side, wrapped my arms around him. Then I slept.
When I opened my eyes again, Malsumsis was gone, but the gentle touch of darkness was still around me. And I heard a soft voice.
“Whoo-hoo-hoo,” it trilled. “Grandson.”
I squinted my eyes and looked around. The moon had finally risen and her bright light shone through the trees. I could see enough to make out the shape of my great-grandmother on a branch near me. Although I thought I had been lost in the darkness, I had found my way to her tree, which I now realized was rising above me. I had fallen asleep in the circle of stones, right next to that same bed of moss where I’d first stretched out my new fingers.
“Grandmother,” I said. Then I was silent. I did not know what else to say and I could not think of even one question to ask. All I could think of was how sad I felt, how lonely.
Great-grandmother hopped down to me and leaned over to gently nibble my earlobe. Then she began to run her beak through my tangled hair. I closed my eyes, remembering what it was like when I was a little owlet and she had preened my feathers in just this way. It didn’t take away the pain that had settled like a sharp bone in my stomach, but it did make me feel calmer. I lifted up my hand to wipe my face. For some reason, even though the night was cool, that warm sweat was again leaking from my eyes.
“Those are tears, Wabi. You are crying.”
I looked at my great-grandmother. I had no idea how old she was, how many winters she had lived through or how many more she would survive. I was certain there could be no one who knew more, no being who had gained more wisdom. I needed wisdom just then.
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��What must I do now?” I asked.
Great-grandmother clicked her beak in pleasure. “Good, grandson. Now I know it is you. You are asking questions again.”
“But who am I? Am I a human being or an owl or am I an owl pretending to be a human or am I only half a human being who can never be an owl again or . . .”
Great-grandmother nodded her head. “You are Wabi,” she said. “And as far as what you must do, that is up to yoooou.”
I stood up and began walking in a circle. Somehow, that felt as normal for me to do as shifting from one foot to the other had felt when I was an owl. I shook my head as I circled. It seemed that whether I was a human or an owl, I still could not stop myself from thinking so much that I became confused. I needed to stop talking and thinking. I needed to do something.
Malsumsis came trotting back into the circle of stones, a fat rabbit held in his jaws. He plopped down on his haunches in front of me, dropped the dead rabbit at my feet, and looked up at me.
Food. You need to eat.
Here I had been feeling sorry for myself while he was thinking about my well-being. Malsumsis was a better friend than I deserved.
Then it came to me what I should do. It was something that had been at the back of my mind for a long time. As an owl, I had been reticent to fly far beyond my own hunting territory. Now, I realized, I felt different. As a human, the thought of doing something that might mean much travel seemed not only easier, but desirable and even necessary to me. More important, it would take me out of this valley. Right now, the thought of remaining so close to the one I loved who rejected me was too painful. I needed to be far away from those I had once thought of as my human beings, those who now feared me as if I was some kind of monster.
“Great-grandmother,” I said. “I know what I must do now. I must go and try to find out what happened to my wolf friend’s people.”
“Wabi,” she replied, “that is gooood.”
CHAPTER 22
The Wide Valley
I LOOKED BACK FROM THE narrow pass between the mountains and held up my hand as I had seen real humans do to measure the passing of the sun across the sky. It had moved three times the width of my hand since we had started our climb from the valley below. I was now higher above the valley than I had ever been before. Even when I had the wings of an owl, I had never flown this high. Here I could look out across the whole of the place that had always been my home.
Malsumsis leaned his head against my thigh. I reached down absentmindedly to the place between his ears where he always wanted me to scratch. I could not see Valley Village itself, but the smoke that rose up from their fires was clearly visible above the trees. There, above the village, was the waterfall, and, here and there, like the body of a snake half hidden in brush, was the river. It was at the river that I had first seen Dojihla. Tears came into my eyes and I wiped them away.
I turned my gaze a bit farther up the valley. I was able to pick out the top of the old tree where I knew my great-grandmother was roosting.
I would not be returning there soon. Perhaps not at all. I turned my back on the familiar valley that held, with the exception of my wolf companion, everything that I had ever cared for. My journey was taking me another way, to a place so unfamiliar that I had no idea what to expect—other than one thing: danger.
It was from this distant valley that most of the creatures that threatened the humans came. Toad Woman, when she fled our valley, had headed for the very pass where I now stood. Kaskigenhana. Wide Valley. That was what the humans I left behind called it. But no humans ever went there—or if they did, they did not come back.
It was also through this pass that the whole wolf pack of our own valley had disappeared when Malsumsis was only a puppy. I’d learned that from forest creatures who’d preferred answering questions to being eaten. Foxes and fishers, woodchucks and skunks were among those who’d taken note of the wolves. They had seen or scented them as they passed by, the whole pack moving as silently as a dream.
Without looking back, those wolves had climbed the slope, higher than any sensible being would go, then vanished through this gap between the high peaks. It was strange. Animals avoided climbing up to this pass. Even the hawks and eagles that flew high above our valley never turned their wings in the direction of Kaskigenhana.
I had learned all of that many seasons ago and had promised myself that I would find out more about it someday. I would discover what happened to Malsumsis’s relatives. But as an owl, I had always been too busy with other things, including observing the humans in general and one human female in particular. But now, now all of that was behind me.
I studied this land that was as new to my human eyes as being human was to me. Some of Kaskigenhana appeared familiar—the comforting green of thick forest much like the valley woods I was leaving behind. What was strange was that even though this valley was at least four times as large as my home valley, the total amount of woodland here was much smaller.
There were several meadows where beavers had made dams in the streams. I had always liked beaver meadows. Lots of voles and mice there to hunt. But as I squinted my eyes to see more clearly, I noticed that those dams did not seem to be in good condition. And the beaver lodges that rose above the surface of the ponds appeared to be broken.
There was also a smaller range of hills within the valley, much like those in our home. The rocks on those hills would make good lookout points for me.
But at the far end of Wide Valley things were different—unsettlingly so. There was a greater expanse of swampland than I had ever seen before. Beyond that swamp there was no more forest. Instead, the land there seemed torn and was blackened as if by fire.
Malsumsis growled. Not good.
I nodded my head in agreement. I felt it too.
As Malsumsis and I looked out across Kaskigenhana, something was looking back at us from that burned, far end of the valley. And not in a friendly way.
CHAPTER 23
Head Breaker
I TOOK A FEW STEPS down the slope toward the valley. Then I stopped. I needed to think about a few things. I still felt the sorrow in my heart that had pierced me like an arrow when I was rejected by Dojihla. However, the pain did not seem so great now. It was still with me, but it no longer clouded my vision nor slowed my steps. It was still pain, but it was no longer sharp.
That was good. That sharp pain had made me confused and uncertain. It is never good to be confused and uncertain when you are flying—walking, I mean, toward danger.
I sat down and Malsumsis sat beside me. I put my arm around him and he thumped his tail against the ground, making a sound like that of one of the drums the people of Valley Village had been playing at the feast to honor my victory. I had liked the sound of those drums and the singing they had been doing. It was not as good as owl singing, but it had not been bad. If you are ever going to be transformed into another creature, make sure it is a creature that sings. Life without song is not good at all.
I began to tap my hand against the ground, trying to remember the beat of those drums and the song they had been singing before Dojihla pulled off my headband. It was a song of friendship. The words came to me and I began to sing them softly.
“Wi gai wah neh, wi gai wah neh.”
The more I sang it, the more I liked that song. And it made me remember the warm feeling I had always held for those human beings. As foolish as they were at times, they were likeable creatures. I just wished, now that I had become one of them, that they liked and trusted me.
But there was nothing I could do about that now. Perhaps an idea would come to me later. The important thing was that I not just sit around and feel sorry for myself. I had set a task for myself. That was good. That task was going to be difficult and dangerous. That made it even better.
But I did not have to rush into it. I looked down into the wide valley again. What was waiting for me there? Was I prepared for it? I had dealt with treacherous creatures before when I was an owl, but ho
w was I equipped now to deal with them as a human being? I needed to think about that.
I looked at myself. No wings. That meant I could not fly out of danger if I needed to do so. Nor could I drop heavy stones from high above. But I did have my bow and my arrows. My new hands felt comfortable with that bow and those arrows that had belonged to my great-grandfather. When I held them, it was as if I was holding his hands. It was also as if they were a part of me. I could use those arrows to strike any enemy from a safe distance.
My hands were good for other things too. I could hold things and throw them. I picked up a large rock, pulled my arm back, and hurled the stone as hard as I could. It sailed far away and dropped out of sight into the valley below. I would have to practice to throw accurately, but I could see that this skill would be of great help.
What other weapons did I have? I looked down. I no longer had talons on my feet that could rip and tear. My feet were good for running, but what else? Perhaps for kicking? Moose and deer use their feet very effectively that way. I had once seen a medium-sized doe use her feet to drive away a full-grown mountain lion when it tried to grab her fawn.
Kicking.
There was a dead cedar tree that stood about three times my height just down the slope from me. I sat back and picked up one of my feet to lift it up to my opposite knee. I was getting used to having knees that bent forward. I pulled off my moccasin and studied that foot. I now had not four toes, but five. They were not of equal size or able to move around to grasp anything. I used my fingers to bend those stiff, small toes backward and forward. If I bent too far, it hurt. They were not strong like my former toes had been. The nails on them were no use at all for fighting. If I struck these new toes against something hard, they would have no effect. They could not even pierce a mouse’s skin. But the bottom of my foot was different. It seemed to be tough and solid. It might work.
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