by Joan Grant
Scarlet Feather
Raki and Piyanah are born as outcasts into an American Indian tribe, many thousands of years ago somewhere in the West—but they are outcasts only because Piyanah’s mother, who raises them both, is strong enough to defy tribal customs—and the chief. Once Piyanah’s mother dies, however, the two children must integrate themselves into the rest of the tribe—and prepare themselves for their destiny—to form a new tribe which will be able to break the bounds of superstition and tradition that have infected the old tribe. To become joint chiefs of the new tribe, however, Raki must live the life of a young squaw, and Piyanah must pass all the tests of a young brave.
“During the last twenty years, seven books of mine have been published as historical novels which to me are biographies of previous live I have known.”
ALSO BY JOAN GRANT
Far Memory Books
Winged Pharaoh
Eyes of Horus
Lord of the Horizon
So Moses Was Born
Life ad Carola
Return to Elysium
Non-Fiction
Speaking from the Heart
Copyright
First published in 2007 by
Overlook Duckworth, Peter Mayer Publishers, Inc.
New York and London
NEW YORK:
141 Wooster Street
New York, NY 10012
www.overlookpress.com
LONDON:
90-93 Cowcross Street
London EC1M 6BF
[email protected]
www.ducknet.co.uk
Copyright © 1945 by Joan Grant
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.
ISBN 978-1-46830-798-6
Contents
Scarlet Feather
Also by Joan Grant
Copyright
Dedication
Part One
Raki and Piyanah
The Tribe
The Other Side of the Water
The Choosing
Shadow of the Totem
Feathers of the Future
The Little Valley
Dark Smoke
Part Two
First Bear’s Claw
The Squaws’ Tepees
The Quarry
Three Hunters
Lore of the Feathers
Salt of Oanger
Black Feathers
New Magic
Death Canoe
Part Three
Brown Feathers
The Bridge
The Thirty Tribes
Feathered Council
The Caverns
Torch-light
Ordeals for the Scarlet
Part Four
Squaws’ Choosing
Na-Ka-Chek
Chief of the Heron
Moon of the Uniting
The Bitter Mountains
Black Spider
The Blue Smokes
Great Thirst
Place of the Corn-growing
The First-born
Children of the Great Hunters
Joan Grant
FOR
VERA SUTHERLAND
WHO WILL FIND IT SO EASY TO ANSWER
THE QUESTIONS OF THE GREAT HUNTERS
PART ONE
Raki and Piyanah
Raki and I, Piyanah, were together from the beginning. His mother died when he was born and I was three days old, so we were suckled together. There were two of everything: two babies in the cradle, two breasts when we were hungry, two voices to comfort us if we cried. Later we recognized the voices as Mother, who was the most important, and Ninee, who helped her to look after us. All things were happy because they were in pairs; even the rocks and the trees had each a shadow to stop it being lonely.
Raki and I shared all our discoveries; the hard, hot feeling in your mouth before teeth happen; the shape of stones; the interesting taste of grass and earth; the texture of skin, and rush-basket, and moss; and the beautifully loud noise we could make by shouting.
We used to lie naked in the sun and watch the dance of the leaves, or play in the shallow water which jumped up to laugh with us when we banged it with our hands. We learned that there are different kinds of warmth: Mother, and sunlight, and the deep, sleepy warmth of the beaver pelts in which we were wrapped together at night. Fire was warm too, but sometimes it got cross, like Ninee, and hurt so badly that you had to cry.
Cold took longer to learn; there was the friendly chill of wet grass in the early morning; the sharpness of spring water and the beautiful coolness of licking shadowed stones on a hot day. Suddenly one morning the great white cold happened: it was soft and lovely, but when it grew tired of playing with us it hurt nearly as much as fire. It stayed on and on until we couldn’t remember there had ever been anything but whiteness outside the tepee.
Raki knew what hot ashes felt like when my hand was burned, and I learned about ants when they stung his foot. I thought I should always follow Raki because I was his shadow; and the first time he went away from me I was so frightened that I screamed until Mother came to comfort me. She explained that I must learn to crawl too, so I did. After that I was careful to learn everything as fast as he did, so that we shouldn’t be parted again.
We learned to swim on the same day, and if he fell and cut his knee I nearly always cut mine before sunset. Once he ate some berries that gave him a very bad pain; I hadn’t eaten any, but I pretended I had, so that he shouldn’t have the pain all by himself. Ninee made us drink something very dark and bitter; after that we both had a pain, so I didn’t have to pretend any more.
Mother played with us and told us stories: she knew everything, and could even make fire and moccasins. Ninee didn’t know very much, and scolded us when she thought Mother wasn’t listening; but she was nice when she was in a good temper.
When we were five, Mother told us that we were all going to a new place. We were sorry at first, for there were so many special rocks and caves and trees that would be lonely if we went away. Then Raki said it would be a wonderful adventure, so we were both pleased.
I don’t think Mother wanted to go on a journey, for the night before we left I was too excited to sleep and I thought I heard her crying. I still thought so, even when Raki said I must have made a mistake because grown-ups didn’t cry. I had tried to find out where we were going and why; but Mother only said that we were going to a new “place of the corn-growing” because the tribe needed fresh hunting-grounds.
We did not know what the tribe was, but Raki thought it was something to do with the people we occasionally saw in the distance. I wondered how we should be able to carry our two tepees and the wooden chests which took care of our clothes; but I needn’t have worried about them, for one day Mother took us into the distant woods, as she had often done before, and after we had walked a very long way I asked when we should be going home, and she said:
“We are not going to turn back, Piyanah. Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow will all be in a new place…a new place that has no memories.”
Then she walked ahead, and we did not ask any more questions, because we knew she was unhappy and didn’t want to talk. Then Raki pointed to knife cuts on the trees and we knew someone had blazed a trail for us to follow. Further on there were many footprints in the dust, so we knew that many people were making the journey too. They must have been kind, if not fri
endly people, for at the end of each day we found a shelter made for us to sleep in, with food and a cooking-pot beside it. Mother said they were the tribe, but when we asked what a tribe was, she said we didn’t need to know yet.
When Raki or I got tired of walking Mother carried us on her back. We came to a river and waited for several days while canoes were built. Then Ninee came back from collecting firewood and said all the canoes had gone, but they had left one for us…we found it tied to a stake which was driven into the bank.
Mother paddled in front and Ninee at the back; Raki and I sat in the middle and were allowed to trail our hands in the water so long as we didn’t splash Ninee. Sometimes we saw other canoes ahead of us, and then Mother drew into the bank until they were out of sight. We thought it curious that she never wanted to thank the tribe; for they went on being kind, and every evening we saw a bunch of feathers, hanging from a branch or tied to a stick in the bank, which showed us where they had prepared our sleeping-place. Sometimes a fire had been lit and the food was ready for cooking…on those days Ninee was good-tempered and the food tasted better. Raki and I always ran on ahead to see what had been left for us: usually it was meat or wildfowl, but sometimes it was only a little corn-meal, and then we had to look for a stone on which Ninee rolled the dough into flat cakes which she baked in the hot ashes. It was early spring and the nights were cold, but that didn’t matter as Mother had brought the beaver robe for us to sleep in.
When Ninee was cross she used to mutter to herself, and we found out that she thought we ought to live with the tribe, and that somehow it was Mother’s fault that we didn’t…but when we questioned Ninee about it she wouldn’t answer. The tribe were incomprehensible, like the weather…something which affected you but had to be accepted without argument. Ninee would only say they were looking for a new “place of the corn-growing”, and that if they didn’t find it we should all go hungry next winter. I asked how they would know when they got there, and she said, “The Chief will tell the Elders.”
When I asked her what a Chief was, she said, “Your father”; then gasped as though she had swallowed a fly, and, grabbing hold of my arm, said, “If you tell your mother I said that I shall slap you so hard that you’ll scream the moon out of the sky!” So I knew that my father being the Chief must be very important. Raki and I decided not to say anything about it to Mother, because when Ninee was cross she made things so disagreeable.
We knew that everything had a father and a mother, but animals always had parents like themselves. We agreed it was a pity that I only had a “Chief” and Raki only a “Scarlet Feather” for a father…we used to think that a Scarlet Feather was a kind of bird, but Mother said it was a specially brave kind of man. When Raki asked what his father’s name was, Mother said she didn’t know, for her sister, who was Raki’s mother, had never told her.
It was exciting when we came to a rapid. Ninee was frightened of them and used to pull a blanket over her head so that she couldn’t see the rocks…she pretended she did it because it kept her dry. Mother knelt in the prow of the canoe, and just when we seemed to be driving down on a rock she would twist the paddle so that we slid past it down a green slope between the white waters into the calm beyond.
When for three days there had been no rapids, the river found open country with hills only in the distance. On the south bank there were gentle hills which grew steeper as we went further, and on the other there was grass-land, for a distance it would take two days to cross, and then a ridge of high mountains. It had been rather dull that day, then suddenly, as we came round a curve, we saw many canoes tied to the bank. On a half-moon of close turf, protected by a steep cliff on all sides except where it flowed down to the water, men were setting up the posts for tepees…some of the tepees already had their hide coverings in place and were like the one we had lived in before.
I looked for the bunch of feathers which would have showed us where to land, but Mother stared straight ahead and paddled on down-river. I wished she wouldn’t go so fast, for I wanted to see what the tribe looked like…it was disappointing that they seemed quite ordinary people, no different to the ones we had sometimes seen in the distance. Then Raki pointed to a ledge in the hillside above the encampment: on it there was a tepee much larger than the rest and it was covered with brilliant patterns in red and blue and yellow. A man stood before it…or was it one of the Great Hunters? His head was crowned with feathers, many, many feathers which swept right down to his feet.
I heard Ninee say under her breath, “The Chief has come to watch us pass.” So that was the Chief, my father! I felt proud, and then ashamed that even for a moment I had been glad of a father who let Mother pass by without a greeting.
We rounded a spur of rocks which guarded the eastern side of the encampment and hid it from our view. Mother let the paddle trail through the water and leaned forward as though she were suddenly tired. Ripples slapped against the side of the canoe as we drifted in towards the bank. I saw a bunch of feathers tied to a stake and knew that we had come to the landing. I couldn’t see any tepee for us, but there were signs that someone, or perhaps two or three people, had recently come down the bank. So we followed their tracks…it was a steep climb, and Ninee began to grumble that it would be hard to carry water up from the river. She grumbled too soon, for when we came to an open glade encircled by great trees we saw a tepee and beyond it could hear a stream singing.
“It is our tepee,” Raki shouted. “I thought we should never see our own tepee again.”
We ran forward and unlaced the flap. Everything was there, just as we had left it moons ago: the winter blankets Mother had woven, and the wooden animals she had carved for us to play with when we were small…even the bow which Raki had started and not had time to finish.
“The tribe can’t be unkind,” I whispered to Raki, “or they wouldn’t have bothered to bring things which were important only to us. Or do you think it was the Chief who told them?”
There was a smaller tepee for Ninee, though not the same one she had had before; we were glad she wouldn’t have to share ours, for on the journey she had been cross if we talked when she wanted to sleep.
That night I woke soon after moonrise to find that Mother’s bedplace was empty, so I told Raki that we could go out to explore before she came back. The trees stood watching the smoke rising from the cooking-fire which was still smouldering…perhaps it was the first smoke they had ever seen. The shadows were black and sharp, and the silence clear as water. We went through the wood and crossed a stretch of open ground in the direction of the encampment. Beyond the sharp line of the cliff edge there was a pool of darkness which hid the tepees, and on the far side a great rock pointed to the sky: something moved on it…a bear? An eagle? Raki saw it too, so we lay flat to watch unseen.
“It is the Chief,” whispered Raki.
The moon escaped the clouds that were chasing her, and the light was so brilliant that we could almost see the colours of the feathered headdress. If the night had not been so hushed we should never have heard Mother say, “Na-ka-chek…Na-ka-chek. …”
She was standing in the shadow of a soaring pine above the river…the cliff was like a bow, and she and my father held the string through which it lived, the bow in whose protection the tribe were sleeping. Again I had heard her say, “Na-ka-chek”; and realized it was my father’s name, and that she was crying.
I wanted to run to her, but Raki held me back. “Lie still, Piyanah. She wouldn’t like us to be here. …I don’t know why, but I know she wouldn’t.”
I watched her turn away and vanish into the shelter of the trees. Now the far rock was empty also, and their singing bow was only a curve in the cliffs above a river.
The Tribe
Our tepees were much closer to the encampment than they had been in the old “place of corn growing”, and we often saw people who belonged to the tribe. Mother told us that when we could not avoid going near them—for instance, if we met them on a narrow path wh
ere there was no place to hide—we were to walk straight past and pretend not to see them. She made us promise that even if one of them spoke to us we would never answer.
Ninee sometimes went down to the encampment, but only when she thought Mother was with us and wouldn’t know about it. Food was left for us every evening, on a flat rock at the top of the cliff; so it was difficult to understand why we had to keep away from the tribe, when they were friendly enough to provide us with everything we needed… even fine deer-skin for tunics and coloured beads to decorate our moccasins. The Chief was my father; yet my Mother never told us anything about him and we never saw him except in the distance.
Sometimes Mother took us into the mountains during the hot weather. At night we slept under the stars and she would tell us stories about them: how each star was a torch set in the sky by someone who had entered the Land beyond the Sunset, and how the larger ones were two torches that belonged to two people who loved each other very much; so we knew there would only be one new star when Raki and I were dead.
There were several different places where we could go when our bodies grew too old to be exciting to live in any longer. I thought the nicest was the Land beyond the Sunset, which is sometimes called the Land without Shadows, where there is no winter and the flowers never wither nor the trees lose their leaves. The rivers are always summer warm, and you can swim in them with the freedom of fish; through those woods you can run swift as a deer; in that sky you share the horizon of eagles.
Before you can enter the Happy Hunting-Grounds, where live the Great Hunters whose younger brothers are the Lords of the Trees and the Lords of the Animals, you have to answer the challenge of Great Grizzly, Great Trout, Great Deer, and even Great Gopher. If you have betrayed any of their people, they make you return to Earth to seek forgiveness. Great Pine and Great Silver Birch question you too: if you have deliberately hurt a tree, or used it for the centrepost of your tepee without being properly grateful, they also send you back to learn kindliness. Each Lord of the Trees has many spirits who look after his forests; they are very powerful, but kind unless you annoy them.
