by Joan Grant
We did not need to be reminded to take a second pair of snow-shoes, for we remembered the Young Brave who last winter had not returned from this ordeal. Gorgi and I were there when the melting snows gave up his body. He wore only one snow-shoe; we never found the other which had betrayed him to the drift. Cold sometimes grows jealous of the living, but it is kind to the dead: the Young Brave looked as though he had only just gone to claim the right of entry to the Happy Hunting-Grounds.
The ordeal began at dawn. The first stage was easy, so I should be able to reach it in time to make a shelter before sunset. There was a clear, pale sun, and no wind. It might have been any ordinary day instead of the first of the seven days. Fresh snow scrunched underfoot, and the trees, wrapped in their white blankets, were solemn as Elders in council. I saw a snow-hare, and was glad that I was neither cold nor hungry enough to need a kill: it sat up on its haunches and then bounded away across the unbroken whiteness. Later I saw a stag. He stood to watch me; then walked quietly down a narrow track as though he knew I had not come as a hunter.
By noon there was real warmth in the sun. I took off both tunics so that my body could store the gentle heat against the night. I left the first token in a cleft of a high rock, then cut some pine boughs to make a shelter and spread more of them to lie on. There was a level space, from which it was easy to sweep the snow, protected on the windward side by the rock. If fire had not been forbidden, it would have been a friendly place; but I slept soundly, and woke hoping that Raki had been even more comfortable.
Until the fourth day the weather remained kind: then it began to snow. Under the trees I was protected, but in the open the rising wind drove into my face: the heavy flakes clung to my eyelashes and made it still more difficult to see the way. I think that if this stretch of country had not been very familiar I should never have found the next stage, for only those rocks whose sides were too steep to allow foothold to the snow were safe landmarks. The snow tried to drag me down, and swallowed my tracks before I had gone more than ten paces forward. Here there were no trees to give me branches for a shelter, so I cut snow into blocks and built them into a hollow circle; three tiers of these and then my blanket stretched over the top and weighted with stones. I knew that if the storm grew into a blizzard I might be buried, but if I stayed out on the exposed hillside I should never survive the knives of winter.
I dared not sleep, for I had to guard my hands and feet from the frost demons which crept up to attack them, keeping constantly alert to rub them with snow when they began to lose feeling. Pain is safety in intense cold, for numbness soon drifts into the greater numbness of death. When I felt the demons luring me to sleep, I stumbled outside, to swing my arms and stamp my feet until I felt the blood running free as water under ice.
I had to dig my way out in the grey dawn, and was so cold that I killed the first snow-hare I saw. Its blood was warmth, and salt, and life; the drops brilliant as a scarlet feather against the snow. I hated the cold that had driven me to colour its creeping whiteness with the bright blaze of death; hated it even more than I hated myself for betraying the hare who was also trying to withstand the challenge of the winter.
That night I huddled in a shallow cave and scraped a sleeping-place in the fine gravel of the floor. The snow had stopped, but there was still a high wind. Icicles hung from a branch which swept down over the narrow entrance and clattered against each other with the sharp sound of a skeleton hanging in a tree; a skeleton whose sinews still held the bones into a semblance of life. The idea of the tinkling bones grew stronger, until I could almost see the skeleton of the Black Feather whom Raki and I had found five moons after the battle. He must have climbed the tree to hide, and wedged his body into the crotch between two great branches, while the blood, which still stained the bark, slowly drained from his wounds. Even though he was a Black Feather I hoped that he had died before the buzzards came to clean his bones.
I felt myself sinking into the cold, and tried to send my spirit to our little valley to find out whether Raki was already waiting for me. If he had been trapped by the cold it would be so easy to join him; for the cold was kind unless you fought against it. To sleep would be so easy; to sleep would be to find myself in the warmth of our valley where it was always summer. I thought I could see the corn-cobs lying where we had left them. I called, “Raki! Raki!” But no one came down the path by the stream or from the friendly woods to answer me. If Raki had been there he would surely have come. “Raki must be alive!” I said aloud. And the icicles seemed to whisper, “Raki is alive.”
I stood up, stamping my feet, swinging my arms until feeling returned to my hands and I could move my fingers. “Because of Raki I am stronger than the cold! He is my fire, my sun, my warmth; for love is stronger than cold, and separation, and darkness.” I slept; and when I woke the snow outside was brilliant with sunshine and the sky a strong blue. I took off my sodden tunics and spread them on a rock to dry. The light and heat that were part of Raki soaked into me and gave me their strength. I knew that the Lord of Winter had challenged me, and because I had met his challenge I had been accepted as a friend.
I set off in a clean white world which blazed with light as though it reflected the watch-fires of a thousand tribes. I knew that Raki and I would both return to the encampment in safety; that every night I should find trees to give me shelter, that I should see the stars steadfast in the sky, while the grey clouds of death lurked beyond the mountains.
I knew this was true, and on the seventh day it was so. As I came down the western slope to the circle of tepees I saw Raki coming down the path from the east.
Never had a winter passed so slowly, but at last we heard the thunderous cracking of the ice as the river began to move with the urge of spring. I knew that soon The Listener would be ready to hear my challenge for the last ordeal. I had often been on the lower slopes of the mountain, climbing from steep slopes of scree into the high moraine; and the previous summer Gorgi and I had reached the foot of the last towering pinnacle, that looked like a finger of a Great Hunter pointing the way to his home. Raki had made the ascent in the autumn; I knew it must be very difficult for he was frightened for me. I promised to send a smoke signal when I began the climb and another as soon as I was safely down. Raki could not come with me, for the ordeals must always be undertaken alone; but he was going to wait near the foot of the precipice with Gorgi and Tekeeni, who had also passed this ordeal while I was hunting the grizzly. If they did not receive the second smoke signal they would know I must have fallen and come to find me.
The rock was honest, so that even a toe-hold would bear my full weight, but nowhere was there a ledge wide enough to rest on, so a precarious balance had to be maintained without a break. There was not even a thorn bush on the whole smooth expanse above me to give an illusion of safety. The whole of me was contracted to the urgent need of smoothly changing my weight from one hand to the other. I forgot every other texture except the wind-polished surface of rock as I desperately searched for a small projection or narrow crack strong enough for me to dare a shift of position. Once I nearly fell, and had to cling by one hand to a knife edge, which cut the palm so deeply that blood ran down my forearm and splashed my cheek before I could draw myself up to a safer hold.
An eagle dived out of the sky, so close that I could feel the wind of its wings. I hung motionless, knowing that if it attacked I should fall sheer to the rocks below. Twice I heard the sweeping of its wings, and waited for the deadly tear of its beak. Then it soared, until it became a dark fleck against the hard blue sky.
Because my left hand was slippery with blood it was increasingly difficult to keep a firm hold. I had been climbing in shadow, and for a long time had not dared to look down in case it made me giddy. Suddenly I realized that the sun was shining full on me. The knowledge that I must be nearing the top gave me courage to lean outwards so that I could see directly above me. There was a narrow ledge leading upwards and to the right. It was no wider than the palm of
my hand, but after the sparse holds it seemed secure as the path beside a river. It led me out of the shadows, to the pinnacle rock which crowns The Listener.
Relief was so intense that I had to lie down, for my legs refused to carry me any further. My teeth chattered as though I was very cold, but I could feel sweat trickling down my body. It was not yet important that I was now one of the Brown Feathers, for they loved endurance and I only craved rest; rest on safe, flat ground where there could never be a danger of falling.
Then I thought of Raki, and of how there were no longer ordeals to keep us apart. Weariness was forgotten. I stood upright, my hands upstretched to the sky, and gave thanks to the Great Hunters who in love had brought me nearer to their country even than the crest of their Listener.
The Bridge
The day after Na-ka-chek gave Raki and me our brown feathers, he summoned us to the Great Tepee.
“You have fulfilled my commands.” he said, “and earned the privileges of tribal brotherhood. I wish you to become the Chief of your own tribe next spring, on the Day of the Sowing, for that is the time of growth and re-birth. You will be eighteen, so you cannot say that I have burdened you with years before giving you authority. It is the Law of the Two Trees that the Brown Feather is free to make his own decisions…he has the right to take part in the Choosing which is at the next full moon. If you both wish it, I cannot any longer prevent you sharing the same tepee. …”
My heart leaped like a young deer. Raki and I would be together again…the magic of the birch grove would come back to us. Was it really true that we no longer had to fear lonely tomorrows?
My father was still speaking. “It is no longer necessary for Raki to live with the squaws or Piyanah with the Braves: you are free to decide what you must do, but first I want you to listen to the advice of the man who is still your Chief. I shall not give you the double headdress until the spring, and that is ten moons distant. If Piyanah becomes Raki’s squaw before then, the Young Braves may forget she is their equal. For six years you have given me much cause for pride, pride which has sometimes been almost impossible to conceal. I ask for ten more moons to complete my promise to your mother.”
He must have seen my disappointment, for he said with a rare gentleness, “Compared to the past years, I ask so few restrictions of you both: only that you shall not share a tepee, only that you think more of the happiness of your future tribe than of your own immediate wishes. There are reasons why I ask you to do this. …”
I saw that he was searching for the right words and was suddenly sorry for him. I had never seen Na-ka-chek hesitant before.
“What reasons, Father? Tell them, and we shall understand.”
“When a man takes his squaw into the woods, or shares his tepee with her, children are born to them. I want you both to lead your tribe in equality, and during the first moons in unfamiliar country Piyanah must continue to think as a man. There will be many decisions which you must make together; and it is not easy for a woman to think clearly when she is heavy with child.”
“I understand,” said Raki. “Piyanah shall remain free, so that together we shall lead our people to the country of their future.”
We left the tepee and took the path to the river.
“He meant our magic, didn’t he, Raki?”
He nodded.
“Then it isn’t only the Before People, and the animals, and us who know it…it is everyone’s magic too?”
“Weather, and trees, and mountains belong to everyone, Piyanah, yet all people see them differently. A cloud can be a beautiful shape, or a song prouder than an oriole’s, or a threat of rain…or only a cloud, ordinary and without any special meaning. Our magic is not the same to everyone: it can be laughter, and the end of the loneliness and the voice of the stars; or it can be cold as the cruelty of separation, drab and lonely…lonely as tears that are shed for something unheard which might have sung with the morning.”
“Why didn’t we have a child after the birch grove?”
“I don’t know, Piyanah. Perhaps because our children are not yet ready to enter the world through our bodies.”
“But you think our son might come now if we used our magic?”
“Yes…and it will not be easy to wait so long. I thought that when we had gained the brown feathers we should be free for magic. I have wanted you until I ached with longing, with pain more intense than hunger and keener than thirst. I know why stags fight in the autumn, for though I have often asked the Great Hunters to give me more understanding, I have sometimes wanted to kill Gorgi and Tekeeni, when I saw they were seeing you not as a Brave but as a woman, beautiful and magical.”
“Am I beautiful, Raki?”
“Is a white hind, or a birch tree, or a mountain lake, or a sunrise, beautiful, Piyanah? Think of them and know yourself to be of their company; then you will understand why everyone who looks at you should wear the feathers of the dawn.”
“It has been difficult for me too, Raki. I want to be your squaw so very much; to cook your food and even to think of new patterns for your moccasins. …I should use very small beads, so many of them, even though they are such a nuisance to sew! I should like to do my hair in many little plaits to show that I was your dutiful squaw, though I won’t put bear’s grease on them, even to please you, because I don’t like the smell!”
“Neither do I, my Piyanah. I like the smell of you, which is moss warm in the sun, and young leaves, and running water, and the white exhilaration of the first snows.”
“It is not only to do useful things for you that I sometimes long to be a squaw. I am very fond of Rokeena, but when she looks at you like a sick gopher I suddenly want to smack her or pull her hair, to find out whether in spite of her placid smile she has the courage to fight for the man she wants!”
“Are you jealous of Rokeena?” He laughed. “How silly and how beautiful of you! Now I can stop feeling ashamed when I think the same things about Georgi…though mine would be much harder than a slap! It is a very strong magic, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, “so strong that even if we buried it under a white stone that was larger than a mountain we should never be able to forget it.”
“Wouldn’t it be terrible if we did!”
And then we laughed at ourselves for being so solemn; the sun was warm and Raki and Piyanah had so nearly built their bridge over the canyon of the seven years.
Kekki, and twelve of the others who had been given their brown feathers at the same time as Raki and I, intended to go to the Choosing, though the women they would take into the woods already belonged to our tribe and would never go back to the Squaws’ Tepees. Raki and I had been so sure that Na-ka-chek would give us the Double Headdress as soon as we had passed the ordeals that we had never considered the possibility of staying with the Two Trees until the next spring. Now I realized that if the other women used the magic they might be heavy with child, and so unable to go with us when we made the long journey to find the place where we belonged. Na-ka-chek had said, “Piyanah must be free to think as a man when she leads the new tribe.” It would be still more difficult for the other squaws to prove their equality if they were encumbered by babies, born and unborn, during the first moons of the Feathers.
Raki had gone hunting with the Chief and might not return for three days, the evening before the Choosing. The sear of disappointment had not yet cooled, so I knew the others would find it difficult to accept that they must wait nearly another year. It would be hard for the women to be told that they must stay under the shadow of the Old Women until we could set them free. Or need they wait? Na-ka-chek had said that Raki and I might not share a tepee yet, but he had allowed us to do everything else together. We could build a small encampment for the squaws who wished to come with us: there they would be free of the Old Women, free of the taunts and sly whispers of the squaws who still clung to the spider’s web of false tradition and would not struggle to free themselves.
This idea seemed better the m
ore I looked at it. The women would have a chance to grow used to freedom, used to being without the protection of habit: I knew that even Raki and I had found it difficult to feel secure away from the circle of tepees until we had found our little valley. They already knew the men with whom they would share the future, but they had always met them furtively, afraid of the wrath of the Old Women if they were discovered. It is more difficult for love to grow strong when it has to be kept hidden from the sunlight, for only the spawn of the Carrion Crow can thrive in darkness. Here they would be able to earn the right to magic, in friendship and equality. Magic would kindle their torches, but first they must find humour, and kindliness, and shared experience to make brands for that kindling.
As Raki was away, I decided to find Dorrok; to discuss my plan with him. He was in his tepee, polishing a fish-spear with sand. He looked up as I entered, and from habit I gave him the greeting due to a Brown Feather. Then he laughed, and I realized that as we were now of equal rank there was no need of formality between us. I sat on a folded blanket at the end of his sleeping-mat.
“Dorrok,” I said, “I want you to tell the others that they mustn’t take part in the Choosing. I am not sure how much they know. Will you tell them?”
“About women, you mean?”
“About the magic that makes children…though I suppose to most people it isn’t magical.”
“Is it to you, Piyanah?”
“Yes. …I thought it was a magic that Raki and I had discovered; until yesterday, when we realized that it belonged to everyone, and that it was also the way to make children.”
“It was the day after the battle, wasn’t it, Piyanah?”
“Yes. Then you knew about it all the time? That was why you sent Gorgi to tell us we need not come back for three days?”
“I followed you, Piyanah, when I heard that you had gone in search of a second scalp…but Raki was ahead of me. I saw him kill the Black Feather; I saw him carry you into the woods. And I knew you would find there the magic that so few of us ever find.”
