by Joan Grant
I was surprised he did not share my excitement. “Yes, it is salt, Piyanah—and if we find water that may be salt too. Water is precious here; yet by our river it had no value. Unless the Great Hunters remember us, in three days we would barter more than blankets or moccasins for a jar of water.”
Subdued, I walked on in silence. Later I said, “Raki, do you remember that we didn’t believe it when someone told us there were places where salt had no value? And there was a legend that the paths of the Land beyond the Sunset are paved with salt; we didn’t believe that either. Do you remember how wonderful it was to be given a little handful of salt to lick, once a year when the runners came back from the Place of Barter? It is strange how some things you long for don’t seem to be worth anything when you get them.”
“It is like snow underfoot, Piyanah, almost the same sound and feel when you break through the crust; and it hurts your eyes like snow, when the sun is so very bright.”
“Don’t talk about snow, Raki, it makes me thirsty. It is so hot already and it will be worse by midday. Everything is salt here—there is no wind, but the salt gets on my lips and stings the sun-blisters.”
“We can drink at noon. There are still four skins of sour juice, which are better than water.”
“And how many water-skins?”
“Fifty-three; sufficient for three days, longer if we are careful. There may be dew before dawn even here, and it will be cooler after sunset.”
Thirst was an unfamiliar enemy and our people feared it. They had been born within sound of water and until they joined the Heron every journey had followed the course of a river. At night we tried to give them the comfort of a watch-fire, but the leafless thorn bushes flared, crackled, died into white ash, seeming only to intensify the dark blanket of the night.
On the seventh day we found a second water-hole, but it was slightly brackish and too low to replenish all our water-skins. That night I heard a woman’s voice shrill with urgency, and knew she was trying to persuade her husband to turn back. After another day of timeless endurance, Raki and I leading, while behind us straggled a file of figures plodding through the harsh sand, they were too weary for rebellion, so Raki need no longer stir them with tales of Scarlet Feathers.
Until I had drunk from the pool of the dry river-bed on the tenth day I dared not believe it was sweet. How it came there I cannot understand, but the water was real, waist-deep, and two canoe-lengths in breadth. It was encircled by stunted bushes, whose vigorous green—though I should have called them grey anywhere except in this pallid waste—had led us there. It was ecstasy to lie down to suck up deep, clear water; to plunge my face into water until my hair was soaked and it ran in kindly rivulets over my parched skin. When I suddenly doubled over and began to retch, and saw others do the same, I thought the water was poisoned, but Raki said it might only be because we had drunk too much after becoming accustomed to so little. He must have been right, for after we were careful only to drink slowly from cupped hands no one complained of any ill effects.
That night we lit a fire, and began to be happy because the Blue Smokes had been proved wrong in saying the desert was waterless. If there was one pool there were probably many; indeed this nearly dry river might be the northern boundary of the land we were seeking. The following morning, after filling all our water-skins and drinking deeply, we set off at dawn; singing, because even the least of us was confident of the future.
The flat arid ground shimmered with heat like scum in a gigantic cauldron, and at noon Raki let us each have a drink, which emptied three of the water-skins. Some of the skins had not been cured properly and the water was tainted. This reminded me of Na-ka-chek saying, when we had been talking about wisdom, “Even stale water is precious in a desert.”
Three days later, several of the others said they could see a lake we would reach before sunset, and claimed there was no need to go short of water during the slow, hot march. Raki told them they could drink as much as they liked when we reached water, and this hope kept them going forward uncomplainingly. He and I were both sure that their lake was only another phantom, of which the desert demons had already sent several to dishearten us.
The ground was so soft that we sank ankle-deep at every step. If we wore moccasins the sand trickled into them and rubbed our feet raw; if we discarded them it was unpleasantly hot underfoot and the salt ate into every sore and blister. Towards evening we sighted a patch of scrub and hastened towards it, thinking there must be water. But the stunted bushes had been dead for years, if not for generations; and if they had once grown by water it had long since been engulfed by salt. Yet though they had held out a false promise we were grateful to them, for they gave us a fire to guard us in the great echoing waste of stillness, where even the stars had been lit by strangers whose names we had never known.
Seven water-skins divided among seventy-three is only four small mouthfuls. It is difficult not to gulp instead of letting it trickle slowly down the throat. It is difficult to chew pemmican or breadsticks when you are very thirsty, but we were hungry enough to eat even in spite of thirst.
When we saw the clouds massing on the dawn horizon we thought it was going to rain.
“We must spread out the tepee to catch the rain,” said Raki. “If there is a storm worthy of those clouds each of us can drink well; and we may get enough to fill the water-skins.”
The clouds were dark as bison against the pale sky. Suddenly one of the women cried out, “Look, we are coming to an encampment! I can see camp-fires; there is another and another!”
I too thought they were columns of smoke curling up from many scattered fires. I thought of water in cool jars; so much water that I could drink, sluice it over my body, and watch it running off me to soak into the dust, knowing there would be plenty more.
“It is dust, not smoke,” said Raki, “dust caught up by the wind.” And in a low voice, so that the others could not hear, he added, “The Blue Smokes say this is a sure sign that the desert demons are angry. I hope none of the others heard that foolish story, for in the desert it is easy to believe in demons.”
The pillars of dust—and I had to say to myself, “Dust, only dust, caught up by the wind, Piyanah. You don’t believe in demons, even in the desert!”—came steadily on, bearing down on us, blind and relentless as herds stampeded by a prairie fire. We heard the wind screaming defiance before the fury of it struck us.
“Lie down!” shouted Raki. “Cover your heads with blankets!”
Already my eyes and mouth and nostrils were filled with dust. The scourge of the wind tried to tear the blankets from our bodies so that it could scour the skin from our bones. Clouds hid away the sun; we were lost in the blind hatred of a storm that was more cruel than any blizzard. Snow is always a clean enemy, content to lull her prey to sleep and to whisper, “My death is kind. Sleep and forget to cling to life.” But this hot wind gloried in its killing, with the hot, cruel hands of a strangler.
It made us cower, flat to the ground; for if we dared stand upright to give it challenge it would have snatched off our clothes to leave us naked and defenceless. Each breath was a laboured effort. We sucked in air through the blankets which we held over our faces. At last Raki had to sacrifice ten of our remaining water-skins to damp strips of blanket which we tied over our mouths and nostrils to keep out the worst of the dust. I knew what a wounded deer must feel with an arrow between her ribs. Each breath was a battle won: each pain a siege withstood against the demons of this unclean storm.
The wind dropped as suddenly as it had risen, and the dark, dust-laden air became slowly luminous. We scrambled to our feet, dazed and exhausted. The wind had grown tired of the dust and was letting it fall back into the desert. Now we could see the sun, heavy and round as a rising autumn moon.
“It is still daylight,” I said slowly, “the sun is not even low in the sky.”
I had thought it must be the morning of the next day: so much fear to be spanned by half a day’s journey: so m
uch courage needed to survive one desert storm.
We had to dig our loads out of the sand. The tepee was covered by a drift and we might never have found it if I had not noticed one of the poles, which had been snatched up by the wind and thrust upright like an arrow into the ground.
I tried to free my hair from dust by running my fingers through it, but it only trickled down into my eyes which were already sore and inflamed. There was coarse grit under my finger-nails, and it grated between my teeth. My tongue was so dry that it was difficult to talk without slurring the words, but when I tried to spit dust out of my mouth I could not even produce enough saliva.
Raki had to use five more skins of water before he could persuade everyone to pick up their loads and take their place in the file we led. Their shadow stretched forlornly behind them, as if they trailed their grave wrappings while seeking a place to leave their tormented bodies. I began to believe our track would be marked by shallow graves; beyond the last, two skulls, their scarlet feathers bleached to the colour of the bone.
Now the wind had dropped, the sun was mocking in a cloudless sky. I saw dark shapes ahead and thought they were bison. I broke into a run, notching an arrow to my bowstring. I thought of fresh, red meat, wet and juicy. Where there is blood and bison there must be water. Water running over stones, water in deep, clean pools, water cupped in my hands. Water—even a little muddy water! “Great Hunters, who have so many lakes and rivers, please give us water. We don’t need enough to float a canoe, only to drink. But please let us be able to drink knowing there is enough for us all.”
“Stop, Piyanah!” Raki was running beside me. “There is nothing there, Piyanah! Why are you notching your arrow?”
“Bison, Raki—fresh meat, and water!”
His fingers strong and insistent dug into my arm. “You are dreaming, Piyanah. Those are rocks, not bison. Black rocks scattered over the desert. They will give us shade—we can rest there until nightfall for it will be cooler travelling under the stars.”
It was true we could rest in the shade, but the smooth, black rocks, polished by winds since time was young, stored the heat, so the shadows were little cooler than the direct rays of the sun. There were only five water-skins left when Raki gave the order to move on. The night was moonless, and between the great boulders there were small rocks, half-buried in the sand, which were difficult to avoid. I wanted to leave the tepee behind because the men were finding it so heavy to carry, but Raki said that if we abandoned it they would know there was very little hope of the tribe’s survival.
I kept on remembering how the Blue Smokes had said, “The Great Thirst stretches to the end of the world.” Some people believe there is fire at the end of the world, and others that there is a wall of water where all the rivers return into the sky. Fire or water? Fire or water? Blood throbbed in my ears as though my head were a cooking-pot bubbling over a fire. My body was fire: my feet and hands embers, my mouth ashes—hot ashes.
On the evening of the sixteenth day there were only two skins of water left, and for a long time we had dared do no more than moisten our tongues. Three of the women could not be roused when Raki said it was time to go on. Death had come for them while they slept. They lay huddled in the shadow of a boulder, tattered blankets drawn over their heads. Drought had stretched their skins so tightly over the bone that they looked very old.
I heard the sharp crack of their joints as their arms were folded to prepare them for burial. We dug shallow graves, and laid them curled on their right sides, facing the west. Their husbands put five grains of seed maize into their right hands, and beside each of them an empty water-skin. Even on the other side of the water they might fear thirst until they grew accustomed to the broad rivers of heaven.
In silence we trudged on, Rokeena and Tekeeni close behind us, the others following according to their remaining strength. I stumbled over a rock and fell sprawling in the hot sand. Sand thrust into my mouth trying to choke me. I thought I could hear water dripping into a pool among wet ferns. I held out my hands to catch the drops; slow and heavy they splashed against my dry palms. Slow and heavy and warm: warm as blood, salt as blood. It is blood, dripping from my nostrils. …
I am floating on dark water, but when I try to scoop it up I find I can’t move my arms. My body won’t obey me any more: the tribe won’t obey me because they know I have betrayed them. I am dying of thirst. Hajan had an easier death than thirst—but he didn’t betray them, he only lost faith too soon.
I can hear Raki telling Tekeeni that they must go on alone to find water. If he goes we shall die without each other. I want to go with them, but they can’t understand what I am trying to say. I can’t speak clearly because my tongue is too big for my mouth.
Raki says I must stay to look after the others, for if we both go, the Heron will feel the Chief has abandoned them. Raki carries me to a great boulder and puts the last two water-skins beside me so that I can say when they may be used. He takes my feathered headdress from its wrappings and says I am to wear it to remind them that the Chief’s authority must be obeyed.
I manage to smile at Raki before I have to watch him go away with Tekeeni: further and further away into the desert. Soon we are both going to die of thirst; soon we shall be safe on the other side of the water. …
The feathered headdress seemed very heavy; too heavy for Piyanah to support. I felt my thoughts struggling to escape from my will, fighting against me as though I tried to pinion an eagle. …I was trying to carry water in my hands, but it ran between my fingers and soaked away into the sand. I looked at my hands and they were dry; dry as ashes, dry as bones. The stars were so bright that I could see the huddled shapes of those who had followed us into the desert; the Tribe of the Heron who were dying because they had believed in me.
Raki and Tekeeni still believed in me. They had said that Na-ka-chek would never betray us, and so they will find water in time to bring it back to us. They have each taken six empty water-skins, a heavy load even for men who are not thirsty. I must forget Piyanah and think only of Raki; he will need everything I can give him, even my small strength, my flickering courage, may help him.
I am with Raki, sharing his thoughts, sharing his spirit; I am Raki. …
“Piyanah must have water, so I shall find water. Piyanah will die if I don’t find water soon. Na-ka-chek told her we should live in peace beyond the desert, but she is dying because she has lost faith in her vision. I will bring water, and then she will believe in herself again. The stars are very close. Tekeeni is with me; Rokeena is with Piyanah.
“I am glad Tekeeni and I tied a rope to our belts or we might have lost each other in the dark. If he falls I shall feel the rope jerk and know where to find him. Piyanah’s face was covered with blood: I must bring water to wash away the blood. If I fall I might not have the strength to get up again: I must go on until I find water.
“The stars have fallen into the desert. Five stars, shining up from the sand. One of them may be Piyanah’s star. She must be dead and has come back from the sky to find me. If I put her star into my mouth she will be alive again. I must be careful to take the star that is Piyanah or the spirit of a stranger will live in her body. Piyanah wouldn’t like a stranger to live in her body. I wonder who the other stars belong to. I must tell Tekeeni in case one of them is Rokeena.
“I have tugged on the rope, but it is slack in my hand. Tekeeni has gone on without me. He must have known it was Rokeena’s star and forgotten to wait for me. I can hear a sound that used to be familiar; splashing…splashing—water! Water! Tekeeni has come back. He is sluicing water over me—clean, cool water. Water for Piyanah! Piyanah, we have found water! Wait for me, Piyanah!”
I was again Piyanah, but refreshed by the water that I knew Raki had reached. I went to Rokeena; she was so difficult to wake that I thought she was dead. At last she stirred and opened her eyes.
“Rokeena, they have found water! They will reach us before evening. They are safe, Rokeena, do you underst
and? Safe! I must go to tell the others.”
“Leave them, Piyanah. Some of them may be asleep—and will the rest believe you?”
“They will believe me when they see I am strong because I know the water is coming. To prove I am sure I will divide the last water-skin among them!”
“It is empty,” said Rokeena. “You gave it to them last night, soon after Raki and Tekeeni went away.”
I went through the dawn to our people and to each I whispered, “The water is coming! Raki has found water!”
And they believed me. Some of the men wanted to go to meet Raki, but I said there had been wind during the night which might have covered his tracks, so they must wait here for water to come to them.
I climbed to the top of the high boulder beside which Rokeena was lying, and watched the dawn come green as water out of the east. The sun climbed slowly up the sky, and still the desert was empty. I was sure that Raki had found water, but would he reach us in time?
Rokeena was very still. I thought of waking her to reassure myself that she was alive, but realized it would be cruel when I had no water to give her. Had she already gone to the other side of the water by crossing a waterless desert? Or were deserts feared because people who died there could never find water to carry them to the Land of the Sunset?
Several times I thought I could see movement on the sandy waste, but it was always a rock shimmering in the heat. Now I could see two dark dots against the glaring whiteness. Demons had turned salt into water and boulders into bison, but surely these were men?
There was something moving…men. Raki and Tekeeni! “But in this glare they may not be able to see you. Shout to them, Piyanah!”
My mouth was so dry that no sound came. “Blood is warm and salt, but blood is moisture.”
