The Fiery Cross

by Diana Gabaldon

  fr think they'd be verra desirable as house-servants, aye? Ye'd be a aid to turn your back, for fear of being bitten in the backside." rn

  This remark made everyone laugh, and relieved the tension somewhat. People began to stir and make preparations for going to bed.

  We took especial care in putting the food into two of the saddlebags, which Jamie hung up in a tree, a good distance from the camp. Even if the ghost-bear had been revealed to be less powerful than previously supposed, there was an unspoken agreement that there was no sense taking chances.

  For the most part, I managed to put aside the knowledge that we lived in a wilderness. Now and then some tangible evidence would shove the fact under my nose: nocturnal visits by foxes, possums, and raccoons, or the occasional unnerving screams of panthers, with their uncanny resemblance to the crying of women or the shrieks of small children. It was quiet now, where we were. But there was no way of standing in the center of those mountains at night, submerged in the absolute black at their feet, listening to the secret murmurs of the great trees overhead, and pretending that one was anywhere but in the grip of the forest primeval-or of doubting that the wilderness could swallow us in one gulp, if it cared to, leaving not a clue behind of our existence.

  For all her logic, Brianna was by no means immune to the whispers of the forest-not with a small and tender child to guard. She didn't help with the readying of camp for the night, but instead sat close to Jemmy, loading her rifle.

  Jamie, after a quick look at Brianna, announced that he and she would take the first watch; Josiah and I the next, and Peter and Kezzie the last watch of the night. Heretofore, we hadn't kept a watch, but no one complained at this suggestion.

  A long day in the saddle is one of the best soporifics, and I lay down beside Jamie with that utter gratitude for being horizontal that compensates for the hardest of beds. Jamie's hand rested gently on my head; I turned my face and kissed his palm, feeling safe and protected.

  Peter and the Beardsley twins fell asleep within seconds; I could hear them snoring on the other side of the fire. I was nearly asleep myself, lulled by the quiet, half-heard talk between Jamie and Bree, when I became aware that the tenor of their conversation had changed.

  "Are ye worrit for your man, a nigbean?" he asked softly. She gave a small, unhappy laugh.

  "I've been worrit since they hanged him," she said. "Now I'm scared, tooor should that be 'scairt,'?" she asked, trying to make a joke of it.

  Jamie made a low noise in his throat, which I think he meant to be soothing. "He's in no more danger tonight than he was last night, lass-nor any night since he set out."

  "True," she answered dryly. "But just because I didn't know about ghostbears and black murderers last week doesn't mean they weren't out there." "My point precisely," he replied. "He'll be no safer for your fear, will he?" "No. You think that's going to stop me worrying?"

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  ;Xhere was a low, rueful chuckle in reply. m - so no."

  zf'i shouldna think I

  here was a brief silence, before Brianna spoke again.

  iT inking. What will I do, if something does happen-if he ... "i just-keep th

  It Come back? I,rn all right during the day, but at night, I can't help thinkoch, well," he said softly. I saw him tilt up his head to the stars, blazing rhead. "How many nights in twenty years) a nighean? How many hoursP I spent that long in wondering whether my wife still lived, and how she r

  She and my child."

  r my head, gently stroking my hair. Brianna said is hand ran smoothly Ove inarticulate sound in her throat.

  .ng in reply, but made a small, I he 'That is what God is for. Worry docsna hclp-prayer does. Sometimes,'

  ed honestly. certain. "But if-" ,,",Yes," she said, sounding un

  back to mellhe interrupted firmly-"if you had

  1,,!+And if she had not come -or if I had known for sure that both of you comc-if I had never known her, and I felt the shift of his

  re dead . - ." He turned his head to took at his other hand to as he lifted his hand from my hair and reached out

  h her. "Then I would still have lived, a nighean, and done what must be ne. So will You-"

  A DARKENING SKY

  ocEP, PUSHED HiS WAY through a thick growth of sweet gum nd pin Oak, sweating. He was close to water; he couldn't hear it yet, ut s scent of some plant that grew on ,Rb could smell the sweet, resinou

  streambanks. He didn't know what it was called, or even for sure which plant it :was, but he recognized the scent.

  and he jerked it free, setting loose a The strap of his pack caught on a twig,

  flutter of yellow leaves like a small flight of butterflies. He would be glad to reach the stream, and not only for the sake of water, though he needed that. The nights were growingcold, but the days were still warm, and he had CMPtied his canteen before noon,

  air. Down here in the ntly than water, though, he needed open

  More urge

  bottomland, the. stands of dogwood and sweet bay grew so thickly that he where the sun poked through, thick grass sprang could barely see the sky, and him as he passed.

  up knee-high and the pricklY leaves of dahoon caught at ited than the horses to He had brought Clarence the mule, as being better su too rough even for a the rough going in the wilderness, but some places were

  704 Diana Gabaldon

  mule. He had left Clarence hobbled on the higher ground, with his bedroll and saddlebags, while he thrashed his way through the brush to reach the next point for a survey reading.

  A wood-duck burst from the brush at his feet, nearly stopping his heart with the drumming of its wings. He stood still, heart thumping in his ears, and a horde of vivid little parakeets came chattering through the trees, swooping down to look at him, friendly and curious. Then something unseen gave them alarm and they rose up in a bright shriek of flight, arrowing away through the trees.

  It was hot; he took off his coat and tied the sleeves round his waist, then wiped his face with a shirtsleeve and resumed his shoving, the weight of the astrolabe SNvinging on a thong round his neck. From the top of a mountain, he could look down on the misty hollows and wooded ridges, and take a certain awed pleasure in the thought that he owned such a place. Down here, come to grips with wild vines, burrowing fox-tails, and thickets of bamboolike cane higher than his head, the thought of ownership was ridiculous-how could something like this-this fucking swamp primeval-possibly be owned?

  Ownership aside, he wanted to finish with this jungle and get back to higher ground. Even dwarfed by the gigantic trees of the virgin forest, a man could breathe in the space beneath. The limbs of the giant tulip trees and chestnuts stretched in a canopy overhead that shaded the ground beneath, so that only small things grew beneath-mats of delicate wildflowers, lady's slippers, trilliums-and the trees' dead leaves rained down in such profusion that one's feet sank inches into the springy mat.

  Incomprehensible that such a place should ever alter-and yet it did, it would. He knew that fine; knew it-better than knew it, he'd bloody seen it! He'd driven a car down a paved highway, straight through the heart of a place once like this. He knew it could be changed. And yet as he struggled through the growth of sumac and partridgeberry, he knew even better that this place could swallow him without a second's hesitation.

  Still, there was something about the sheer awful scale of the wilderness that soothed him. Among the gigantic trees and teeming wildlife, he found some peace; peace from the dammed-up words inside his head, from the unspoken worry in Brianna's eyes, the judgment in Jamie's-judgment withheld, but hanging there like the sword of Damocles. Peace from the glances of pity or curiosity, from the constant slow, aching effort of speech-peace from the memory of singing.

  He missed them all, especially Bree and Jem. He seldom dreamed with any coherence; not like Bree-what was she writing now in her book?-but he had wakened this morning from a vivid impression of Jem, crawling over him as he liked t
o do, poking and prodding inquisitively, then softly patting Roger's face, exploring eyes and ears, nose and mouth, as though searching for the missing words.

  He hadn't spoken at all for the first few days of surveying, terribly relieved not to have to. Now he was beginning to talk again, though-disliking the hoarse, mangled sound of the words, but not so bothered, since there was no one else to hear.

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  He heard the gurgle then of water over stones, and burst through a screen of willow saplings to find the stream at his feet, sun sparking off the water. He ,knelt and drank and splashed his face, then chose the spots along the Ibank from

  hich to take his sightings. He dug the ledger book, ink and qui I from the leather bag over his shoulder, and fished the astrolabe out of his shirt.

  . He had a song in his head-again. They sneaked in when he wasn't looking, Melodies singing in his inner ear like sirens from the rocks, ready to dash him in pieces.

  Not this one, though. He smiled to himself, as he nudged the bar of the astrolabe and sighted on a tree on the opposite bank. It was a children's song, One of those terrible songs that

  one of the counting songs Bree sang to Jemmy. -nd -got into one's head and wouldn't get out again. As he took his sightings a made the notations in his book, he chanted under his breath, ignoring the cracked distortion of the sounds.

  66The ... ants go ... mar-shing ... One ... by one."

  Five thousand acres. What in hell was he to do with it? What in hel was he to do, period?

  . "Down ... to ... the gr-grround ... to ggetout ... atha RAIN ... bum, bum, bum

  I DISCOVERED qUICKLY why my name had appeared to have significance to Tsatsa'wi; the name of the village was Kalanun'yi

  -Raventown- I didn't see any ravens as we rode in, but did hear one, calling hoarsely from the trees.

  The village lay in a charming location; a narrow river valley at the foot of a smallish mountain. The town itself was surrounded by a small spread of fields and orchards. A middling stream ran past it, dropping down a small cataract and flowing off down the valley into what looked from a distance like a huge thicket of bamboo-a canebrake, it was called, the leafy giant canes glowing dusty gold in the sun of early afternoon.

  We were greeted with cordial enthusiasm by the residents of the town, lavishly fed and entertained for a day and a night. In the afternoon of the second day, we were invited to join in what I gathered was a petition to whichever Cherokee deity was in charge of hunting, to invoke favor and protection for the expedition against the ghost-bear that was to take place next day.

  it had not occurred to me, prior to meeting Jackson jolly, that there might be as much variance in talent among Indian shaman as there was among the Christian clergy. I had by this time encountered several of both species, but buffered by the mysteries of language, had not previously realized that a calling as shaman did not necessarily guarantee a person the possession of personal magnetism, spiritual power, or a gift for preaching.

  Watching a slow glaze spread across the features of the people packed into Peter Bewlie's wife's father's house, I realized now that whatever his personal charm or connections with the spirit world, Jackson Jolly was sadly lacking in the last of these talents.

  706 Diana Gabaldon

  aces of some of the conI had noticed a certain look of resignation on the f

  gregation as the shaman took his place before the hearth, clad in a shawl-like blanket of red flannel, and wearing a mask carved in the semblance of a bird's face. As he began to speak, in a loud, droning voice, the woman next to me shifted her weight heavily from one leg to the other and sighed.

  The sighing was contagious, but it wasn't as bad as the yawning. Within minutes, half the people around me were gaping, eyes watering like fountains. My own jaw muscles ached from being clenched, and I saw Jamie blinking like an owl.

  Jolly was undoubtedly a sincere shaman; he also appeared to be a boring one. The only person who appeared riveted by his petitions was Jemmy, who perched in Brianna's arms, mouth hanging open in awe.

  The chant for bear-hunting was a fairly monotonous one, featuring endless repetitions of "'He! Hayuyabaniwa, bayuya'haniwa, bayuyabaniwa . , . "Then slight variations on the theme, each verse ending up with a rousing-and rather stardingm---`Yobo!" as though we were all about to set sail on the Spanish main with a bottle of r

  um.

  The congregation exhibited more enthusiasm during this song, though, and it finally dawned on me that what was wrong was probably not with the shaman himself. The ghost-bear had been plaguing the village for months; they must have gone through this particular ceremony several times, already, with no success. No, it wasn't that Jackson Jolly was a poor preacher; only that his congregation was suffering a lack of faith.

  After the conclusion of the song, Jolly stamped fiercely on the hearth as punctuation to something he was saying, then took a sage-wand from his pouch, thrust it into the fire, and began to march round the room, waving the smoke over the congregation. The crowd parted politely as he marched up to Jamie and circled him and the Beardsley twins several times, chanting and perfuming them with wafts of fragrant smoke.

  Jernmy thought this intensely funny. So did his mother, who was standing on my other side, vibrating with suppressed giggling. Jamie stood tan and straight, looking extremely dignified, as Jollywho was quite short-hopped around him like a toad, lifting the tail of his coat to perfume his backside. I didn't dare catch Brianna's eye.

  This phase of the ceremony complete, Jolly regained his position by the fire and began to sing again. The woman next to me shut her eyes and grimaced slightly.

  My back was beginning to ache. At long last, the shaman concluded his proceedings with a shout. He then retired into the offing and took off his mask, wiping the sweat of righteous labor from his brow and looking pleased with himself. The headman of the village then stepped up to speak, and people began to shift and stir.

  I stretched, as unobtrusively as possible, wondering what there might be for supper. Distracted by these musings, I didn't at first notice that the shiftings and stirrings were becomin more pronounced. Then the woman beside me

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  straightened up abruptly and said something loud, in a tone of command. She cocked her head to one side, listening.

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  The he talking at once, and all around me people began to -adman stopped

  I heard it, too, and a sudupward- Bodies grew rigid and eyes grew wide.

  dcn shive raised gooseflesh on my forearms. The air was filled with a rush of gs.

  "What .. earth is that?" Brianna whispered to me, looking upward like ,everyone else. "The descent of the Holy Ghost?"

  I had no idea, but it was getting, louder-much louder. The air was begintiing to vibrate, and the noise was like a long, continuous roll of thunder. aTsiskwa!" shouted a man in the crowd, and all of a sudden there was a stam-

  pede for the door. ught at first that a storm had come suddenly pushing out of the house, I tho n r, and a strange, dim light , air fitted with thu de

  upon us. The sky was dark, the e in the air, and a peculiar 'fiickered over everything. But there was no MOIstur

  smell filled my nose-not rain. Definitely not rain. ng the I"Birds, my god, it's birds!" I barely heard Brianna behind me, amo chorus of amazement aAl around, Everyone stood in the street, looking up. Sev-

  ghtened by the noise and darkness, started to cry. eral children, fri

  it was unnerving. I had never seen anything like it-nor had most of the It felt as though the ground was shakCherokee, judging from their reaction of wings like a drum being; the air was certainly shaking, vibrating to the clap

  ing slapped with frantic hands. I could feel the pulse of it on MY skin) and the cloth of my kerchief tugged, wanting to rise on the- wind.

  wd didn't last long. There were shouts here and The paralysis Of the cro and down the street, chargthere, and all of a sudden, people were rushing up econds,
a perfect ing into their houses and racing out again, with bows, Within s

  ping up into the, cloud of birds, and feathered bodies hail of arrows was zip pierced with plopped out of the sky to land in limp, blood-soaked blobs,

  arrows. only thing plopping out of the sky. A juicy dropping Bodies weren't the

  struck my shoulder, and I could see a rain of falling particles) a noxious precipiom the thundering flock overhead) raising tiny puffs of dust from the tation ft own feathers shed from the passing birds street as the droppings struck. D eds and here and therel larger feathers floated in the air like dandelion S, e lances, bobbing in knocked from tails and wings spiraled down like miniatur ith the wind. I hastily backed up, taking shelter under the eaves of a house w Brianna and Jemmy. in awe, as the villagers jostled each other in the

  We watched from Our refuge ley could, one arrow following on the heels street, archers shooting as fast as & un for their guns, and were of another. Jamie, Peter Bcwlie, and Josiah had all r

  troubling to aim. it wasn't neccsamong the crowd, blasting away, not even ed and sary; no one could miss. Children, streaked with bird droppings, dodg darted through the crowd, picking up the fatten birds, piling them in heaps by the doorsteps of the houses. r. We crouched under the eaves,

  it must have lasted for nearly half an hou overhead. After half-deafened by the noise, hypnotized by the unceasing rush other's arms, ed close in his ul

  the first fright, JemmY stopped crying, but huddl head buried under the drape of her kerchief.

  708 Diana Gabaldon

  it was impossible to make out individual birds in that violent cascade; it was no more than a river of feathers that filled the sky from one side to the other. Above the thunder of the wings, I could hear the birds calling to each other, a constant sussurrus of sound, like a wind storm rushing through the forest.

  At last-at long last

  -the great flock passed, stray birds trailing from the ragged fringe of it as it crossed the mountain and disappeared.

  The village sighed as one. I saw people rubbing at their ears, trying to get rid of the clap and echo of the flight. In the midst of the crowd, Jackson jolly stood beaming, liberally plastered with down feathers and bird droppings, eyes glowing. He spread out his arms and said something, and the people nearby murmured in response.

  "We are blessed," Tsatsa',ivi's sister translated for me, looking deeply impressed. She nodded at Jamie and the Beardsley twins. "The Ancient White has sent us a great sign. They will find the evil bear, surely."

  I nodded, still feeling slightly stunned. Beside me, Brianna stooped and picked up a dead bird, holding it by the slender arrow that pierced it through. It was a plump thing, and very pretty, with a delicate, smoky-blue head and buff-colored breast feathers, the wing plumage a soft reddish-brown. The head lolled limp, the eyes covered by fragile, wrinkled gray-blue lids.

  "It is, isn't it?" she said, softly.

  "I think it must be," I answered, just as softly. Gingerly, I put out a finger and touched the smooth plumage. As signs and portents went, I was unsure whether this one was a good omen, or not. I had never seen one before, but I was quite sure that the bird I touched was a passenger pigeon.

  THE HUNTERS SET FORTH before dawn the next day. Brianna parted reluctantly from Jemmy, but swung up into her saddle with a lightness that made me think she wouldn't pine for him while bunting. AS for Jemmy himself, he was much too absorbed in rifling the baskets under the bed platform to take much notice of his mother's leaving.

  The women spent the day in plucking, roasting, smoking, and preserving the pigeons with wood-ash; the air was filled with drifting down and the scent of grilled pigeon livers was thick in the air, as the whole village gorged on this delicacy. For my part, I helped with the pigeons, interspersing this work with entertaining conversation and profitable barter, only pausing now and then to look toward the mountain where the hunters had gone, and say a brief silent prayer for their well-being-and Roger's.

  1 had brought twenty-five gallons of honey with me, as well as some of the imported European herbs and seeds from Wilmington. Trade was brisk, and by the evening, I had exchanged MY stocks for quantities of wild ginseng, cohosh, and-a real rarity-a chaga. This item, a huge warty fungus that grows from ancient birch trees, had a reputation-or so I was told-for the cure of cancer, tuberculosis, and ulcers. A useful item for any physician to have on hand, I thought.

  As for the honey, I had traded that straight across, for twenty-five gallons of sunflower oil, This was provided in bulging skin bags, which were piled up un-

  The Fiery Cross 709

  der the eaves of the house where we were staying, like a small heap of cannon balls. I paused to look at them with satisfaction whenever I went outside, envisioning the soft, fragrant soap to be made from the oil

  -no more hands reeking fat! And with luck, I could sell the bulk of it for a high enough price of dead pig

  to make up the next chunk of Laoghaire's blood money, damn her eyes.

  The next day was spent in the orchards with my hostess, another of Tsatsalwi's sisters, named Sungi. A tall,

  sweet-faced woman of thirty or so, she had a few words of English, but some of her friends had slightly more-and a good thing, my own Cherokee being so far limited to "Hello," "Good," and

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