by Corie Weaver
The darkened shape across the room moved, became her familiar form. “A few hours, no longer.”
“No longer?” I echoed, surprised. “It felt only moments.”
She laughed, a dry, raspy sound. I wondered if her mouth felt as parched as mine from the tisane.
“You cannot trust time in visions, child. You cannot trust anything in visions, to be truthful.”
“Then what purpose was served by my doing that, seeing them?” I cried.
“We have more information now than we did before; however, you must remember that what we see is only a fragment. We do not yet know the meaning of the events we witnessed.”
She fed another twig into the fire and continued, “I watched with you, shared your vision, but I would ask you to tell me what you saw in your own words. Between the two of us we may yet find something to work with.”
I spoke first about the last part of the vision, the part that concerned me the most. “At the end there was a girl in long skirts, running from a boy and then he caught her and she fought him.” My words stumbled. “I think . . . I think I have seen them before, a few days ago.”
“You have?”
“The first day my family woke from winter and found the wind around us. I was cooking, watching the flames and I wondered if I had only dreamed about them, the strange boy and the girl.”
“Most interesting. You may be a promising tool indeed, if you are subject to visions naturally.”
She reached over and refilled my water cup.
“Did you tell your parents?”
“Of course not! That was only a dream.”
“Well, then. We shall put that piece of information aside for now. What did you think of the first part of the vision?”
“The man. I was drawn to him, but I know I have never met him. I do not know why my focus kept returning to him.” I thought back to the strange scene. Something about the people felt familiar. “And I’ve never seen that place before, not the building, nor the pond edged with trees. The people looked strange as well, but something . . .” I trailed off, thinking.
“Of course!” I pushed to my feet in excitement. “The clothing—that is why the people looked familiar.”
Spider Old Woman waited.
“The clothing from the first part of the vision is the same type as Maggie wears.” I felt proud to have solved the riddle, then the import of my words struck me and I sank back down to the bench.
“Does that mean . . . ?”
“We do not know what anything means, child. Do not fret yourself yet.” She pulled blankets out of a chest behind her and passed them to me. “Sleep now. I will think on this and decide what must be done.”
“Grandmother, do you not need to sleep as well?”
I heard her laugh as she banked the fire. “Child, I do not remember the last time I slept. I doubt anyone does. As you get older, you need less sleep to get by. And I am very, very old.”
That was true. Reminded of her years and her wisdom, I pushed away my worries and drifted to sleep with the voice of the wind crying softly in the night.
Chapter Four
Morning in Spider Old Woman’s house came tinged with cold and I reached over from the bench on which I had slept to stir up the banked fire.
Her voice came from the shadows. “Leave it. I am still considering possibilities. It is easier to watch threads spin the future from a dark corner.”
I had become accustomed to her puzzling speech and did not struggle to understand her so early in the morning. Instead I pushed myself upright on the bench and stretched.
The wind still howled. A secret corner of my heart had hoped that perhaps while I slept, Spider Old Woman had discovered the solution, had solved the problem and I could go home to my parents with an answer to trade against their night of worry.
But the crying wind answered that question.
Spider Old Woman spoke again. “About the second part of the vision, the fragments you see of the girl and the boy. I believe that to be an echo, part of a message perhaps, a cry for help or a scream of rage. We cannot tell. But behind the cry is a terrible wrongness, a heart in terror, in pain.”
She paused.
“And it has found a way to reach us here.”
Her words spilled over me like icy water.
“Reach us?” I echoed.
“Pay attention, girl. The wind comes from outside. The force of that heart’s anguish has broken our boundaries, swept our land. Perhaps the caller seeks help from us, but the words of the message have been lost over the distance.”
My thoughts spun like Spider Old Woman’s spindle. Outside? Then where? My heart sank. “The place in Maggie’s world?”
“I do not know if that is where the problem is but you must start your search there.”
“My search? Grandmother, I cannot go to that place. That is not my world. How can one of our people go into that strange place?”
“Your friend Ash goes back and forth as he wills and no harm comes to him. You will be safe enough.”
I shook my head. The human boy Ash lived in a village nearby, and though we were close in age, I had always been amazed at his bravery. “Ash is different than I. He is not afraid. And he understands the speech of that people; I do not.”
“Ash does not understand their speech, but thank you for reminding me. I’ll need to make you a charm.”
“What do you mean, Ash does not understand them? He talks with Maggie all the time.” My voice faded to a whisper. “I talk with Maggie.”
I gazed at where she sat in shadow, my mind now blank.
“You speak with her, but neither of you understand her language, nor does she truly understand ours. Coyote touched her, so that she understands, so that her tongue shapes our words, without her even thinking about the matter.” She chuckled.
“Ask her some time about when she first met Ash by the river. They did not understand each other at all.”
“Coyote,” I said, desperate for another answer. “What about him? He travels back and forth between the worlds, Maggie says she has seen him there, even when she was awake. Why can he not go?”
Spider Old Woman shook her head. “Old Coyote is wilder than ever in recent days, far from human, further from understanding human love and loss than ever before. And I believe that understanding will be the key to this problem.”
“If you understand, why can you not . . . ?” I trailed off, blushing as I stared into her face.
She cocked her head to the side, one eyebrow raised. “I seldom leave my valley except through visions and dreams, child. You know that. Besides, I have tried to touch the source of the wind, but it will take an actual presence, more than I can bring to bear in that world.”
Still, I cannot go, I thought. My parents need me here. But did they really? In the long run, that would help them more than any plants I could collect, more than any firewood I could gather. I thought of my father’s stumble, thought of how I must not fail them.
So what prevented me from going? I sat, turned the question over in my mind, not liking the answer I found, but discovering no other.
I was afraid.
After all of my attempts to be an adult, after thinking it was time for me to live on my own, for my parents to not treat me as a child, it came down to fear. The taste of that knowledge was bitter.
I forced my eyes to meet those of Spider Old Woman. “What do I need to do?”
“I do not know, child.” Her soft voice was like a hunter who feared to startle a deer. “I think once you find the place of the vision, you will be led to the answer.” She stirred up the fire, casting flares of light and shadow across her face. “I know what I ask is not easy for you; however, I have faith in you and your abilities. Your heart is stronger than you know. It will serve you well.”
~ * * * ~
I started for home in the late morning, the pouch holding the charm of language pressed tightly around my neck under my fur. Spider Old Woman had said it wou
ld not interfere with everyday language, that its magic was strong enough to stay with me through my changes. I could feel its power squirm against my chest, settling deeper into my breastbone, nesting inside of me. As I ran across the bleak grasslands I worried about the next challenge I faced: my parents.
I reached home before they returned from their rounds and hastened to prepare the evening meal, guilt nipping at my steps. My father unsealed the cliff side, then froze at the door. My mother pushed past him and wrapped her arms around me. After a moment he enclosed us both in his grip.
“Never again, daughter. Never again. Please. We cannot stand the fear, not knowing what has become of you.”
I was a coward. For the rest of the evening I said nothing of the mission Spider Old Woman had entrusted to me, let my parents pet and coddle me. I tidied our home, checked on the supplies, collected firewood, and performed all my normal chores, making sure to not be out of their sight for any longer than necessary.
That night I lay sleepless, listening to their soft breathing, more ragged, more tired than I remembered. Finally I changed back into human form and sat by the fire, my hands wrapped tightly around the charm that hung from my neck, as if by force of will I could press it out of existence; push this task onto another.
Dawn came and my father found me sitting by the remains of the fire.
“Daughter, when are you planning to tell us?”
I sat upright, startled. “Tell you what?”
“I do not know. But it is clear to both your mother and me that something has happened.”
I felt my throat close. I had thought I was protecting them and all the time they knew. “Let’s wait for Mother to wake and then we can talk about it together.”
Father laughed. “She already lays awake waiting, cub. We decided you would talk more readily to one of us at a time. I will get her.”
I wiped my face on my hands and gathered my words while I waited for them to return.
“You must know I went to visit Spider Old Woman.” I looked over at them. My father’s face was a riddle to me, my mother looked away. “In truth, I think it was good for me to have gone. While there, Spider Old Woman gained knowledge about the wind that brings the sickness. She believes it may be a cry for help.”
My parents looked at each other, a glance full of questions, but did not interrupt.
“She says the only way to stop the wind, to save our people, is for me to go find the source of it. To answer the cry.”
I stopped. Little else remained to be said, besides the last part.
My mother asked the question I dreaded. “Where does she say you need to go?”
I answered slowly. “First I will go to the village to the South and West of us, the one Ash comes from.”
My father nodded. “That is good. I have worried about the people there.”
“I will not stay there, Father. I will go from there to where Spider Old Woman says the cry echoes from.” I swallowed. “She believes it comes from the other world, the one the girl Maggie comes from.”
“No!” Shrill, my mother’s voice rang from the cavern’s roof. “No, you cannot go. Not to the land of the strange ones.” Her hands fluttered. “The girl is nice enough, I grant you. I like the girl. But you cannot go to her land. They are not our people, their ways not ours. How can Grandmother ask this of you?”
My father sat silent, watching me.
“Mother, if I do not go, if the wind continues, what will happen to our people? What will happen to our land, if the wind blows for another week, another month, another year?”
She shook her head, eyes wide. “We will find a way. We will learn to live with it, discover a cure.”
I shook my head. “You and Father are the wisest healers I know. If you have not discovered a cure for this sickness by now, there is none. You would not be stopped by any mortal illness. But you will exhaust yourselves trying to find a cure, trying to care for those who are afflicted and in so doing, weaken yourselves. You would have me stay here, helpless and watch you both fade away. I cannot do that. I am sorry.”
We sat in silence, huddled each in our own misery, until my father spoke. “She must go. For us to keep her here is selfish; it harms her and our people. And she is right; we are no closer to a cure than on the first day. This must end.” He put his arm around my mother’s shuddering shoulders and she buried her face in his chest.
~ * * * ~
I left the next morning, having spent the night in preparation for the journey. I had made the trip to the village several times by myself over the last summer and fall. Two days of easy walking, easier yet in bear shape.
“I’ll keep an eye out along the way, see what herbs I can bring back,” I told my mother. “If nothing else, this is a chance to replenish our stock without further depleting the valley.”
She smiled, only a little too brightly and packed more things into the hamper. This argument I had lost. I wanted to travel light, carry nothing and leave them as much of the larder as possible. Both had dismissed that notion, with a tone of finality that made it clear I should not argue any further.
I shifted shapes and Mother adjusted the straps that held the basket to my back. I kept myself from telling her I could do it myself. Let her have one more thing to do.
I hugged her and turned to my father. Even in his human shape, the strength in his arms and the force of his embrace always surprised me.
“Go quickly and safely. Return soon.”
I left the cave at a trot, only stopping once to turn and wave before I set my face to the South and West towards Ash’s village. I noted new patches where herbs and plants struggled against the wind. If all went well I would collect them on my way home. Young prickly-pear joints and yucca shoots for rheumatism. Sage for fever and aches. Coneflower root for toothache. The land had always given us what we needed to care for our people. I worried what would happen if true spring never came, if the herbs we must pick in full bloom never flowered.
As late afternoon wore on I worried about finding a likely place to sleep. Normally I curled up anywhere I chose, but with the howling wind as my constant companion I decided I would be more comfortable in a sheltered spot. On my trips south I had seen a particular outcropping of rock I thought would serve as a shelter. I remembered it lay not much further.
I remembered wrong. Darkness fell before I found the landmark I searched for. Exhausted, I shoved the basket in a crevasse in the rocks, changed my form to the smaller one, and then crawled into the open space after it. I pulled blankets out to block gaps in the stones and shivered at the sound.
The wind howled around me. Now that I was not running, I was free to listen to it, would I or not. Now that I had seen the girl, seen her chased by the boy, I imagined I could hear her voice on the wind, hear her begging for help.
There would be no way to sleep through this. I tossed and turned. Finally I thought of a way to block the sound. I scrounged for tufts of new grass and twisted them tightly. I carefully placed one in each ear. The plugs helped somewhat and I curled up tight in my fur and tried to sleep.
~ * * * ~
I slept fitfully and in the morning I ached in places I could not ease, no matter how I stretched. After a cold breakfast, I changed back and shrugged on the basket. The long night had only reinforced my desire to be rid of the wind. Even if Spider Old Woman was correct, if there was no malice in the cry, it was terrible and had to be stopped.
By early afternoon the walls of the village rose before me. Blocks of terraced buildings with ladders bridging each story and narrow pathways between the buildings greeted me. But I heard none of the expected sounds of village life over the wind. Nothing moved in the narrow streets. Besides the ever-present wind, the village lay before me quiet, unearthly.
I entered the streets and before I had gone far, a young boy peered over a corner of the roof and shrieked.
I cursed and changed my shape. Most of Ash’s people had seen me before, but apparently not this o
ne. An older child, perhaps the first one’s sister, leaned over the edge of the roof.
“Go away! You’re not wanted here!”
I looked up, confused by their hostility. “I’m here to see Ash. Is he here, visiting his mother?” Lately Ash spent most of his time in the village, but he sometimes returned to his little hut made out of pine branches up on the hillside.
The girl frowned. “How do you know Ash?”
I sighed. “He and I are friends. Would you come down so we could talk about this, or could I come up?”
She shrugged and then lowered the ladder to me.
I adjusted the straps of the basket and climbed, careful not to tangle my feet in the hem of my coat on the rungs.
Once on the roof, the girl faced me, arms folded over her skinny chest. “You’re one of the Bear People, yes?”
I nodded.
“Are you a healer, then?”
I hesitated. “I have worked with my parents, yes. I am in training to be a healer.”
She bit her lips. “You will have to do.”
She went down the ladder to the interior of the building. I shrugged, confused, and followed her down.
High slitted windows did little to relieve the shadows of the room, but enough light filtered in for me to see a row of people stretched out on thin mattresses, wasted and thin.
“What has happened here?” I whispered.
“We think it is the wind. They fall sick and are hot to the touch, and will not wake.” She looked at me. “Our healer was one of the first to fall. Will you help us?”
I looked at the fever tossed forms and knew I could give only one answer.
“I will do my best.”
Chapter Five
The day was endless. I found a small group of young adults and children who were unaffected by the wind, who had not fallen weak at its cry. I used them mercilessly to fetch and heat water, find fresh blankets, make poultices and tisanes.
I did not spare myself. The boy who first saw me became my guide and led me from one darkened room to another, each one occupied by the sick ones, as they lay listlessly on their beds. The children followed me as I examined each patient, left instructions with a young assistant or a family member if I could find a healthy one and moved on.
