by Paul Telegdi
The Standing-Rock spectators accompanied their champion back to their campsite. Exhausted, Crow valiantly tried to hide his limp, but time and time again he stumbled and Baer and Cosh had to steady him. Lana cooed solicitously in his ear, “We are almost there, dear.” With great relief he finally sank onto his furs, drank, then trembling with cold and fatigue, crawled under his covers. Drained as he was, he could not fall asleep. Soon as he closed his eyes he felt as if he were running again, his iron will unable to let go. Tiredly he opened his eyes to dispel the feeling. Lana tried to caress his eyes closed, and he shook her attempt off, but finally he fell asleep, the open eyes closing only slowly. Lana watched over him.
For the first time she was aware how favored she was. A daughter of the leader of a clan, related to its shaman, and mated to someone whose name was suddenly known to everyone. If she had longed after prestige and recognition, she was now certainly basking in their glow. In her own right she was a member of the Circle-of-Songbirds and had achieved renown with the beauty of her voice. She and Cora had joined the society and were instantly recognized for their talents. They were both given the rank of Lark with only the rank of Thrush held in more esteem, but to achieve that they would need years of service yet. The world was opening for Lana, just as she had dreamed of as a young girl. She and Ido had spent many days planning and daydreaming of just such a thing. Now they were both happily mated, with nothing to regret, but a lot to be thankful for. Lana was struck with a desire for a child.
She had indulged her passion for rocks, finding a very beautiful onyx, for which she traded a large turquoise and a favorite agate. She was reluctant to let go of the agate but the onyx was a real prize, a rare combination of red and black layers alternating with white. The stone was a little rough but she would polish it up with fine sand at home. Chaiko had taught her to look at the promise within things. Crow did not object to her acquisition, though Tanya tried to encourage her to find a “lighter” hobby. She already had too large a collection, according to her mother. Lana shook her head; how could she explain, the drive to possess got into one’s blood, it became a hunger. She pulled the stone from her folds and gazed lovingly at it. Sure, it needed some work, but she could improve it as she had her voice, searching till it sounded right to her ears. Her eyes would tell her when the stone was just right. Such was her appetite for quality, in all things, including her man. She gazed lovingly at him, trying to smooth out the frown of concentration on his face. “Poor thing. He is still running!” The stone, which she knew to be Bogan’s, was still around his neck.
The two comrades Rea and Gill were discussing, sharing the honor of Crow’s good showing. “I knew he could do it,” Rea offered, for him a rare tribute, as he was more inclined by temperament to take joy in the opposite.
Gill smiled in agreement. “He did surprisingly well. I bet no one really expected this of him.”
Rea muttered, “I did,” but not too loudly, for it was quite one thing to make such a claim before the fact, quite another, as he was doing, afterwards: one was in such a case arguing uphill. But then he switched topics altogether. “I was talking with a man from Pelican-Sands and he said that the neighboring clan had among them a person who claimed to have belonged to the Standing-Rock Clan. I asked for a name but he could not tell me one. Then he disappeared in the crowd and I...” he tailed off, looking searchingly at his friend and rival of many years.
“Well...? Spit it out man!” Gill prompted him. From long experience he knew that Rea was holding something back, probably to bargain with. But not this time.
“Afterwards it occurred to me that he could have been talking of... Tael perhaps?”
“Ela’s Tael? Her former mate?” Gill was suddenly very attentive. “Well I guess he has to find himself a place somewhere...? What clan did you say he was at?”
“I did not say. A neighbor of Pelican-Sands is all I was told.” Rea shrugged his shoulders.
“Who are their neighbors?” Gill rummaged in his memory, but Pelican-Sands was a far away concept. His eyes searched out Ela standing and talking with some other woman. “How will she take this piece of news?” he had to wonder. Aloud he said to Rea, “I will go to my friends among the Lesser-Bear-Claw and see what they know. Until then you keep quiet about this, you hear?” The other nodded reluctantly, but knew better than to press this issue. Gill went off to where the Lesser-Bear-Claw had their camp.
Ruba was very excited by the race and even more about Crow’s good showing. He ran around the lake along the same path, imagining himself running in coming years and winning. If he were to come first, then Cora would have to recognize what a fine person he really was. The trouble was he had doubts about it himself. Ever since his father died he had felt some pressure to take charge but did not know how. His mother had cloaked herself in sad denial and withdrawn from him. She could not help him to fill the hole his father’s death had left in the family. This made Ruba uncertain. Even though he grew in size, his spirit remained vulnerable. But people looking at him and his radiant good health did not suspect the underlying uncertainty. Chaiko did, and was waiting for Ruba to come to terms with it. But it was paralyzing him. He did not know who he was and this confused him. Enough that he remained aside, waiting, waiting for something. Recognition? Acceptance? He did not know, he just felt a lack within himself.
He ran harder, to outpace his doubts, ragged breath pumping in and out of his lungs, feet slapping down hard into the soft muck of the path. Yes, this was simple. Be the fastest, get there first. A clear, simple goal. Yes, this he could do. If only life were as simple.
Frogs jumped into the water with fat splashes as he flashed by and startled birds took to the air. A couple of Black-Pearl men fishing on the bank looked curiously after him, wondering what could be chasing him. One asked the other, “Did the boy not know that the race has already been run and won?” They both laughed and the sound echoed across the waters mixed in with the calls of the birds wheeling in the air.
Chapter 8
The mood was very elated that night around the campfire as the Standing-Rock Clan celebrated Crow’s good showing in the race. It was a matter of great pride that one of them had done so well in full view of all the clans. Chaiko thought that Crow’s name would be better known by the morrow than his or Baer’s.
It was too bad that they did not have the right foods to celebrate with, and properly commemorate such a great result. They were eating the fruits of the marshes, fish and more fish, unhappily nothing more substantial. In midst of the meal, Lana pretended to be a young girl again and begged Chaiko to tell them a story. “Oh please tell us a story, please, please... please,” and her mouth pouted prettily.
At her pretension, Chaiko’s heart was flooded with sweet sadness for those days gone; gladness and joy mixed with the bitterness of a cripple. Quickly he shut those feelings away. “Maybe after the meal,” he said and went back to picking through a mess of frog legs. The taste was actually not too bad, but the consistency left him unsatisfied. There was nothing to chew on; the tender lumps of flesh fell apart and melted in his mouth. With nothing to resist his bite, he was mostly swallowing.
Across the fire Tusk screwed up his face with grim determination, forcing himself to consume some snails, the curls of flesh looking oddly small in his big fingers. He popped one into his mouth, chewed once then swallowed. In his heart he was dreaming of bison meat, no doubt.
With the same reluctance Ork and Sosa wolfed down some slimy fish roe, trying not to taste it, and were very glad to be finished with such an uncomfortable meal. It was a great wonder to them that the Black-Pearl grew to be full size like the rest, on such wishy-washy food. They jumped up and ran around chanting, “Chaiko is going to tell a story. A story he will tell. Be quick about it if you would listen to it.” They galloped this way and that, making sure everybody heard. In a very short time a sizeable crowd collected to hear a story told. After all, this was why people came to a Gathering, to see one another, to l
earn something and to hear something new to remember.
With the corner of his wrap, Chaiko wiped his mouth of the frog-grease and ran his fingers through his hair. He was amazed to see such a multitude that collected to hear him. There was a noisy delegation of Dorgays up front with some Blackfoot beyond. What could he give this crowd? A teaching story perhaps? A moral or a riddle? He took a big breath as people quieted, waiting for his words.
“In an ancient forest of moss-covered trees lived a grey-owl. He was a large bird with a wingspan wider than my outstretched arms and his shadow glided silently over the glades of the forest, hunting small creatures like mice on the ground or bats at night in mid-air. Every day the owl would land on a pebble beach and bathe in the river. Not like you and me of course, but with outstretched wings he would splash water on himself which he would then shake vigorously off his feathers. Nearby, beneath the roots of the tree lived a porcupine and daily he would be amazed at the fastidiousness of this bird. One day the porcupine decided to ask the owl a question or two.
“‘Sir, why do you wash every day?’ the porcupine asked and the owl blinked big-eyed at him, his neck swiveling in the small creature’s direction. ‘Why, to keep my feathers from being plugged up with dirt, of course,’ the owl replied. ‘Ah just so. I wish I had feathers, for then I could fly like you and not have to walk and scurry about on the ground. I do not suppose you would have a few to spare?’ the porcupine asked with such longing in his voice that it touched the owl’s heart with this request. ‘I have a few cast-off feathers from molting in my nest that I would gladly give to you in exchange for a few of your quills.’
“The porcupine was amazed. ‘My quills you would want? Whatever for?’ The owl looked up into the sky where danger often lurked and replied in the thoughtful manner of owls, ‘To protect myself against the great eagle who rules the sky.’ Then the owl looked into the bushes under the trees, ‘And to guard against a mountain lion that prowls in the shadows.’ Thus it came about that the fellow creatures made their exchange, each greatly satisfied.” Chaiko paused to clean his teeth with a stalk of grass, thinking about the strange aftertaste of frogs. His audience stirred and he continued.
“A few days later the porcupine again saw the owl bathing but saw no sign of the quills. ‘I see you do not have the quills with you. Have you vanquished the eagle and chased off the mountain lion?’ The owl turned and hooted its displeasure. ‘No I did not do either, because I could find no place to keep the quills except in my claws and I had better need of them, to hunt and hold onto my perch. Thus I had to leave the quills at home. And you? Have you then learned to fly?’ The porcupine sadly replied, ‘Alas I did not. No matter how quick or how hard I flapped the feathers my body remained on the ground.’ After this, the owl and porcupine became friends for life.” Chaiko looked around to see all the faces watching him with questions in their eyes. “Now can anybody tell me what we could learn from all this?”
Quiet descended on the crowd. The grownups who had been on the receiving end of many such teaching-tales and riddles knew their answers were likely to be wrong, so dared not hazard a guess with so many people watching and listening. Only Ruba, who was somewhat familiar with his teacher’s trend of thoughts, risked, “We each have abilities...” then his voice faded into uncertainty.
“Exactly. We all have unique abilities and attributes. Yet what is good for one is not necessarily an advantage to another. Picture for yourself, how would a mouse look with moose antlers?” People started laughing at the odd image.
“Does the owl have a name?” Tay wanted to know.
“Yes, and I am glad you have thought to ask that. He is called Feathers by his friends.”
“And what do his enemies call him?” a mocking voice asked from the back, sounding suspiciously like Gill, but in the darkness it was hard to tell.
“His enemies call him Sharp-Claw,” Chaiko retorted readily.
“I like Feathers better,” Tay volunteered.
“Then you must be one of his friends,” Chaiko rewarded the girl.
“Is that it? Is that the end of the story?” Lana asked, knowing full well it was not.
“But of course not,” and Chaiko set forth again, “The two became friends for life. An odd sort of friendship it was. Feathers and..., oh by the way, the porcupine was named Spike if you have not guessed already. Feathers and Spike got into the habit of spending part of the day exchanging experiences. Feathers talked of the air and the sky and what it was like to fly into a cloud and to look from so high down upon the earth and see a mouse moving. Spike talked about what it was like living under ground crunching upon worms and beetles and succulent roots, and how to tell up from down in the darkness. Each found the other’s story and life fascinating.
“One day Spike asked Feathers to take him up in the sky and show him. The owl was surprised, ‘Now you know I cannot hold you as you are covered with quills from head to foot.’ But Spike pointed out, ‘But I can hold onto you.’ So the owl rose into the air with Spike holding onto his feet. And holding on very tightly I might add. The bird climbed with powerful wing beats and the ground dropped away below and the porcupine looked amazed and open-mouthed at the world he had not even suspected. But when they entered the milky whiteness of a cloud, Spike lost all sense of bearing and became very dizzy and in the process momentarily loosened his hold and lo, he fell off the owl’s feet. Feathers screamed in alarm and dove after his falling friend. Spike did what every porcupine does when scared; he rolled himself into a tight, tight, nervous ball. Down came Spike, down came Feathers whistling through the air. More than once the owl tried to grab his friend but his talons would not close over the sharp bundle of quills that was Spike. Still, by flying underneath and using his feathers, the owl could slow their fall and steer them both in the direction of a big pine tree. Spike hit the first set of branches, rolled off onto the next and the next and then finally onto a soft cushion of pine needles on the ground. Feathers landed beside the ball that was his friend and worried over it. ‘Is it over?’ a timorous voice asked, ‘is the falling over yet?’ The owl was very glad, for his friend finally opened up again, though it took him a long while before he could stop shaking.” Chaiko looked around, his eyes challenging. “Now what possibly could we learn from that?”
“If you find yourself so high, it is best not to let go,” Stow responded and evoked several laughs. Ulla hid her face in his shoulder.
“True it is good to hang onto your lifeline. What else?” The grownups tried to avoid his eyes. “Surely it was interesting to see how different creatures live in different worlds that they rarely get a glimpse of. It is true with us as well. Sometimes on the hunt we try to see and think like the thing we stalk and hunt. Do we not?” The hunters all nodded. “We learn the nature of things. Does Tay look for an apple under the walnut tree? Or search under water for walnuts? Would she not look under the tree that bore it? Seems likely to me.”
“There is one more lesson left,” Sosa cried eagerly waving his hands. Chaiko smiled at him and nodded. “How to help a friend in need,” he said and they all remembered how when Sosa was lost, the whole Standing-Rock Clan went to help him.
“Yes it is true. We do not always know what to do in a situation, but we try our best to do the things we can. Feathers could not grab Spike and save him, but he could slow his friend’s fall and guide him toward the pine tree that could slow him even more. And so instead of hitting the ground hard and fast, Spike made a softer landing and survived without injuries. All because Feathers used his head as well as his strength.” Chaiko’s eyes paused on Tusk who blinked back at him. “Is there something left to uncover?” Chaiko mused, while all around him people looked at each other, shrugging. “Yes, the story shows how we all have surprising abilities that can turn unexpectedly to our advantage. Look how Spike curled into a ball, so instead of hitting and splattering flat on the ground, he rolled and rolled lessening the force of impact.” Yes that was also obvious, people agreed,
once it was pointed out to them.
“Is that it?” Lana prompted again.
“By no means,” replied Chaiko smoothly. “One day Feathers found a snake coiled on the beach just where the owl liked to bathe. Being a wise and cautious bird, he did not want to bother the snake who was an irritable sort, not afraid of any living thing as he himself was deadly poisonous. ‘Hiisss,’ the snake hissed in irritation as he coiled and recoiled, its head swaying back and forth threateningly toward the bird. Owl replied, ‘I mean you no disrespect, but this is where I bathe every day.’ And Spike who also appeared said as well, ‘It is true. He bathes here every day, not missing a single day.’ The snake’s head swiveled from one to the other, ‘Henceesforthss find sssomewheres elsse to bathe ssssss.” And the coils drew tighter, the head swayed back ready to strike. The mouth opened showing a set of wicked looking fangs. HSSSSSs!” Chaiko’s audience jumped and a few shivered. It was too dark to listen to stories like these, someone muttered; who knows what lurks in the darkness.
“Well the owl was of a peaceful nature when not hungry so he went and found himself a place further down the river to bathe. Next day he tried again but found the snake there again hissing invectives at him. Day after day, till the owl grew tired of it, for no place was as good as this. He would have to do something and soon. The next day the snake was there again and Feathers and Spike tried to reason with him but the snake would have none of it. ‘Hiissss. This is my spot now and you bessst not get too clossse to it.’ The owl protested, ‘I do not want to have it all, just to share it,’ but the snake would have none of it. Hiississ… hiiss...” again Chaiko’s audience recoiled.
“Well now it is a little known fact that the feathers of a bird are tough and thick and underneath there is a layer of down to protect the roots and even a snake’s fangs cannot penetrate the full thickness especially if the bird ruffles its feathers up which our friend owl now did. He spread his wings wide to confuse the snake, then high-stepped toward the slithering, twisting creature hissing at him angrily. The owl pounced and seized the snake firmly in its claws and jumped into the air with it, swooping up into the sky. Vainly did the snake strike because its fangs could not penetrate the ruffle of feathers. The fearful venom dripped off the feathers, harmlessly. At a great height the owl let the snake fall, and twisting in mid-air it fell to hit on the rocks below. The owl was there, a claw pinning the squirming neck and a few strokes of the beak rendering the snake even more helpless.
