Gambit of the Gods

by Ashley, Angela

Something grips my arm and I jump, reflexively reaching for my knife before I realize it’s just Naira, climbing onto my shoulder. She must have followed me. She snuggles into the warm curve of my neck and immediately falls asleep. Her familiar, soft fur against my cheek comforts me.

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  I’m shivering now despite the fire, but at least the wind and the cold at my back is helping to keep me awake. I heard a twig snap some distance away a few moments ago, and the fear that bubbled up within me is helping to keep me awake as well. My hand rests on the knife hilt at my belt, though I know it would do little good against a bear or a pack of wolves. Both types of animals usually avoid humans, and the smell of woodsmoke warns them away, but if game is scarce, their hunger sometimes outweighs their fear.

  I keep staring at the stars. That is, when I’m not staring at the moon. She looks like a slitted hunting cat’s eye riding high in the clouds. I wonder if I’ll start talking to her and the stars like old friends by the end of this. My people believe that every object and creature has a spirit, including the heavenly bodies. I wonder if she can see me, shivering in front of my fire, a bright spark amidst so much darkness. Are the stars her handmaidens, as some tales say, or are they the souls of the dead, as others tell? Perhaps my mother is dead and watching me from above.

  Rubbing my eyes, I drag more downed tree limbs over for the fire, watching the sparks rise when I drop them into the fire like stars floating toward the heavens.

    

  The long night is over at last. I thought the light would never come again. Sometime in the early morning hours, Naira left me.

  Shuffling stiffly into the bushes, I dig a hole in the dirt to relieve myself in with the help of a stick, then cover it up. Today, I’ll walk in the direction of a tall, rocky outcropping I could see from my perch in a tree last night before darkness fell. Moving my aching limbs will help to get my blood pumping. It might also take my mind off my hunger, which is becoming very insistent. I try to pray instead.

  Starting out in the direction of the outcropping, I spot Tika sitting in a tree not far from me. As always, she’s watching me, her grey-brown wings and cream-and-brown speckled breast making her difficult to pick out from the tree trunk behind her. Only the swift turn of her head toward me gives her away. Knowing she’s there makes me feel less alone.

  She’s not there when I return, but when I walk up to my sitting branch in the fading light I find a dead swallow and a dead mouse laid out side by side, their heads nearly severed. They look nicely plump. I give a small smile at Tika’s unexpected gift and bury them so the smell of blood won’t attract scavengers before settling in for the night.

    

  I’m staring up at the moon and stars with Naira curled up against my neck. I am so very sleepy tonight; my head keeps nodding, though I keep snapping my eyelids up and yawning. I feel colder tonight than I did the night before, though, despite my fire, so the all-over shivering I’m doing helps to keep me awake.

  Standing to drag more wood over to the fire, I stagger a little, like a newborn fawn. Hunger continually gnaws at my insides, growing greater and more desperate by the moment. Thirst has left my mouth dry, my tongue slightly swollen. All I can think about is food, then water, then food. I’m beginning to wonder why anyone thought it was a good idea to do this.

  As the long night wears on, I feel more and more light-headed. I catch myself falling asleep countless times. I was praying before, but now I pray in earnest, asking the Spirit Over All to help me survive this. There is no answer. Once again I feel eyes on my back. Pulling a flaming branch from the fire, I pretend to write on the sky with it until the feeling goes away.

  I hear a wolf howl in the far distance; other wolves howl in answer. I feel like the only human left on this earth.

    

  Morning light steals through the trees, finding me numb, blank, and alone. Moving takes an incredible and very painful effort. I stagger around my camp like an aged person, sluggish and dizzy. My mind is enveloped in fog, making it difficult to think. I get out of breath just walking a few steps.

  Tika is perched in the same tree as before, observing my strange behavior with her usual hooded stare. Without a sound, she glides from her perch and away to the east. I wonder if she’s searching for more prey on my behalf. I hope she didn’t see what I did with her previous offerings.

  I long to lie down, to drop blissfully into sleep. My stomach has eased its constant complaint, but what few thoughts I have are torn between fantasies of water and fantasies of sleep. I hunker down toward the ground many times as if to finally surrender to somnolence, but at the last moment jerk myself up and away. No one would know if I gave in to my desire. But I would know, for the rest of my life, that I was weak. And the Spirit Over All would know.

  For the first time, doubt creeps into my heart. I’m a half-blood. What if there is no Spirit Animal for me? What if the Vision never comes? How will I stand before my father and the rest of the People then? Will they make me leave the Village, never to return? Will Spark turn his back on me, on our friendship? I want to cry, but my body has no moisture for tears. Shaking my head, I push back the darkness threatening to overwhelm me. I must have faith. I must not allow doubt to pull me down and keep my Spirit Animal from me. I must embrace it with my whole heart.

  I focus on piling more wood onto the fire, pacing slowly back and forth until my strength is gone, praying and talking to myself. Then, lowering myself to the ground, I put my back to the fire. This is part of the Vision Quest ritual, always done on the third day to prepare for the Vision that is coming. By the third day, the body becomes emptied of the physical, ready at last to receive the spiritual.

  Opening a deerskin bag, I reach inside and pull out my four talismans. Prairie Blossom taught me that these talismans can be anything I want, but it’s best if they reflect four important occasions or turning points in my life. They represent my past, which should be acknowledged and celebrated for helping to shape me into the person I am, while also functioning as anchor points I can use to find my way back to the physical plane once my Vision is complete.

  The first one I place is from my earliest days. I place it behind me with my right hand. It’s the tiny fleece swaddling blanket Miklos wrapped me in at my birth. He kept it long after I grew out of it, taking it out of storage when Naira needed a soft nest to sleep in when my hair wasn’t available. It reminds me of the love Miklos and Artan have given me from the moment of my birth until now.

  I can feel Naira’s soft fur clinging to it as I put it down. I asked Prairie Blossom what I should do if Naira curls up on the blanket or on me during my Vision. She just smiled and said that a squirrel’s visit during my Vision wouldn’t be the only animal visitor I’d receive.

  My second talisman is the little, tattered corn husk doll Thunder Echo gave me on the day he first arrived at Civitas Dei. Her skirts are split and tattered, her cornsilk hair almost all gone. I slept with her every night for many seasons. I named her Ayasha, which you’ll recall means ‘little one’ and is what Prairie Blossom calls me. The doll represents the beginning of my new life among the People and the transformation of a girl-child named Asha into a girl of the Clans called Ayasha. I place the little doll behind me with my left hand.

  Next is the red cedar squirrel Spark carved for me the day we became friends. He stood up for me against a girl who taunted me. I couldn’t understand her words, because I didn’t know the language of the People, but her tone was mocking. The next day, Spark showed up at my hut, saying he would teach me how to speak and understand the language of the People. Then he gave me the squirrel. We spent so much time together while I learned that we became close surprisingly quickly. His friendship means more to me than I can say. I place the wooden squirrel in front of me with my left hand.

  Lastly, I contemplate Prairie Blossom’s bundle of feathers, tied with a sacred cord. It represents her love for me and everything she taught me. Because of the f
alcon feather, it also represents Tika’s watchful eye over me. I know that bird feathers have deep meaning for my people and that eagle feathers are reserved for the Elders, but the idea that other birds’ feathers can call down a blessing on their bearer is new to me. It’s a great honor. I bow my head in respect and reverence for my brothers and sisters with wings before placing the bundle in front of me with my right hand.

  Now I am bounded at north, south, east and west by talismans that represent my past and what it has made me. All that remains is to stay upright, keep my mind and spirit open to receive from the spirit world with an attitude of reverence, and wait.

  Hours pass. Morning brightens into afternoon. Birds sing in the trees and insects dance around me. I watch an ant pass and contemplate a spider hanging motionless in its web. A hawk flies overhead, seeking prey. The sunlight dances on leaves blowing in the wind. My mind is surprisingly clear, my heart at peace and one with the spirits around me.

  Afternoon wanes into evening. I watch the moon rise over the trees and see each star appear. I enjoy a spattering of rain, washing me clean, no longer tempted to open my mouth to the drops. It puts out my already dying fire, but I must not rise to rebuild it. I know I am more at risk from a predator in my weakened state and without the firelight’s glow, but I am no longer afraid. I am where I’m supposed to be, and if the Spirit Over All wants my life, so be it.

  As the moon travels across the sky and the constellations flicker above me, I think about my life. I never knew my mother, and my father has been distant, but my heart-father and Artan always loved me, Prairie Blossom taught me what a mother should teach her daughter and loved me, and Spark gifted me with his friendship. My heart overflows with love for my family and friends, for the Spirit above me, and for the spirits all around me. I feel blessed, and deeply grateful.

  Naira scrabbles down from a nearby tree and sniffs at my baby blanket before climbing up my arm and nestling under my hair. I feel grateful for her love and companionship. I imagine that I sense Tika nearby, watching over me as well.

  Time passes differently now—instead of flowing like a river, I sit in an eddy of timelessness. Sound moves the same way around me, a distant hum. I am no longer separate from my surroundings but one with them, slowly becoming aware of the heartbeat of our mother earth drumming through every tree and rock. I fall into a kind of trance, my vision turning inward.

  Two yellow eyes burn out of the darkness like twin candle flames. She’s a hunting cat, full-grown and all white instead of the usual tawny color. She pads up to me, an ethereal light flaring up around her. She regards me silently for a moment out of time, standing a pace away, and I regard her. I feel no fear; I expected a vision from my father’s Clan Animal.

  She speaks to me mind to mind: What is the price of love?

  The price of love? I ponder. Isn’t love freely given and therefore without cost, or priceless? Isn’t it a gift? It cannot be bought or sold, bartered or traded. Isn’t it free and beyond price at the same time?

  I never considered whether to give the gift of my love to family or friends; I just gave it. Those closest to me—Miklos, Artan, Spark, Prairie Blossom, and even Naira—never gave me love only to take it away if I disappointed them. Their love came without conditions, as mine did for them.

  Just then, Prairie Blossom’s words float up from my memory: “But all great purposes come with an extra share of hardship, suffering, fear and doubt. They are the price that must be paid.”

  I think about how I worry for my loved ones’ safety and well-being, and how they worry about mine. Loving someone can be painful, but it’s a price you pay gladly, if that person is worthy of your love and care. Love makes you so much more than you ever could be on your own: stronger, braver, kinder, and gentler. It teaches you patience, and brings you joy. Yet all the while, in the back of your heart, lies the awareness that one day you may lose the person you love, and the knowledge that you would die for them if need be. The possibility of this future suffering is the price you pay, a sacrifice that is well worth the cost.

  So I tell the white hunting cat, The price of love is sacrifice.

  The tip of her tail twitches as she regards me, as if deciding whether she wants to devour me or not. I stare back, my heart at peace, accepting of whatever may come. I hear a sound, like a vibration in the air, and realize with growing astonishment that she’s purring. Her eyes change from cold and calculating to warm and approving. I hear her mind-voice once more.

  Pay the price for those you love when the time comes, and do not hesitate.

  Still purring, she lowers her great head to me briefly. I bow mine in deep respect. Then she turns gracefully and pads away in the direction she came from.

  I thought she would never leave, says a voice at my elbow. I turn to find a white badger looking up at me. Well, his face is the usual black and white, but his body is all white instead of grey. Surprisingly, his little black eyes are twinkling with humor.

  Hunting cats are always so serious, he continues, seating himself and peering up conspiratorially. I’m not here to ask you any deep questions, youngling. I just felt drawn to you because you’re a fighter, like I am. You’re going to need that stubborn, unyielding side.

  I am? I’m more than a little dismayed at what that might mean.

  You are. His smiling eyes turn serious, almost sad. But I have learned that life gets very lonely without forgiveness. We all make mistakes, and sometimes we must remember who our friends are, and why, and choose the path of peace instead.

  I…I understand, I tell him, though I really don’t. How could I forget who my friends are?

  He sneezes, and I realize he’s laughing. At me.

  No, you don’t. His paw reaches out, touching my boot gently. But you will. Just remember: when you can no longer fight and it seems like there is no hope left, don’t give up. Have faith, and keep looking up. There is always hope, even when you can’t see it. When you walk the path of faith, the Spirit Over All walks with you.

  I nod thoughtfully. I will remember.

  He withdraws his paw and stands, his eyes far away, his head cocked to the side as if listening. Easing back on his haunches, he looks up at me, his eyes once again dancing with humor.

  One last thing. Sometimes we find the best of friends in the strangest of places, and with the strangest of faces. I mean, here I am, talking to you, a human girl, of all things.

  He sneezes again, and I giggle.

  I can see that you have already made some strange friends, he says, nodding to Naira. She’s just woken up, and spies the spirit badger from her perch on my shoulder. Puffing up her tail in indignation, she chatters at him angrily, which only seems to amuse him more.

  Just keep an eye out for a few more, he advises. He rumbles briefly at Naira, silencing her immediately. Her tail deflates and she sulks, muttering quietly to herself.

  Thank you for your wise council, spirit brother. I bow to show my gratitude. He turns toward the nearby underbrush.

  Looking back over his shoulder, he calls, I am just the messenger, youngling. But you have a good soul, and a difficult path ahead of you. Remember that the Spirit Over All will be with you, always.

  With that, he melts back into the forest.

  A difficult path. That’s not at all what I hoped to hear.

  The little clearing I’m seated in begins to spin slowly. I sense that I’m moments away from my mind and body finally shutting down from lack of sleep, food, and water.

  The moonlight seems to sparkle. At first, I think snow has begun falling. But then my tired eyes snap into focus. I have to blink several times. I must be dreaming.

  I am as real as you are, Little Squirrel. Do you not remember me?

  Before me stands the largest bird I’ve ever seen. At least, I think it’s a bird—her silver-grey eyes (for the voice speaking in my mind is female) are more human than birdlike. They shine brightly above her small, dark grey beak, and the presence I sense feels warm and wise. She�
�s almost as tall as I am if I was standing, her feathers silver-white. Her wings beating when she landed in front of me looked like snow falling to my sleep-deprived eyes, the moonlight cradling her form as if she herself were made from it, a dream brought to life.

  I have seen her before, or one of her kind, I realize. As a child in Civitas Dei, I used to dream of large white birds who dwelt in caves and went out at night to hunt, their giant wings silently slicing through ebony skies. At the dream’s end, the bird I was watching, as closely as if I flew beside it, turned and looked at me. It had eyes just like hers. I had the same dream many times, until Thunder Echo came to claim me and we traveled away from the Elusian Mountains. Then the dreams stopped, and I forgot about them. Until now.

  I—I remember you, I tell her, finally. I thought you were just a dream.

  There are very few of us left, her mind-voice says sadly, but we are real. My name is Bright Wing, and my mate is called Summer Storm. We live in caves high in the Elusian Mountains. We were human like you once, long ago, but still keep watch over your kind, knowing well how easily your hearts can become darkened.

  Your spirit has called to mine since the moment of your birth, for I knew you in another life. Our two lives are joined by destiny. The Spirit Over All, as your People call Him, has shown me that you must make a momentous decision which will affect not only you, but all of humanity. I’ve come to offer some words of encouragement and hope…and to warn you about Taini…

  Her vaguely human, feathered face fades in and out of my sight, though I’m fighting my body with all I have to stay awake.

  Thank you, my mind whispers. Who is Taini?

  You have lived many lives, Little Squirrel, and in all of them, you have faced the same enemy. In your last life, Taini tried to kill you, so you came and sheltered among us. I know it sounds strange…

  My eyes flutter back in my head. I collapse, her eyes hovering over me.