Spirit Quest

by Jennifer Frick-Ruppert

  Scooping up one of these, I discovered a big coquina with a nearly transparent, branched, plantlike growth on its shell. It looked like a plant, but was not green, so I wondered whether or not it was a plant. Perhaps it was like the ghost plant that grew in the forest, poking up from the leaves of the forest floor, white or pinkish colored instead of green, but still with a flower atop a strange short stem. Or maybe this had something to do with the sea plum question: were they animals or plants? I would have to ask Roncommock.

  As I completed my turn around the headland, I could now see back in the direction I had come, toward the big sand dunes and the fishing weirs. The weirs were not far off, and our men were working the weirs, spearing the big fish in the pen and tossing them up onto dry sand. A few mesickek flopped on the beach where they’d been tossed until men dispatched them with wooden clubs. Other men cleaned the fish and carried them up to the fires to dry and smoke. I looked for Ascopo, and finally saw his smaller form helping with the mesickek as they came out of the weirs. He was right in the thick of the action, of course.

  As I watched them, they seemed to shimmer from the heat rising from the beach, and suddenly none of them were there. The weirs still stood, the canoes were still there if strangely altered by the mirage, but not a single person was visible. I nearly started forward in terror when the heat mirage ceased and I could see them all once again. This spirit quest was confusing. One moment I was totally absorbed in reality, the next I was sure I was walking with the spirits. What was happening to me?

  The dark cloud-shadow descended on me, thick, black, and menacing, and knocked me flat on my back. I lay in the darkness, hearing no sounds, seeing no images, sensing nothing. It was flat black emptiness. Then, slowly, I began to see a white, blinding light growing closer and closer. I felt warmth on my skin again. I felt my chest rise in a breath. I was lying on the beach again, totally alone, the waves gently murmuring, the sun warming me, bringing back life.

  During the remaining couple of days that we spent on the banks, I tried to make sense of all I had seen and felt. I spent another night by myself up on the dunes, but no other dreams came to me, nothing to clarify the images. I collected the leaves and berries of the wax myrtle for my mother and stored them in a basket separate from the yaupon leaves we collected previously, but their heady scent did not transport me anywhere. Ascopo and I became quite good at spearing fish from the boats or in shallow water, and we caught and ate baskets of crabs, but I was never again able to enter the weir. Every time I waded in along the fence, the water seemed to rise, and I expected to see a great, grey back and snapping white teeth.

  When we had piles of dried mesickek, Tetszo began to mutter about heading back to our home village. The winds came around again to the southeast, and clouds built up in the afternoons. A period of rainy weather seemed to be approaching.

  He spoke that night around the campfire. “We have had good fishing here and our canoes will be loaded with the harvest we have made. Our bellies are full and yet our women await us, hungry for meat. We should begin our voyage of return before these dried fish that we have prepared with so much effort are ruined from rain or from water slopping into our canoes. Is it agreed?”

  Chaham, too young to have a wife and children relying on him, spoke up and said, “I doubt the canoes would be completely filled with fish. I bet if we stayed a while longer, we could fill them up. The mesickek are still running, if a little slower than when the moon was full.”

  Ascopo looked hopeful for a minute, but then Manchauemec said, “We need some space for oysters that we’ll collect on the way back home. Memeo told us that he needed more shells because he used so many to scrape and form the new canoe. And you know those we left in the village would love to eat these sweet oysters.”

  Chaham said, still hopefully, but with a bit of resignation in his voice. “Won’t we eat some of that dried fish on our journey and make more room?”

  Tetszo said, “No, Chaham, we will catch fresh fish on the return voyage. We will need some good spearmen to spear enough fish to feed the whole crew. You won’t mind having to catch more fish, now, will you?”

  “No, Tetszo, I think I am ready to leave now!” Chaham said, and Ascopo joined in with, “Me, too! Chaham can’t catch all the fish we need.” Kaiauk spoke up quickly too, afraid to let Ascopo get ahead of him.

  “Okay then. Are we all agreed?” Tetszo asked.

  Chaham looked up and murmured, “Yes.” Kaiauk was a bit more spirited with his affirmative reply, and the other men followed suit in agreeing to prepare for an early dawn departure on the morrow. As in all important matters, consensus is reached before action is taken.

  We made a stop at Chepanoc on the return. Well before arriving, we paused at a point where the oyster beds were enormous. These banks were farther out into the sound and the oysters were larger than those near Ricahokene where we stopped on the way out.

  First, we put on moccasins, then wrapped our feet in another layer of hides. I was surprised, but then I remembered that we used oyster shells as scrapers and that these upright oyster shells were incredibly sharp. So sharp, in fact, that they would easily slice into our feet if we walked on them without protection. Ascopo and I, as the lightest of the group, were the first to step out and were given baskets and thin stone axes, which we used to knock loose the oysters. Chaham helped, but most of the other heavier men stayed in the canoes. Once we had a basket full, it took two of us to walk it back to the boats. We filled a canoe in no time at all, and not one of us slipped and cut his feet. The speed of our oyster harvest left us with enough time to catch fish for our supper before we arrived at Chepanoc.

  Later that day, as we arrived at the town, the villagers welcomed us warmly. Like the village of Ricahokene we had visited on the way out to the banks, these people were Weapemeocs. Okisco was the chief of both villages.

  Again, I announced our intentions, and it seemed easier the second time. I was less nervous, but they also knew we were visiting, having heard from Ricahokene. I felt at home in the village that night and enjoyed the celebrations. Still, I felt apart from the other men. I was sure that the spirits had orchestrated my experience of walking the beach. They were telling me something. But what? I was ready to get home to Roncommock so that he could help me understand.

  Since the head woman knew that I was Menatonon’s heir, she invited me to sit with her family nearest the central fire. I could see this privilege rankled some of the other men from my village, for they all sat together at the mat that was spread for guests. Soon, however, they set aside their annoyance, for the head woman asked to hear their stories and they loved being the center of attention. I just hoped that Ascopo and the others would not hold a grudge against me. While our men were recounting their tales, I tried to talk to their shaman about my vision experiences, but as soon as I sat down next to him, he touched me gently on the forearm, shook his head, and withdrew. He knew something, but left it unspoken.

  When Tetszo began the story of the shark that nearly ate me, some of the women began to wail, and he immediately slowed the tenor of his voice from that of an excited, proud warrior reciting a battle engagement to more of a concerned and caring friend or father. He told the remainder of the story less dramatically, while keeping it equally engaging.

  As it turned out, a large shark had attacked and killed a boy my age from this village as he too, was tending a weir. No one knows for sure, but it seems likely the boy injured his hand and the blood attracted the beast. It rammed the boy against the outside of the fence and bit him in the stomach. Other fishermen tried to drag him to safety, but the boy was already dead before they pulled him out of the water, with most of his belly gone and one leg sheared off. They abandoned that weir, though they kept fishing elsewhere.

  We stayed one night and left early the next morning. While en route, we landed at Mascomenge, but only long enough to pay our respects. We caught fresh fish
before entering the village and presented it to the headman. He, in turn, provided us with something of equal value. The villagers of Mascomenge had killed a big sturgeon, and they gave us some of its bony scutes. They were useful items for decoration and for hide scrapers.

  Late in the day, we entered Warowtami, the Weapemeoc village closest to our territory, in a pretty bay located on the eastern side of the Chowan River. Again, we fished and quickly filled up several baskets with fresh fish before we entered the village, and again we were rewarded with an enjoyable celebration of dancing and stories and mutual sharing of food. Anxious to get home, we departed at first light.

  We had slower going as we paddled upstream, against the flow of the Chowan, but we made it to Chowanook by nightfall and unloaded our harvest into the chief’s wigwam for distribution on the next morning. Before returning to Roncommock, I stopped at my mother’s wigwam. She had already heard the hubbub and knew our group had returned. Seeing her felt soothing after my adventures.

  “Tell me what you have done, my son,” she said after releasing me from a comforting embrace.

  I sat down and began my stories, telling my mother first about the sandy banks. Even my sister Mamankanois was listening, though she was pretending otherwise. Trying to explain their magnificence and the significance I felt from them was nearly impossible, so I told of walking the beach instead, leaving out any reference to the spirits, though I was confident that the spirits were telling me something important. I brought out the shells I had gathered for mother and gave them to her. I also gave my sister the wentletrap since it was so pretty. I knew she would like it, and she did. They both thanked me, but then my mother said, “What is this I hear about a shark nearly eating you? Those men were supposed to take good care of you and protect you from harm. I hear they had you repairing the weir, walking into the trap yourself!” Somewhat indignantly, she crossed her arms and bored her eyes into me.

  “Well, mother, it was really pretty scary and a close escape.” She took a deep breath, but I plunged on. “However, it was no one’s fault. All of us thought the pen was clear. I checked it too, and never saw the shark until too late. In any case, the men helped me treat my wound.”

  “You were injured,” she interrupted. “And you recovered from the bite of a shark?”

  “Not a bite, mother, just a scrape when the shark pushed by me. Their skin is very rough, you know. We use it sometimes for making wampum smooth.”

  “Yes, yes. I know all that,” she muttered impatiently. “Now tell me what happened.”

  I related the story and could see that even my sister’s eyes got big and round when I described how the shark came up after me, thrashing around in the shallows. Perhaps I embellished it a little for the benefit of my sister, but when I finished the story and poured out the teeth from my macócqwer, she jerked back from them, touching them only hesitantly. As I stood up to leave my mother’s wigwam for Roncommock’s, she hugged me and told me she was glad I was home. So did my mother, but I expected it from her.

  I stumbled along the path to Roncommock’s wigwam and lay down on my sleeping bench, happy to be back. Roncommock didn’t even turn over when I entered the wigwam, but Jackáwanjes got up from her sleeping bench to see that I was comfortable.

  “Do you need anything, Skyco? Something to eat or drink? Another warm skin?”

  “He is fine,” Roncommock said irritably as he rolled over, but then he sat up and opened up his arms to me. “Welcome back, Skyco. I am proud you have learned from the fishermen and pleased you have returned. Tomorrow you will describe your journey to me. I know that you achieved significance.” He patted my shoulders and looked at his wife. “Now if you don’t mind, I am going back to sleep. Skyco needs some rest, I feel sure.”

  I did. I didn’t even get completely underneath the skins. My sleeping bench was so comfortable after sleeping on the ground for days that I felt as if I were lying on a cloud, covered with soft animal skins. I slept deeply, my body so physically tired that I didn’t dream at all.

  I awoke the next morning to find Roncommock sitting up, looking at me. Jackáwanjes was already gone, attending to another duty. Immediately I started to explain, “Roncommock, my teacher, I have so much to ask of you. I need your guidance and explanation of my experiences.”

  “It is not yet time for that, Skyco. You have another duty that comes first.”

  “What can possibly be more important than interpreting the will of the spirits?” I asked incredulously. “Haven’t you been training me for this? I think they contacted me several times and showed me what lies ahead, but I am not sure. Once I even fell into a black stupor, where nothing existed at all. I need your advice.”

  “Before I can take you further down the pathway of the spirits, Skyco, you must complete the hunt.”

  “Oh, no!” I nearly wailed at him. “What if I fail?”

  “Well, that is simple, Skyco. If you fail, you are finished.”

  “Finished?” I echoed as I looked at him in disbelief.

  “It is time for your weapons training,” he continued, “time for you to begin. You must take this seriously, Skyco. It is another test of the spirits’ favors, one you must successfully pass in order to be accepted by them.” He paused, and I felt barely comforted when he continued, “But I can relieve your mind by talking with you and hearing what you have to say. We will talk tomorrow, once Cossine releases you from your first day’s training. Not until the hunt is complete, however, can I interpret for you. I can only listen until then.”

  I stumbled out of his wigwam in despair.

  The Hunt

  I managed to put it off long enough. What with fishing, building a canoe, and Roncommock’s teaching, I avoided the master of the bow, but it couldn’t last forever, and today was the day I dreaded. Every other boy my age was already skilled with a bow and arrows, but I was barely competent. Today everyone will find out. Ascopo already knows.

  In my village, boys are given small spears when they’re young—five or so winters old. We learn to aim and to throw, but we have little strength to strike anything other than frogs and the occasional snake. Those who show promise, or who just worry their fathers to distraction, often receive small bows with reed arrows so that they can learn the mechanics of drawing the bowstring and aiming the arrow well before their tenth year. I had received such a bow from Menatonon after I survived my seventh winter, but without anyone to practice with and little inclination, I rarely used it after the initial excitement had passed.

  I wish I had been more interested or learned sooner, but I didn’t, and now I must face the consequences. I held a full-sized bow of witch hazel, strung with a dried sinew. Clumsily, I nocked an arrow—a lightweight reed with turkey feathers on one end and a small triangular piece of flaked quartz on the other—onto the sinew. I took a deep breath, held it, and then drew back the string while holding the nock of the arrow in the fingers of my right hand, my left arm stiff and straight while holding the bow. I let loose the arrow, and the string snapped forward, hitting the wrist of my bow hand, while the arrow flopped to the ground about one arm’s distance away. Ouch!

  Sighing heavily, I relaxed my bow arm and rubbed my sore wrist.

  “Come now, Skyco. You can do better than that.” My teacher that day was Cossine. We have many good hunters in the village, but Roncommock had selected Cossine as the master of bow. Later I would learn atlatl from Tetepano, who is the acknowledged master of that weapon.

  “Open your stance. Where the bow leads, the arrow will follow.”

  “I know, master. This new bow is hard to draw.” It was true. The new, large bow of witch hazel was much stiffer than the childhood bow I had received from Menatonon. It required all my strength to pull the string back to my cheek while keeping my bow arm stiff. When I pulled, my arm started to shake.

  “Hold still, Skyco. You can’t shoot while your arm is shaking. Take a b
reak.”

  I relaxed my pull, gently releasing the force on the string, and brought down my bow.

  “Now watch me,” Cossine said, and he brought up his bow, drew the string back to his cheek, and released the arrow in one smooth fluid motion. “Don’t waste time holding back the arrow. Draw the string, then let fly. Your eye should already be on the target. Hasn’t anyone taught you this before now?”

  “No, sir. My father died before he could teach me and my mother has never remarried. Menatonon is unable to teach me because he can no longer draw the bow.”

  Cossine hung his head and sighed, “Yes, I know. Forgive me, Skyco. That is why I am here. It is just that you are old to be learning the fundamentals.”

  “Your turn, Ascopo,” he said, and turned to Ascopo, who was standing next to me. He hit the target with all five arrows. Three were inside the inner circle and two were on the line.

  “Now you, Andacon, and then you, Osocan,” he said to the other two boys in line. Andacon and Osocan were twins. While Ascopo and I were slight of build, these two were sturdier. They already looked the part of warriors. Because they were so skilled with deer decoy skins, they had already participated in hunts even though they could not shoot the deer. That was part of the preparation for the husquenaugh. Not only must we show competence in weapons, but we must demonstrate our skill by killing a deer. Our instructors will take us on a hunt, and we must each come away with a kill. Only after we succeed at the husquenaugh can we take part in the men’s hunt, and we must make our first deer kill before we can be husquenaughed. It seemed insurmountable to me. How will I ever kill a deer, never mind survive the husquenaugh?