Unexpected
Journey by Christina St. Clair
Excerpt
Level: 1
Book
Heat Level: 3
Buy at:
www.roguephoenixpress.com
In
a dream, Gishuk saw the image of a shewanakw girl with skin as white as the
blackberry flowers in spring. Her hair, glowing like the color of autumn leaves,
tumbled down her back. Though still asleep, he heard the dogs howling outside,
their cries rising balefully into the night. He stared at the floating image in
his mind. Upon awakening, the girl's strange face remained etched into his
psyche.
For a while he lay on his
straw mat, looking at the bark ceiling. Had this girl somehow disturbed the
dogs? But this made no sense. She was merely a phantom in a dream. Still,
something was not quite right. The starless night contained not even a sliver
of moon to make the dogs howl. A steady rainfall, smelling of leaves and earth,
fell from the pitch black sky, pattering onto the thatch roof of his parents'
house. It lulled him back to sleep where the shewanakw girl still hovered in
his dreams. She seemed so innocent, but even in his sleep, anger and confusion arose
in him. What right did any shewanakw have to appear to him when they had caused
so much trouble to his people?
At daybreak, he soon forgot
the dream, listening for the song of Tàskëmus who always got up first to take
his bath alone in the pond in the center of the village. Gishuk loved Tàskëmus
who was his great-uncle as well as the village medicine man. He sang like his
namesake, the mockingbird, able to imitate many sounds. Often he tapped like a
woodpecker seven times because this was a number from the heavens. Usually
women were the ones called by the Great Spirit to become healers, but Tàskëmus
laughed at such an idea and made Gishuk his apprentice. Yet this did not stop other
boys in the village from making fun of Gishuk, especially that weasel Sàngwe.
This eldest son of the village sachem acted as if he ought to be the
chief. Gishuk also suspected Sàngwe of jealousy because he, Gishuk, was
Grandmother's favorite. She'd even given him his secret spirit name.
Gishuk rolled quietly from
his mat and crawled past his brother Tëme, who snorted but did not attempt to
get up. As Gishuk crept by his parents, Kèkw smiled dreamily, snuggling closer
to her husband, Tihtës, and pulling the turkey-feather blanket over their
shoulders to keep out the damp. Outside, Gishuk watched his great-uncle swim
steadily through the water, his muscular arms rising and falling with hardly a
splash. At last he scrambled onto the shore near the Big House, allowing the
water to drip from his body. He stretched his hands out palms-up to greet the
day and began to chant.
As each of Gishuk's summers
passed, he realized he was very different from the others. He saw visions of
things to come, but no longer told anyone, because often his predictions were
only half-true. Tàskëmus told him this ability was a gift from Nenabush, but
his visionary skills needed to be more fully developed. Gishuk heard the woods
sing and understood all the animals, from moles to bears. Herbs, roots and
flowers comforted him. They did not strike him with their fists or hurt him
with their words. Yet deep inside he wished he could join in pahsahëman, the
ball game everyone in the village loved to play. He wished he might rough and tumble
like other boys, but sports never interested him.
Gishuk, copying his great
uncle, held out his hands. "Wëli kishku," he said. "It is a good
day." He admired the sky. The dome reminded him of Grandfather--faraway
and yet sometimes as close as a low-hanging cloud on a mountain, kissing the
tops of the trees. A tëmakwe swam out of its dam-house, slapped its tail, made
a wild splash, and dove beneath the surface. Tàskëmus, across the pond from
Gishuk, grinned at him before intoning musical notes that felt as if they were
rising and falling within Gishuk's body.
Browndog, one of the village
animals Gishuk sometimes took with him into the woods while he gathered herbs,
jutted his cold nose against Gishuk's knee. Gishuk scratched the creature's
head. "You are quiet now," Gishuk said, remembering the night-cries
of the hounds. Something inside his stomach seemed to claw at him. Overwhelming
sadness filled him. For a moment the dreamgirl's face flashed in front of him,
but he quickly pushed her image away. She was not one of his people. He didn't
even know if she was real. Perhaps he would tell Tàskëmus about her, but not
now.
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