The Reluctant Visionary
"CHARMIAN!" WHITE DEER cried, climbing down from the manitou which had been carrying her, and rushing into the camp. Around Thomas and Charmian, others were doing the same. "Are you all right--? Did you defeat those strangers--?"
"Everything started melting!" Stick-In-The-Dirt exclaimed, and as if to illustrate his point, a dollop of slush descended upon his head, making him jump and sputter.
Charmian glanced at Thomas and then let out her breath. She saw that somewhere along the way, the rest of Black Elk Horn's men had met up with the tribe again, as they too arrived along with the others. She even spotted the ogimah himself; as soon as she met his eyes he gave her a dark scowl, so she looked away, unsure whether to count that as a welcome back or as a get lost.
"Not really," she admitted, and gestured toward the bluff. "Niski--um--a friend of mine took care of it. They shouldn't give you any more trouble." If Moon Wolf does his job, that is! "I'm sorry about all the mess though," she apologized, and everyone looked at the shattered wigwams at once. Charmian rubbed her neck meekly, feeling like a puppy that had just piddled on the carpet.
"They're only wood and bark," Stick-In-The-Dirt said, stepping toward her and still brushing off his feathers. "They can easily be replaced."
White Deer stopped in front of Charmian and gestured excitedly. "So--they're defeated?" she asked, eyes wide. "The winter is all going away now--?"
Charmian nodded. "It should be...there shouldn't be any more Wendigo..."
Stick-In-The-Dirt let out his breath. "I had thought the Island itself would turn to ice," he murmured with relief. "And everything would die along with it..."
"Um...about that," Charmian said, drawing his attention. She had to avert her eyes. "You're...kind of used to seeking visions, aren't you...?"
The medicine man blinked, peering aside as Morning Star came into sight, White Deer still standing near Charmian. "...Yes...I suppose..." he said, somewhat timidly.
"Well...I might need a few suggestions on something." When he just stared at her she rubbed her neck again. "It's kind of complicated. I thought we might talk. In private...kind of."
Stick-In-The-Dirt just stared at her some more. Then he gave her what was quite possibly the oddest look that he had ever given her, which by now was saying something.
"Arch Rock again...?" Stick-In-The-Dirt's voice was hesitant, uncertain. "You're sure...?"
Charmian nodded--which was made a bit difficult, considering the state of the roof. It had entirely buckled in just over the fire, through the main part of the room, and as such they sat around where the smokehole had been, having to stoop forward to keep from hitting their heads on the tattered sticks and bark pressing in overhead. Morning Star was doing the best that she could to try to straighten out what poles remained, but it was a losing battle, and even she grumbled under her breath more than once when the wood refused to comply.
Stick-In-The-Dirt was bent almost double, holding his feathers down with one hand so they wouldn't get crushed. "But I thought you had already tried this. What good would it do to try it again? Didn't the Road give you what knowledge you needed?"
"It's not to talk to the Spirit Road this time," Charmian said. She and Thomas, too, were bent over, her chin almost touching her knees, and she felt like an utter idiot. White Deer had much the same look on her face as Charmian imagined she must have, and was holding her dress down so it wouldn't creep up her legs. "When we were gone," she explained, wincing at a crick in her neck. "We went through the Fairy Arch. Manabozho and his brothers were with us. There was an attack by the Shadow Wolves, and..." She trailed off, and her throat hurt; it was only because the others all stared at her that she made herself continue. "...And Wabasso...he fell, and..." She trailed off again and couldn't bring herself to finish.
Stick-In-The-Dirt seemed to sink a little, if that was even possible. Morning Star hissed and started sucking at a splinter in her finger. "And so...he is gone...?" he murmured, and Thomas had to nod, as Charmian couldn't. The medicine man lowered his eyes.
"We need all four brothers to try to fight Chakenapok," Charmian said softly. "Without Wabasso...Chakenapok knew we wouldn't be able to fight him. I have to go to the Spirit Road, and try to find a way to bring him back."
Both Stick-In-The-Dirt and White Deer gasped at once, making her jump and bump her head on the caved-in roof. "But--you can't do that!" White Deer cried. "This is only for the dead to do!"
"Speaking with the Road is one thing," Stick-In-The-Dirt exclaimed. "Walking it is entirely different!"
"I already visited the Spirit Land," Charmian insisted. "It can't be too much harder than that."
"But you were there only briefly, were you not? This time you seek someone who is already there, and plan to bring him back--this will take time. The Road takes four days just to walk." He shook his head, wincing to avoid the roof. "Are you sure you should do this? Perhaps you'd best speak with Laughing Lynx..."
"I already talked with him. He gave me some tobacco but other than that he wasn't the most helpful!" She forced herself to calm down. "I came here to talk to you. Truthfully, I trust you a whole lot more with such things. The last time I sought a vision, I..." She faltered, and her heart suddenly hurt; she bit her lip when her eyes blurred. She sensed them all looking at her, then Thomas spoke.
"Wabasso was playing his flute," he said quietly. "I think this helped."
"Oh." Stick-In-The-Dirt blinked, then averted his own eyes. "I...I did not know." He paused. "So...you seek my advice--?" When she looked at him he blinked again. "I would not know what to do! You already know that..." He cut himself off and seemed to be at a loss; she spoke up before he could feel forced to give himself up.
"Any little thing you can offer me," she said. "It'll help. Everything else, I'll do on my own. I mean it this time. I'm doing it for a reason."
"But you might have to wait for days," White Deer protested.
Charmian shook her head. "I don't care," she said in a flat voice. "I'm doing it for Wabasso...and Manabozho." She rubbed at her eyes. "This is the smallest thing I can do."
Stick-In-The-Dirt chewed his lip. "When is the last time you ate--?" he asked; when she gave him a blank look he said, "It would be best, if you do not eat anymore. A fast helps bring on the vision."
Charmian nodded. "I can do that."
"Even once one comes to you, you will have to walk the Road for four days," he added. "I...do not know from experience...but these four days might be short, or long. And the Road will try to trick you into going the wrong way, if it senses that you intend to reach the Spirit Land while your body still lives."
"Moon Wolf warned me about that. He said to take the hardest path. I guess I'll know it when I see it."
"You may meet Pauguk there," Stick-In-The-Dirt said with a frown of worry.
"The Skeleton guy," Charmian said, trying to remember the name. She nodded. "Got it."
"Even if you meet with Wabasso's spirit--and there is no guarantee of this--he will probably not want to return with you. He may not even remember you, or remember why he died. He may not remember anything. You will have to convince him to give up everything to come back with you."
Charmian's resolve started to waver. "I can try to do that," she murmured, staring at the floor.
"Even if he does return from the Spirit Land, and returns to his body," Stick-In-The-Dirt continued, "he may not be the same as he once was. The Spirit Land...does things to people. I have...heard stories...of people who have gone there, and returned, and...they were never quite the same as before." He bit his lip. "This is why this worries me so much...what if you do not return as you are now...?"
"I have to take that chance."
"What if your spirit gets lost?" White Deer asked anxiously. "You have no one to try to guide you back!"
Charmian couldn't lift her head. "I'll just have to keep a level head, I guess."
"But what if you forget about the Island?" Stick-In-The-Dirt asked now, and Charmian winced at the bite of anxiety that nipped through her.
"I won't," she said, and finally looked up at them; her eyes were wet but she didn't cry. "I won't forget this place, ever. Every minute I'm over there, I'll think about it. And I won't forget."
The medicine man sighed to himself and sank back a bit, looking dejected. "It is easy to say this," he murmured, but turned and crawled for the doorway just the same. The others pushed their way through the wreckage to do the same, leaving Morning Star behind; in the camp, everyone was examining the mangled wigwams and talking quietly with each other, salvaging what things they could. A few manitous remained in the woods, staring into the clearing with glittering eyes. "I will stay not too far away and check on you, every so often," Stick-In-The-Dirt offered. Charmian opened her mouth to protest, only to hear Thomas speak up.
"So will I," he said, and the look that he gave her was one that proved he would not put up with any argument. Charmian wilted a little.
"Okay," she said at last, "but you can't be within sight of me. I have to be up there alone. Otherwise it won't work."
"It worked with Wabasso," Thomas said with a frown.
Charmian's stare drifted toward the ground again. "Maybe that tells me something," she said softly, and turned toward the woods. A whistling noise made them all look off to the side, and Charmian spotted one of the manitous coming forward. She winced on realizing it was Mani; she walked toward him, putting her hand against his forehead. The manitou stared at her with his large blue eyes.
Red Land One...all right? he asked, almost timidly.
Charmian winced again. "Yeah...I'm fine." She had to pause to gather her voice. "I'm sorry, Mani."
He peered up at her for a moment, then his nostrils flared slightly and he blinked. Is not your fault. Merely doing what you can. He paused himself, and appeared to be thinking his words over carefully. I am sorry I burden you, Red Land One, he said, the words stilted, and Charmian's eyes widened. They immediately grew wet again and she pressed her face into his fur.
"You don't burden me, not ever. I'm sorry I keep hassling you, though."
He whistled a protest, and she pulled back to scratch at his ear. "You will go now--?" Stick-In-The-Dirt asked, and she glanced at him. He was wringing his hands. "Or wait for a better time...?"
Charmian's shoulders sank. "This is the better time." She let go of Mani and turned back east, pulling Laughing Lynx's tobacco pouch from her vest. "I guess I don't really need anything other than this, do I," she said, not expecting an answer, though Stick-In-The-Dirt and White Deer shook their heads in unison. She nodded vaguely and started walking out of the camp. After a pause she heard several sets of footsteps following, and they made their way along the bluff to Arch Rock.
By now the trails were almost free of snow, the only clumps of it remaining in the small hollows lining the woods, and occasionally falling from the trees. Their feet made squishing noises as they walked, and every so often they had to shake mud off of themselves, though the walking was easier than it had been on the way there. By the time that they reached Arch Rock Charmian looked back to see that all four of them had accompanied her, and she flushed a little, unsure of how to best get rid of them politely.
"Um...going now," she said, and turned to walk over to the stone bridge. She sat down atop it and fiddled her fingers a bit; Mani was the first one to turn away, hanging his head and trudging off into the woods with a whistle of farewell. White Deer got a look of surprise on her face, tugged on her father's arm, and whispered something in his ear; Stick-In-The-Dirt looked equally surprised, and they both ran off without so much as a word in parting. Charmian furrowed her brow to see them go so suddenly, only to notice that Thomas still stood on the other side of the chasm. He gave her a look that said he wanted to say something, but didn't speak.
Charmian sighed. "Don't worry. I wouldn't have any idea what to say, either."
He blinked. Then he flushed a little, but came walking toward the Arch himself, having to pull himself along on hands and knees to reach where she was sitting. She followed his progress with a puzzled frown, and was so absorbed in wondering if he knew what he was doing that she completely wasn't expecting it when he craned his neck forward and kissed her. Her eyes grew huge, but it was just a quick kiss, and he was already scrabbling back toward land before she could even put her hand to her mouth. She was relieved that he decided to go without saying anything, because right then her voice stopped working.
A few moments later White Deer and Stick-In-The-Dirt returned. White Deer climbed up the rock easily, not paying much attention to what she was doing; she draped a blanket around Charmian. "If it gets cold," she said, matter-of-factly; then, "You can also wrap yourself in it, to shut out all the light; I've heard this helps, sometimes."
"Oh." She hadn't known that. She pulled the blanket around herself. "Thanks." White Deer next held up a little stone, which Charmian looked at curiously. "What's that do--?"
White Deer blinked, then reddened a little. "You...put it in your mouth, and it keeps you from getting thirsty."
"Oh." Charmian took the pebble, feeling a little stupid; after all, just about every other rock around here seemed to be enchanted, why not this one? She looked at it a bit, still wondering whether it had any medicine in it, before deciding that it was just a rock and putting it in her mouth. "Thanks," she said around it.
White Deer clambered down off of the rock and Stick-In-The-Dirt came up in her place. He clung to the rock like a barnacle, gritting his teeth and glancing down over the edge at the lakeshore almost a hundred and fifty feet below. He held out his hand, and Charmian got ready to grab hold of it, but all that he did was rub his fingers against her face. She felt something cool, and thought that she smelled something burnt and woody.
He crept a bit closer and rubbed some on the other side of her face. When he drew his fingers away Charmian saw that they were coated gray; she touched her finger to her face and drew it back with ashes upon it. "If the spirits pity you," the medicine man said, drawing her attention, "then you may be more fortunate." He pulled his hand back, tilted his head as if examining his work, then gave her a look and turned away. White Deer stood and watched him as he cringed and edged his way back toward land.
"Thanks," Charmian called again. White Deer gave a little wave, after which Stick-In-The-Dirt took her hand and led her away. They disappeared into the trees, and Charmian was left sitting atop Arch Rock. She examined the odd state that she had been left in--wrapped in a blanket, with a pebble in her mouth, and ashes on her face--before sighing and settling down.
She gasped and nearly jumped when she saw that she wasn't entirely alone, just yet. She had to blink a few times before she recognized the figure now standing at the edge of the woods, staring back, because he looked so different. Her eyes grew when she realized that it was Manabozho. He still wore his winter clothing from the Fairy Realm, only he was soaked and spattered with mud, his hair and feathers bedraggled and dangling. Drying mud was smudged across his face, and his eyes were red and raw, shadows hovering beneath them; her own eyes wandered down toward his hands, to see that his fingers were dirty and bleeding. It looked as if he'd been dragged all the way down Main Street and back by a team of runaway horses. She couldn't believe that she hadn't even noticed his state, back when he'd first entered through the Fairy Arch.
Charmian's brow furrowed, her eyes wide. "Manabozho...?" she asked, uncertainly.
He continued staring at her with that strange glassy-eyed look, before hesitantly stepping from the woods and limping her way. He stared at the ground the entire time. She watched him in silence as he climbed up the rock, stopping several feet away. He was grasping something in his hand but his arm was bent at such an angle that she couldn't see what it was. He looked as if he wanted to speak but couldn't.
She stared at him for a moment or two. "I'll do everything I can, Manabozho," she said softly.
His feathers quivered, as if he flinched. She saw his eyes grow glassier. He bit his lip, then held out his hand. Charmian looked down to see a mud-coated flute balanced on his palm, and she sucked in a breath, her eyes stinging.
"I don't know how to play it," he mumbled, looking ashamed. "But I thought...maybe..."
His voice trailed off, cracking in his throat. Charmian reached out and took the flute, pulling it slowly toward herself and wiping the mud from it. Her vision of it blurred and she had to rub at her eyes, remembering how it had last been used here at Arch Rock. She cleaned it off as best as she could before tucking it into the blanket. "I mean it, Manabozho," she said. "I don't know if I can do anything...but if I can, I will. If I can, I'll bring him back to you."
He finally lifted his head a little, his eyes wet and wary. He looked completely different from the way she was used to seeing him, cocky and snappy and swaggering; this Manabozho looked as if he wished to crawl into a cave, and never come out again. She hoped that he believed her, and thought she saw the tiniest bit of hope in his own eyes, before he lowered them again and turned away. He climbed down and made his way back to the trees, leaving muddy footprints behind him. Charmian looked down at them and saw that even though he was wearing moccasins, they were stained in such a way that it looked almost like he left the prints of a rabbit behind him.
Her eyes flooded and she wiped them dry, taking in a breath and letting it out. She made certain that the stone was situated properly in her mouth, huddling in the blanket and clasping onto the flute as if it alone would keep her from falling off of the rock, and shut her eyes.
Night fell, and the Island cooled again, and after what seemed like ages daylight at last came. When the sun peeked over Lake Huron it fell upon Charmian, still seated atop Arch Rock. She shivered even as she tried to ignore the chill, and then as the Island steadily grew warmer she tried to ignore the heat. She kept her eyes closed no matter what odd sounds occasionally drifted to her ears, before telling herself not to pay attention to the noises, and stilling herself yet again. The day drew on, long and tiring, and she nearly dozed off more than once, though the times that she wanted to get up, just for the sake of getting up, were far more frequent. By the time that evening fell, the sun vanishing beyond the other side of the Island, anxiety was flaring up inside her, not to mention that her knees were driving her crazy from being bent all day.
As the last of the sunlight faded, leaving twilight behind it, her eyes stung behind her closed eyelids, and she chewed on her lip. Sure, it had been only a day. But a day was excruciatingly long, for someone like her.
Wabasso's not here, she thought, despairing. His flute was what helped me focus the last time. Without him playing it...it doesn't work anymore...
I'm never going to find the Road...how do I get back there without him, and how do I get him back, without getting back there...?
She tried not to sniffle, and tried pushing the anxiety and despair away, yet they hung inside her like lead weights. The twilight itself began to fade and her shoulders shook. She wanted to leave, yet didn't dare. Even Stick-In-The-Dirt had managed to sit and wait for a vision which never came, for eight days. Why was just one day so hard for her...?
She could feel rather than see the darkness beginning to settle around her, no noises coming to her ears but for the faint lapping of the lake far below and the trickling of invisible springs. She couldn't take it anymore, and at last raised one shaking hand to wipe at her eyes.
A scuffling, scrabbling noise suddenly startled her and she gasped. Her eyes popped open to see that a necklace had been thrust at her face. She blinked and focused on what looked to be a tiny dried sprig.
"Take it," a voice snapped.
Charmian blinked again and lifted her eyes. Singing Cedars crouched on the end of the Arch, holding out a knotted cord from which the little sprig dangled. He scowled at her and shook it; she tentatively reached out and took it from him, furrowing her brow. It looked like a tiny piece of a pine tree of some sort.
"What is it...?" she asked, confused.
"What I got from my vision," he said.
Charmian frowned at the little pendant and turned it over in her hand, careful not to break it. "A cedar sprig...?" she murmured.
"Visions bring power," Singing Cedars said. "He who grants his vision to another, gives them that power." He said this as if she should know.
Charmian's head jerked up and she gaped at him. "But--I can't take this!" she exclaimed. "This is your vision! I'm not supposed to have it--"
"Keep it," Singing Cedars snapped, and turned away to climb back down the rock. "It'll be more useful to you."
She sat and numbly watched him descend, then storm off into the woods. She was left on her own again, a pebble in her mouth, a blanket over her shoulders, ash on her face, and a little sprig of cedar dangling from her hand. She lifted her other hand and found Wabasso's flute still there, and stared at the two odd objects. Her brow furrowed again.
This belongs to Manabozho now. But he gave it to me. It's the last thing he has left of Wabasso, but...he gave it to me.
And this--this is Singing Cedars's vision! How am I supposed to take something like these--? They don't belong to me...!
But they didn't give me a flute and a piece of cedar... Her brow furrowed again as she began to realize what she was really holding. They gave me what they think might help me...the last link to Wabasso...and a vision...
They gave me these just like the pebble and the blanket and the ashes, and the tobacco...they want me to succeed...
They're relying on me. Everybody on this Island...is relying on me now...
Her eyes blurred. She bit back the tears this time though, and slipped the sprig of cedar over her head so it dangled around her neck. She then tucked the blanket around herself, her hand with the flute free so that she held it over her knee. She took a breath and let it out, shutting the pain in her knees out of her mind and closing her eyes. She pressed the pebble against her tongue as hard as she could, and tried to stop thinking so much. Her fingers dug into Wabasso's flute hard enough to leave its impression on her hand, but she didn't notice or care. She thought about the sound it had made before, the long low drifting note, and imagined that note floating through her head, as if Wabasso himself still sat nearby, playing it for her. This thought almost brought a sting of sorrow to her breast...but she drifted past the feeling, rather than push it away, and eventually everything around her faded.
By daybreak, when Stick-In-The-Dirt at last tentatively picked his way back toward the Arch to peek in on her, he saw that the flute had dropped into her lap, her fingers loose and her head drooping forward in a sleep beyond sleep.
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