Chapter Fourteen
The three of them sat beside the newly revived fire. Kele, though unsteady, had managed to walk there. Their awe of the place ebbed and flowed, but never entirely disappeared, even after Sascho discovered that the three-legged black pot was, somehow, still full of stew. It seemed that the old couple had intended to provide for them. Besides that, there were two well-tanned deer skins neatly rolled and laid behind a small stack of dry wood.
They squatted and ate. Yaot’l and Sascho hastily, all the time looking over their shoulders. They could not rid themselves of the notion that the bears might suddenly reappear.
When they had emptied the pot, Sascho took Kele upon his back while Yaot’l shouldered the three hides and they set out again, with little else than the remains of their tattered clothing. They all knew it would be hard to finish their journey with bare feet, even tough as theirs were.
“Should we take the pot?” Kele asked.
“No,” Sascho replied. “That belongs to the Drybones.”
“And to this place, too, I think,” Yaot’l added.
As the old man had indicated, directly behind the trees they found a broad flat stone outcrop, the surface of which was heavily grooved in a single direction. Here, too, was another wonder, for upon that stood three pair of moose hide moccasins.
“Look! They fit perfectly!” Kele’s face brightened as he put them on. “How kind those old people have been!”
Sascho and Yaot’l, once again, were struck dumb—they did not know how to reply or what to say to one another, although their thoughts were running wild. Instead, they simply stopped, sat down and put on the fine new shoes. To herself, Yaot’l thought that it was a good thing they had behaved in a way worthy of the elders’ kindness…Together, we have walked with spirits.
Sascho sighted along the stone. As he looked out, he saw a shallow blue pool cupped into the horizon. Was that, after all this time, Marten Lake out there, waiting for them?
Just as he stood considering, he heard a happy bark and their dog came trotting out of the bushes. He greeted them with a few more yelps and bounces while they called to him.
“Good dog! Good dog!” They were all happy to see him. Yaot’l felt bad that she’d forgotten him in the rush of events, but then remembered how the dog had seemed to understand every word that the old man had spoken last night. The dog didn’t look the worse for wear today, in fact, his gut was rather distended, as if he’d found many, many small rabbits. They scratched his head and thumped his sides while he made a waggling arc against their legs, his spotted tongue lolling, his wet eyes shining with the pleasure of seeing them again.
After a time of trudging through the brush, Kele asked to walk. He slowed their passage somewhat as he was not too steady on his feet, but, Sascho, whose will was at its limit, had wearied of carrying him. They found Kele a stick to lean upon, and kept on as well as they could. Kele followed, on his feet now, but clearly as weak Tanis had ever been. Up ahead, Sascho scanned every rock and clump of brush for trail sign.
The strange exhilaration at the beginning of the day when they’d set out, bellies filled with good stew, began to die as the day passed. Every ache and pain drummed inside their bodies.
We are walking ghosts, Yaot’l thought, covered only with mud and rags.
After skirting around over a rocky rise, they made a stop, for there, wonderfully, was a clear spring, squirting right out of the rock. They drank their fill, but nevertheless, they were all feeling tired again. They’d found a few berries here and there along their way, but of a kind they knew they should not eat too many of.
“I believe we are close to the lakes, and to the river, Nàı̨lı̨ı̨, at last.”
Sascho dashed forward and then let out a whoop. The pool here had no outlet, but a swamp had formed on the low side, and there was a circle of willow stumps—the cutting clearly done by other travelers. From these, bright new growth gently waved. There were also three small poplars. One of them had a right angle crook in its trunk, a thing that did not happen naturally.
I was here with Uncle John!
Sascho wanted to leap and spin, for his goal was now in sight. Yaot’l, who’d been watching, left Kele where he knelt still splashing his face, and went to join her best friend.
“Look! I’ve been here, at this very spot, just last year. We are not far from the lake now! It’s just two or three days—look! There’s the marker.”
Looking around, able at last to see something beyond her own feet and his face, Yaot’l spotted the bent poplar. She managed a smile.
“Two days is a long time. I am not hungry at all, but poor Kele is very weak.”
“I know what you mean. I’m covered with bruises. Just about everything hurts.” Sascho stretched his arms over his head. He felt as stiff as an old man.
“Let’s stay by that June berry tree back where the water comes out. We can rest. Then, before the sun goes down, we can travel on a little more.”
“I don’t know if I can get up again if I go to sleep.” Kele slowly lowered himself onto the ground.
“Just rest now,” said Yaot’l. “Don’t worry about later.”
When the boy looked up, eyes full of doubt, Sascho said, “—I was here with my Uncle. We’ll find Tłı̨chǫ soon—maybe even tomorrow.”
Barking broke their sleep. Consciousness intruded into their minds like a blunt knife.
“It is past time to make a fire.” It was a man’s deep voice.
Sascho and Yaot’l sat up as one. Long low rays of sun sent a tongue of light into their bower. Nearby the dog barked and danced, somewhere between fear and acceptance. A spare man squatted nearby, his muscular hands resting upon his knees. On his head was a hat with a short white feather tucked into the headband. On the ground beside him was a bulging leather hunting pack. Before Yaot’l, mind full of sleep, could grasp who, exactly, this was, Sascho leapt to his feet.
“Uncle John! I—I thought you’d be gone after caribou.”
“Can’t hunt for caribou while I still have family to find.” John stood easily. “And here, I have found you and Yaot’l and a young friend—as well as a good dog.” He extended his fingers toward the dog and said a few comforting words
Sascho wanted to fling himself into his Uncle’s arms, but that would not be manly. He put out his hand, as the kwet’ı̨ı̨̀ did. John smiled slightly, but took his nephew’s hand between both of his.
“How did you know we’d be here?”
John shrugged. “An Indian agent came up to our łık'àdèè k'è some weeks back. He asked about you, Yaot’l, and about a brother and sister from Behchok’o. He said you had all run away from their school.”
Kele, last to get to his feet, declared stoutly, “I won’t ever go back there.”
“You must be Kele.” John studied the slight boy before him. “You know the government will punish your family if they keep you away. You must speak to your family about what to do.”
“I don’t care what anyone does to them. I will never go back.”
John nodded. It was clear that although he disapproved of the boy’s disregard for his family, he also had a fair idea of the desperation that prompted the speech.
“Where is your sister, Kele Stonypoint?”
Kele took the question like a body blow. He staggered, wrapped thin arms around his gut, hung his head. Sascho found the words his friend could not say.
“I camped in a bad place, Uncle. There was rain somewhere. A flood came through our camp and took Tanis.” Sascho, filled with grief and guilt, bowed his head. “Mr. Drybones found us and helped us. He led us to where Tanis lay, so we could bury her in the right way.”
Yaot’l, remembering slim fingers emerging from the mud, felt a choking grief. Understanding that Sascho could say no more, she said, “Mr. Drybones and his wife fed us and we slept in their camp. They saved Kele.”
John’s gaze deepened, as he considered the two young people before him. If he had more to say about what had happened, he would not do it now.
“I am glad I found you. Before my friends and I parted this morning, we divided our meat. But before you eat again, Kele Stonypoint, we must build a sweat lodge. I saw an outcrop of Lava Rocks just a little ways back. I think it is a sign that we should do a cleansing ceremony before we travel onward. Yaot’l, if you will do us the honor of preparing the fire.”
“Of course, goɂeh. I will gather the wood.”
Traditionally the cleansing ceremony was separate for men and women but, there being no others, Yaot’l readily accepted the honor of fire tender.
“I dreamed I’d need to do a ceremony when I found you. We will return to the rocks I saw, find a clear spot and get started. We only need it large enough for three. Three men, three rocks, it is good.”
The two boys and Yaot’l followed John as he led them downhill where one small creek made a tinkling joining with another. Just as he’d said, an outcrop of fine-grained lava rock, well fractured, showed along the eroded face abutting the path.
“Here will do well.” He stopped in front of a level clearing where a ditch like crevice ran along the ground. “If Yaot’l starts the fire here, Sascho and Kele can dig a small fire pit for the center of our lodge.” He walked a few feet away to show them where he wanted the pit. “We’ll build the lodge around this spot.”
Everyone started their assigned chores. John picked and placed the lava rocks and then, from the creek, refilled the water satchel that he carried with him whenever he traveled.
“You have done well,” he said, when he surveyed the area where the boys had dug out the hole for the fire pit and smoothed the ground.
“Sascho you can get willows for the ribs, strip them down with your knife, and we’ll bend them to form the frame. Kele, gather enough leafy bushes to cover the frame and make it tight.”
“Shall I start the fire?” Yaot’l asked.
“Yes. The rocks must be glowing hot when we start.”
The boys brought the ribs and bushes. John, who had stripped three long slabs from a nearby stand of birch and fastened them into a single panel to cover the entrance, set to work forming the ribs and intertwining the bushes until a tightly covered womblike structure enveloped the pit in the ground and stood ready.
“We will be crowded inside,” John said, “but that is good. It is tight inside the womb.”
He laid the birch panel against the opening to the structure and turned to Yaot’l. “I will ask you to bring the rocks to me once we are inside. We must remove our clothing to enter grandmother’s womb, so you will need to close your eyes.”
Yaot’l nodded, and turned back to the fire.
The three removed their clothes and entered the lodge.
“We are ready,” John spoke to Yaot’l through the doorway.
Yaot’l picked up the y-shaped stick John had made so that she could safely lift the rocks out of the fire. One by one she brought the rocks, handed the stick through the doorway to John, who took each one, placed it in the fire pit and returned the stick to Yaot’l, repeating the procedure until all of the rocks had been placed in the fire pit.
John then pulled the birch panel across the entrance and closed the sweat. Yaot’l seated herself in front of the opening to await his call to re-open the lodge.
Inside, John began a traditional opening song. He song invited gocho and the nature spirts, the fire spirits and water spirits to join them.
After the song, John poured the first round of water onto the rocks and steam quickly filled the sweat lodge.
John then began a prayer for the women spirits, for Tanis and for Yaot’l and all the female spirits, those just coming to mother earth and those leaving mother earth. When he finished the prayer, he reached for the water satchel and added another round of water.
“This round is for the male spirits,” John said. “We will reach inside ourselves with this prayer and bring out any anger and pain we feel. It is time to release all of our rage and despair and allow ourselves to be cleansed.”
Kele felt the sweat pouring out of him. In the darkness, his flesh in contact with the men on either side, he remembered what had been done to him. Stew, from the Drybones’ never empty black pot, threatened to bubble up and pour from his mouth. He felt as if he would burst.
Silence, broken only by the hissing of steam against the rocks, filled the sweat lodge. John began a rhythmic chant, first slow and then faster and faster. Sascho joined his voice with his uncle and soon Kele began to howl in bursts of anger and grief. John increased the tempo of the chant, faster and faster, and Kele’s shrieks of pain shook the leaves of the sweat lodge, until finally, exhausted by what he’d released, he collapsed against Sascho, who held his sobbing little brother in his arms.
“This is good Kele Stonypoint,” John said, “for you to let go all of your anger and rage so it will not burden you on your pathway. I will add more water now, to cleanse this pain.”
John picked up his satchel and poured more water onto the rocks. Steam filled the space causing them to breathe only in the shortest gasps. John then lifted his voice to the spirits, asking that their little sister Tanis, whose spirit had so recently departed, would be guided by the gocho to join her family in the spirit world.
When he had finished the song, John picked up his satchel. “It is time for our final round,” he said, pouring the last of his water onto the rocks.
“This is our warrior round,” John signalled the ending of the sweat lodge by raising his voice in the howls and yells of a warrior striding into battle. Sascho and Kele joined him, their voices intensified by the lung-searing heat of the steam rising from the red hot rocks in the pit. Finally, with a long releasing howl, John called out:
“All My Relations, Open the Door.”
Yaot’l, summoned by the traditional cry to re-open the sweat lodge, removed the birch panel, and shielding her eyes, opened the doorway for the men to leave grandmother’s womb.
The sun had gone. Two weary young people, a dog, and a man sat facing a small, bright fire. The dog chewed contentedly on a bone held between his paws. Nearby, Kele slept, his slight body curled upon a bed of leaves and spruce branches. The camp of his Grandparents, Uncle John said, was but a few days away beside the Little Marten which lay on their way to Whati. This would easily cut two days from their journey. Very soon, he would be with them.
The rich smell of meat still hung in the air. Preparing the food and eating had been the next order of business; they’d hardly spoken until that was done. Over their heads familiar stars burned in blue black sky.
Yaot’l had wanted to ask a question since they’d sat down, but did not think it her place. Happily, Sascho also had the same question in mind.
“Do you know Mr. Drybones, Goɂeh? He—he said he knew you.”
His uncle nodded. “We know one another. I do not know him as well as I could wish, certainly, but there are times when we travel together along the same roads.”
“Um‑‑here, by Marten Lake?”
“Here, yes. Sometimes in other places.”
Yaot’l and Sascho shared a look. His uncle said no more, but they both still burned with curiosity, wondering what he knew about the mysterious Mr. Drybones and his even more mysterious wife. And were these ‘other places’ of which he spoke a part of the dream time?
John Lynx reached into his pocket and drew out his smoking things, a pipe and a small bag. After he’d lit it, he drew upon the mixture gently.
“You stayed in the Drybones camp overnight?”
His gaze fixed on Yaot’l.
“Yes, Goɂeh Lynx. He found us and his wife fed us from a big black pot.”
“I too have eaten from that pot,” John replied. “The food that comes from it lasts a very long time.” Yaot’l could only nod. Not knowing exactly what was proper, she continued on.
“They had found Kele and were already caring for him when we arrived. Until then we—we thought that he too was dead.”
“Kele was asleep in their shelter.” Sascho found his voice again. “I—I wanted to speak with him, but Mr. Drybones said I must not—not until morning.”
“And in the morning?”
Yaot’l and Sascho gazed at one another, wondering how much they should say—after all, encounters with the ts'ı̨ı̨ta were secret, powerful.
“They were both gone,” Sascho said.
“Yes.” Yaot’l nodded. “Two bears were there.” She remembered how still she’d lain, how neither of them had moved a muscle, had hardly dared to breathe. She remembered how she’d been afraid—and, at once not afraid—.
“Two bears.” The fragrance of John’s special blend of bearberries, chokecherries, alder and red osier, filled their nostrils. “And here you are alive and well.”
He considered them for a time and then asked, “Did they speak?”
Yaot’l was surprised when Sascho said, “I dreamed of a bear, Uncle John, when I was in their camp. He was old, but he spoke to me. I‑‑I was not afraid because I too was a bear.”
“That is good, nephew. We’ll speak more of this when our journey is done. There will be plenty of traveling through the winter, I think, in the north.”
Yaot’l remembered her own dream. She looked down, feeling the tears, which now came so easily, start into her eyes. Sascho had found his uncle and now he would travel north with him—but what is to happen to me?
Her heart began to ache at the thought of losing him, but Sascho’s hand enclosed hers.
“I want to go with you, Goɂeh, but I cannot leave Yaot’l behind.”
“Neither of you can return to Gam`e`t`i.” John said. “The agent will not forget your escape and even now one of those men is in Whati for the children. Yaot’l will travel on with us. We will take her to the winter camp, far beyond Rabesca Lake. Her family will be pleased that my nephew returns to his family and is ready to work for the bride price.”
Sascho tucked her hand against his side to be less visible, but he didn’t let it go. Yaot’l’s heart veered from sorrow to delight at his warm touch.
“Yaot’l, I must tell you that your father died last year, soon after you disappeared. He is buried in Behchok’o.”
“My mother and little brother‑‑?” The loss of Yaot’l’s father was saddening, although she had suspected as much. Tears tugged into her eyes. She had resigned herself during the winter to the idea that her father Rene was dead.
It was yet another loss in a world she thought had been completely rent by the loss of Tanis. That she still had tears amazed her. Rene had been a good provider for all his family. He had not gotten drunk or beaten her mother. He’d worked hard, either at the mine, or out trapping, for much of every year. It was, however, as if she’d just heard of the death of a much looked up to but only occasional visitor. Even so, right this minute, the loss cut to the heart.
“Your brother Charlie is with them now. He is a good son.”
“Oh, Charlie! That is good news! I have worried. Before I was taken, we hadn’t heard from him in such a long time.”
“Everyone is happy that your brother returned.”
“And look, Goɂeh Lynx! Thanks to Sylvain Zoe, I still have Charlie’s knife.” She removed it from the waist pouch that had miraculously stayed with her through everything, culminating in the flood. The bone handle, like everything else, was darkened by mud, but the flying goose was there. The knife now had a long story behind it—about how it had been lost but had come back to her, how it had cut vines, roots, and meat and how it had fleshed hides in the wilderness.
John smiled at the sight of Charlie’s handiwork. “That knife could tell us many things—but I think you will tell me more. In winter, there will be time for all our stories. Your brother is a good provider, as was his father, and generous, too. Snow geese clan ate well last winter.”
Yaot’l wondered if her mother would marry again, if anyone would ask for her. She was still handsome and skilled, although she was no longer a young woman.
Well, the geese mate for life. Maybe mother feels that way too.
Beside her sat Sascho, attentive to his uncle. As Yaot’l studied his handsome profile, she saw the future she wanted.
At Little Marten Lake, as John had said, they found the camp of Kele’s grandparents as well as a number of other kin. His family took him in and shed tears of joy to have him with them at last. They approved of the burial which Sascho was able to report. They heartily grieved for Tanis, but reassured Kele that his sister lay within the Tłı̨chǫ dèè, so her spirit was at home. When, a few days later, John, Sascho and Yaot’l departed, there were no tears. With those wise people to guide Kele’s path, they felt he would be able to find his way to wellbeing again.
Later, Yaot’l would think of this as the year she and her gòı̀chı started their life’s journey. Paddling sometimes, borrowing canoes, and in company with John, they followed the shining water trail‑‑ Nàı̨lı̨ı̨, east, Marian River, north. The leaves of ever smaller and ever more isolated groves of aspen turned gold and then fell. Next, the trees turned to shrubs or simply disappeared. Nights were frigid; the aurora of their gocho shimmered between them and the stars.
East of Gam`e`t`i, they encountered the camp of Yaot’l’s mother, of Charlie and others of their family band. Already many had gone further north and east, toward Black Lichen and Rabesca Lake, to trap. Those who were still at camp rejoiced to have these two fine young people restored to them.
When everyone heard the story of their escape and of their travels, it was quickly agreed that it would be best for them to marry at once. They had already journeyed together and shared life’s burdens—what unknowns could be left? Both Lynx and Snowgoose families understood the worth of their young people, and knew that such a union would strengthen them both. The women folk, it was decided, would accompany their men deeper into the bush than usual and ready themselves for the winter, somewhere far beyond the ken of kw'ahtıı or ekw'ahtı.
It was smoky inside the shelter. The huddled forms of sleepers occasionally snuffled, coughed or shifted. This far north, in the dead of winter, it stayed dark much of the time and people slept or woke as it pleased them or as a need arose. John, Charlie and Sascho had returned in the dark, near frozen, from a long circuit of the nearby lakes, carrying skins of marten and fox and the fresh meat, too.
Outside wind sent the dry snow skittering and snaking across a frozen world. Yaot’l had gone outside to the cache to get food for the dogs; each one hunkered down in his own bunker of white. They were happy to see her and roused themselves, shaking off the snow as they each bolted their share of dried fish.
Before returning to the shelter, Yaot’l turned and watched that final shard of sun, her eyes tearing as the long red-gold arms retracted and disappeared beneath a blue glazed horizon. Flying ice stung her high cheeks and froze into her lashes before she finally withdrew her gaze.
When she re-entered, quickly through the canvas flap, she saw that Sascho and John were awake. John leaned on one arm as Sascho turned up the kerosene flame on the camp stove to make tea. Yaot’l removed her fur boots and scuffed on the hide slippers she’d left alongside others at the door.
“Are the dogs all right?”
“Yes. Hungry.”
“A lot of work for them, the last few weeks,” John said.
Sascho tilted a packet of loose leaves into a tin pot. The scent of mingled sassafras and china tea graced the air.
Later, when everyone else was awake, cups of hot liquid warmed every hand. Yaot’l’s mother, Little Brother, John Lynx, Charlie and his wife, Nina, as well as Aunt Dedìì and Uncle Dzemi Lynx shared the shelter. It was crowded, but it was winter, after all.
Uncle John and the others had seen something strange while checking the traps. He’d been pondering this new development for a time and now began to speak of it.
“I have seen a new kwet’ı̨ı̨̀ machine that runs on gasoline and slides across the snow. It will be another thing of theirs which will change the way we live. Soon, many of these machines will travel everywhere in winter, great distances, and that will lessen the knowledge of our hunters as they speed across the dèè and do not take the time to notice what’s around them. Men will be tempted to hunt more than they can eat. The machines will scare the animals and leave oil on the ground and in the water—worse than any putt-putt.”
“Still, to make winter easier, that machine could be a good thing for us, too. If we want to feed our families, we have to find the animals before kwet’ı̨ı̨̀ does.” Charlie, a young man with a new wife, shared his optimistic thoughts on this new development. He too had been pondering long and hard ever since they’d come upon this strange machine, blundering its way through the wilderness.
“You worry too much, John,” said Uncle Dzemi. “Gasoline stores are far away and fuel is heavy. I think it will take a long time before such a machine is used by many.”
“Well, I shall watch and see what happens among our people. Changes come fast these days. I have spoken as I think,” John said, “though I ever hope all will be well.”
Everyone sat silently, turning thoughts of the new snow machine over in their minds.
After a time, Sascho got up, put on his mittens and went out. He could feel the heavens calling to him.
A little later, a few last scraps of their meal in hand, Yaot’l followed.
She paused to draw the strings of her fur hood tighter while she emerged through the opening. Above her was the long dark of winter and a sky filled with glory, so she knew her husband had gone out to be a part of it.
Against the hard shine of so many stars, she saw his silhouette illuminated by the glow of a pale yellow-green aurora. It was soft and see-through, tonight lapping gently, like water upon a sandy beach.
At first he continued to look up, but the nearest dog, their mild Dı̀ga, smelled the scraps and let out a little yip, calling to her. When he did, Sascho turned.
Yaot’l tossed the scraps to the dog before she joined her husband. It was something all young couples did during their first winters together, seek ways to be—if only briefly--alone. When they were close, they drew together, hooded face to face, only ice crystal breath moving in and out between them.
“Are you worried by these new snow machines?”
“Yes,” Yaot’l whispered. “Everything keeps changing and we can’t stop it.”
“Perhaps we can learn a right way to use the snow machines, a way where we can also take good care of the dèè. The dèè is our home, our dwelling, so it’s important for us to always respect it and respect the animals who give their lives to feed and clothe us. "
She looked sad and doubtful, so, very gently, he kissed her. Before the school, she had never been afraid, but now she often was, though she did her best to hide this and go on as bravely as before.
When the kiss was done, she gazed seriously into his eyes. “But whatever happens, good or ill, from now on, Sascho, wherever we walk will be our home. We will be together while we travel from one end to the other of the dèè, the home that Nǫ̀htsı̨ has created for us.”
“And for that reason,” Sascho replied, “We shall always be happy.”
The End
