The day after Na-ka-chek gave Raki and me our brown feathers, he summoned us to the Great Tepee.
“You have fulfilled my commands.” he said, “and earned the privileges of tribal brotherhood. I wish you to become the Chief of your own tribe next spring, on the Day of the Sowing, for that is the time of growth and re-birth. You will be eighteen, so you cannot say that I have burdened you with years before giving you authority. It is the Law of the Two Trees that the Brown Feather is free to make his own decisions…he has the right to take part in the Choosing which is at the next full moon. If you both wish it, I cannot any longer prevent you sharing the same tepee. …”
My heart leaped like a young deer. Raki and I would be together again…the magic of the birch grove would come back to us. Was it really true that we no longer had to fear lonely tomorrows?
My father was still speaking. “It is no longer necessary for Raki to live with the squaws or Piyanah with the Braves: you are free to decide what you must do, but first I want you to listen to the advice of the man who is still your Chief. I shall not give you the double headdress until the spring, and that is ten moons distant. If Piyanah becomes Raki’s squaw before then, the Young Braves may forget she is their equal. For six years you have given me much cause for pride, pride which has sometimes been almost impossible to conceal. I ask for ten more moons to complete my promise to your mother.”
He must have seen my disappointment, for he said with a rare gentleness, “Compared to the past years, I ask so few restrictions of you both: only that you shall not share a tepee, only that you think more of the happiness of your future tribe than of your own immediate wishes. There are reasons why I ask you to do this. …”
I saw that he was searching for the right words and was suddenly sorry for him. I had never seen Na-ka-chek hesitant before.
“What reasons, Father? Tell them, and we shall understand.”
“When a man takes his squaw into the woods, or shares his tepee with her, children are born to them. I want you both to lead your tribe in equality, and during the first moons in unfamiliar country Piyanah must continue to think as a man. There will be many decisions which you must make together; and it is not easy for a woman to think clearly when she is heavy with child.”
“I understand,” said Raki. “Piyanah shall remain free, so that together we shall lead our people to the country of their future.”
We left the tepee and took the path to the river.
“He meant our magic, didn’t he, Raki?”
He nodded.
“Then it isn’t only the Before People, and the animals, and us who know it…it is everyone’s magic too?”
“Weather, and trees, and mountains belong to everyone, Piyanah, yet all people see them differently. A cloud can be a beautiful shape, or a song prouder than an oriole’s, or a threat of rain…or only a cloud, ordinary and without any special meaning. Our magic is not the same to everyone: it can be laughter, and the end of the loneliness and the voice of the stars; or it can be cold as the cruelty of separation, drab and lonely…lonely as tears that are shed for something unheard which might have sung with the morning.”
“Why didn’t we have a child after the birch grove?”
“I don’t know, Piyanah. Perhaps because our children are not yet ready to enter the world through our bodies.”
“But you think our son might come now if we used our magic?”
“Yes…and it will not be easy to wait so long. I thought that when we had gained the brown feathers we should be free for magic. I have wanted you until I ached with longing, with pain more intense than hunger and keener than thirst. I know why stags fight in the autumn, for though I have often asked the Great Hunters to give me more understanding, I have sometimes wanted to kill Gorgi and Tekeeni, when I saw they were seeing you not as a Brave but as a woman, beautiful and magical.”
“Am I beautiful, Raki?”
“Is a white hind, or a birch tree, or a mountain lake, or a sunrise, beautiful, Piyanah? Think of them and know yourself to be of their company; then you will understand why everyone who looks at you should wear the feathers of the dawn.”
“It has been difficult for me too, Raki. I want to be your squaw so very much; to cook your food and even to think of new patterns for your moccasins. …I should use very small beads, so many of them, even though they are such a nuisance to sew! I should like to do my hair in many little plaits to show that I was your dutiful squaw, though I won’t put bear’s grease on them, even to please you, because I don’t like the smell!”
“Neither do I, my Piyanah. I like the smell of you, which is moss warm in the sun, and young leaves, and running water, and the white exhilaration of the first snows.”
“It is not only to do useful things for you that I sometimes long to be a squaw. I am very fond of Rokeena, but when she looks at you like a sick gopher I suddenly want to smack her or pull her hair, to find out whether in spite of her placid smile she has the courage to fight for the man she wants!”
“Are you jealous of Rokeena?” He laughed. “How silly and how beautiful of you! Now I can stop feeling ashamed when I think the same things about Georgi…though mine would be much harder than a slap! It is a very strong magic, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, “so strong that even if we buried it under a white stone that was larger than a mountain we should never be able to forget it.”
“Wouldn’t it be terrible if we did!”
And then we laughed at ourselves for being so solemn; the sun was warm and Raki and Piyanah had so nearly built their bridge over the canyon of the seven years.
Kekki, and twelve of the others who had been given their brown feathers at the same time as Raki and I, intended to go to the Choosing, though the women they would take into the woods already belonged to our tribe and would never go back to the Squaws’ Tepees. Raki and I had been so sure that Na-ka-chek would give us the Double Headdress as soon as we had passed the ordeals that we had never considered the possibility of staying with the Two Trees until the next spring. Now I realized that if the other women used the magic they might be heavy with child, and so unable to go with us when we made the long journey to find the place where we belonged. Na-ka-chek had said, “Piyanah must be free to think as a man when she leads the new tribe.” It would be still more difficult for the other squaws to prove their equality if they were encumbered by babies, born and unborn, during the first moons of the Feathers.
Raki had gone hunting with the Chief and might not return for three days, the evening before the Choosing. The sear of disappointment had not yet cooled, so I knew the others would find it difficult to accept that they must wait nearly another year. It would be hard for the women to be told that they must stay under the shadow of the Old Women until we could set them free. Or need they wait? Na-ka-chek had said that Raki and I might not share a tepee yet, but he had allowed us to do everything else together. We could build a small encampment for the squaws who wished to come with us: there they would be free of the Old Women, free of the taunts and sly whispers of the squaws who still clung to the spider’s web of false tradition and would not struggle to free themselves.
This idea seemed better the more I looked at it. The women would have a chance to grow used to freedom, used to being without the protection of habit: I knew that even Raki and I had found it difficult to feel secure away from the circle of tepees until we had found our little valley. They already knew the men with whom they would share the future, but they had always met them furtively, afraid of the wrath of the Old Women if they were discovered. It is more difficult for love to grow strong when it has to be kept hidden from the sunlight, for only the spawn of the Carrion Crow can thrive in darkness. Here they would be able to earn the right to magic, in friendship and equality. Magic would kindle their torches, but first they must find humour, and kindliness, and shared experience to make brands for that kindling.
As Raki was away, I decided to find Dorrok; to discuss my plan with him. He was in his tepee, polishing a fish-spear with sand. He looked up as I entered, and from habit I gave him the greeting due to a Brown Feather. Then he laughed, and I realized that as we were now of equal rank there was no need of formality between us. I sat on a folded blanket at the end of his sleeping-mat.
“Dorrok,” I said, “I want you to tell the others that they mustn’t take part in the Choosing. I am not sure how much they know. Will you tell them?”
“About women, you mean?”
“About the magic that makes children…though I suppose to most people it isn’t magical.”
“Is it to you, Piyanah?”
“Yes. …I thought it was a magic that Raki and I had discovered; until yesterday, when we realized that it belonged to everyone, and that it was also the way to make children.”
“It was the day after the battle, wasn’t it, Piyanah?”
“Yes. Then you knew about it all the time? That was why you sent Gorgi to tell us we need not come back for three days?”
“I followed you, Piyanah, when I heard that you had gone in search of a second scalp…but Raki was ahead of me. I saw him kill the Black Feather; I saw him carry you into the woods. And I knew you would find there the magic that so few of us ever find.”
“Did you find it, Dorrok?”
“No, very dear, Piyanah. Seventeen years ago I fathered a son. It was my duty to the tribe: a duty like hunting or making a journey to fetch salt, and it was the only duty I have nearly failed to carry out. The girl was frightened of me; I tried to be kind to her, but I could not defeat her terrible docility. I think that if I had told her I was going to cut off her hands she would still have lain there, staring up at me with the same questioning obedience which tried to mask her fear. I have often felt a traitor to the Great Hunters since I learned their laws from you. …”
“You have never been a traitor, Dorrok,” I said gently.
“I killed a doe in the breeding season because I was hungry: the fawn was alive when I slit her belly to gralloch her; it lived until the evening, and then I had to kill it too, so that it should not die for lack of the milk I had stolen. I have driven you and Raki nearly beyond endurance, because I was afraid that the love I felt for you might prove my weakness. I have been proud when I hardened my heart against love, and ashamed when I felt compassion. In so many ways I have betrayed the Great Hunters, but never so deeply as when I took that girl into the woods. I hated her because she would not cry for pity; I was afraid of her because that dumb suffering might make my body refuse to obey the needs of the tribe.
“Later I asked her how she learned such impassivity, and she answered, quite simply, as I might describe a fish-trap or the way to fletch an arrow, ‘There is much less pain in the Choosing than I expected. I need not have driven so many thorns under my nails, nor worn a girdle of porcupine quills under my tunic, if I had known how easy it would be to keep impassive with a man.’ It became a challenge to my pride to break down that impassivity. I tried to give her pleasure, and when that failed, to make her whimper with pain. But she remained obedient, and looked at me with the terrible patient hatred of the squaw.”
“She had a son?”
“Yes,” said Dorrok, “a son who never knew my name: a son she must have hated because he looked like me; a son she was glad to see leave the Squaws’ Tepees for ever. I am glad that she died before he entered the Death Canoe: I should have seen her standing beside the path, smiling as his body was carried to the funeral pyre, smiling because part of me had died too young.”
“Barakeechi was your son?”
“He is my son; and one day, when I have followed the Feathers of the Morning, he will recognize the link between us.
“He knows it already. He loves you, Dorrok, I know he does, as I do.”
He took my hand and held it for a moment between his own, then gently touched the callouses on the palm with his forefinger. “You love me in spite of these? In spite of the scars on your feet where I never spared you on stony trails? In spite of the scar on your shoulder that came from the cliff I knew was too steep for you to climb?”
“Perhaps I love you because of the scars, Dorrok. You made me strong enough to fulfill our promise to my mother, and in loving me you have fulfilled your promise to your son.
“It is a strong bridge that we have made over the Canyon…honour and endurance. …”
“And love, Dorrok.”
“Yes, and love. Without love all bridges must crumble into dust.” Then his voice changed, as though he was still afraid of the warmth of emotion. “But you did not come here to talk about me: it was of the Choosing?”
“Yes, Dorrok. How much do the others know about making children?”
“Very little. I should have told them tonight, or tomorrow, what they must do in duty to the tribe.”
Then I told Dorrok of my plan, and of how Raki and I were not to use the magic until we had been given the Double Headdress.
“Na-ka-chek is a wise man, and you share his wisdom with your own,” he said. “I will tell those who are going to the South with us that they must all attend the Choosing, but only as a formality, in accordance with the laws of the Two Trees. They shall take the squaws into the woods, but only to save them from the Old Women. Tomorrow we will choose a place for the encampment, and build shelters for them to use until we have made new tepees. Gorgi and the others shall hear from me how they must win the right to use the magic, and that to betray it is to betray both the Before People and the Great Hunters. In love they shall be worthy of magic, worthy of becoming the ancestors of a tribe who shall be known as the Singing People, because of them the future generations shall be happy together.”