Wabi

UNLIKE THAT MONSTER WHICH ROAMED somewhere in the woods around Valley Village, I had no fear of fire. I could easily have leaped over that circle of flame around Valley Village. But I did not like the idea of having arrows shot at me by men ready to attack anything that tried to break through. I stopped just outside and called out loudly enough to be heard over the roaring crackle of burning logs and brush.

One whose hearing was that of an ordinary human might not have heard how the humans on the other side of the fire reacted to my words.

“Perhaps it is a trick,” a third man said. His voice was even more uncertain than the first man’s had been. In spite of the danger, I smiled. It was the large young man who had tried to be my friend. Fat Face.

“I know that voice,” a fourth person said. His tone was not uncertain, but grave and clear, that of a man whose years had given him wisdom. It was Dojihla’s father, Wowadam.

Almost immediately, the section of the fire in front of me began to move. The fires were burning so hot that no one could approach them too closely, but the men had fashioned poles of green wood, three times as long as a man is tall. They were using them to push and pry the brush and logs to the side to make an opening. It was hard work. Those poles were so heavy that they could only lift them with difficulty and then drag them by one end. Hard and hardly necessary. I could leap high enough.

I took a step back, made a short run, and jumped. I soared over that opening, over the heads of the men, and landed softly on the ground behind them.

“You know me,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “I am Wabi, just Wabi.” I tapped the beads that hung around my neck. Fat Face had been close by my side when the old man had given them to me. “Remember?”

“Ah,” Fat Face said, “Wabi. Wabi, ah, of course.” But he did not look or sound reassured. When I lifted my hand from his shoulder he took several steps backward very quickly. A little too quickly, for he stumbled and sat down hard on the ground, his eyes still on me.

I turned toward Dojihla’s father. He, at least, had a smile on his face, even though I did not understand what he meant by what he said next.

Dojihla’s father nodded his head. “Of course. What else indeed?” He reached his hand out to grasp my forearm. “I am glad to see you.”

That surprised me, considering how I had left Valley Village. Not only that, I no longer wore my headband. Though I had given them no thought at all until now, my ears—so unlike those of a real human being—were clearly visible, their feathery tips rising up above my hair. But Wowadam was not looking at my ears. His eyes held mine, looking into them in a way that told me he was really seeing me. He truly was glad I was there.

“How did you know that a monster was coming?” I asked, swinging my free arm toward the fire that was at least the work of a full day.

“We were warned,” Wowadam said. “So we spent all day gathering fuel and making the fires. And it was good that we did so. Just as we finished, Majiawasos came rushing from the forest, knocking down trees. But when he saw our fires, he feared to cross them. He circled our village for half the night, roaring with anger. He just went back among the trees before you arrived.”

Majiawasos. The Bad Bear. So it was a huge bearlike monster. That made sense to me. But who had warned them?

Relief washed over me like a gentle night wind that lifts your wings. I looked around at the circle of faces that had begun to gather as word of my presence spread. Of course, not everyone came to look at me. All around the village, people had to stay by their posts, piling on more fuel to keep the fires burning. But those who had come to look also seemed pleased to see me. All but two women, one older and one young. The older woman’s face was one I recognized. It was Dojihla’s mother. She and the girl beside her appeared worried.

Wowadam turned to her. “What do you mean? Everyone was told that they must stay within the circle of fire if they did not want to be caught by Majiawasos. Who would be headstrong enough to . . .”

Dojihla’s mother nodded. She indicated the girl who stood beside her. “Peskawawon has just told me, even though Dojihla forbade her to do so. Her best friend, our daughter, slipped away into the forest before the fires were lit.”

“She said that just making fires around us would not be enough,” Peskawawon said, her words bursting forth in a torrent like water from a broken dam. “Those fires would burn out and then we would not be safe. She said that she had to find the Village Guardian because only he could save us. Perhaps he would forgive her and come back.”

“After you left the village,” Fat Face said, the friendly look back again, “people began to talk about you. They realized that with your strength and skill, you could easily have done us harm if you had wished to. You were not a monster.”

“Then,” Peskawawon said, “Dojihla herself decided who you really were. And she was so sorry that she had driven you away.”

A tall old woman with a kind face was looking at me from the far end of the crowd. Her hands were held up to get my attention. But I had no time to speak with anyone else. I turned toward Fat Face.

I lifted it from the ground. It was made from a young ash tree. It was as big around as my wrist. Where the end of it had been used to move the burning wood and brush, it had burned off into a hardened tip that was almost as sharp as a spear.

“Here,” I said, putting my club into the hands of Fat Face. “Take care of this for me. His name is Head Breaker.”

Then I lifted the pole to my shoulder, ran hard, and jumped with it over the circling fire, back out into the night where Majiawasos roamed.