The Spirit Keeper Read online

  Whilst Hector refused to look at me, I oft studied his interaction with Syawa, ne’er ceasing to be struck by the depth and breadth of the bond between them. ’Twas obvious Hector worshipt Syawa, and when Syawa chattered on and on as he so oft did—for he was quite a talker—Hector listened with a warm light in his dark eyes. When Hector felt me watching, a flicker of vexation would pass o’er his face, as if I were intruding on a private moment. And tho’ I frequently saw Hector interact with other savages in a sharp and confrontational way, his words and demeanor when addressing his friend were almost always soft and deferential—with the notable exception of the time he complained about our eating arrangements. Indeed, it was the abiding affection between these men which intrigued me most about Syawa. Anyone who could inspire such devotion from a companion must be someone worth knowing—especially when that companion was as formidable as Hector.

  I should add I was not the only one who found the strange men compelling. Giggling young women regularly came to lure Hector away, and tho’ Syawa was neither as well-formed nor as comely as Hector, he, too, could have enjoyed much female companionship had he desired it. Slowly I began to realize why so many Indian women were pampering me—Syawa was gently redirecting their interest in him. Thus did my obligation to this peculiar man continue to grow.

  On the third afternoon of our stay in this village, Syawa came to me with a small wooden bowl of pottage. I took it gladly for I was deeply distressed with hunger. After supping a mouthful to restore my strength, I took the bowl to William, who was still recovering from his head wound, but Mother lunged for it, causing me to drop the bowl and spill its precious contents o’er the dusty ground. Furious and crazed with hunger, she grabbed my arm and slapt me repeatedly about the face and neck as my sister fell upon the bowl to lick it clean. I was soon able to prize my arm away, but not before Mother snatcht a good handful of my hair and yanked me this way and that, howling all the while about what a wretched daughter I was to starve a mother so.

  I did not enjoy being beaten in this manner, but I was so accustomed to it, having suffered such since birth, that I endured the indignity the same way I accepted the biting of fleas or the stench of the privy. My intention, as always when Mother whipt me, was simply to get away as quickly as possible and stay away ’til her choler cooled.

  Before I could extricate myself from my mother’s grasp, however, Syawa was upon us both. Small tho’ he was, his hands were powerful and sure as he reached in to grab my mother’s wrists. Startled by this sudden restraint, Mother shrieked in stark terror and collapsed, flopping and floundering to get away. My sister also screamed but managed to keep the bowl as she dove behind William, who, in spite of his bonds, had arisen to try to pull Mother away from her apparent attacker.

  Finding myself suddenly released from Mother’s grasp, I catapulted backwards only to have the wind knockt out of me when I hit the ground. I struggled to regain my senses, but by the time I could sit up, a crowd had collected and there was much shouting and whooping, especially from the savage children. To my horror I saw that tho’ Syawa still held Mother’s wrists, he was now very much on the defensive, for she was wildly kicking and biting at him as she wriggled and writhed. William was still trying to get between the two, as much now to defend Syawa as to protect Mother.

  The encircling throng suddenly parted as Hector appeared out of nowhere, running at an unbelievable speed from some distant corner of the village. His face bloodless and drawn, his eyes black, his lips presst thin, he seemed to hang in mid-air for one breathless moment as he assessed the situation. Then he fell into the fray, grabbing William by the neck and tossing him aside like a limp dishrag as he snatcht Mother’s arm and yanked her from Syawa. He dragged her ’round by that arm, with her all the while howling, kicking, and flailing furiously. I would have gone to her defense, but she was thrashing so hysterically I durst not approach. With a flip of his wrist, Hector tossed her onto her belly and held her down with a foot upon her back; almost immediately she stopt squirming and contented herself with sobbing into the dirt. By then I, too, was crying as I cringed beside a bush, my arms wrapt ’round my knees.

  Breathing heavily, Hector scanned the scene before reaching a hand out to Syawa, who had fallen backwards and now sheepishly accepted the assistance to rise. Syawa dusted himself off whilst Hector anxiously looked him o’er, asking something repeatedly. As Syawa explained the situation, Mother quietly whimpered under Hector’s foot and the rest of us cowered, waiting to see what the furious savage would do next. With his jaw clenched and nostrils flared, Hector reminded me of that awful moment in the loft when I feared my murderer was upon me, and I once again felt the thrill of pure terror.

  But just as at our first meeting, Syawa began talking in that quiet, calming, steady tone of his, and the tension dissipated. Hector’s brow was still deeply furrowed, but after giving my mother’s back a final shove with his foot, he turned on the jeering children and shouted. E’en with the language barrier, everyone knew exactly what Hector said, and the crowd immediately dispersed.

  After a long moment in which Mother moaned, I held my knees and trembled, and Syawa continued his soft, soothing placations, Hector finally raised his hand to ask a question through gritted teeth. Syawa smiled and nodded, holding out his arms as if to say, “You see? I am wholly unhurt.”

  Hector nodded, but before he turned to walk away, he gave me a glance that chilled me to the bone. He was angry, resentful, disgusted. But mostly he was accusative—clearly blaming me for endangering his friend. This, I suddenly realized, was probably why Hector had complained about my sharing food. He knew, sooner or later, my actions would threaten Syawa. I lowered my eyes, embarrassed and ashamed.

  Syawa would have none of it. With William and Eliza consoling Mother, Syawa squatted beside me to lay his hand on my shoulder. He spoke softly, and tho’ I did not understand his words, I appreciated the obvious comfort he offered. He bade me rise and come with him, leading me to a dwelling at the edge of the village. Chattering away as if I could understand every word, he pulled me inside the hut and settled me beside the warm fire therein. He solicited the mistress of that place to give me another bowl of pottage, which I ate with eyes averted, thinking of my mother so hungry and abandoned in the cold. I would have wept for her, but Syawa was making funny faces as he babbled in an effort to make me smile. I did smile, of course, because he was so relentlessly cheerful and kind, but inside I was trembling, wondering what was to become of us all. I felt so very, very guilty about my mother.

  She always said I was going to be the death of her, and I was beginning to fear her little jest might just come true.

  ~4~

  PERHAPS OUR FAMILY SQUABBLE prompted savage action, or perhaps action had been planned for some time. I know not. What I do know is that the day after our tussle, everything changed. Warriors began painting themselves and loading packs for travel.

  Eliza said the commotion I’d caused must have riled our hosts, who were now preparing to finish us off. “Not that you have to fret,” she sneered. “Your little imp will no doubt preserve you to watch the rest of us burn.”

  I could think of no reply to this cold accusation, especially since I was more than a little afraid Liza might be right.

  A huge fire was ignited in the center of the village and the savages of that community gathered ’round. Warriors did their devilish dances, women distributed food, and children ran hither and thither with dogs yapping at their heels. The atmosphere was quite festive and gay, but my family and I could scarce enjoy the revelries. We huddled together, our enmity forgotten as we strove to pass what might be the final moments of our lives in prayer.

  My guardians were nowhere to be seen, and I wondered at their absence. Had the incident with my mother finally snuffed Syawa’s interest? ’Twould not be the first time my mother had driven off a suitor. Before I could linger o’er this worry, however, a group of painted warriors
came to escort us to a mat before the fire. Directly across the fire from us was another mat, upon which sat a group of older men and women. With them were two men, elaborately painted and ornamented. Only after staring at these specters for several moments did I recognize Syawa and Hector.

  The chattering of the crowd stopt as an old man arose to speak loudly at some length. As soon as the oration began, a fellow sitting behind us leant forward to speak in perfect English. Upon looking at him more closely, I discerned he was a white man, but he had lived amongst the heathen long enough to be nigh indistinguishable from them. He explained the speaker was reviewing a list of “offenses” committed by the colonists which led up to the “battle” of our capture. Whilst the savages reacted with glee to gruesome descriptions of the murders of our family members, my mother and sister wept. William and I exchanged nervous glances, more concerned about the future than the past. As the speaker babbled on, our translator explained we were to be taken to some fort, where we would be ransomed back to whate’er remained of our family. There followed a lengthy harangue against the colonists, as well as a declaration in support of the French.

  Having little interest in politics, I allowed my mind to wander as my eyes scanned the crowd. I could feel Syawa’s gaze upon me, and every time I glanced his way, I found him smiling that smile of his, as if entirely oblivious to the gravity of my position and the misery I suffered. The longer the orator’s speech went on, the more excited Syawa became, as if he were a child on Christmas morning, eagerly awaiting his share of pudding. I tried not to look at him, but it was as if he willed me to do so, and every time I gave in to the urge and glanced his way, he was a little more delighted than the time before. Eventually I found I could not help but smile back, which caused him to grin with such abandon that I giggled and must clamp my hand upon my mouth to prevent another outburst.

  Shortly thereafter the droning tone of the speaker changed, and our translator spoke more urgently. Tomorrow, he said, the captives would be removed. But here and now a decision must be made. William, Eliza, Mother, and I looked at each other in trepidation.

  The translator told us the speaker was now recognizing the presence of two travelers, who were, he said, cousins of cousins from the Dawn of Time, participating in the ancient ritual of a Sacred Journey.

  At that point, wood was added to the fire and as sparks whirled skyward and flames leapt high, Syawa was suddenly, almost supernaturally, standing before the fire. The crowd murmured, then hushed in anticipation. First he sang a song—a haunting, wistful tune in a strong, vibrant tenor. Then he began telling his tale, using his elaborate gestures. Because he moved slowly ’round the fire as he waved his hands, his actions seemed more like an exotic dance than a story, but story it was—and what a story!

  The Dreamer of Dreams, the translator said, had been given a Vision upon which he was compelled to act. In his Vision he saw a Creature of Fire and Ice who would bring to his people the Great Gift of Immortality, and so he asked his friend from childhood to assist him, to fight for him and help find the creature from his Vision. Tho’ the translator spoke almost too rapidly as he read the gestures, the gist of the story was that my two guardians had traversed many lands through many seasons, endured many hardships, and experienced many adventures, all to arrive at this time and this place.

  For a moment I stared at the ground, thinking of what I knew of these two young men. It had been clear Hector was serving Syawa as something of a bodyguard, and now I understood why. What was not clear was whether these two apparently intelligent and reasonable fellows seriously believed they might encounter and capture a fantastical creature the likes of which can exist only in dreams. A being made of fire and ice? Preposterous!

  It was as I was thinking these things that the translator reached out to touch my arm to renew my full attention. “On this day,” he said, speaking slowly and dramatically, “the Seer stands before us to reveal the subject of his Sacred Vision. With our help, he has found a Creature with hair of Fire and eyes of Ice!”

  I blush now to admit how long I sat looking expectantly ’round the crowd, waiting for someone to unveil this marvelous Creature. I saw that Syawa was now standing directly across the fire from me, staring at me, but because he was always staring at me, I saw no significance in his gaze. It was only when I realized every single other person in that gathering was also staring at me that I began to apprehend the import of what had been said.

  The Creature of Fire and Ice was me.

  I swallowed hard as I slowly returned my eyes to Syawa. He was smiling, as always, but this time his smile was different—it was as if he had seen inside my soul and understood everything he saw there. From another man, I might’ve seen that smile as almost a smirk, but from Syawa it felt more like a hand extended in support, a warm embrace to bolster me in my moment of crisis. I blinked rapidly, shifting my eyes to the ground. My heart was pounding and my stomach was rolling. What in the world was the meaning of this bizarre declaration? I was not some mythical creature, worthy of a Sacred Journey. I was a middling girl in a middling family from a middling settlement which no longer existed!

  Suddenly my mother, sitting between my brother and sister, turned on me, her face red and swollen in fury. “You!” she shrieked, showering me with spittle. “’Twas all because of you! The massacre, the murder—everythin’ ruined, everyone dead—all because some filthy wee savage wanted him a red-head gal!”

  Eliza turned on me, too, venom in her eyes. “I knowed you was responsible, Katie! We always said you was cursed, and now ’tis proven!”

  As Mother and Eliza thus condemned me, William eyed the crowd with grave solemnity, the tension in his eyes mounting. I followed his line of vision and saw Syawa coming to us, and, except for Mother and Liza, the entire populace now sat in absolute silence, watching with rapt attention. Syawa knelt before me, smiling still, compelling my eyes to meet his gaze as his hands began to move.

  The translator apologized for the fact that he must insert himself into this delicate conversation, and I nodded, not knowing if the apology came from the translator or Syawa. It mattered little. I felt as if I had floated outside myself at this point, and the real me was sitting at the edge of the clearing watching this weird scene unfold as if it was happening to someone else.

  With his hands, Syawa explained that because of the perilous nature of the Journey, it was essential the Creature of Fire and Ice accept the challenge. The translator hesitated, watching Syawa’s movements closely. He then turned to me and said the Dreamer of Dreams wanted me to understand that, for the Vision to be realized, I must choose to go on this arduous adventure.

  “Will you go with us?” Syawa’s final gesture needed no translation. He let his hands fall into his lap, awaiting my reply. His smile was confident and sure, very warm, inexplicably fond of me.

  I was near panic. My mother and sister were weeping now, snuffling on each other’s shoulders. I swallowed hard and asked the translator to help me make sure I understood the terms of this request. Was Syawa saying I might decide for myself whether or not to go, and that if I chose not to go, I could stay with my family and suffer no ill effects as the result of my refusal?

  Syawa’s answer was swift and short. I was free to go or stay, and in either case neither I nor my family would be harmed in any way. Regardless, my family members would embark on their hike to the French fort the next day.

  The translator then began speaking rapidly, waving his hands about so that everyone would know what he was saying. “This is not a decision to undertake lightly,” he told me. “I myself was taken from my white family many years ago, and I long suffered the anguish of that separation. Please understand that if you go with these men, you will travel farther than anyone could follow, and you will ne’er see anyone from your family again. You will die and be reborn, your former life reduced to a fading dream.”

  Syawa was still on his knees before me,
but I would not look up at him, for I knew he must still be smiling with those expectant eyes. Beside me I heard Eliza whisper something, and then my mother leant across William to take my upper arm in her hand and squeeze tight. I felt more than saw Syawa tense up and heard all the spectators inhale and hold their breath as one being.

  “Yer not actually considerin’ goin’ off with this puny devil, are ye?” Mother gasped, and the translator’s hands flew. “Yer the daughter of a nobleman, the great-great-granddaughter of kings, and yer of pure marriageable age! How dare ye e’en consider abandonin’ yer poor mother in her darkest hour? M’husband’s gone, the only son left me here is wounded, and yer sister has lost her man an’ boys both! ’Tis yer Christian duty to care for me the way I cared for my mother all her days. If the heathen says you may refuse him, refuse him you will, y’miser’ble slut!”

  The crowd stirred as they watched the gestures of the translator. William whispered he was prepared to fight should the savages turn on me when I refused the offer. When I continued silent, Liza hissed, “Katie! D’you not see how unhinged this dark runt is? He grins like a cat night and day, he fumbles endlessly with his hands, and he boasts of wild dreams as if ’tis a badge of honor, not a mark o’ madness! How can y’e’en consider goin’ off with him?”