Authors: K. B. Laugheed
“Are you ready?” Syawa asked, and I flinched, startled. I nodded, blushing, and as he helped me climb back into the canoe, I stared down at the gurgling water, wondering what in the world just happened. Before I could figure it out, we were flying down the creek again and I had no time to think of anything but avoiding the looming rocks and tree limbs. I was relieved when Syawa reached ’round to take the paddle, saying it was his turn again. Shortly thereafter we passed the point at which we started, and with the current rushing us along, we soon gushed into the Great River. I clutched the sides of the canoe again, instantly tense, but was surprised to find that once we were in the larger body of water, the ride actually smoothed out.
The men steered us back to our campsite, where Syawa showed me how to load the canoe and tie down our gear, and because the canoe was small—about eight feet long—it was quickly filled. After settling me atop our packs, he stept into the front of the canoe and I turned to look at the woods behind us.
This was the point of no return. Once I crossed that massive river, I would ne’er be able to come back on my own. I lifted my chin and turned my face resolutely to the west, praying my mother’s critical voice would not follow me further. That’s when I found Syawa also looking back at the woods, with that same sad, wistful expression I’d seen several times since arriving at the river. But when I caught his eye, he smiled fully for a split second before the canoe shot forward and Hector hopped in.
As we slid into the open water, I was pleased to discover my fear of water truly was gone. For a long time we stayed to the side of the river as we worked our way upstream, but by mid-afternoon, Syawa began angling into the stronger current. I could feel the canoe hesitate between the force of the river and the pull of the paddles, but this sensation did not alarm me. I looked at the woods on the eastern shore, watching it grow smaller and smaller, remembering how I felt the night before, when I was all alone. I was glad I wasn’t alone anymore.
By the time we reached the middle of that vast expanse of water, I felt euphoric. Oh, the exhilaration of riding all that raw power! I knew I was impotent before those raging forces, wholly subject to the whirling whims of the current, but I also knew I was perfectly safe, nestled between two pairs of strong, highly skilled hands. I laughed at the huge logs swirling helplessly whilst we rode steady and sure. I sneered at the debris eddying in our wake. As mighty as that river was, we puny humans were controlling our own fate, plotting our own course, going our own way.
I wanted to tell Syawa how wonderful this experience was and how right he had been, but he ne’er turned ’round. I occasionally turned to grin at Hector, who always looked away but seemed mildly amused by my newfound enthusiasm. When we were more than halfway across, I turned my attention to the looming western landscape, wondering if it was different from the one we’d left behind. It didn’t seem to be. I saw trees and bushes and the occasional swollen tributary, just like on the other side.
We rode upstream for a long time, ’til at a certain point, without conferring, my friends steered a course up a small creek. It seemed to me they were communicating through the canoe itself, which made me remember how much time they had spent in it. And for what? For me?
They steered the canoe to the deep-shaded shore of the swollen creek. Syawa jumped into knee-deep water, squishing through mud in the shallows before turning to look at me. I expected him to grin and say, “You see? Nothing to fear!” But he didn’t. He just walked backwards through the mire, pulling the canoe as he went. His face was expressionless, like stone.
I was peering down at the mucky water, hoping Syawa would get the canoe all the way onto dry land before I had to get out, when I heard him yelp. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him fall backwards as, at the same moment, Hector leapt from the canoe behind me. Hector’s feet hit the water hard, shooting mud up into my face so that I was momentarily blinded. Worse still, Hector’s wild leap shoved the craft back into the creek, where the current immediately caught it.
I could hear shouting as I wiped the mud from my face, but my eyes were thick with it and I could not see. When I reached o’er the edge of the canoe to get a handful of water to wash out my eyes, I felt the canoe moving at an alarming rate. Faster it went, and faster, and then it began to turn.
With my face in my hands I felt a huge wave of nausea as my dream came back to me full force. Spinning and spinning, all was darkness, all was terror, and when I finally got my eyes clean enough to see, I found the canoe was already at the mouth of the creek, slipping back into the river, where the current caught it and spun it ’round. Spinning and spinning, I turned to see if my friends were coming for me, but I saw nothing save drooping tree branches.
I was alone.
I screamed, but the very act of screaming took me right back to my dream, intensifying my terror. I screamed and screamed, just as I had whilst awakening, and nauseating dizziness o’ercame me just as it did in my dream. I leant o’er the side of the canoe to vomit.
Then I remembered. Syawa said dreams could prepare me, dispel my fear. I had already vomited this morning, so I need not do it again. Now I must do what Syawa had taught me.
I saw his paddle lying in the canoe, and I grabbed it and stuck it into the water. The canoe immediately wobbled violently, water splashing in at my feet. I fought my rising panic—after all, I was only getting wet, and I had already been much wetter today. This wasn’t so bad. I could do this. I could do this.
I could not do this. The more I tried to paddle, the more I caused the canoe to spin. But e’en tho’ I could not control the direction, I quickly realized my flailing was slowing my forward motion considerably, keeping the current from having me. I thought perhaps this was the message of my dream, if, indeed, message there had been—to keep the canoe spinning so I did not get sucked into the middle of the river where I would float helplessly ’til I crashed and drowned. Frantic, I slapt at the water, making the canoe spin more and more.
During one of my revolutions I saw something in the water behind me. I turned my head this way and that against the spinning, straining to see more clearly. One of the men was swimming after me, his head buried in the water as his arms pulled rhythmically. I couldn’t believe how fast he was moving, but, then again, he was using the current as much as I was fighting it. Now it was a race to see if he could catch me before the river pulled me out of his reach forever.
’Round and ’round I went, but with each revolution, my pursuer drew closer and closer. When he raised his head to take a breath, I saw it was Hector. His arms pumped whilst I spun ’round and ’round; soon he was close enough for me to hold out the paddle, hoping he could catch it. But when I stopt paddling, the canoe straightened and picked up speed, so I had to use the paddle to restart the spinning.
Hector’s hand grabbed the lip of the canoe just as his strength gave way. I clutched his wrist and held on because his arm was trembling so much I feared he would lose his grip. Luckily, the current pushed his body up against the canoe, and for a time he held on to the side with both hands, spinning with it, holding his head back as he gasped raggedly. I held his wrists, crying out his name over and over, unable to help in any way.
As soon as he was able, he made the supreme effort to pull himself into the boat. The side tipped precariously, but he had clearly done this sort of thing before and knew how to use the rocking to roll into the craft. Once inside, he tossed his head to get his loosened hair out of his face and yelled for me to give him the paddle. From the moment he put the paddle in the water, the canoe was once again under control. Hector wearily steered it toward the water’s edge and slowly turned the craft ’round. Then he began the arduous task of pulling against the current by himself.
It was a long journey, during which I felt useless and stupid. I turned and looked at Hector, but he was so thoroughly depleted it was all he could do to keep paddling. Thereafter I kept my eyes on the shoreline, straining to catch sight of Syawa.
We arrived back at the point in the creek where we started just as the sun was setting. There was no sign of Syawa. Hector paddled the canoe onto the bank, but when I prepared to jump out as Syawa had done, he shouted so violently I flinched and shrank from him. I was desperate to get out of the canoe, but Hector made it clear I must stay where I was ’til he said I could get out. He slid into the mucky water, pulling the canoe with me inside past the worst of the mud on the bank. Then he nodded and I got out and waited whilst he secured the canoe between two bushes. As soon as the canoe was situated, Hector turned to walk briskly inland, leaving all our things in the canoe.
“Where Syawa?” I asked, struggling to keep up.
“I do not know,” Hector said through clenched teeth, his face grim.
“What happen? He hurt?”
Hector glanced at me, the exhaustion in his eyes dwarfed by a looming fear. “He was bitten by a snake.”
~15~
I
T WAS GROWING DARK
in the woods, and Hector frowned as he followed Syawa’s trail. For a time I pestered him with questions—what sort of snake was it? where was the bite? how deep was it?—but he was in no mood to answer questions. All he said was that Syawa ordered him to get me.
When we began climbing a rise, I stayed close behind Hector, so much so that when he reached the top and abruptly stopt, I actually stumbled into him. Then I heard Syawa singing in the distance, and relief swept o’er me like a cleansing breeze. I stept up to glance at Hector, expecting to see him as relieved as I, but what I saw in the deep shadows chilled my blood. His face was contorted in pain. I had no chance to ask what was wrong before he was running through the dark undergrowth at breakneck speed. I followed as best I could, emerging into a grassy clearing where Syawa sat before a small fire. Hector knelt beside him, holding his head in his hands. I saw Hector’s shoulders heave, but Syawa did not stop singing.
As I stared at this scene, my arms and legs began to tremble. Just as at that Indian village when it was decided I would come on this journey, the me that was me left my body and simply stood there, quivering, as my body walked slowly forward. I was sure it was still morning and I was still asleep on the other side of the river, preparing to wake up screaming and puking. But I did not wake up. I watched as my body knelt beside Hector. Syawa did not look at me nor did he stop singing. “What wrong?” my hollow body asked quietly.
Hector did not look up but I knew his face was wet with tears. “He sings his Death Song.” Hector’s voice wavered.
I snapt back into my body the way a trap snaps shut when a creature steps into it. I could not comprehend what was happening. I knew that many, if not most, snakebites are not fatal, and tho’ Syawa might be made gravely ill or even lose an appendage, he was strong and healthy and I saw no reason to assume he wouldn’t recover. Moreover, he seemed fine, sitting there singing, and what was a Death Song anyway? In my experience, people are oft sure they’re going to die ’til the crisis passes, at which point they begin to get better. Surely all this was an over-reaction.
Then I saw Syawa’s leg. From the way he was sitting cross-legged before the fire, I thought at first there was a shadow near his knee. But upon looking more closely, I saw his left calf was dark purple and twice the size it should be. I scooted o’er to get a better look.
That’s when I saw his arm.
It, too, had been bitten, somewhere near the wrist. His forearm was swollen and purple. I stared at it, my insides liquefying as fear flooded my own veins. I slowly raised my eyes to Syawa’s face. He stopt singing. He smiled.
He looked terrible. His skin was drawn and pale; his eyes were sunk within dark circles. Tears filled my own eyes as I started to speak, but Syawa stopt me by looking at Hector and asking him to go get water as well as our things from the canoe.
Hector put a shaky hand on Syawa’s shoulder and asked in a stricken voice, “Can you not heal these wounds?”
It was the very question I was going to ask. Syawa shook his head. “I’ve always known my Journey would end here, at the Great River. I am sorry, my friend.”
Hector bowed his head, then rose to disappear into the darkness. Syawa turned his eyes back to me, smiling sympathetically.
“You say you come on Journey, knowing you die?” I asked, working hard to pronounce the difficult words.
Syawa shrugged, looking sheepish. He closed his eyes for a moment, and I was not sure whether he was struggling against the physical pain or some emotional one. He did not open his eyes as he said quietly, “Do you remember when you said you are not good for me?”
I nodded, recalling the conversation that seemed as if it happened years and years ago, tho’ it had been only a few weeks. Syawa opened his eyes to look at me wearily. “I did not tell you then, but I should have. You were never meant for me.”
I swallowed heavily, fighting back tears. “Syawa, stop! You are wrong! Of course I am meant for you. Your Vision . . .”
He grimaced slightly. “There is much you do not know.” He looked at me, sadder than anyone I’d e’er seen in my life. “Kay-oot-li, I have allowed you to believe things that are not true. I wanted to tell you. But you were not yet ready to hear me. You do not understand my Vision.”
I frowned, my mind reeling. “What? What do I not understand?”
He stared down at the fire, apparently oblivious to what must have been horrific pain throbbing in both his arm and leg. He spoke quietly, hesitantly, and I concentrated, desperate to understand his words. He told me, once again, about the Great Earthquake that occurred when his mother was born, and how after that his people lived always in fear because they believed the Earthquake was telling them something, warning them. The Holymen worked to understand the Earthquake’s message, but could not. “Just before I was born,” Syawa said slowly, “my mother dreamt of the Thunderbird. Because of this, she knew I was destined to be a Holyman. Others did not believe her, but I knew. I
knew
. Through my youth, I studied and learned. I fasted and prayed. I offered my life in exchange for understanding. The Holymen saw my dedication, trained me in their ways. And then the Vision came to me. I became the Seer. I saw it all. I understood.”