Saturday, June 20, 2009

Chapter 1, Part 4

Someone Else Takes Notice

Chanting softly, Mujekeewis swiped the burning sage above his head, moving down the front of his body, then his back as far as he could reach. He swept beneath both feet and stepped forward onto the rug. Then he removed the misshapen lump of lead from its pouch and, still chanting, gazed at it for a moment. Though he wished otherwise, this metal was not welcome inside.

It had taken the life of his son.

He placed it in the bowl before the entrance to the Lodge, gently removed an Eagle feather from his head band and, blessing his relations, ducked into the small, skin covered dome lowering the flap behind him. The only light came from the seven Grandfathers, glowing in the Navel of the Mother.

His prayer, barely a whisper now, followed a pinch of cedar onto the stones. He swept the aroma over him with the feather. Next, a pinch of sweetgrass, which brought, as it always did, memories of childhood, of his Father teaching him the etiquette of the Lodge. Bowing his head, he sent his thought to Father's Spirit, asking for the strength he knew would soon be asked of him. A growing unease had sent him here. It was time to open his heart and ask for instruction.

Last went the tobacco, the smoke allowed to rise straight to the top of the dome above the Mother's Navel where the Great Spirit listens.

Praying for guidance, Mujekeewis tilted the dipper over the stones, the steam whooshing up and covering him like a blanket. Another pour. Then again. He began rocking back and forth as his pores opened and streamed his body's water, cleansing.

Raising the flap, he exited and stood silent for a moment before taking up the deer antler to remove another Grandfather from the Sacred Fire. Three more stones he placed in the Navel, then entered and repeated the ritual.

It was after the third pour of the third Sweat that the Vision lit up before him, a lightening stroke that widened his eyes and stopped his lips mid-prayer. Heart pounding, he spread his arms wide and accepted the awful gift. When it was done, he breathed deeply three times and again focused on Father. Strength, he prayed. Strength. Lips set, he exited the lodge.

Mujekeewis faced West, his body glistening. Fitting, he thought, that the threat grows there. The West brings Change.

And Death.

No matter. Once again, his steps cross with the White's. A piece of pine popped in the fire sending up a fountain of sparks. He looked down at the bullet in the bowl. One path to the future ends with such a thing for him. Another for his Granddaughter. Others to other deaths. This is a delicate matter, he thought, requiring patience. Haste will kill blindly. He sighed deeply, indulging in a moment of regret. His braid was more gray than black. The still pool by the river showed a face, deep-lined. No peaceful nights before the fire, telling the children stories. Not for him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Enough. Setting his lips again, he carefully inserted the Eagle feather into its accustomed place in his headband, picked up the bullet and held it in his fist. A breeze from the South cooled his skin. He turned in that direction and nodded. Sister Butterfly lighted on a milk plant. Mujekeewis smiled and thanked her for the reminder. Wash and eat, she said. Prepare.

Then, he whispered, I must speak to the Farmer.


2 comments:

  1. Nice! Now, I am hooked in for good...

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  2. Thanks Jon! My muse gets the credit, though. I'm driving blind here.

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