WOMAN OF THE MISTS
All Rights Reserved © 1991 by Lynn McKee
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Stone Creek Books
Originally published by Diamond Books
Cover art by Joe MooreThis book is dedicated to Madison, my father, and Gail, my mother, because they always believed it; to Ashleigh, Mac, and Alexis, my children, who put up with it; to Gypsy, my friend and mentor; to Penny, my friend, who listened to it; and to Sandi, who shared a shirt, a toy G.I. Joe figure, an urn, and headaches.
Prologue
Two thousand five hundred years ago there lived a nation of people who have vanished from the face of the earth. The only thing known of them is what archaeologists have found under the rich, black South Florida muck. Their distant ancestors had lived beside the great ice age mammals and had witnessed the cataclysmic changes that wiped out the giant animals that had fed them for so long. They survived, carving out a complicated culture that listened to the lessons learned through the generations.
In the early 1990s the Army Corps of Engineers dug a ditch on the perimeter of the Everglades, slicing through the southern edge of a tree island, a hammock that humped out of the thin lens of water that slowly flows across the tip of the peninsula. The operator of the backhoe jumped from his machine when he saw human bones falling from the bucket.
The medical examiner was called to investigate, and he determined that the remains were those of the Indians who had once lived in the area. The ditch was abandoned, and archaeologists were called in.
On this piece of land that was dotted with strangler figs, a characteristic of Indian sites, the archaeological team found a massive burial component, habitation mound, and ceremonial complex.
The group was made up of mainly amateur volunteers, led by a couple of professional archaeologists. For years it had been assumed that the small inland camps, located on the hammocks, were only shortterm hunting camps. But more recent data indicated that many of these sites were actually large habitation sites, where all types of village-related activities took place. Archaeologists began to take another look at the people who had long ago occupied this land.
Perspiration dripping from their brows as they worked under the hot Florida sun, they sat steadily beside individual pits, which were linked together to form a trench that crossed what they believed was the habitation area.
Eyeballing the level-line against the meter stick, one of the volunteers measured the depth of pit 4 North, making sure that the floor of the pit remained level. Working next to her, in 5 North, one of the archaeologists lay on her belly, looking down into the one-meter square pit. Gingerly, with a bamboo skewer, she scratched away small clogs of soil, exposing parts of an alligator’s skeleton. The midden, or garbage heap, revealed the diet of the inhabitants.
After sifting the spoil through wire screens, they picked out and bagged the sharp snake vertebrae that poked their fingertips. They collected the bones of turtles, fish, and birds, as well as the remains of deer, rats, lizards, alligators, raccoons, and other small mammals. Each bag was labeled with the site, date, pit number, and depth at which the articles had been found. Potsherds, drilled sharks’ teeth, and other worked bone or shell artifacts were bagged separately. Later, in the lab, everything would be identified, sorted, and cataloged.
Tools and intricately carved bone stimulated conversations about their possible uses. A miniature shell hoe, officially tagged as a tool, suggested a toy, and suddenly to all who were working, the extinct people seemed quite real.
In pit 7 North, there was an abundance of shells the Indians had brought back from one of their trips to the ocean. The volunteers quickly dubbed it the “raw bar.”
Another team worked the burial site. Not many grave goods had been interred with the dead, but the bones spoke loud and clear. Their teeth were worn down nearly to the roots. A few of the characteristic shovel-shaped incisors were found, inspected, and commented on by the group. Some molars had worn-away crescents at the gum line from years of leather working. There was very little evidence of dental caries.
Most of the people had been relatively short and robust. The graves were filled with bodies of all ages, the geriatric population as well as the newborn. Some pieces of skull showed pitting, which might have been a result of a childhood disease, such as a slight anemia from hookworm. Some remains showed evidence of arthritis. A pathologist would discern much more.
A volunteer passed around a long bone, a femur, pointing out the syphilitic lesions on it. “The Indians’ revenge,” he remarked, meaning that syphilis was a New World disease that the Indians had transmitted to the Europeans.
One of the amateur helpers wandered the area. Far from the mound she discovered another interesting feature. Just beneath a small elevation in the earth, she found a pile of rocks with a turtle shell on top. With delicacy she brushed the soil away from the edges. Around the stones was a circle of snake vertebrae. Anxious to see what rested beneath such a marker, in her excitement forgetting archaeological techniques, she removed the stones and scratched away the earth, exposing yet another grave. The brown skull rested intact. A strikingly beautiful columella pendant had been interred with the person. She had often seen columellae worked into tools. The centers of the conch shells were strong and very durable. She had seen other pendants made from them, but she had never seen one quite like this. As she lifted it, admiring its beauty and peculiar sheen, a sudden cold wind came up. It was July, and it wasn’t unusual for a thunderstorm to form quickly from the heating of the day. The large branches of the trees cracked and splintered, and the smaller ones shattered into twigs. The wind whirled the young trees in circles, and the roots of the tall old cypress vibrated in the ground, reminding her how far she was from the group. She huddled by the grave, waiting for the rain to start. The earth beneath her rumbled, making her lose her balance and drop the pendant. Then, suddenly, silence.
The woman looked at the circle of light that poured down on the grave. The wind had clipped the branches just above her so that the light streamed down in a shaft.
“Damn Florida weather,” she said aloud, reaching for the pendant. Clutching it tightly, she excitedly trotted back to the group to tell them of her find and of the freak twister that had sprung up out of nowhere.
Chapter One
Perhaps it was an omen, a warning from her guide spirit.
Teeka watched as Tamuk, the clan’s shaman, put a noose around the alligator’s snout and began to drag it closer. He readied himself, raising an ashen-skinned arm above the horizon of the marsh, casting it steadily against the blue sky. When the animal was within reach, he would ram the long pointed stick down its gullet. As the thrashing beast tore at the shore, the leather thong noose snapped, setting free the powerful jaws. Twisting, the reptile swung his tail and caught Tamuk behind the knees, slamming him to the ground. The gator slashed to the side and took the man into his mouth, drilling its conical teeth through the oracle’s thin scalp, crushing his skull.
Suddenly it released the shaman, only to align itself with a softer part of the spirit man’s body. Like the shark of the Big Water, it shook its head, tearing the flesh from Tamuk’s girth, speckling the surface of the water with bits of torn tissue. Slowly it backed into deeper water, devouring the great medicine man as it sank. The terrible beast rose to the top and spoke, as in the legends of talking animals.
“You have been warned. Listen well, Little Doe.”
The alligator sank all but its eyes beneath the surface, the yellow spheres glaring over the black water before blinking and then submerging.
Teeka waded into the water, calling to the spirit to explain.
The water had begun to thicken. Each step became more and more difficult, the suction of the mud reluctant to give her up. She looked at the shore to judge its distance and saw Auro standing near the edge.
“Auro, help me!”
Why did he not come to save her, to rescue her?
The sludge covered her, leaving only a few strands of her hair suspended on the top of the viscous slime. How could Auro let this happen to her? She did not understand. As her mouth opened to gasp for air, she felt herself fill with the putrid slime. She let out an unheard scream.
The dream had been so hideous As the eastern sky had shown the first hints of pink, she had gathered her things and quietly walked to the pond. Even now, as she lifted the grooming brush to her long black hair and watched her reflection in the still pool, the nightmare kept recurring. But the water was clear and still, and her jet-black eyes shone back at her.
Even for a Tegesta she was petite. Her nose was delicate and her eyes heavily lashed. Her lips were just full enough to be a sensual contrast to her other delicate features. After a few strokes with the brush her hair hung free from the tangles of sleep, gently flowing across her chest, covering her small round bosom.
The cracking of a dead twig penetrated the quiet. She stood slowly, almost imperceptibly backing away from the pool. Pausing, she listened for any noise, then agilely and deliberately turned. Still nothing. Cautiously she made her way through the brush. She could hear her heart beating in her ears and pounding in her head, and her breath, though she tried to control it, came in short audible gasps and exhalations. Every muscle was straining to do what instinct was petitioning her to do. Run!
The saw grass ripped at her ankles, and the tall sedge slapped her in the face. Then suddenly a shadow darkened the path ahead, and Teeka fell to her knees.
She raised her eyes to see an angular jaw, a straight nose, and onyx eyes. The heavily muscled body was young, strong, and firm. He was masculine in structure and protective in nature. Indeed, he was the most perfect man she had ever known.
“Auro, it is you,” she spoke softly, rising to her feet.
“What has frightened you so that you run and tremble?” he asked, searching her face and then looking behind her for some clue.
She bowed her head in embarrassment. “It was nothing. A dream from the night has made me act foolishly. I am glad that it is you who saw me and not someone else.”
“Was it a dream from your guide spirit?”
She hesitated before answering. “No. Just a bad dream that made no sense.”
“Let the dream leave your head,” he said, lifting her face in his hands. “Think of other things. Think of the marriage and how I will soon make you a woman.”
Teeka bent her head forward, showing her disapproval. Her slender fingers nervously twirled a strand of hair.
“We want the blessings of the People,” she said. “Let us not offend them by breaking the custom.”
Auro leaned close and pressed his lips to her hair. Her ears could hear his breathing, and she, too, wondered if the marriage day would ever come.
“Walk close to me, Auro. Walk with me and speak of pleasant things.”
As they returned to the village, he talked of the journey to the Big Water. It was the one thing that could occupy his mind fully enough to distract him from his thoughts of Teeka. This would not be his first journey. He had gone to the Big Water many times since he had become a man.
“We are the strongest of our people, and we are protected by the medicine of Tamuk. When our hunt is done, we will come home, and it will be a time of celebration for many reasons. I will return to you and say the marriage promises.”
“But I remember Izo,” she said, stopping to argue. “He was brave and young. Pyra was waiting for him for marriage, and yet he was called to walk the Other Side.”
“You think too much of the work of men. When we return, we will pay our tribute to Kaho, and then we will celebrate our peace and good fortune. Our marriage will be part of that good fortune. Soon I will show you,” he said, taking both of her hands in his. “I will not need to speak of it. Our bodies and spirits will join, and the Joining Spirit will reward us.”
“You do not even know when you speak forbidden words,” she said, smiling.
“I speak easily of my love. How can that be wrong?”
Teeka lowered her head and blushed with embarrassment. “It does not seem wrong to me, but what if the spirits do not approve?”
Auro turned his head away and pointed to the sky. “Is it not the Great One that gives the gift of love? Do not all the spirits answer to the Great One? No spirit can be angry with the gift of the Great One. We tempt no spirit’s anger.”
She returned alone to her platform and shook the woven mat of grasses that was her bed. She could see her mother and other women near the fire, beginning to prepare the morning meal. Teeka watched for a moment and then joined them, sitting beside her older sister, Illa.
The fish was beginning to steam in the pot that was suspended above the fire as she stared at her sister, wanting to ask her so many things. Had it been like this for Illa before her marriage to Ata? Had he spoken of such things? What was the gift of the Joining Spirit really like? Why did no one speak of these things? Was it really a silly way of the old ones, as Auro had said? And how did he know of these unspoken mysteries? Were men born with the knowledge? Was it told to them by other men during the secret part of the ceremony of becoming a man? She had so many questions.
To ask was forbidden. The Tegesta placed great value on the purity of their young women. Tegesta maidens were innocent, their virginity well protected by religious custom. The spirits had directed it to be so.
Only once had anyone ever spoken to her of these mysteries. As a child, Teeka had been frightened by the noises in the night, and her mother had tried to comfort her.
“It is not pain or fear you hear, Little Doe. It is the noise of love.”
“Do you love me, Mother?” she asked, trying to make some sense of what her mother had just said.
“Yes, I love you. But it is the love of a man and a woman that causes those sounds.”
Teeka’s face still expressed confusion.
“Do you weep when you are very sad, Little Doe? And do you weep when you are very happy sometimes? Is the sound of the happy weeping any different from the sound of the sad weeping?”
“No, Mother. They are the same,” she answered, beginning to understand.
“The sound of weeping is always the same, but it can mean different things. These sounds should not worry you. They are like the sounds of happy weeping. They are good sounds.”
Now, staring at Illa, Teeka wondered what joining was really like. All she knew was that sometimes, when she was close to Auro, she wanted to pull him next to her. When he spoke the forbidden words, she wanted to touch him and feel his flesh on hers. Was that what joining was, being close, flesh to flesh?
The thoughts caused a tingling across her breasts and a drawing deep in her belly, as if something was missing. Teeka adjusted her moss skirt to keep it clear of the embers. When she looked down, she saw that her nipples were erect, as if she felt cold. But the day was warm, especially so close to the fire. She pulled her hair across her chest so that no one would see. She supposed that she would have to wait until the marriage, and then she would ask Auro and the mysteries would end. So many mysteries.
The night was filled with dancing until the moon was high in the sky. All of the men gathered in a circle around Tamuk as he chanted and tossed his medicines in a black clay bowl. As he stood, he planted a staff, the crest carved like a snake. The women stood back in the shadows, viewing the ceremony from a proper distance.
The shaman spread the leaves from the bowl on the ground and spat on them, rolling his eyes while chanting words understood by no one except his son, Auro. Opening his eyes, Tamuk called each hunter by his guide spirit’s name. Each took his leaf from the shaman, held it to the mouth of the snake, and then put it into a drawstring pouch fastened about his neck. The medicine man’s token would protect them from the dangers of the journey. It would also remind a man’s spirit not to be too boastful, else he might take foolish chances.
The men walked in ceremonial procession to a special place draped with hammocks, soft hide slings, in which to sleep. They would sleep away from the women on this night, for a woman could affect the potency of the medicine. Even the men who were too old to make the journey slept in the hammocks. Their experience was well respected. Only the boys, not yet men, returned with the women.
Early, as the mist began to steam from the pool, the clan gathered near the river. The women placed baskets of roots and berries inside the canoes. Each craft was large enough to carry fifteen men. The neighboring villages of Tegesta sent their hunters, and the canoes were full.
Tamuk uttered a string of sounds and motioned with his hands as the hunters began to pole the large open-water canoes down the stream. The water would flow softly at first, and they would have to be careful not to run aground. The work would begin in the current that rushed toward the ocean. When the canoes reached a point where the mouth of the river could be seen, a hardwood mast would be fixed in the socket in the bottom of the boat. Sails made from sewn-together animal skins would be unfurled to catch the wind. Only the most experienced men would be allowed to direct the sails and the oars. The others would begin to watch for signs of manatee, fish, sea turtle, and shark.
They would explore oyster beds for food and for the white bead inside. They would harvest the shallows with their nets. They would camp on the beach and smoke their catch at night. When the canoes could hold no more, they would return to their villages and divide the spoils evenly among them. The sharks’ teeth would be drilled and modified to become ornaments or parts of saws or other tools. The wheel-shaped vertebrae would be drilled and used as adornments, ear buttons, and counters.
The hunters would return as heroes. The spoils of the journey would be sorted and a portion put with other treasures to be offered to Kaho. For this payment they would be given peace.
Teeka watched the boats slowly make their way down the stream. How many days would they be gone? She would watch the moon.
Chapter Two
As the river began to churn, the clear water turned to a swirling opaque brown. Auro inspected the knife that he had fashioned from a macrocallista shell. He slid the beveled edge across his thumb, leaving a line of separated skin. This was the one tool that always belonged to the man who made it. All the other tools and weapons used on the journey were communal, and each man knew that his life and the lives of the others depended on the excellence of his craftsmanship. If someone was injured because of a weapon of poor quality, the maker would be publicly shamed and never again allowed to make weapons or tools for hunting. He would lose his status as a man.
Only once had Auro seen a man so shamed. It was after Izo had been injured. When Izo crossed to the Other Side, the shamed man could not bear his dishonor and left the clan to wander alone. In this hostile environment, being alone and unable to make weapons was the same as death.
Auro lowered his hand into the water, washing away the blood from his thumb. The village had long been out of sight. The next time he saw it, his patience would be rewarded. It had been a long time since he had gone to Teges, the chief, the cacique, and asked permission to take Teeka as his woman. Six full cycles of the moon had passed, but he remembered the time well.
“Auro, son of the great shaman of our people, why have you come to Teges?”
Auro kept his head low in respect. “I have come to ask permission to take a maiden as my wife.”
“And which maiden would this be? The son of a shaman must keep his line pure.”
Auro raised only his eyes to the cacique, and Teges gestured for him to lift his head. “She is from the Tegesta clan to the south. She is the daughter of Selo, who is the daughter of Ramut. The maiden’s father walks the Other Side. Her line is pure and suitable for the shaman’s son. She and her family have been brought here for the courtship. I wish the courtship to end. She pleases me.”
“Tell Teges the name of this suitable maiden.”
“Teeka is her given name. Little Doe is her spirit guide.”
The cacique lifted one hand, palm out. “Does Teeka also choose Auro?”
Auro remained expressionless, though he wanted to smile with the answer because it pleased him so. “She does choose Auro.”
The chieftain dropped his hand and closed his eyes. Auro waited, trying not to stir. At last Teges spoke. “Go then and ask the shaman if your spirits are compatible. We have no discontented spirits in the clan of Teges.”
In a moment Teges lowered and then raised his head, a gesture that permitted Auro to leave his presence.
He passed Teeka as she pounded coontie into flour. She watched him pass and thought he seemed much taller than before.
He continued to the place of his father, the shaman, which was apart from the main part of the village. Unlike the other open platforms of the village, the shaman’s had thatched sides and roofing. The weather was cool, a welcome change from the humid heat that usually plagued them. Auro’s mother poked the fire and fed it fresh kindling, hoping to bring it ablaze again. The spirit man was old, and the cool air would make him stiff and sick. She was not the wife of the shaman, as he was not permitted to live with a woman. Instead, the shaman could choose any maid to serve him. He could choose many if he wanted to, and they would hold an honored place in the clan. But Tamuk had chosen only one woman throughout his long life: Shala, Auro’s mother.
As a young man, Tamuk had brought Shala to his village to court her. Because he was the shaman, the woman he chose stayed at his village. Tamuk had often gone to Shala’s hearth in the night. With age he had stopped, but Shala had continued to go to him. She would rise several times during the night to attend the old man. She would kneel beside him, gently touching his face with her hand. If the air was cold, she would adjust the blankets of deerskin around his shoulders and then return to her platform.
Auro had begun to learn his father’s craft as a small child. Most of the other clans of the Tegesta did not have a shaman. When they were in need of a man of the spirits, they came to Tamuk. Even Teeka had been brought to Tamuk as an infant for the naming of her guide spirit. Being the shaman was a very important responsibility.
All members of the clan were related matrilineally. The son of a married couple was only casually related to the father. It was different for a shaman and his son. They had a special bond. As the son of the shaman, Auro was obligated to spend all the days with him, and Tamuk taught him well. They would spend days and nights alone, wandering the land from the wet marsh to the sandier soil to the east, which was covered with tall pines, live oak, cabbage palms, and palmettos. The time was spent in study, identifying herbs, mosses, flowers, plants, berries, and fungi. Away from the rest, the shaman taught him chants, incantations, signs, and gestures for all events. He was taught the methods of contacting the spirits and the way to talk with them. But he would not be allowed to perform any of the sorcery alone while Tamuk lived. Only after the death of his father would Auro become the revered man of the spirits. If he decided to marry before he became the shaman, the woman would have to leave his platform when he rose to that position. No one else’s spirit would be allowed to linger at the hearth of the shaman. Such a presence could interfere with his communication with the spirits.
As Auro got closer, he realized how old his father looked. The thought of his own rise to the status of shaman made him wince. It was a great responsibility to which he had once looked forward. But now there was Teeka.
“Forgive my interruption, Shaman,” he had begun. “I have come to you to consult with the spirits on an important matter.”
“My son has come to me as his shaman. I have watched Auro since he became a man. He wishes to take a maiden as his woman. Is your father not correct, my son?”
“Yes, Father. This man before you wishes to take Teeka, daughter of Selo.”
The old man stood very slowly, supporting himself with a walking stick. “Little Doe is the guide spirit of Teeka, and unto my son I gave the spirit of the Alligator. It is a strong and fierce spirit, one that would be needed by the son of a shaman. Come to me in the morning when the sun meets the moon in the sky. I will give you an answer then.”
The shaman walked to his platform and began sorting through baskets and pouches for the things he would need to consult with the spirits. He told Shala the things that he did not have stored and asked her to gather them for him.
That night Shala gave the shaman a basket filled with the roots and herbs he had requested. Waving her away, Tamuk carefully measured them into a bowl of hot water. He stirred it and chanted. When the broth became dark and cloudy, he removed the bowl from the fire. As it cooled, the magician shook his rattles rhythmically, uttering melodic sounds. He lifted the pot to his lips and swallowed the hot, syrupy liquid. Then he left the immediate area of his hearth, walking a short distance into the brush. A few moments later he retched until all the contents of his stomach had spilled onto the earth. His hands began to shake, and then his legs jerked in spasms as he fell backward on the ground. With his spine stiff and his eyes rolled back, the shaman began his flight to the spirit world.
Just before dawn he returned to his hearth and slept.
Auro had seen the smoke from his father’s fire through the early morning haze. As he got closer, he saw Tamuk standing with a bundle in his hands.
“Have you spoken with the spirits, Father?” he asked anxiously.
“I have.” As he answered, Tamuk rolled out the bundle. Inside was a small piece of deerskin that had been scraped and tanned into a soft beige strip. Beside it was an alligator scute, one of the bones that make up the ridges down the back of an alligator.
“What have the spirits answered?” Auro asked, almost too impatiently.
“There was much struggle between them, but they have consented. The spirit of the Little Doe and the Alligator may live as one in harmony. Auro and Teeka may celebrate their marriage after the next journey to the Big Water.”
Auro offered his father some pelts and meat as payment for his skill.
“The offering is accepted. After the morning meal, go and tell Teeka.”
Auro began to leave when Tamuk called out to him. “Auro, return. I must speak to you as a father.”
Auro moved to Tamuk’s side. “Is there something that troubles you, Father? Are you in much pain? I can prepare a poultice.”
The shaman shook his head. “It is not for me that I am concerned. It is concern for my son and the woman he chooses.”
“What is it, Father? Have I offended you or a spirit?”
“Too much love is a dangerous thing.”
The young man touched his father’s hand. “I have thought about what troubles you. When you are called to the Other Side, I will not let the People be without a shaman.”
The old man looked no less concerned. He started to speak, but then patted his son’s hand instead. “It is a happy day for you.”
As Auro walked away, Shala came and stood next to Tamuk. “You worry too much because he is your son and you are the shaman. Have you seen the way he looks at her? It is the way you looked at me when we were young.”
The shaman squeezed Shala’s hand. “Do I not still look at you that way?”
“And that look is in my eyes also.”
“We have been fortunate. Love that is out of a man’s control goes astray. The love wanders, searching for its boundaries. Sometimes evil sees that the love is lost, and it stalks the love, like a predator tracking its prey. It is sly and traps the love, and the love does not even know that evil has become its keeper.”
“Shaman, you are wise, but when you think about Auro, I still say you worry too much.”
“My Shala,” he began, “it is a burden to be a shaman. It is the price of the gift. I am glad that it is I who must carry the weight and not you.”
Auro’s recollection of that important day did not include the worry known to his father. He felt himself fill with excitement as he watched the small wake form in the water behind his trailing thumb. The journey would soon end, and he would return to take Teeka as his woman.
In these last few days before the hunters’ return, Tamuk had been very restless. He slept less and less. He spoke with no one. He had even curtly dismissed Shala. He had seen in his vision the thing that frightened him. He would need to be prepared.
As Shala cooked the morning meal, Tamuk wandered off, casting his weight on his walking stick, until the sounds of the village had long passed. Beneath the trunk of a long fallen cypress, fungi thrived on the dark dampness. The shaman bent forward and jabbed his stick underneath the log. The prying was making him short of breath, and his shoulder and back balked with the pain of the labor. His brows dripped beads of sweat that burned his eyes.
At last, the log lifted and rolled just enough to expose the compost. A scorpion, startled by the light, skittered under nearby leaves. Earthworms protested and wriggled back under the protection of the loosely packed earth.
He had remembered well. The black spongy fungi was plentiful. The shaman opened his waterproof pouch, which he had made many years ago from the entrails of an otter.
The black fungus was exactly what he needed. It lived as a parasite, feeding on dead matter. Its dull, lifeless color separated it from the plants of the living that glowed green in the sunlight. So it hid, feeding on the dead, a heinous thing, and a dangerous one whose potency was known only to the chosen.
The medicine man speared small pieces of it and slipped them inside the pouch before continuing west, collecting a few hard red berries and seed pods. A large, leathery cycad caught his attention, and he stopped and inspected it carefully. From beneath the earth he dug its swollen tuber, which was richly stored with starch and, more important, poison. With his knife he cut it free.
Near the village he detoured slightly and walked up onto the scarred surface of a limestone platform that heroically lifted itself out of the wetlands. In the center, he hunkered low to the ground and lifted his face and arms to the sky.
“Spirits of the People, hear your servant, Tamuk.”
The worried, fragile man waited for a sign. A cloud moved across the sun, and the wind came up, blowing the long gray hair away from his rawboned face. A bolt of lightning fractured the air, and the clouds unrolled, covering the sky. In the darkness of the storm, the earth vibrated with thunder, and the temperature of the air dropped, sending a chill down his brittle spine. The animals and insects suddenly fell silent.
The shaman recognized the sign and spoke in an old, old language, used only to speak with the spirits. The flashes of lightning increased in frequency, and the cracking of thunder shattered the air. The wind tried to drown him out, but the old man persisted until he was screaming the words. The wind-driven rain forced his eyes closed and stung his skin. Tamuk stood, lifting his face to the pelting rain and stretching his arms out, repeating and repeating his call. The earth shook beneath his feet. He fought for his balance and won, never stopping his summons.
Near dark the storm passed, and he let himself drop to the earth. His withered body and mind had been spent in the confrontation, but Shala would be worried about him if he didn’t return before the sky was dark. Guarding each movement, the weathered old man stood slowly, hoisting himself with the walking stick, and headed toward the village.
The sun was fire red on the western horizon, and the clouds were tinted pink and orange. From a distance, Shala saw him coming, but she pretended not to, not wanting to insult him with her concern. He was still a man, even if he was old and failing.
When close enough, she approached him with a bowl of warm turtle meat.
“You have been gone most of the day. You must be hungry and tired.”
He nodded his head. “It was not easy work that I did on this day.”
“What has been so important that you would wander without food or drink?”
Tamuk handed her the pouch. “Bring me the bowl,” he almost ordered.
“Of which bowl do you speak, Shaman?” she asked.
“The bowl of my father that was his father’s, and his father’s before him.”
Shala stiffened. “What need is there of that bowl, Tamuk?”
The old man’s eyebrows dipped, and his forehead furrowed with despair. “It will have a use soon.”
She loosened the drawstring of the pouch just enough to see inside, and shuddered when she saw its contents.
“Tamuk, no!” she said, reeling backward. “You have no use for these things.”
“Bring the bowl, and prepare the hatchi,” he said to stop her protest.
Shala knelt before him. “But I have never prepared hatchi. I do not know how to do this thing you ask me.”
“Pound it and grind it to a liquid, but be careful not to let it touch your skin. If it should splatter on you, stop and wash it off. Go now, Shala. Bring me the bowl, and begin your work. There is not much time. The hatchi must have time to cure.”
Shala reluctantly obeyed. She was allowed to make the initial preparations, but only the shaman could combine the ingredients of his potions.
She ground the fungi in a rock mortar, and the stench of it made her gag, forcing her to breathe through her mouth. Finally a small pool of foul black liquid rested in the bottom of the mortar. She could still see Tamuk in the moonlight, shaking his rattles and chanting over the ancient wooden bowl. She suctioned the liquid through a reed, carefully drawing it only halfway up, and then releasing it into a clay bowl. Once all the liquid had been transferred, she took it to Tamuk.
The old man inspected it. Deftly, he poured the hatchi into the ancient bowl that he had prepared.
“Go and bury your bowl and the mortar. It can never be used again. When you have finished, bathe yourself. Wash your hair and scrub your skin. Rinse your mouth and nose with clean water. Forget what we have done tonight and speak of it to no one.”
“What about the other contents of the pouch?”
“Leave them. Maybe it will not come to this.”
Shala stood before him. Her eyes pleaded for an explanation, but he offered none. He had aged since he left that morning. The lines in his face were deeper and his eyes not as clear. His face seemed to sag, and his brows were set with great worry. His lips looked dry and thin, and the hollows of his cheeks looked deeper and darker.
It had been generations since any shaman had used that bowl. It was passed down from father to son, but it was known that only the gravest situation called for its use. It was the only vessel in which the shaman was permitted to prepare the recipe for poison intended for one of the People.
“I can tell you no more, Shala. Go and do as I say. Cause yourself no more concern.”
This was too serious a matter to tell her. Today the spirits had confirmed it. For hours he had begged them to deny what he had envisioned. But the spirits had remained firm in their message. He had interpreted it correctly, and they would not intervene. They entrusted it all to him. It was to be his responsibility.
His body was weak from age. A shaman should never weaken, and so his will was strong. But Tamuk had the gifts of a shaman and the heart of a man, and that man’s heart ached with love for his son. But he remembered that before anything else he was the shaman of the People.
Just before sleep came, Tamuk felt his skin grow cold. His fingertips grew numb, and a buzzing began in his ears. The buzzing grew louder, drowning out all other sounds. He could see his body below him as he hovered over it. There was no wind, only the stillness of the other dimension. A suction pulled him through a tunnel at an incredible speed and then spat him out into another time.
Tamuk was filled with sadness. Before him sat an ancient shaman, chanting over a potion in the ritual bowl. Tamuk’s spirit eye reached out and floated into the shaman. Now he was one with the medicine man. He understood why he had prepared the potion. A man of his tribe was filled with an evil spirit. This evil man had bargained with the spirits for power over the People. The spirits from the Darkside had heard his plea and rewarded him. All men now bowed to him.
The evil man had called the spirits for personal gain and greed, a practice that violated tribal customs and values. Only the shamans were to deal with the spirits, and if another called to them, only the Darkside spirits would listen. Always there was a price to pay. No Darkside spirit granted anything without taking something away in return. And even though the greedy man knew that he would trade the suffering of the People for his own benefit, he was not dissuaded.
Tamuk watched with horror, and he now understood the legends. The forests were disappearing, and the great animals that roamed the earth were dying. Water rushed across the land where there had been no water before. The People suffered for lack of food and high ground. The coast disappeared under the water of salt. The People cried out in pain and anger as they paid the price for the man’s greed.
The good spirits visited the ancient shaman and spoke to him. They told him how to make a special wooden bowl and then how to prepare a poison in it, according to their direction. He was not to alter it in any way. He would have to stop the man. He had the power, and now he had the means. It would also be his responsibility that the People never forget the consequences of such a greedy and evil act.
While the evil man was away from his hearth, the old shaman slipped through the shadows and filled the evil man’s shell ladle with the potion. When the man returned, he drank from the ladle and immediately fell to the ground. Tamuk saw the man’s face for the first time. He reminded him of Auro.
Tamuk bolted at the shock, setting himself free from the ancient holy man. He trembled with the horror of what he had seen.
A good spirit spoke to Tamuk. “You have seen enough, Spirit Man. Take this vision with you. Know well what you must do. Be strong, Spirit Man. You are Shaman.”
The vision faded and blackened, and Tamuk was suddenly transported back through the tunnel and into his body. The experience had taken all of the night. The bowl of hatchi sat just as it had been left. The vision had not been a dream. None of it had been a dream.
Chapter Three
The moon had turned through half its cycle since Auro and the others had gone. They would be home soon. At sunrise Teeka was by the water. A pair of blue jays began their daily argument, attracting her attention. The sky was gray, and the jays fluttered in and out of sight among the mist and the branches. In the distance she thought she saw canoes, but she couldn’t be sure. She stood to get a better look, but the fog and hanging willow branches kept obstructing her view. She waded into the water to get a better look. Auro, she thought. They’ve come home. Teeka started in a trot along the edge of the stream.
As soon as she saw them clearly, she flinched. The canoes that were advancing were not the large Big Water ships. They were the smaller canoes that traveled the inland waters.
She withdrew from the water’s edge and hid behind a clump of reeds. Cautiously pulling some of the blades and stalks back, she looked downstream. The fog was rapidly lifting, the boats looming close. Straining her eyes, she searched for some sign that would identify the canoes and the people who manned them. As they got closer, the lead boat became clearer and the identity distinct. In the bow stood a man who had earned her fear. On his head he wore the spiked white plumes of the great egret. His body was decorated with colors that had been etched into his skin with thorns and dyes.
The saw grass cut ragged slits in Teeka’s skin, and the undergrowth of grasses entangled her ankles as she scrambled through the brush. A spiderweb caught in her hair, and the huge black arachnid crawled across her face. Whimpers of panic escaped her mouth with each breath. She had gone too far downstream trying to get a look at the canoes. Now there was no clear path to the village. She was weaving through branches and vines, tearing her skirt and abrading her skin. Blood trickled from her shin where a blade of saw grass had slashed the thin skin atop the bone.
Unexpectedly, the thick brush suddenly cleared. She needed to give her people a warning. He was coming. Why? Why? The bravest and the strongest were gone to the Big Water. How would those who remained defend themselves? Why was he coming now? It wasn’t the right time.
She ran to the edge of the village but was afraid to scream the warning for fear the raiders might hear her. Panting, she ran through the middle of the village, stopping to tell everyone she passed.
“Kaho! Kaho comes!”
After the first few had been told, the word traveled quickly and quietly. The very name of the man released fear in the village. He was the powerful warring chief of the Kahoosa. The Kahoosa had many warriors, and they dominated by terrorizing other tribes.
The women gathered the children and hid behind the mound, the hammock that supported the village. Teeka held Illa’s youngest, while Illa quickly pulled her other two children close to her. The baby was hungry and stirred fitfully in Teeka’s arms. She rocked him gently, but he was becoming inconsolable.
The Kahoosa warriors grounded their canoes. Kaho led fifteen men whose oiled skins shone in the sunlight. They were taller, with sharper features than the Tegesta. Their shell necklaces and anklets clanked as they moved, announcing their arrival even before they could be seen.
Teges, Tamuk, and the old men stood in a solid line, side by side, confronting the intruders. They stood tall and straight, trying to bluff the enemy.
The Kahoosa had painted their faces with red, black, and yellow stripes—the colors of the deadly coral snake. Stomping loudly, making no effort to conceal their arrival, Kaho and his men made their way from the water’s edge up the slope of the mound. They formed an intimidating line of vivid colors with Kaho at the center, a single step in front of the rest.
Teges, the chieftain, spoke first. “What has brought Kaho to visit the clan of Teges?”
Kaho raised his spear toward the sky. “Does Kaho need a reason to visit Teges?”
Teges did not move any muscle that could be seen by Kaho and judged as fear. His eyes never left Kaho’s. Looking away would have displayed weakness.
“Teges acknowledges the power of Kaho but questions his choice of time. Our hunters have not returned from the Big Water. We have not yet prepared your share of the People’s wealth.”
Kaho looked at his band of warriors. “This cacique questions Kaho’s time. Does he not know that Kaho can count the moons?”
Kaho’s band laughed at the ridiculousness, but not a smile crossed the taut lips of the clan of Teges. Kaho looked around the village and then turned back to Teges.
“Is this a clan of old men? Are your women your hunters?”
Teeka held the baby closer and offered him a knuckle on which to suck, as Illa tried to reassure and comfort her two other children. The baby twisted in Teeka’s arms and let out a cry. She peered through the brush to see if anyone had heard and was coming. Illa grabbed the baby and offered him her breast.
“Where are your women, Cacique? Have they made the journey and left you to do the work of the women?”
Teges understood the meaning. Kaho was trying to provoke him with insults, hoping that he would produce the women in defense.
“Is this the thought of the great Kaho? Has his mind become old and confused?” This time Teges did the provoking, and Kaho responded with anger.
“Bring forth your women. I have come to choose a bride. Even Teges cannot refuse me.”
Teges paused a moment in thought, and Kaho allowed it. Both wished the confrontation to end.
Shala stood first. She knew Teges would never compromise the women. He would stand firm, forcing Kaho’s hand. In the end, Kaho would have himself a bride anyway. The old men could never hold back the young Kahoosa warriors.
As soon as Shala stood, all the other women followed, bringing their clinging children. Illa shoved the infant at Teeka. “Take him. Let him nurse from your breast. Kaho will only choose a maiden,” she whispered.
Teeka looked puzzled. “But I have no milk!”
“It will not matter. He has been nursing. He will be content for a while. Quickly, do as I say.”
Teeka felt awkward, but the fear of Kaho overrode those emotions. When she emerged from the brush, the infant was sucking at Teeka’s breast.
“I want to see only the maidens,” Kaho demanded. “Have them separate themselves.”
Now that the women had exposed themselves, the situation altered. Teges nodded at the women. Compliance would be better than inviting a massacre of his people. Still, it turned his stomach. It was more difficult to allow this than to feel the sharp point of Kaho’s spear.
The unmarried women moved to one side, eyes focused on the ground, and Kaho strutted before them, looking up and down the body of each. Intermittently he would stop before one, put his hand beneath her chin, and raise her head. At less compassionate moments he would grab one by the hair and yank her head back.
He paused before Erza, a young girl who had just entered puberty. He motioned for her to step forward. As she did, he walked in circles around her, inspecting her. When directly behind her, he suddenly reached his arms around her and cupped both of her breasts in his hands. Erza jumped and closed her eyes tightly. Kaho let go and slid his hands down her sides to her ankles. He felt the rigidness of her muscles and slapped her thighs. A small tear worked its way through Erza’s tightly closed eyelids.
Teges took a step in protest, the veins of his neck tight with anger and disgust. As a man he did not want to think of the greater consequences. He wanted to lunge at the invader, drive his spear deep into Kaho’s chest, and see Kaho’s wicked blood spurt from him. But as the cacique, he had to keep his anger in check. The rest of the clan would follow his lead. Kaho would have to be tolerated or he would take out his wrath on all the clan, all the old men, the women, and even the children.
Kaho stood again and walked in front of Erza, who was trying to suppress her sobs. He turned and looked at Teges, smiled, and wheeled back around, grabbing Erza and pressing his pelvis to hers. He relaxed his grip, and then suddenly jerked her to him again. Immediately he let her go, laughing. Erza collapsed on the ground as Kaho turned to Teges.
“This one will never keep a man in pleasures. She will resist and fight like the female panther.”
Teges again stepped forward. “In our clan, we speak not of such things. The People request that you honor our customs when you visit us.”
Teges spoke with respect. That he must give Kaho in order to live semi-peacefully. “She is a child who has just entered a woman’s body. During the last full moon we celebrated her first time of the cleansing blood.”
Kaho, for a moment, looked as if he understood, as if he felt sorry for her, but then turned his head and spat on Erza, who was still huddled on the ground.
“This is all you have to offer the great Kaho for his bride?”
“These are the maidens of our clan. If nothing pleases you, go out and continue your search in other villages. The village of Teges is sorry it cannot please you.”
Illa’s baby stirred, becoming frustrated with the lack of milk. The infant sucked desperately, drawing his cheeks into hollows. Unsatisfied, he thrust out his legs and began to cry. Teeka bounced the baby and put him to her other breast. Illa’s child tried again, but with no reward he kicked and cried. She tried to keep from looking up, but her fear made her glance up to see if Kaho was watching what was happening. Her eyes fell straight on his. Nervously she lifted the baby to her shoulder.
Without looking again, she sensed that Kaho was watching. She talked and cooed to the screaming baby, again offering him her empty breast. As Kaho came closer, she began to feel more and more awkward with the baby. Her eyes began to burn as they wanted to tear. Her throat tightened, and the cooing became rattled and broken. He had noticed.
“Why is it that you put this infant to your breast and he cries?”
Teeka swallowed, trying to release the constriction in her throat before she spoke. “He is sick.”
Illa stood next to Teeka, her face chiseled with lines of fear. She knew her sister well and recognized the fear in Teeka’s voice. Had Kaho also noticed?
“The baby has been sick and did not eat for many days,” Illa interjected. “The mother has also been ill, and her milk is not so plentiful.”
The baby’s crying continued to intrigue Kaho. “He looks very strong and healthy. How has he been sick?”
Teeka and Illa began to speak at the same time, but Kaho interrupted.
“Why do you speak for this woman?” he addressed Illa.
“She is my sister, and I have been caring for her and the child.”
Kaho’s suspicions had been aroused, and his observations were keen. He looked hard at Illa, seeing the clue that confirmed his supposition.
“Are these your only children?” he asked Illa, indicating the children at her knees.
Illa was quick to answer that they were.
“They are too old to suckle, are they not?” he continued to probe.
Illa drew in a deep breath. Why was he asking these questions? There was no way he could know that the child in Teeka’s arms was hers.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Then why does your breast drip milk from that side?” he said, pointing.
Illa looked down to see the translucent white liquid dribbling from her left breast. She had nursed the baby while they were hiding, but only from the right side. The baby’s cry of hunger had triggered the flow of milk from her other breast. Now it dripped, giving away the lie.
“Give the child to its mother,” he ordered Teeka.
Teeka resisted, not letting go of the lie. “This is my child. We have been sick, and my milk has dried up. That is why this baby cries. He is mine.”
Kaho motioned to one of his band, who came and stood next to him.
“Put your knife to the child’s throat and cut it,” he demanded.
The man raised his knife to the child and hesitated. Teeka and Illa remained motionless. Kaho gestured for the man to go ahead with the act. The knife touched the baby’s throat and drew a small amount of blood as it scratched the skin.
“No!” Illa screamed, grabbing the man’s wrist.
Kaho nodded, and the man withdrew his knife. The baby’s skin had been only slightly nicked.
“Give the child to its mother,” he ordered smugly. “I choose this maiden,” he announced, putting his hand on Teeka’s shoulder. “I will return for her in a few days. I will take my share and my bride at the same time. The clan of Teges should be proud to offer Kaho this fine maiden. Protect her while I am gone. If this maiden should fall ill, walk the Other Side, or leave this village, the clan of Teges will know the vengeance of Kaho. Not one spirit of the Teges clan will remain.”
Kaho signaled his men, and with arrogance they turned their backs on the people of the village and returned to their canoes.