Part 87: Squeezing Water From A Rock

Main story folder & table of contents: "Return To Manitou Island" 
Previous chapter: "Part 86: A Spy In Our Midst" 

PART EIGHTY-SEVEN:
Squeezing Water From A Rock

BLACK ELK HORN swung the knife forward at the bound stranger's head, just as Charmian leapt into the camp clearing, clenching her fists and yelling at the top of her lungs.

"I CLAIM HIS LIFE!!"

Dead silence. Charmian stood frozen where she'd landed, and everyone else stood frozen as well, as if part of some large tableau. All eyes were fixed right on her, more than a few mouths hanging open. Even Black Elk Horn stared at her, his knife still poised in midair, eyes wide in disbelief.

Charmian's own eyes shifted from left to right, and she very, very slowly began to draw in on herself. "Well...?" she barely managed to murmur out of the side of her mouth, eyes flicking. "I can do that, right...?"

Silence. Then Black Elk Horn blinked. He lowered the knife, but his face started to go so red that she wished she could disappear into the ground. She could have sworn that his eyes were about to go red before he took a threatening step toward her and jerked the knife at the air.

"ONLY those of this tribe may do that!" he shouted. "Only us! You are not of this tribe! You do NOT have this right!"

Charmian scowled. "The Island accepts me JUST as much as it accepts any of you!" she retorted.

Black Elk Horn's lip curled back. "This is NOT the issue! You are not of this tribe--so you CANNOT claim him!"

Charmian opened her mouth, even as she knew she had nothing left to say. The stranger was staring at her with wide eyes, yet she couldn't think of a single way to save him, short of going up against Black Elk Horn, and with him the entire tribe...and there was no way she could do that without antagonizing Silver Eagle Feather and the others. The thought of her friends turning into her enemies was more than she could bear, and all ideas of saving the man's life fled her mind; her throat worked but no words came out. All she could do was stare helplessly as Black Elk Horn turned back to the captive.

"She is of this tribe!" another voice suddenly cried out, making Black Elk Horn stiffen and halt. Charmian blinked, then turned her head, brow furrowing.

Stick-In-The-Dirt still stood behind her, now wringing his hands and shifting his eyes from left to right just as she had done. Everyone gawked at him now. He flushed when he noticed their scrutiny, then took a breath and stepped forward. He swallowed and forced himself to stop wringing his hands.

"She is of this tribe," he said again, his voice quavering but clear.

Charmian's brow furrowed even more. "Stick...?" she murmured.

Stick-In-The-Dirt simply gestured back toward one of the wigwams. "She has stayed in my home, under my roof. She has sought my knowledge, and my wife has fed her. She has spoken with my daughters as if they are her sisters. Yellow Turtle spoke to her as a grandfather, just as he spoke to many of us. I welcome her into my home and among my family. She is one of us."

Charmian's words left her again. She turned to look at Black Elk Horn, and could see that he seemed just as astonished as she was. A slight rustling noise started up and several of the people nearest them parted, and White Deer appeared; Charmian looked at her when she stepped into the clearing.

"She is my sister!" she exclaimed.

Charmian gawked. Black Elk Horn struggled to regain his senses and scowled at her.

"She is not!" he barked.

White Deer gave him a look that was every bit as challenging as anything Charmian could muster. "She spoke to me as one, and stayed with us, and took supper with us, and learned from Father, AND Yellow Turtle gave her his Megis shell!" At these words everybody ringing the camp sucked in a breath and took a step back, and Charmian, Stick-In-The-Dirt, and White Deer were suddenly left standing on their own, a blush creeping up into Charmian's face. "If this does not make her one of us..."

Stick-In-The-Dirt took another step forward and put a hand on her arm to silence her. "I accept her into my home," he said in a voice which barely carried across the clearing. "This is all that matters."

Charmian could clearly see the emotions warring on Black Elk Horn's face--disbelief, disgust, fury, humiliation--yet after a moment or two of this he scowled again, and swung the knife. Charmian had enough time to gasp before it sliced through the captive's bonds, and he fell forward to the ground with a muffled cry, curling in on himself. She stared at him until she noticed Black Elk Horn storming right toward her and gasped, stumbling back several steps; he paused just long enough to give her the blackest look imaginable, and his voice sounded like rocks grinding together.

"He is your problem now."

And with that, he was gone, pushing several of the others out of his way as he stomped back in the direction of his wigwam. Silver Eagle Feather stood just outside, and she cast him a look as he stooped and swept aside the flap, vanishing within; she glanced back at Charmian and the others before following, and silence descended over the camp once again.

After a moment everyone turned to look at Charmian. She stared at the wounded man lying on the ground, then peered up at the ring of faces surrounding her.

"Stick...?" she whispered, and he cocked his head to look at her. She chewed on her lip. "Now what am I supposed to do...?"

* * * * *

The fire burned brightly in the middle of the wigwam, both Morning Star and White Deer tending to the pot of soup which hung suspended over it. Charmian sat with Marten in her lap, Thomas to her side, and stared gloomily at the fire; Stick-In-The-Dirt joined them, dusting his hands, and she looked back over her shoulder. In the shadows at the far side of the wigwam the stranger sat propped against the wall, his furs removed and a tight bandage wrapped around his shoulder; his eyes were closed yet she could tell from the pained look on his face that he didn't sleep. She let out her breath and turned back to the fire, glancing at Stick-In-The-Dirt.

The medicine man sighed and settled down near her, holding his hands out toward the fire. "His wound should be all right, if he keeps it clean," he murmured so only those around the fire could hear. "Yet whether he does or not is up to him."

Charmian allowed herself to feel a bit of relief, before looking down at the ground. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this, Stick," she said in a small voice.

Stick-In-The-Dirt blinked at her, then flushed. He turned to the fire and rubbed his hands as if to give himself something to do.

"You do not need to apologize. I did not like what he would have done, either. Even if he is an enemy, I feel this course would only bring more trouble to the Island." He paused, then turned about bodily to face her. "What were you thinking?" he exclaimed, and waved his arms. "Claiming him? Do you even have any idea what to do with him now--?"

Charmian flushed. "No, I don't have any idea! It just slipped out! It was the only thing I could think of!" She huddled in on herself. "Besides, I thought maybe you guys could fill me in on what to do next--Pocahontas didn't exactly teach me what to do!"

Stick-In-The-Dirt looked confused. "Poca-hon-tas--?"

"I just didn't want Black Elk Horn to kill him," Charmian said, and looked at her feet. "I hate the thought of Elk doing something like that. I know he's trying to protect the Island, but sometimes he really pisses me off."

Stick-In-The-Dirt sighed and rubbed his hands again. "These are strange times, and although I hate it also, strange things may need to be done. He was right on one thing--if there is one, there are bound to be many."

"But I haven't seen any others."

"Now that you've got him--" Stick-In-The-Dirt nodded at their wounded visitor "--there ARE going to be others."

Charmian chewed on her lip. "I couldn't think of anything else to do," she murmured.

"Maybe he will talk now?" White Deer suggested. "Now that he has no reason to keep silent. Elk will make a terrible ogimah if he thinks waving a knife at everybody's head is a way to get them to speak!"

Stick-In-The-Dirt made a face and waved at her to hush. A gasping noise drew their attention and they turned to look toward the other side of the room. Morning Star was stooped over here, handing a bowl of soup to the wounded man, but he had grasped hold of her arm before she could retreat. The two of them were staring at each other.

"You are one of my people!" he whispered, as if not knowing that the others could hear. "Why do you stay here? Why do you not go back where you belong--?"

Charmian's and Thomas's eyes shifted to look at Stick-In-The-Dirt. An almost stricken look came to his face but he said nothing. Morning Star peered in their direction as well, paused, then turned back to the wounded man. She gently pried her arm free and set down the bowl.

"This is where I belong now," she said, simply, and turned away, standing up again and returning to the middle of the wigwam. She started stirring the soup while Thomas and White Deer stared at her; Stick-In-The-Dirt let out his breath, and they all looked at him then.

Charmian rose to her feet, drawing a blanket around herself and going over to the wounded man. The others glanced up at her in surprise but she ignored their looks; the wounded man saw her coming and his face settled into a scowl again, and he hunched in on himself, drawing away from the bowl of soup. Charmian knelt down so she could better face him.

"My name's Charmian," she said, and gestured at the others. "That's Thomas, that's Marten, that's White Deer, and that's Stick-In-The-Dirt and Morning Star." She paused, then asked, "What's your name?"

He simply continued glowering at her.

Charmian bit the inside of her mouth. He can't at least give me his name, rank, and serial number? After a moment of awkward silence she shrugged it off. "Okay...maybe later then." She nudged at the soup. "Aren't you hungry at all...?" When that elicited no response she tried a different tack. "Look...about in the woods there. I'm sorry I acted like that, but then again you could've almost killed me! We were just defending ourselves. And I'm sorry about the way you were treated." She gestured at his wound, feeling somewhat guilty. "If I'd've known they were going to do that, I wouldn't have acted like that. They're only worried about the Island, you know." She sat down and folded her hands. "That's kind of why I wanted to talk to you. Everybody's worried that there's more people coming after you, and that's why they're on edge. Maybe if you explained why you came here, we could clear things up? Then there wouldn't be any more trouble. What do you say?"

Still no response. Charmian frowned, then peered over her shoulder. All of the others were staring at her. She flushed a little and turned back to the wounded man.

"Look," she tried again, feeling her patience waning, "you have to admit it's a little hinky, you showing up and sneaking around the Island. I know you were--I saw you down on the shore. So of course everybody's thinking you're a spy, and maybe you are. But if you explain all this and why you're here, then we can clear it up. There's a lot of stuff going on just now and we hardly need to deal with any more trouble. If there are more of your guys coming, why don't you just say so? Then I can make sure Elk doesn't go after them. We can even warn them off. You've seen this place, you know they wouldn't want to be here. Unless you're here for a good reason? If you don't mean any harm, then there's no harm in talking." She paused. "What do you say?"

Still no response, though his scowl grew even uglier. Charmian's impatience flared at last and she let out a flustered sigh. "Look, you can at least say yes or no to something! After all that trouble I went to making sure you didn't end up scalped and barbecued, you mean you can't even tell me your name--?"

"You think I owe you now because of what you did?" the Iroquois snapped at last, and Charmian almost jumped back, she was so startled to hear his voice. "That because of this, I will be thankful to you? Indebted? I did not even ask for you to save me! I would rather be killed than endanger my people with some little girl like you!"

Stick-In-The-Dirt and White Deer cringed and hid their faces.

Charmian blinked. "Little girl...?" Her face started to go red. "Little girl--?"

Thomas managed to get to his feet and stride toward her in two steps, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet just as she started railing. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A LITTLE GIRL?!" she yelled. "I JUST SAVED YOUR LIFE OUT THERE! YOU'D BE DEAD IF NOT FOR ME! I GO TO ALL THAT TROUBLE AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL ME AND ALL YOU CAN DO IS CALL ME A LITTLE GIRL--?!"

Morning Star grabbed hold of her other arm now and the two of them held onto her while she struggled, her fit dying down but her anger remaining. "I hope you SPIT UP your soup!" she snapped, kicking at the bowl. "AND I hope your stupid wound gets infected and your arm falls off! That's the LAST TIME I bother doing something like that! I should just LET Black Elk Horn get your guys, if I weren't a better person than YOU are!"

The Iroquois blinked, then got a look that was somewhere between a grin and a glower. "Use big words, little girl, just like your chief. It seems both of you are all talk and no action!"

Charmian's eyes widened, then she ground her teeth in fury. She wrenched her arms free and clenched her fists. "I'll show you ACTION--!"

The wounded man's eyes suddenly went wide, then he hunched over, cringing and putting his good arm over his head. Charmian gawked at him in surprise--had it really been that easy to scare him?--when she realized that he had looked down just before ducking, and she glanced down as well to see what might have frightened him.

The fingers on her right hand were glowing.

Charmian stared at her hand for a moment, then drew it up to look at it more closely. She frowned in confusion.

I didn't even call on fire, or anything! Why would my hand be glowing...? If I didn't call up any manitous...

She paused, then put her other hand to her chest. She felt a sharp pang in her spirit stone and winced, the glow in her hand dying away. A wave of anxiety swept over her instead and she quickly turned away, making her way to the opposite side of the fire. She stood here staring at the wall of the wigwam and trying to settle her rattled nerves.

What was that? My spirit stone is hurting again! And what happened to my hand--?

Is it that--that thing--? That thing that Snow Bear did to me--?

She curled her fingers in and willed herself to try to calm down. She had to take several breaths just to get anywhere near started, and by then Morning Star had gone back to the Iroquois with another bowl, White Deer had turned to the pot, and Thomas and Stick-In-The-Dirt had come up to stand beside her. They both gave her concerned looks.

"Are you all right...?" Stick-In-The-Dirt asked in a quiet voice.

"Your spirit stone," Thomas murmured. "Something just happened, didn't it?"

"I...I don't know," Charmian said, and it was true. She flexed her fingers. "I don't know what just happened. It just...happened." She winced again. "I didn't mean to scare him..."

"What is happening with your spirit stone?" Stick-In-The-Dirt asked with a puzzled frown.

Charmian opened her mouth to tell him nothing, but Thomas spoke up first. "When she went to try to face Chakenapok--he tried to steal it from her. He ended up wounding it instead."

Charmian raised her head. "Thomas--!"

"She said that if you let it get too much worse, it could take you over," Thomas said, glaring at her. "Just like the Shadow Wolves. Ignoring it won't make it go away any faster, you know."

"What do you have to do to fix it?" Stick-In-The-Dirt asked, now with an anxious look.

"Geezhigo-Quae told her she would have to defeat Chakenapok," Thomas explained. "Then the problem would go away."

"But that keeps getting a little bit harder," Charmian sighed.

Stick-In-The-Dirt looked as if he wanted to ask more yet bit his lip and fidgeted instead.

Charmian sighed again and shrugged. "Basically I don't know where to find Chakenapok--I tried looking in the Spirit Land, but Yel--somebody told me he's not there. And so I have to ask the Spirit Road if IT knows where to find him, and to do that I guess I have to have a vision or something, because if I die then that rather defeats the whole purpose of the thing..."

Stick-In-The-Dirt's eyes grew wide. "The Spirit Road--?" he echoed. "Who told you to seek this?"

Charmian averted her eyes. "Somebody I met in the Spirit Land. I'm pretty sure I could trust him, too."

"The Spirit Road knows the path if not the whereabouts of everyone who has ever passed over," the medicine man said thoughtfully. "So it makes good sense to ask it for guidance."

"But I don't know how," Charmian protested. "I meant to ask Old Mother Manitou--even though I don't have the feeling she would exactly know, since she doesn't seem to be into that kind of thing. I don't really know many people into that kind of thing, if you know what I mean."

Stick-In-The-Dirt rubbed at his neck. "You really plan on doing this? Seeking the Road?"

Another shrug. "If I can find it, I suppose. It's better than the alternative!"

The medicine man fell silent for a moment, then his gaze drifted to the floor. "Then you should speak with Laughing Lynx. He might be able to advise you on what to do."

"Laughing Lynx--?" Charmian's brow furrowed. "Who's that?"

"One of the elders in the Midewiwin. He has had visions..." he trailed off, peering at Thomas and then back again "...more powerful than my own. He would have actually been a better choice for tribal medicine man." He lifted his head again. "He would probably know about the Spirit Road, and instruct you on how to find it."

Charmian paused but then shrugged. "Well, it can't be worse than anything else I've tried!"

Stick-In-The-Dirt waved at her, then went to pick up his furs and put them on. "His home is at the other side of the camp...I'll show you."

Charmian suppressed a sigh and reached for her snowshoes and overcoat. Thomas picked up Marten and stood nearby as they dressed themselves and approached the doorflap. Stick-In-The-Dirt cast her one more glance as he pushed it open.

"You would really visit the Spirit Road for the Island...?" he started to ask, then shook his head. "I should not even be surprised anymore. You would have been a better choice for tribal medicine man."

Charmian blinked and then went red. She took a step forward, but somebody touched her shoulder and she looked back. Morning Star stood just behind them.

She tilted her head vaguely toward the other side of the wigwam, where the Iroquois still rested. "His name is Singing Cedars," she said quietly.

They all stared at her. "He told you...?" Charmian asked, brow furrowing.

She nodded. "Though he would not say much else...except to say that somebody should hold your medicine in check, before you hurt somebody."

Charmian's jaw nearly dropped. Thomas grasped hold of her arm and pulled her outside along with him and they left the wigwam behind.

* * * * *

"I feel almost like I'm in a relay race or something," Charmian mumbled as they walked across the snowy camp, "except every time I try to pass the baton, I'm pushed on toward the NEXT stop! How many people am I going to have to see before I figure this thing out?" A gust of wind tugged at her hood and she scowled. "And when will he ever KNOCK IT OFF!"

"The trees will not live much longer if this continues," Stick-In-The-Dirt had to call back, tramping through the snow.

Charmian sighed. "Defeating a giant Wendigo--next on my to-do list." She rubbed her arms. "I have to wonder what kind of medicine man this is anyway," she murmured to Thomas. "'Laughing Lynx' hardly sounds like a very distinguished name for a medicine man."

"Funny," Thomas said, "I've been thinking the same thing about 'Stick-In-The-Dirt.'" He peered down at her. "I saw how you never even told him about Yellow Turtle. Why was that? You think he wouldn't want to know where the old man ended up?"

Charmian's ears went pink. "I thought it might sound kind of bad coming from me," she murmured, staring at the ground. When he tilted his head she sighed. "I mean here he is, fasting and fasting and praying and praying and waiting for a vision to come, and here I am, stepping into a cave and speaking with Yellow Turtle just like he's still here. Stick's the one who should be talking to spirits like that. He's the one who does all the work."

Thomas's brow furrowed. "You mean to tell me you don't think you do an awful lot around here--?"

They slowed down as soon as the medicine man did. Stick-In-The-Dirt stopped before one of the wigwams, a great drift of snow piled up against its right side, and stooped forward to pull aside the doorflap, sticking his head inside. Charmian leaned toward Thomas.

"Another thing I've been wondering about," she whispered. "If they ever knock around here."

Stick-In-The-Dirt pulled his head out and looked back at her, waving. "He says he will speak with you. I didn't give all the details; you will have to explain."

Charmian flushed. "Well, thanks a lot, I guess!" He seemed to miss her sarcasm as he merely nodded and stepped aside; Thomas remained where he was, with Marten, as Charmian walked forward. The medicine man held open the flap and she crawled in, her snowshoe catching on the rim of the doorway and nearly making her fall forward on her face. She managed to catch herself with her hands before her nose could smush against the floor, and yanked her shoe loose with an angry grumble. The doorflap fell shut and almost immediately the noise of the wind died. Charmian blinked.

The fire in the middle of the wigwam was stoked a bit, and it flared somewhat brighter so she could see. The first person she saw was an old woman, seated near the fire and poking at it with a stick; then she noticed a shadow coming closer and looked up, and her eyes widened as soon as she realized that she recognized his face.

Continue:

Part 88: Somewhere, Over The Arch...  (13+) Charmian has to see a rock about a Road... #922871 by Tehuti, Lord Of The Eight

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