Spirit Child

The river flowed lazily to the south; it brought life to many and death to some. In heavy breath coming from the forest a man ran in anger towards the riverbank. He had deerskin pants on and similar moccasins; save for these pants and shoes he wore only paint. In reds and clues of berry juice and herbs his body was lined with colors that calmly stated war.

Collapsing on the riverbank he cast his hands into the mud and yelled, “Why do you forsake me, River Spirit?” In answer the river bean to rise, the water encompassed his legs and fore arms. He stood up, casting the water about with struggling legs stuck in the mud, “Have we not given you enough praise and honor, O’ Mighty Spirit?” The water began to lower, the force pulling him out of the mud and into the river.

Small, choppy, waves lapped at his body and begged for attention. He turned to the south to see a large wave coursing up the river towards the north, against the river’s natural flow. “Was one life not enough?”, he yelled, swimming towards the shore in a hurry, “Do you seek to drown me as well?” Before his feet could touch shore the great wave caught him and took him under.

The water caressed him like its child, carried it down the bank, occasionally bobbing him back up so that he could breathe and then taking him back down. From below the waves the sky looked like it was mocking him and the low hanging tree branches as if they were trying to pull him free. All around the spirits of the land gave utmost attention to this man.

Day turned to night and night back to day as the great wave passed village and town, the man lost to its whim. For a week the spirits nurtured him in the river. Trees dropped their fruit into the river as he passed and the birds’ callings lulled him to sleep as he floated on the surface at night.

One day as he awoke the great wave had brought him to a lake at last and could go no further. He floated slowly to the shore of a port town unlike anything he had ever seen before. Its buildings were made of stone and the people dressed in odd impractical clothes that covered almost their whole bodies. Large building with sheets hanging from poles floated in the water near the wooden dock that stretched out into the lake. The water quickly beached him on the shore beneath the dock.

Looking up through the cracks in the dock there were storm clouds in the sky. His entire body ached and he could not bring himself to move. It was obvious that the strange pale skins who inhabited the town had not seen him for they continued to walk along the dock without falter. Sleep and wear got the best of him as he lay beneath the dock.

He awoke to a scream and the sound of someone running away from his location. Groggily he rubbed his eyes and sat up, looking in the direction of the screaming, which had continued since he was awakened. All manners of angry noises were joining the screams until they finally died down and all he could hear over the waves of the lake were hurried footsteps.

A lantern lit up the beach beneath the dock and stung his weary eyes. Many of the pale skins were gathering around the entrance to the small beach area. He held his arm up to shield his eyes from the light as the man with the lantern came closer. The lantern man tried to grab him, but he smacked his hand away. There was a gaggling of noise in response from the pale skins at this.

In his exhausted state they made quick work of tying him up. Outside his small domain the sky was still cloudy and he was unsure of what time it was. The pale skins brought him to a small shack on the outskirts of their town. As they untied him they cast him in and closed the door. Inside there were a great many human shapes all moving in subtle motions and making sounds of pain and grief.

It wasn’t until morning when the sun had pierced through the clouds and the cracks in the shack that he could see who these men were. They were in fact of his people, friends and even distant family that had long ago gone missing. Every one of them looked exhausted; weighed down by bruises and fresh scars. He took to talking to them in their native tongue. “What is going on here? These are not our enemies, but strangers. Why is it they hold us prisoner?” No on answered with more than looks of pity and sorrow. At first he thought they had not heard him, but then a woman his age began to push through from the back till she stood face to face with him.

Shock took his face before he exclaimed, “Skysong!” and wrapped her in his arms. Together they cried and held each other tight for a long moment, she weeping “Lakechild, Lakechild…” and he rubbing her back. It was some time before he let her go, “I thought you had drowned in the river…”

“No, no…I thought the same until I awoke in this place.” She replied.

“Where are we? Who are these pale skins?”

“I do not know, Lakechild, but they are awful! They treat us like animals to tend their fields and guard their flock!”

“Why have you all not left, these men are not strong, nor are they practical.” He sounded confused.

“They are vile spirits, they carry with them loud screaming sticks that cut our flesh and kill our spirit!”

“I will not cower from sticks, we are men, not animals and we shall fight like men!”

His words only made the others in the shack more depressed to hear such ignorant courage. Skysong only held him in silence before the door swung open and the pale skin barked an order at them.

Lakechild acted quickly, bringing his fist to collide with the pale skin’s face. He slammed the man’s head into the side of the shack and tossed his body to the ground. “The Spirits may be vengeful, but they protect us from evil such as these pale skins! There is nothing they can do to stop us, now stand and fight!” Looking at the dead pale skin on the floor Lakechild’s people began to rise from their meager positions on the floor of the shack.

A loud boom startled them all, but there was no sign of what it had been. Turning around Lakechild could see a pale skin aiming a smoking stick at him. He wondered what had happened until he noticed a branch above him where the tree had leaned down to shield him from the pale skin’s stick. The eyes of his people lit up and they began to rush from the shack with newfound vigor. “The spirits protect us, we are free!”

Lakechild took Skysong by the hand and led his people into the forest as more pale skins began to appear with more boomsticks. Bullets veered off course by the wind’s hand and boulders rolled behind the tribesmen to shield their retreat. “Run child, you are of the Spirits and will be under out guidance as the mother guides the babe…” the wind whispered to him.

Skysong looked up at him in loving admiration, he was splendid in glorious valor. She could run forever at his side and knew that as long as she held his hand they would never have to look back. Lakechild gripped Skysong’s hand tightly for fear of looking back and not finding her there. Together with their fellow tribesmen Skysong and Lakechild proceeded to the river where they knew they could find their way home.

The group followed the river south for days until they finally arrived back at their village. A great applause greeted their return and later a ceremony. Lakechild was praised as a hero in the village and Skysong and he were soon married. On their wedding day the spirits rejoiced as well as the tribe. It was a beautiful day and the sky was clear of clouds, the trees bowed, and the wind blew only enough to keep the attendants comfortably cool. As Lakechild kissed Skysong the people cheered and the world around them rejoiced.