Wild Rapture
Mariah’s knees were weak at the thought of seeing Echohawk again, having never forgotten their eye contact during the surprise ambush. Should he recognize her, so much would be lost to her.
Shakily she followed Nee-kah into the wigwam.
Chapter 8
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
—Blake
Upon entering Echohawk’s wigwam, Mariah scarcely breathed. The room was dim, the fire’s glow and the faint light drifting down from the smoke hole in the ceiling giving off only enough light for her to see a man standing over Echohawk, who lay on a sleeping platform in the deep shadows along, one wall, furs spread over him, up to his chin.
From this distance Mariah could not see Echohawk’s face, but seeing how still he lay proved that her father had inflicted upon him a terrible injury.
Guilt spread through her like wildfire when she thought of that very instant she had seen her father bring the butt of his rifle across Echohawk’s skull. She ached inside to know how this injury had affected him.
He was partially blind—and he just might die!
Oh, but she wished from the bottom of her heart that she would be given a chance to make things up to him.
To see him full of life again.
To see the sparkle of his fathomless dark eyes....
“Come,” Nee-kah whispered, drawing Mariah from her troubled thoughts. Nee-kah tugged on her hand. “Let us sit down. We do not want to disturb the Mide priest’s healing ritual.”
Mariah smiled weakly and nodded. She followed Nee-kah’s lead and sat down on a soft mat in the far shadows, away from the Mide priest. She straightened her back and folded her legs beneath her as she leaned forwar
d, wanting to see Echohawk’s face, yet still faint to her because of the damnable darkness of the wigwam.
She could not relax. The Mide priest’s appearance was frightening. On his forehead were two black lines that started at his eyes, and similar lines were painted by his ears. His hands, too, had been painted with dark lines.
“The lines by the priest’s eyes show that he can see the future,” Nee-kah whispered. “And the ones by his ears are because he can tell what is happening even at a distance. His touch can bring healing or death. That is why there are marks on his hands.”
His breechclout was of white buckskin, decorated with designs of porcupine quills and both copper and silver beads. And he wore a thong with a white seashell around his neck.
Seeing the direction of Mariah’s gaze, Nee-kah explained, “That shell is called a megis. It is a symbol of the Mide’s power.”
Folding her hands on her lap, Mariah watched attentively as the priest sat down beside Echohawk’s platform. When he picked up his drum and began to sing a high-pitched chant, his rawhide-covered drum thumping out the beat as he sang, the thump-thump of the drum unnerved Mariah even more.
To her, it seemed to carry with it the sound of doom.
As though Nee-kah had read Mariah’s thoughts, she leaned over and whispered into Mariah’s ear. “The deep throb of the water drum the Mide priest is playing represents the heartbeat of the creator, the Great Spirit,” she explained. She lifted her nose into the air and sniffed. “And, No-din, do you smell the sweetness? Cedar boughs are burning in the lodge to purify the air.”
Again Mariah smiled weakly, too soon realizing the complexities of the Chippewa’s beliefs. She wondered if it was wise at all to try to fit into the culture, even if only for a while, in an attempt to make up to Echohawk and his people the wrongs she and her father had done them. Her efforts might be looked on as too foreign—as trivial, and wrong.
Yet she must not let anything dissuade her. She must do it for Echohawk.
Nee-kah leaned even more closely to Mariah. “Do you see the eagle feather in the Mide priest’s beaver hat?” she whispered. “That is another sign of his magic power. Do you see the pouch at his belt? It contains many totems that are used for healing the sick. He keeps with him bits of rattlesnake and bear claws, feathers from certain birds, tobacco and elk’s teeth. Now, watch as he performs his magic.”
The priest began to chant as he bent over Echohawk. With great care he took several objects from his pouch and arranged them on Echohawk’s chest. Then he shook his rattle over his patient and sang again.
The Mide priest droned song upon song. Mariah swallowed hard as she continued to watch, becoming fearful that perhaps what she saw as witchcraft hocus-pocus might do Echohawk more harm than good. What Echohawk needed was real medicine, not strange songs sung over him and strange shells placed atop him.
She wanted to get up and speak her piece about how she felt, yet she knew to do so would be to condemn herself in the eyes of not only her friend, Nee-kah, but also the whole village. She was here because of their tolerance. She did not have the right to interfere in their beliefs, no matter how strange they seemed to her.
She stretched her neck to see what the priest was now about to do. He had gotten a cloth bundle from behind him and was unwrapping it. Her eyes widened as he took out a tail feather from an eagle, yet she saw that something still remained covered in the cloth.