by Joe Zeigler
Liùsaidh Is Spurned
Liùsaidh stepped to the edge of the small clearing and looked down on the main encampment. One by one the People glanced up at her, then turned their backs. Something was wrong; they seemed angry and resentful. She had not received a warm greeting when she and Glooscap entered the camp, and his had been worse. She had been abandoned after Danijel failed to return, without much thought on the part of the group. It had seemed appropriate to them; Liùsaidh didn’t fit. After rising so high on the virtue of being Danijel’s woman, she no longer had a place now that Danijel was gone.
On an almost unconscious level, the group felt Liùsaidh was now questioning their decision, which at the time, they were scarcely aware of making. Unexpectedly, she was back and claiming privileges that were not hers—setting up camp in the leader’s spot with a new—and younger—male. He was too young to be the leader, even if the People were inclined to accept him. If she once was who she thinks she is, they thought, she is that person no more.
Liùsaidh suddenly saw that she had made a mistake. She had been too bold. Excited at the prospect of rejoining the People—her people—she had overreached without thinking. She should have set up camp just outside the main encampment and humbly waited for them to invite her in. She should have given the People time to adjust and to accept her and yes, Glooscap. They would not have resented his feeding her, or the sex if she had approached quietly and with respect for the new order. Liùsaidh now realized that she had no idea what the new order was.
Who is the new leader? Perhaps he is away on the hunt, expecting to occupy the high ground when he returns. This perceived usurpation was a dangerous situation. She had to think, and quickly, as only moments of daylight remained. She needed to do something in the daylight so people would see. And she had to do it before they started to talk among themselves and locked in their conclusions and opinions. Once they took a stand, they would be loath to retreat from it. She must be quick!
Below, Ohad was saying, “There she stands, without Danijel. What does she plan—to make this young man, this outsider, our leader? Yes, an outsider. A stranger with no people of his own, a foil for Liùsaidh’s ambition!”
A few people started to gather around, and that excited Ohad to new effort, as he’d had thoughts of becoming the new leader after Danijel failed to return and they left Liùsaidh behind. He knew that he needed an issue to ignite his campaign, and this might be it. If he could turn this into a fight against a woman who pretended power, he could not lose his race to be the leader.
“Glooscap is not a stranger,” commented Ullah. “He is of the People. He was ill unto death, and we left him to the spirit with Liùsaidh and the others at the encampment where we lost Danijel.”
Ohad who had not been in camp when Liùsaidh and Glooscap arrived, had not seen them up close and had just assumed that Glooscap was a wanderer who had attached himself to Liùsaidh.
“Worse,” Ohad cried, “he’s a zombie, arisen from the dead, and Liùsaidh is a witch who brings the dead to us.”
Ullah, a calm man of advanced years, understood that Ohad felt threatened by the appearance of Liùsaidh and Glooscap. But Ohad seemed to have no restraint. What forces are Ohad risking unleashing with these baseless accusations? Ullah wondered, worried.
Though Liùsaidh could not hear all Ohad was saying, she caught enough of his body language to realize this was not good for her. And more people were gathering. “Glooscap,” she cried in an urgent whisper, “gather your belongings and follow me. Bring the fire!”
Glooscap had already built a good-sized fire, and, in the growing cold, she didn’t want to abandon it. She had no choice, and she realized that making the fire could work to her advantage.
Quickly she gathered her belongings and treasure.
“What are you doing?” Glooscap asked, confused but moving.
“We have Danijel’s camp set for his return,” she replied. “Now we must prepare our own—quickly! It’s good that you have your shelter.”
Moving down the path to the flat below, Liùsaidh led a confused Glooscap to a more humble site just outside the group’s encampment. She then began to gather leaves and moss for bedding as he set up the shelter.
“Make the fire; it’s cold,” she commanded.
“Why are you doing this?” Glooscap complained. “We don’t need a shelter here! We have already set up camp above.”
“Quiet,” she told him. “I’ll prepare some of the dog meat, and we will feast. Then I promise I’ll make you happy.”
Ohad’s harangue had ceased as the People around him noticed Liùsaidh and Glooscap moving down to their level. They could see the blazing fire above and, by its light, the neatly set-up camp and shelter on the upper ledge.
Danijel was gone, and it was not clear if he would ever return. Not likely, thought Liùsaidh, as she crawled into the hastily assembled lean-to and removed her garments. Fortunately, the pregnancy did not show yet. But it would soon, and she had to be prepared.
Later, she thought. First, I have to ensure Glooscap’s loyalty and convince him that the child is his. Positioning herself on her hands and knees, she faced away from the opening and called softly, “Glooscap.”
Courting Micaela
Though Ohad continued to speak of returning to the old ways, there was no overt conflict but rather a continued background tension. About half, including all of the Jah, were unconcerned with the leaderless situation. The other half felt a little lost. Some listened to him as he tried different approaches. Lying Liùsaidh and the walking dead remained a topic as did Glooscap’s—whom Ohad claimed was the walking dead—planned usurpation
of Danijel’s power. He tried to keep his charges connected though he often wandered far afield.
Ullah was surprised and concerned by the number of people who were taking Ohad seriously.
“I’m worried about Ohad’s influence. He is jumping from one groundless accusation to another spreading discord among many of the people. What is he trying to do?”
“He’s trying to find an issue that people will respond to, and follow him. His latest is that God has turned his back on us, and only Ohad can lead us back to righteousness. But he’s not making much progress so far.”
“A shocking number of people are listening to him.”
“There are always a few,” Gwuune replied, “don’t worry. Every time he switches issues he loses as many as he gains.”
Eventually, peer pressure calmed most of the lost ones. Others became confused by Ohad. They knew him as a successful tradesman who was now, suddenly, a politician. It bewildered them.
Most simply attached themselves to someone doing something and did it, too. But, Ohad continued to be an attraction.
***
Returning to his tent, knowing Micaela would have maintained and cleaned it during the day, Ohad found Maxtla standing beside Micaela as she prepared Ohad’s supper. It smelled fantastic—he could see it was a stew of some kind. Micaela had learned to cook from her mother, whom she had nursed and cooked for until she had passed when Micaela was ten years of age. He held Micaela’s cooking and the meats supplied by the young men of the group responsible for his greedy appetite and girth. He saw that Maxtla was saying something to Micaela that made her smile.
“Maxtla,” Ohad exclaimed, “what are you doing here!” Of course, he knew what Maxtla was doing—or hoping to do—so it was a rhetorical question, a challenge. “Get away from her! She is busy preparing my dinner and doesn’t need distraction from you.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Maxtla replied—a typical young person’s defense.
“Well, stop doing nothing and start moving your feet away from here.”
“You shouldn’t say that,” Maxtla replied as he began to edge away. “My people live high on the canyon wall. You should be happy that a person such as I has an interest in your daughter.”
“First, young man, Micaela is not my daughter. Most importantly, she is too young for
you or any lustful young man such as yourself to have an amatory interest! Go away!”
While trying not to appear to be looking at Maxtla, Micaela watched him strut away proudly as if he believed he had won the war of the words. He’s somewhat a fool, she thought, with all his nonsense about his high-dwelling family being better than everyone else. But not entirely unacceptable. She felt an unfamiliar flutter in her abdomen. It is just as well that Ohad chased him away.
At fourteen years of age, Micaela’s clock was ticking. I’m not too young, she thought. But she didn’t want to make her parents’ mistakes. Her memories of them were not good. Her mother had constantly complained, and as a result, her father had avoided their home and her. Finally, he disappeared. Strangely devastated, Micaela’s mother left Micaela alone and set out to find him. When she returned without him after months, she was sick with the fever, and she died after a lengthy illness.
Later on, the day her mother died, Micaela returned from gathering vegetables and found Ohad examining her parents’ belongings, stuffing the best items in an open bag beside him. Micaela had been with Ohad since that day, perhaps hoping to be a daughter, but instead, he treated her as a servant.
Anyway, Micaela thought, I want more than my parents had, but more than anything, I want a man perfect for me, the perfect father for my children.
Micaela was attractive with her long black hair, well-shaped taut body, and big brown eyes. Swimming, she looked like a seal gliding smoothly through the water. And her appeal was greater than just physical beauty; she kept herself unusually clean and well clothed. She spent hours scraping skins, cutting them into pieces, and carefully sewing the pieces together using a tiny awl made of bone. She made clothing for herself and Ohad, though he did not appear to appreciate the effort. Her work didn’t match the precision of the Jah’s tailors, but her designs were more creative.
Some boys had come around, the most persistent being Maxtla. She had lain with none of them. She was tempted at times, but she was uncertain. Maybe she did not want to change. Her relationship with everyone would change. And then, children. She would have to care for their children. Who would take care of Ohad? Maxtla was handsome, tall, and light haired (which was generally admired for reasons she did not understand), and he seemed smart enough, though he could easily have been cleverer. He kept talking about his fine family. Micaela knew the family to be important, but his attitude somehow offended her. She had walked with him a few times, though nothing had come of it…yet. A pact with Maxtla would save her from the Breeding. But it would not be good to start something that could go nowhere. How was she to know that? There was something about Maxtla that was wrong and hidden. It was not a happy thing, but she didn’t know what it was—she simply felt it. And, it was unclear if she was more leery of Maxtla or the Breeding.
She knew that she shouldn’t think that way about the Breeding. Ohad had instilled in her the importance of the event and her duty to her people to participate proudly. She was determined to do just that. Her best furs were freshly scraped and cleaned. Her shell necklace was cleaned and polished, as were the matching arm and ankle bracelets. Micaela had made them herself from shells she had found on the canyon rim. It had taken many months to find shells of just the right size. She had selected larger shells for the neckless and smaller ones for the bracelets. They all had to match in size and color. Then she had polished them for hours, drilled a hole in each with a small bone awl, and strung them together on a string she had made from deer gut.
Making the string had been the most tedious part of the whole process. First, she soaked a long piece of gut in the cold water of the canyon’s river for ten days. Then she scraped the flesh and fat off the hollow muscle. This took many hours and many passes with the flint scraper. Finally, she carefully split the cleaned gut into two long pieces. She repeated this process two more times to get six, long, thin pieces of gut. Then Micaela soaked them for two days in the river, tied the ends to a tree branch, and twisted them together to create one strong single strand. She hung that strand between two trees to dry. As it dried, it shrank in diameter and grew in length. So Micaela had to retwist it numerous times before it was completely dry. After hours of rubbing the shells to make them smooth, she ran the strand through the holes, and the necklace was finished.
She was looking forward to the ceremony and would attend wearing her best furs and her finest jewelry.
In the meanwhile, there was the migration. She had been looking forward to going south all year. With all the families and groups together, plus the People of the south, surely she would find the one for her—the true one—among them. Of this, she thought she was certain.
***
The next morning, as they woke, the People quietly glanced at the campsite above. It remained empty, the camp neatly arranged. They now accepted it as a tribute to Liùsaidh’s respect for their absent leader and by association, a tribute by all of the People. Liùsaidh’s political ear had failed her only momentarily. Today Liùsaidh was back in favor, and Ohad was quiet. She knew Ohad would not let the matter rest. Drawn by the power vacuum that existed, he would do what was required to come out ahead, without risking himself.
Tinga visited their camp to inquire about Glooscap’s recovery. She was an older woman, in her early thirties, and was, like her mother before her, the group’s herbalist and midwife. She wanted to hear, in great detail, about each stage of the illness and what Glooscap had done to treat it. In the end, Tinga concluded that the experience could add nothing to her store of knowledge. The illness had simply run its course, and Glooscap had surprisingly survived. Sun’s will be done, for nothing within her power would have made any difference.
Waiting for Danijel
Soon a week passed, and no one showed any inclination to move. It was strange as if they were waiting for something. And they were. The campsite that Liùsaidh had set up and tended daily evoked an unspoken feeling of loyalty and obligation to Danijel, their missing leader. They all knew the empty campsite would remain unoccupied, yet everyone was loath to be the first to say it aloud.
The gatherers went out daily, returning with fruits, berries, pinyon nuts, and healing herbs. They also gathered the squawbush and rabbitbrush used by the weavers to make more baskets. They preferred the three-leaved squawbush, as they used the berries to make a refreshing, bittersweet drink, as well as the flexible branches for weaving baskets. They made baskets as their mothers and grandmothers had done since the world began—by creating the frame, with the vertical members defining the shape and size of the basket. A proven method was to lay out five branches of the same length and to split them lengthwise to create a flat side. After carefully marking the center of the pieces, they then overlapped the branches on the center mark, finally binding them in a star pattern with a thin piece of rawhide. The process called for an odd number of vertical components, accomplished by splitting one of the branches.
Then, starting at the bottom, they wove the horizontal branches through the vertical members—from the inside to the outside, around the basket, with the next row alternating opposite. In the beginning, when the spaces between the vertical branches were very small, they employed a technique called twining, or using rawhide. Twining was especially necessary when the basket’s purpose was to hold water.
The more industrious and talented, such as Micaela, would alternate branches of different colors to create patterns on the baskets. Micaela had been experimenting with the laborious and complicated task of creating pictures as opposed to simple patterns, something no one had ever attempted before. She had to vary the different colors of the horizontal branches numerous times around the circumference. So far, her efforts had produced mixed results. But it was evident that when she finally got it right, the effect was going to be spectacular.
While the females worked in the camp, the hunters had been very successful and brought in a plenitude of game for the women to cook over the communal fire. This day they had employed their most succ
essful hunting technique. They hid near a watering hole on the river. When the animal appeared to drink, they drove it in panic into the water, or preferably mud, where the group would overpower it.
The children enjoyed themselves by hounding the hunters—the boys wanted to grow up and be like them; the girls wanted to grow up, or not, and be fed by and mate with the mighty hunters. The young girls were especially watchful in the early evening as the hunters returned with their bounty. They watched the men’s muscles moving beneath their often-scarred skin. They watched for a glance, anxious to make eye contact—a sign someone desired them. In calmer moments, the children occupied themselves by scratching pictures onto the surface of the basalt boulders that littered the west side of the river—often defacing the older images and symbols. In any case, it was impossible to tell which graffiti was older and which was new. The elders paid no attention.
As he had done in previous years, Ohad had taken possession of the grinding rock—a large, hard, waist-high stone with a slight depression in the center. He charged the fee of one arrowhead for sharpening a knife, five for an axe, with a price for everything, including grinding corn. Ohad had one of the boys scratch his likeness on the east side of the rock to mark his property against poachers.
The Traders Arrive
At midmorning, a man Ohad didn’t recognize hailed the camp from the other side of the river. “Hello, camp. I am Gedeon, of the Trader people. May I come over?”
“Welcome, friend,” Ohad replied, recognizing him finally. “I think I remember you. You were here last season?”
“Yes,” Gedeon answered. “We did well last year and will be here every year on the other side of the river. I scouted ahead to assure myself all is well and to introduce myself and my people to any others I find. We will set up camp and a trading post to offer goods to the many travelers that pass down the river gorge. We have beads, herbs, fresh meat, feathers from far south, flint stronger than any known here, and many other goods.”