The Book of the Emissaries: An Animism Short Fiction Anthology

by Kevin J. Anderson

  A wind rushes all around me. It comes from all directions. Three Indian hunters run fiercely at me. I am fearful they mean to hurt me, but they pass me as if I am unseen. I leave the idol and follow them like a shadow.

  The Indians stop at the edge of the clearing that surrounds the lake. I see what they are hunting – a tall man near the frozen water. He carries a small limp body in his arms. I crawl like an Indian. My hands and knees cut open on the cold snow. I cannot feel my body, but I am compelled to keep going.

  Closer, I see that he is wearing a long black coat. I look up and see the frozen bloodied feet of a young girl dangling and lifeless. Closer, I see the face of the man carrying her.

  His eyes are light blue and glint like a devil. His lips are gnawed away. He rolls his jaw over and over. Drool falls from his lips and turns to ice on his chin. I look closer yet.

  He is the Reverend.

  The Bishop, worried for Mr. Gaudet’s wellbeing, recommended that he take rest. He soon expressed concern surrounding the strident efforts of the Reverend to locate the missing girl, for his studious attempts to locate her were uncommonly heroic in a time when many suffered from the famine. However, the camp supported the Reverend vehemently.

  After sharing this account, Mr. Gaudet increasingly withdrew from the camp. He created a general terror when signs that a famine might occur again returned the following winter. He was reported to have painted himself like an Indian and stolen an axe from his father. He then proceeded to attempt an attack on the Reverend. He called the Reverend a devil and then repeated the word “Witikaw” while striking at the Reverend’s shoulders and neck. The men in the camp managed to restrain Mr. Gaudet with only minor wounds to the Reverend. He was later put to trial. He escaped to unknown whereabouts on his way to incarceration. The camp has been uneasy since his disappearance.

  Old Friends with the Old Bird

  by Elizabeth LaPensée

  Ogashiinan (Dearest Mother) cut her hair and it grew into the vast sweet grass. She cried and her tears became the rivers. She sat in the earth in her moon and her blood became the medicines. Her footsteps made the path for Anishinaabeg (The People). She was with them always.

  When the warmth of Ogashiinan made the winters of Wiindigoog welcoming, many men came to the land. The many people of the many lands from all directions came to trap the animals that flourished in great abundance. So many were there that the men could hardly count them. Such abundance was matched by great demand. There came to be trappers and traders, tricksters and traitors. Nanabozho was the greatest trickster of them all and he dreamed often of his turn to shape the lands and its peoples.

  In the glistening of the first days of spring, Ogashiinan walked as tall and thin as the birch trees and came to rest by a lake. There, Nanabozho, who walked as a young man with hair as black and shiny as raven feathers, hid in the bushes and waited for an opportunity to surprise Ogashiinan.

  “Ah ah, I see you, you trickster,” said Ogashiinan. “Come out from those bushes before those thorns go too deep.”

  “Ayee!” shrieked Nanabozho as he spun around in the bushes. Sure enough, just as

  Ogashiinan had warned, he had been crouching among the thorns and the more he moved, the deeper they went.

  “Stay still,” Ogashiinan insisted. She walked swiftly up to him. Wherever she stepped, the frost melted and the dew fed the new green.

  “How can I stay still when I’m in so much pain?” whined Nanabozho.

  Ogashiinan laughed. “You have no sense of real pain.” She grabbed him by his wrists and pulled him straight out of the thorns.

  With Nanabozho came a great many branches, leaves, and, of course, thorns. He yelped again and then sighed. “Not even any berries...”

  “The frost has only just now dwindled. Patience,” Ogashiinan explained as she plucked thorns out of his arms and chest.

  Nanabozho yowled more and more as each thorn was pulled.

  “You are going to have to get tougher if you plan to hold your own against Wiindigoog,” chided Ogashiinan.

  Nanabozho gave her one of those looks, the one that says, ‘How could you ever think I would be thinking of such a thing?’

  Ogashiinan shook her head. “I know what you are planning, you old bird. You would never harm me though, and so you will wait.” She plucked one last big thorn out of his diyaash.

  Nanabozho cried the loudest he had ever cried. Then he brushed himself off as though none of that had happened at all.

  Ogashiinan walked in a circle around Nanabozho.

  Nanabozho, being that he really had no sense of when to talk and when not to talk, spoke up while she walked. “We could share this season together, you know...”

  Ogashiinan eyed him up and down and gave him one of those ‘You silly boy’ looks.

  Nanabozho elbowed Ogashiinan right in her hip. “Ey, ey? Think about it. Just give me all the berries and I’ll give you back all the animals these trappers are taking.”

  Ogashiinan hesitated in her steps. “How would you do that?”

  Nanabozho leaned back and folded his arms. Now he had her attention! “Just think. You bring about a sickness and send them far away.”

  Ogashiinan huffed at him. “That would hurt all the people of this land. And, besides, tricky bird, where are you in this story?”

  Nanabozho nodded. “I knew you would ask that. Not to worry. I would fool them into thinking this sickness came from the animals.”

  Ogashiinan shook her head. “Nanabozho, there will come a time when this is not a trick.

  It has been said that there will be a time when the land is sick and the animals will become sick with the land and then the people will become sick. And where will we be?”

  “Leading the seasons!” announced Nanabozho.

  “To what end? And for what purpose? I am here for the people; they are my children. Why are you here?” Ogashiinan asked as she stood still and firm in the ground.

  “Now Ogashiinan, have you forgotten my help? Or was it so long ago now?” Nanabozho leaned forward and his neck tilted like a bird looking for a worm.

  Ogashiinan nodded. “Yes, this is true. You cared for my children, the first of the people, when I lived in the sky.” She lifted her hands up and offered her thanks.

  Then Ogashiinan put her palms very firmly on her hips. “This does not excuse you of choices now. I will do what I can to keep the balance and keep Wiindigoog away. It is all I can do. What are you going to do?”

  “Wait,” Nanabozho grumbled as he walked back into the birch trees.

  Ogashiinan laughed and held out her hands. What once were thorns became a great many seeds.

  “Plant these with me for the future generations. When they give you berries, you will know it is your moment to step forward and lead the people,” Ogashiinan offered.

  “But I don’t want to lead any people. I just want to eat berries,” complained Nanabozho.

  “You are a young man and an old man all at once, Nanabozho.” Ogashiinan shook her head and began planting the seeds on her own. “And I also know, when called on, you will be a great man.”

  Nanabozho whipped the birch trees as he went on his way. Ogashiinan placed the seeds in a circle around the water that would one day be known as God’s Lake by Nehiyawak, the Cree people.

  Although the sun and the rain encouraged the seeds to grow into bushes, the berries were stunted by a heavy cold brought by the return of Wiindigoog. Hungry men travelled from the east across the lands.

  All this while Nanabozho waited until his berries were ripe. These very berries that tempted him from hiding would bring him to his greatest calling by Ogashiinan in a season when Wiindigoog threatened all.

  A Hawk's Feather

  by Diane Catsburrow

  Silent as a snake, silent as a hunter, Akinyi crept up a sturdy branch, ascending high into the sky. Originally, she had climbed in pursuit of a small bird's nest with its small speckled eggs, but after collecting them carefully in her waist
pocket, she spotted something much more appealing.

  It was a hawk, the finest of its kind that Akinyi had ever seen. She knew that one feather from those rich maroon wings would earn the envy of every child in her tribe. She would no longer be called out of races and snaring bets for being a girl, and they would include her in the games, all right. And she would grow up to become a hunter the world had never seen.

  The hawk yawned, then fixed her gaze at the peak of a faraway mountain, as if some deep thought troubled her. Which was silly, thought Akinyi merrily; what would a hawk have to worry about?

  She was almost there, so close, just a stretch of hand away from earning her feather. Tentatively, cautiously, she reached for the left wing. So close. But she would have to creep up another inch. Gritting her teeth, she repositioned her feet, curling her toes around the stub of a thin branch.

  The hawk, as if having felt Akinyi’s desperation, spread her wings, displaying the artful colours of her flawless feathers in the light of the sun. Smiling triumphantly, Akinyi reached out and grabbed a feather, half glittering maroon and the other cloud white.

  “Akinyi!”

  Surprised, Akinyi whipped around, the stub breaking, her foot slipping, her other hand reaching out to catch another branch. It was the other children, her friends, who had been gathering nuts. The hawk, having found the small girl pulling at her feather, gave a surprised squawk, then, eyes turning bright with anger, opened her beak and screamed. Akinyi, in a sudden burst of fear, stared opened-mouthed at the hawk, which had surely not been as large as her just a moment before. She then realized that the branch she’d thought she’d caught was actually the bird’s leg. The talons of her other leg clamped upon Akinyi’s outstretched arm, drawing blood. The hawk spread her wings, now longer than the girl’s own skinny legs, and flapped them, creating a gust of wind.

  The feather Akinyi had pulled off was still gripped in her left hand, and she was determined not to let it go, to live to see herself returning to the camp with the feather proudly woven into her hair. Fresh determination welling up her heart, she screamed defiantly at the hawk, hoping to scare her off, and tried to catch a branch with her toes. Then, feeling her arm almost about to be torn off, she clutched the feather between her teeth, pulled a stone knife from her pocket, and hacked at the bird’s foot.

  The hawk, however, seemed to have transformed. With unnatural power and fury, she lifted herself into the air, then, with a curling strike of red light, Akinyi was falling.

  ••

  The world had gone deaf to her, she was screaming so in her fall, the feather out of sight.

  In her blind climb for the feather she had been almost high enough to touch the sky, and Akinyi knew that if everything went as it was supposed to, she would smash to the ground in seconds; she would die. The branches were swiping at her resin-smudged face. There was not much time left. Tears falling free, Akinyi closed her eyes and compressed herself into a tight, scared ball.

  Except she didn’t fall head-first into the ground. A branch scraped her neck viciously, then somehow caught the hem of her fur vest, and after great shaking swings, Akinyi realized that she was hanging from it. Alive.

  “I’m alive,” she said out loud, dazed.

  She hung there for a while, limp with the sudden release of tension, the branch still swinging her gently. Then, after a deep breath, she gripped the branch with hands that burned from everything they’d suffered throughout the day, climbed down to the ground, and began to run home.

  ••

  “Brothers.”

  “What is this?” growled Wetiko, turning around from gazing out from his blue cave.

  “Just look at the sight of me,” exploded the Mother, extending her foot, which turned into a hawk’s. A trickle of golden blood seeped from the wound. A trickle of merry laughter came from above.

  “Shut up, Trickster!” bellowed the Mother, and the laughter increased by a level.

  “I do wonder, who did that?” asked Wetiko, guffawing as well.

  “A human!” she flared. “A mere human fledgling has done this to me. Yaks lower their heads when I fly, lions bow when I land, and the whole world obeys at my very glance. And for that I give them the peace that is so good to them. But these people, these humans, they have no respect for us, they have no respect for the Gods! I have been the first in this humiliation, but I assure you, I will not be the last!”

  The two streaks of laughter sobered at the anger in the Mother’s voice.

  “So what are you saying?” asked the Trickster, quietly.

  “That we show them our power, so that they know the consequences of defying a God,” said the Mother.

  ••

  The world shook under Akinyi’s feet as she wandered around nowhere, lost. Immediately she jumped and leapt onto a tree like a squirrel, startled. The world was shaking. The sky was full of stormy clouds. Thunder struck at a distance.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered into the wind.

  “Everything!” came a rumbling reply.

  Akinyi jumped. A ringing voice cackled.

  Smoke was coming out of the mountain on her left. Akinyi stared at it, then saw something red erupting from its top. No use would come from staying in the tree. Quickly climbing down, she jumped from the bottom branch. The moment her feet touched the ground, the tree in which she had taken momentary relief burst into flames. The forest had caught fire. She looked behind her, where she thought her village lay, but the red seeping from the mountain was heading in that direction. Fresh tears springing into her eyes, Akinyi, bare-footed, desperate, and unseeing, ran.

  ••

  “Let’s just let them go!”

  “Why?” drawled Wetiko. “Plenty fun, this is.”

  “At this rate soon there won’t be a single human left on the surface!” said the Trickster.

  “I was thinking,” remarked the Mother, flicking her fingers at the storm clouds, “that the other animals might learn from the humans’ rebellion, and try to do the same. And we don’t want that, do we? All I want is peace for everyone, and I won’t risk that for anything.”

  “One of them defied you!” said the Trickster. “That’s no worldwide rebellion. I think it will be better to let some of them to survive.”

  “Are you pitying those rascals? You, the Trickster – ” roared Wetiko.

  “No,” the Trickster interrupted. “I just think we could use them. Leave some of them with the memory of this consequence engraved deep in their tiny minds, and they might come in handy, someday.”

  “Use them?” asked the Mother, sounding interested. The Trickster nodded, grinning in his meaningful way. Wetiko glared at the two, then strode away.

  ••

  A hand brushed Akinyi’s shoulders, and she stopped and turned, her eyes ablaze with fear and trembling from head to toe.

  “Don’t be scared, little child,” said a voice. “I will not hurt you.”

  It was a boy, hair a soft shade of the moon, and startling yellow eyes, standing right behind her. Akinyi stared. The boy chuckled.

  “Who are you?” asked Akinyi.

  “I have many names,” he said, eyeing the rapidly clearing sky. No further words came, making Akinyi pout. He laughed good-humouredly. Then, he pulled the feather from the tangled mess of her hair.

  “It must have gotten caught there when you fell,” he said, brushing her hair then artfully putting the feather in it. Akinyi stared at him with teary eyes.

  “The disasters have ended. You can rebuild your world,” he said, clutching Akinyi’s little hands in his as he gradually floated into the air and faded into nothingness. “I will help you.”

  Smiling for the first time since the fall, through tentatively, Akinyi nodded at the glittering air before her.

  The Seven Thousand Year Chase – Part IV

  by Jordan Ellinger

  For the next several decades, I wandered the Earth like an animal, eating what I could catch and avoiding all human con
tact. I bathed in mountain streams and slept in alpine meadows. I could not free myself from the look Inez had given me in the instant before she died. I was like a whipped dog, running away from its master.

  Apprentice shamans in the Salish Tribe in what is now the province of British Columbia undergo a ritual in which they must live alone, away from the tribe, for ten years before they can return and assume their position. When the Salish people found me, perhaps they thought that I was an apprentice from another tribe. They had never seen a man with skin as pale as mine so they assumed that I was sick and tried to nourish me back to health. By that time I was so far gone that I didn’t have the strength to fight them.

  My body got well in spite of myself, and after a few days I was able to thank them for their aid. They asked me who I was, and so I told them the story that I am telling you now. In return, they told me about a Trickster god of theirs who lived in the sky.

  I left them and journeyed north through snow-capped mountains to the great tundra beyond, where no trees grow and the sun doesn’t set for weeks at a time.

  I lived simply for many, many years, hunting seals as I once did in Brodgar’s Ness. During the winter months I trudged across vast glaciers and left a line of footprints behind me that were the only flaw on otherwise virginal snow. In the summer I raced across vast valleys with the caribou and dressed myself in the skins of those I managed to kill.

  Always, I looked for the place where the Trickster was said to dwell, listening carefully to the oral histories shared by the tribes I met. All those years I searched for him, not because I wanted the mask anymore. I searched for him because I wanted him to kill me.

  At last, I reached a place where the land was as flat as a tabletop and the ice stretched to the horizon, except for a solitary mountain peak that appeared to connect the sky to the frozen ocean. I travelled towards it for days. With no wood to build a fire and no food to eat, I walked during the day and slept each night in a hole I’d dug in the ice.