White Sky, Black Bird

Bodéwadmi Territory (Modern-Day Michigan)

After two weeks of travel, the three finally arrived at White Sky’s village. Between the Great Crosswater to the south and the Chain of Lakes to the north lay another lake, this one much smaller, called Waawyaataan for its curved shores. White Sky’s village was thus Waawyaatenak, lying just beyond the eastern edge of those shores, making it one of the westernmost villages in Bodéwadmi territory. While the southern sea was claimed by both the Snakes and the Odawa, and the north by the Deer-Tenders and Island-Dwellers (before the Snakes ate them both), this little lake was the Bodéwadmi’s. Of course, they still shared it with the Odawa and Ojibwe, like all their possessions, but given that their older brothers had dominion over their own larger lakes, the Keepers of the Hearth-Fire tended to enjoy this humble stretch of water for themselves.

After the chaos and danger of the past few months, White Sky and Black Bird were pleasantly relieved to find that their last two weeks of travel bore no Snakes hiding in the grass. It wasn’t a complete surprise–the Snakes, like all tribes on Turtle Island, tended to retreat into their own territory when winter came. Warring and raiding during winter was costly, tiring, and often futile. It was much harder to maintain a supply of food and water for a raiding party with all the game in hibernation, and it was much harder to lay siege to a village with all its warriors home for the winter.

Despite this, however, the boys were not completely at ease. For the truly frightening quality of the Snakes was their unpredictability. Their elders had warned the boys that the traps they would most likely fall into would be the ones of their own making, meaning to never fall complacent and thus victim to the unexpected. So too were they taught to always remember the past, and pay it mind, and though the neighboring Island-Dwellers and Deer-Tenders fell before either of the boys were born, they learned that the Snakes sieged them throughout the whole winter, staying in the wilds of the enemy territory and attacking the women whenever they left their protective palisades to gather crops. The Island-Dwellers were unprepared for such an assault, and could not withstand it, eventually crumbling under the endless pressure.

Thus, it was not impossible for the Snakes to employ the same tactic now, and with both nations destroyed, all that was left in these lands were the Bodéwadmi. Those from the Island or Deer nations that were not assimilated into the Snakes fled north and east to French settlements, leaving towns that were once renowned for their impregnability abandoned and empty. The journey to White Sky’s village was like wandering through a land of ghosts, farmlands turned battlefields with deep scars only three decades old.

Their arrival was seen from a distance, and by the time they reached the outskirts, the whole village was there to greet them. Though Black Bird was not Bodéwadmi himself, all councilmembers of the Three Fires were brothers, and so he was treated like family here. The villagers had gotten to know him well, too, as this was the village they returned to after their trading expeditions, with Black Bird’s own village being further away. This would be his third winter here, and he didn’t mind that at all. In fact he preferred it this way, as it meant he would not have to spend the winter under his father’s roof.

White Sky’s parents stood at the front of the small crowd. They were always happy to see him return, a sentiment Black Bird could not help but feel envious at.

“Ngwes,” White Sky’s mother said as she cupped her son’s face, dimples forming in her wrinkled cheeks with her smile. “Ni je na?”

“Nbekte,” White Sky replied. Black Bird smiled–after weeks of eating tack and pemmican, all either of them could think about was a home-cooked meal.

“Bozho, Mskwangé,” White Sky’s father said to Black Bird, clapping the young man on the back. The Bodéwadmi pronunciation of his name always sounded strange to him, despite the usual similarities between the Bodéwadmi and Odawa dialects.

“Bozho,” Black Bird returned. “How has autumn treated you? It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you.”

“Good enough. The harvest could have been better, but we will have enough to last the winter, at least. And who is this?”

The man gestured to Dr. Härkönen, who stood behind the boys awkwardly.

“He’s our patron,” White Sky explained. “He’s the one that buys most of our goods, and he pays handsomely for our services.”

The boys produced the large belt of wampum they had recently been awarded, which turned heads among the onlookers.

“He didn’t have a place to stay for the winter,” White Sky continued. “He’s been a help for us, and I was wondering if we could repay him by letting him stay here, just until the spring.”

The boy’s father furrowed his brow in suspicion.

“You know we have never let a white man stay in this village,” he warned. “We have seen the pattern–once one comes, others follow. They will come with missionaries who spread their false religion, and divide our communities. They split the Island-Dwellers in two, and attracted Snakes to their doorstep.”

“He’s not a missionary,” Black Bird replied. “He’s a doctor. He’s traveled all over the world, and learned about things we did not even know existed. We would benefit from his wisdom.”

“Hmph. If you both trust him, I am willing to consider it. But ultimately, it’s not for me to decide. Let us go to the elders, and we will abide by their choice, whatever it may be.”

The parents turned, and the handful of villagers behind followed them into the town.

“What’s happening?” Dr. Härkönen asked.

“We’re going to see the elders,” White Sky explained. “We need their permission to let you stay. I’ll let you speak for yourself to try and convince them, and I’ll help translate.”

A few men helped the boys with their two canoes full of cargo–they had been dragging them along the ground for the last leg of their journey on foot, since the old doctor was too frail to carry his own. The boys were glad to be home for many reasons, but certainly because they could rely on others to help shoulder that weight now.

It did not take them long to reach the village’s center. Many Fire-Keepers did not stay in their villages during the winter, choosing instead to disperse into small groups in warmer areas, regrouping once again once the spring came. White Sky’s village was a little different–being so close to the Island-Dwellers and the Deer-Tenders, they had taken some customs from them. One was evident, lying smack-dab in the middle of the village–an enormous longhouse, an unusual building among the small, dome-shaped wigwams most Anishinaabeg used. The longhouse provided a place for the larger families to keep warm in the winter, sharing a communal fire in the longhouse’s center. It was also where the elders stayed, and where important meetings were held.

White Sky’s parents went into the Longhouse, and White Sky turned, straightening Dr. Härkönen’s jacket and trying to flatten his wild and unkempt hair.

“Follow my lead in there,” he instructed. “Any rudeness on your part, intentional or not, will make it impossible for me to convince them.”

“I trust you will handle the pleasantries and etiquette,” the Doctor said. “I am unfortunately still unfamiliar with the customs of your people.”

“I know that. That’s why you’ll watch what I do and how I do it, and emulate it if I instruct you. Understood.”

The doctor nodded. White Sky took a deep breath to calm himself, then the three of them went in.

Inside, the eight eldest men in the village were already gathered around the council fire in the center of the longhouse. The eldest of all of them sat at the far end, observing the white doctor with a scrutinous eye. His name was Wasegishgonene–Man of the Distant Sky, and leader of the Bear clan, the most powerful of the clans in the village. The Bodéwadmi did not have a single chief appointed to lead the whole village–instead, decisions were made by a group of elders, who weighed the positives and negatives of each choice until they agreed on a conclusion. Despite this, Wasegishgonene’s opinions and insight were trusted more than anyone’s since he was the eldest, and he was always the one to . The rumor was that he was a hundred years old, but White Sky had no idea if it was true.

“Welcome back, Wabegishek,” Wasegishgonene said, addressing White Sky the way the Bodéwadmis pronounced his name. “Your father tells me you have returned with not one, but two guests for the winter.”

“Yes,” White Sky said. “I know it’s unfair of me to ask the village to bear the burden of two more people, but Black Bird has stayed with us before, and has proven himself a help to the village.”

“I am not concerned with the young Mskwangé. He is a resourceful and respectful young man, and we would not turn away a Trade-brother from our home. I am concerned, however, with your other guest.”

“Yes, Nkyekyam. I understand your hesitation, but he has been a significant help to me and Black Bird, and I believe he carries knowledge with him that would help us. He does not claim allegiance to the French or the English–he hails from another country entirely called Finland, which has no claim on these lands and makes no quarrel with anyone.”

The elder stroked his chin, looking the doctor up and down.

“I assume he does not speak our tongue,” he said.

“No, Nkyekyam, but I can translate for him.”

“Have him introduce himself, then. I must understand who this man is before any of us can make a decision.”

White Sky nodded, and turned to the doctor.

“You are to introduce yourself,” White Sky said.

“Of course,” the doctor replied, taking a step forward. “Should I bow?”

White Sky shrugged. “It’s not really something we do, but I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

The doctor did so.

“I am Doctor Felix Härkönen,” he said. “I am a scientist who has traveled the world in an endless pursuit for knowledge and truth, and my travels have now brought me here.”

White Sky translated for him, but stumbled on the word for scientist, as there was not a word in their language for it. He instead used the word for doctor, which would go over smoother with the elders anyway.

“He also brings gifts,” White Sky added, turning and giving the doctor a look.

“Oh, yes,” Härkönen said, rummaging through his bag and producing two gifts of plants wrapped neatly, both of which they had gathered or traded for on their journey here. The first was tobacco, which was expected to be given at a meeting like this, especially if you were asking for something. The second was a small collection of ground laurels, small shrubs with white flowers. The ground laurels were used by many tribes for their healing qualities, but were of particular import to the Bodéwadmi, who considered it their tribal flower.

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The elder sitting closest to them, Méyéwkét the Trailblazer and head of the Crane clan, took the gifts.

“He is lucky you have taught him what gifts to bring,” the skinny man mused. He was the youngest of the elders, and often scolded for not taking things seriously.

“He was the one who asked me what would make good gifts,” White Sky added, a little white lie that no one would notice. “He did not plan on coming empty-handed.”

“We appreciate these gifts, of course,” Wasegishgonene said. “But he is another mouth to feed, and our harvest this year was not generous. These are not enough to warrant his stay, even if he is not French or English.”

“Of course, Nkyekyam. But he is extremely well-studied, and knows many things we do not. I believe the main gift he can bring us is that of knowledge.”

White Sky turned to the doctor.

“Tell them about your studies,” he said. “They want to know what wisdom you can offer them.”

“But of course,” the old man said. “Tell them that, as far as I’m aware, there is a society of powerful doctors and shamans among your people. I believe you call them Midewiwin.”

White Sky was taken aback–clearly the doctor knew more about their people than they originally let on.

“Yes,” he said. “What about them?”

“Tell them that I am a member of a similar group among my people, and thus carry similar knowledge. The primary difference between our two groups, however, is that the membership to mine is a closely guarded secret, known only by other members, and rarely then still.”

White Sky translated.

“Why do you tell us this,” he replied, relaying the elders’ question. “We could relinquish your secret to the next white man we saw, if we wanted, exposing your membership.”

“That’s true, but I trust that you won’t,” the doctor replied through White Sky. “

The symbolism of the doctor’s gesture was not lost on any of the men in that room. The elders themselves did not interact with white men, as they were not allowed in the village, and even if they did, telling a stranger about a random man and his supposed inclusion in some secret society would likely mean nothing to them. But his admission was not an empty one, for it was the act of confiding a secret that represented a step towards creating trust, one the elders would have to return for posterity’s sake.

“They said they’d like to see a demonstration of your knowledge, if you have one,” White Sky said.

“Of course. I’d need to do it outside, though, if they’re willing to indulge me. Oh, and I’d also need to gather the twenty strongest men in the village.”

White Sky was confused, but he relayed the information, and the elders agreed to it. They all walked outside into the village square, and the doctor began to as the others gathered the twenty strongest men in the village. Had he had been a bit younger, White Sky’s father would have partaken, but the man was at an awkward age in his life–barely too old to be among the strongest hunters and warriors, and barely too young to be taken seriously as an elder. He was the eldest man in the Turtle clan since his own father passed eight years ago, and thus was the clan’s leader in this village, but he would not carry the same weight and power as the other elders for at least a few years more.

As they finished gathering the men, a crowd of women and children gathered behind them, everyone in the village curious to see what was going on. The doctor finished what he was setting up–two copper domes the size of large turtles’ shells, each of them half of a whole sphere. He clasped them together, then handed it to White Sky.

“Take these two halves apart please, if you will,” the doctor instructed. White Sky did so, and looked at the doctor, confused.

“Perfect. Can you tell everyone how difficult it was to do that just now?”

“The doctor would like me to tell you that I separated these two halves very easily,” White Sky said.

“Good. Now give them back, please.”

White Sky handed them to Härkönen, who put them together again, then attached a hose to one of them, which was connected to some kind of metal contraption with three legs. He grabbed a lever on the contraption with both hands, pumping it up and down repeatedly. After a minute or so of pumping, he screwed a valve closed, removed the hose, then handed the intact sphere back to the boy.

“Try again, please.”

White Sky did so, but he immediately found it to be an impossible task. It had been easy as anything before, but now the two hemispheres acted like they had been fused together. He put it on the ground.

“Now, now, don’t strain yourself,” the doctor said. “You’ll put your back out. Explain to them that now, the halves are impossible to separate. The twenty strongest men are to stand on each side of them, ten apiece, and to try to pull them using the rope attached.”

White Sky translated, and the men took their positions at either side of the copper sphere. White Sky and Black Bird stood in the lines as well, pride swelling in their chests at being old and strong enough now to stand among the strongest in the village. They stood on opposite sides–the Bodéwadmi separated their men into odd-born sons and even-born sons. The firstborn son would be odd-born, for example, the second even, third odd, and so on. This helped to create a balance during competitions like lacrosse–one team would be made of the odd-born sons, and the other of the even-borns. Normally, both of the boys would be odd-born, with both being the firstborn sons, but though they considered each other brothers, they were not related by blood. Besides, they were as fierce rivals as they were close friends, and refused to be on the same team for any competition if at all possible.

The men all grabbed the rope with both hands, and began to pull. The sphere did not budge, and so the men pulled harder, digging their feet into the ground and straining their muscles to their limits. Nothing. The men, however, did not want to be beaten–they screamed in rage, pulling with all their might. After ten minutes of trying, however, they gave up, dropping the ropes and massaging their sore arms.

“It’s not possible,” White Sky complained.

“Ah, but it is,” the doctor replied. He unscrewed the valve, which caused tight air to scream out of the hole. After a few seconds the air was gone, and he easily pulled apart the two sides again, to the surprise and shock of the men who had tried and failed just moments ago.

“It’s a nice trick,” Trailblazer said. “But of what use does it have to us?”

“This is just an example of what I can bring,” the doctor replied with White Sky’s assistance. “You see, I have traveled all over the world, and each place I’ve visited has a treasure trove of their own unique knowledge. These hemispheres come from a land called Germany, and their use has many applications. The true gift I could bring your people however, comes from even further away, an enormous and exotic country called China.

“And that gift would be?”

“A cure for the pox.”

The doctor’s words caused a stark silence to wash over the crowd. Out of the many diseases that the white man had brought with them to this land, the pox was by far the deadliest. It is what originally spurred the Longhouse folk to wage their Mourning Wars, their population having been decimated by the tens of thousands in just a few short decades. It was a plague with no cure, that arrived swiftly and killed even moreso. A cure for the pox would not only save the lives of the villagers and their Anishinaabeg brothers if shared, it could single-handedly change the tide of their frequent battles with the Snakes.

“I trust a man of your age knows not to lie,” Distant Sky Man said. “And that you know the gravity of what you claim. You will explain yourself.”

“Alas, I cannot,” the doctor replied. “I understand if you do not believe my claim–I would be skeptical in your position as well. However, if I described the method to this technique, I fear it would cause you to distrust me even more. Though its effectiveness has been well documented, plainly speaking, it sounds terrible, and you would think I was an evil man who intended you harm for even suggesting it.”

The elders spoke in hushed whispers, debating among themselves. White Sky swallowed–he was prepared for none of this, and especially not as outlandish a claim as to be able to cure the pox.

“I intended my demonstration of the hemispheres to show that I boast a wide breadth of knowledge,” Härkönen continued. “And I have brought you gifts of Tobacco and Mayflower to show I am grateful for your hospitality. I have also confided a secret of mine that you are now the sole keepers of. Respectfully, I would ask that you consider these enough to let me stay for now, and that once enough time has passed that I have earned your trust, I will confide in you the cure I would propose.”

The elders mulled over the doctor’s words, returning again to speak with one another. After a few back and forths, they arrived at some conclusion.

“We understand that your method may seem untrustworthy,” Distant Sky Man said. “At the same time, we cannot accept something you do not present honestly, even if you believe it to be for all our benefit. You will describe the method now, and we promise to listen to it with an open mind, free of prejudice and judgment. We will reserve our decision on whether or not to attempt this cure until such time that we believe you to be truthful. Your earnestness in your claim will determine whether or not we let you stay here in the first place.”

Dr. Härkönen nodded, bowing again.

“I understand,” he said. He grabbed another item from his bag, a small book, placing it in front of the elders.

“This is a treatise written by a man named Wan Quan,” he said. “In it he describes a method of treating the pox. It involves taking scabs from victims of the disease and inserting it into a healthy man’s body, through the nose. The theory is that if a man is infected with a large amount of the pox, he will grow sick and die. But if he is infected with a tiny amount, for whatever reason, the body will combat it, and strengthen itself against larger infections in the future.”

“You mean to cure us of the pox by infecting us with it?” White Sky’s father asked incredulously. “You cannot be serious.”

“I told you it doesn’t sound ,” the doctor said, his hands in the air. “But the treatise documents its effectiveness.”

White Sky picked up the book. If the doctor was telling the truth, there would be no way to tell–the book was written in strange symbols none of them had ever seen before. It looked like the hieroglyphs the elder Faith-keepers wrote on birchbark scrolls, collections of ancient wisdom and their peoples’ histories that could only be read by them. But the symbols were entirely different, written in an alphabet none of them could hope to understand.

“Even if it does work, you would not find a man among us stupid enough to try it,” Trailblazer retorted.

“Have you tried it before?” White Sky asked.

“No. But I am confident it will work.”

The elders looked at the man with a renewed distrust as an uncomfortable quiet rose between them.

“I’ll do it.”

Everyone’s head turned to Black Bird, who had stayed quiet this whole time. Now, he stepped forward.

“I’ll volunteer to be the first one to try his cure,” he said. “It’s what I should do, after all, to repay you for letting me stay here for several winters now.”

“We would not ask that of you,” White Sky’s father told him. “You should not suffer such a burden for a village that is not your own.”

“But it is my village,” Black Bird said with a smile. “I’ve spent the last three winters here. My own village would be a foreign place to me now. Please.”

“Like I said,” Wasegishgonenewe interrupted. “We will not make that determination now. The white midewinini has made his claim, and for our part, we will allow him to earn our trust. He will be allowed to stay for now, on the condition that he stays in our longhouse where we can keep a close eye on him, and that he spends his days providing his wealth of knowledge to the community, and proving himself a boon to the village. If he does, we will consider this proposal at a future time. If not, he will be removed from this place.”

“That’s all I ask,” the doctor said after hearing White Sky’s translation. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Then we will adjourn,” Wasegishgonene replied. “Come. We will show you where you will sleep.”

The doctor bowed again, and followed the elders back into the longhouse. The boys watched them leave, then turned to each other. They didn’t need to say anything–each of them knew what the other was thinking. They were hopeful, and skeptical, and frightened, all at once. They wanted more than anything for the doctor’s claim to be true, as it would change their future in ways they could hardly begin to imagine. But they knew the doctor better than anyone else here, and thus knew that he was a secretive man who cared little if he brought danger to their doorstep, as long as he could study it. What were his true objectives? Why did he really come here? The boys supposed those answers would only come in time, and for now, all they could do was wait.