Ziibi sat in the high branches of the old oak tree. All around her were the songs of morning birds. She heard the flit of their wings and saw their small bodies swoop among the branches. Her heart was heavy. She had awoken that morning knowing the tide of life was about to turn. Would it be good or ill? Below she saw her noko preparing breakfast. She also saw that Zhede came out of Ajijaak’s house. So, his mother had taken another partner for life. What would that mean? In an instant she knew. It meant Ajijaak would go. He was old enough to follow his own trail and make his own way. Soon he might pass from her life all together. It had been one thing to give him up, another to let go of him entirely. How would she know if he was doing well or ill? Who would look after him? A man, especially a young man needed someone to tend to him. What if he got sick or hurt?
A breeze whispered around her. It stirred her unbound hair and brushed against her eyes. A voice that seemed to be the wind whispered, “I will hold him, I will guide him.”
When Ziibi saw her father leaving for the Midewiwin lodge, she climbed down from the tree. He came swiftly toward their house. His stride was firm, even and joyous. Ziibi knew then, that she had been accepted. She reached the bottom branch of the oak and leapt to the ground. Her father saw her. He did not speak. All he did was slightly nod his head. The gesture declared her future. She would have to go to the lodge now and be formally accepted. She did not want to go. She did not want to dress up again and have her hair tightly braided. What she wanted to do was run from this destiny. Her heart raced inside of her. Again the wind wrapped itself around her. Though it did not speak to her she sensed its meaning. The unseen voice would hold her too, would guide her too. She went into the house and to put on her best dress.
Her mother said, “So, they have accepted you.”
She nodded.
“I had prayed they would not, but my prayers are seldom heard.” There was bitterness in her mother’s voice. It seemed to burn the surface of Ziibi’s skin. What made her mother so unhappy?
Once she was fully dressed, her father took her hand and led her back to the lodge. The interior was clouded with smoke, and the bleary eyed Midewiwin sat motionless. The door flap closed behind them and the secrets of acceptance were administered. When it was over, Ziibi felt a heavy burden, but also a strange lightness. What she was doing was good and right. She would not be alone on this journey. It would take her through her life and one day lead her to the Path of Souls.
*
As Ziibi swept the floor, Miinan came to her and whispered, “Maang is coming tonight. You must make your own separate bed.” The intensity of light in her sister’s eyes, the excited anxiety in her voice perplexed Ziibi. She did not want to make herself another bed. She jutted out her chin and said, “You make your own bed. I am keeping ours.”
“There are not enough skins for you to have a big pallet too.”
It was true. There were not enough skins or blankets or mats for a pallet to accommodate two large beds. She was angry because she was loosing the warmth and company of her sister and now she must loose her pallet. She left the house and went in search of Maang. She found him with his mother outside their tent. Without waiting to be addressed, Ziibi said, “I am not giving up my pallet and my sister to you. If you come, you bring enough to cover the both of you.” She glared at him, willing him to obey her, fearful he would not.
A small smile, which he tried to hide, twisted his lips. His mother did not say a word, but Ziibi felt her displeasure.
Maang said, “It is hard to let go of a sister, I know, I have had to let go of my brother. I will do as you ask.” His mother started to protest but he held up his hand to her and she remained silent.
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Dazed by her own success, Ziibi nodded turned on her heel and headed back to the trail. He had obeyed. She had hoped he would, but she was not sure he would. What had made the difference? She had just stepped onto the path when a voice in the trees said, “Stop.” The voice was angry. With a jerk of her head, Ziibi turned and saw Ajijaak’s noko, in her arms she held a basket of wild onions. The onions sharp scent made Ziibi’s nose tickle. The temptation to run came over Ziibi. For some reason she felt like she was about to be scolded, but for what? Of course if she did run it would not do any good. Ajijaak’s noko knew the rhythm of every step of every person in the village. With a tremble in her old voice Ajijaak’s noko said, “I heard. You go back and you say you are sorry. You do not have the right to command your elders. You will never succeed, if you do not respect the honor of your position.”
Her position? Was this rebuke because she was now Midewiwin? There was something terrifyingly stern about this old woman. The fear she radiated took hold of Ziibi, but it did not submerge her into submission. She responded, “I have to give up my sister, I will not give up the place where I sleep.”
“Your sister will be giving up more than her bed tonight.”
Though Ziibi did not understand exactly what this meant, she said, “That is her choice. I choose my bed.”
“Do as I say.” The blind eyes were full of hard dull light. What prompted this anger? Usually, she treated Ziibi with kindness and tolerance. There was fear in the woman’s face, fear etched in every wrinkle that frowned above her sightless eyes. In that instant Ziibi understood, she was not afraid for Ziibi, the fear was her own. Why was she afraid and of what? Gently, Ziibi said, “Noko, I can not take back what I have said. I would loose face. It will cause a bad beginning for this night. I have done wrong, I see that. I will remember what you told me and I will not command my elders again. I promise.”
The frown left Ajijaak’s noko’s brow. The fear also receded. “You are a wise girl Ziibi. Make sure you keep wisdom close, she will serve you well if you do. Go now.”
“Thank you.” Ziibi ran down the trail towards home.
*
Zhede had left the house and Ajijaak’s noko had been gone even before he had awakened. His mother sat by the dead fire. Sunlight filtered through the hole in the roof that let out the smoke. She said, “Good, you are awake. We must talk.”
Ajijaak sat up and pushed his blanket off of him. He drew his knees to his chest in an unconscious effort to protect his heart. The words he was about to hear would hurt, of that much he was sure. The signs he would respond with would hurt his mother as well.
In a slow shaky voice his mother began, “I know I should have told you I agreed to join my life with Zhede last summer, but I never found the courage to do so. I am a coward.”
Ajijaak grunted in protest. She was not a coward.
His mother continued, “Yes, I have been a coward. If I were not one I would have told you I was considering Zhede for my man. I was afraid if I told you, you would leave me and I did not want you to go. It was selfish. A mother has no right to keep her son bound to her, when life calls him elsewhere. Life is calling you is it not?”
Ajijaak nodded.
Her voice dropped to a whisper when she asked, “Away from here?”
He shrugged. He knew what he wanted to do, but it had not been sanctioned by a dream or by guidance. He must seek other wisdom before he recklessly set out on his own. A desire to run away just because his mother had mated and the girl he would always love would belong to another when night fell, were not reasons enough to leave. He would not be impulsive. He had heard the old men speak of his father’s impulsive nature, his disrespect for his elders and his disregard for the sacred and the taboo.
A slow sigh escaped his mother’s lips.
Lest she get the idea he would be with her forever he began to sign to her his plans.
For a moment she just looked deep into his eyes, and then she asked, “So, you would like to leave?”
He nodded.
“Before winter? It would not be wise to leave before winter.”
There was desperation in her voice. Summer was growing old; autumn would soon be upon them. There was much preparation needed to stock up for the long icy season of winter. A man alone could freeze or starve if the season were a harsh one. Regardless, he felt in his heart that it was time to go. He signed to her, “I must go and dream.”
Mutely she nodded and said, “The dream will guide you. Go now, your Uncle Ogaa will take you to the dreaming place. I know why you do not want to be here, this night. I heard. It is good if you go away. It is good to find your destiny.” Unshed tears stood in her eyes.
Lightly, he touched her face. A tear slipped from her right eye and splashed upon his hand. The warmth of it reminded him of Ziibi’s tears. Why were females so prone to leaking? He removed his hand. He had much to do, before he left this place.