The trip to the dreaming place was not the same as Ajijaak’s last journey. He was no longer bursting with his own ambitions and pride. An emptiness had opened up inside of him, a space that could receive a dream. His uncle did not speak to him at all and it was a relief. To be questioned by those with verbal speech was stressful. It always reminded him the absence of his voice, his inability to articulate what he thought and felt. When they reached the dreaming place, Uncle Ogga stopped the canoe, but he did not land it. Ajijaak lowered himself into the water. It was ice cold and came to his thighs. The shock of cold traveled through him. He held his bucket and food pouch over his head. The water sloshed around him as he made his way to shore. He turned and waved to his uncle. Uncle Ogaa gave him a solemn nod and paddled away.
As he watched his uncle’s canoe get further and further away, fear began to gnaw inside of Ajijaak. He silenced it. Like wrongful pride, fear was a dream killer.
*
Two days and two nights had passed without sleep and without dreams. Fear kept trying to submerge him. The voices inside of him clamored with doubt and harsh judgement. He must not give such foolishness power over him.
On the fourth night the stars were Ajijaak’s only companions. Fear had left him, so had the voices inside of him. If he had slept any he couldn’t remember. Time became fluid. Light and dark passed before him. This night, It seemed that forest had been commanded to silence. Nothing chirped and nothing moved. His head hurt and his body ached. How long had it been since he last tasted food? How long had it been since water had cooled his tongue? He reached for his water bucket. It was empty. The dream he thought would come swiftly, remained illusive. He would not leave this place until he was given his dream, even if he risked an early sojourn on the Path of Souls. Heavy lidded, his eyes closed. The pain in his body was like the sea when a storm churned up her waters. He began to drift. Over the past nights and days his excitement over the coming of sleep, would waken him and keep him from dreaming. This night, his body had ceased to care about the activity of his mind. He was floating. Below him was the world. It was shaped like the drop of a tear or of water. The stars surrounded him. Then they duplicated themselves and he was in a bark canoe. The sky was overhead and water was beneath him. He was now inside the tear. His paddle made a soft whooshing sound as it pushed him through the dark waters. He came to a place of rocks and caves. His canoe glided into the cave.
Though it should have been as dark as a starless night, it was not. Light radiated around him, a soft glow, that illumined the stonewalls of the cave. He could see where the movement of the waters had carved grooves into the stone. He could see how the water had painted the stone with the colors of the earth. There were pictures on the walls. Pictures of birds. He caught his breath. These were pictures of cranes, of his people, of his kind. Suddenly from deep inside of him the cry of the crane pushed up through his throat and escaped though his mouth. It echoed in the cave and traveled to another cave and echoed there. It was his voice, his voice multiplied by echoes. It sounded all around him and filled him. He closed his mouth and while the sound stopped inside of him it continued to move though out the caves. The caves were like the honeycomb of the bee. Many of them, small compartments filled with water. He paddled his canoe thorough each one following the sound of his own echo. Finally there was silence. In the silence the light flickered then dimmed to darkness. Fear did not touch him. He waited.
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Another presence filled the silence. He heard a voice, or was it the wind whispering to him? He did not know. He listened hard. The words, the voice said were, “You will be an echo maker. Your words will out live your body. Go now and travel back to the land of your time.” There was a small tap in the dark silence, and then he heard the call of the sacred drum. It beat and beat to the sound and rhythm of Ajijaak’s heart. It seemed to fill his blood and his body. The canoe disappeared and he was on the shore of an island. The dim outline of houses were visible in the pale morning light. The drum continued to beat. Beside him stood a female wolf. Her eyes were the color of the sun and her fur was tufted in white around her face. She jerked her head to him and bid him follow. She led him up the path to an old man. A man who somehow looked familiar, but Ajijaak did not know who he was. The old man said, “So the Great Spirit has at last sent me help.” He motioned to the barrel of a wooden drum that was partially hollowed out. “It must be empty before it can be filled with sound.” The man handed him a wedge made of some kind of bone. Ajijaak had never seen anything like it before. The man showed him how to scrape the inside of the drum with it. Ajijak sat down beside the man, and began to scrape.
The voices of frogs pulled Ajijaak from his dream. His weak body sat up and he opened his eyes. Morning light was soft and gray. Clouds raced along the tops of the trees. A storm was coming. He must seek shelter. He grabbed his pouch of food and went to a hollowed out tree close to the dreaming place. The tree smelled of earth and a tuft of a wolf fur was caught along the outer edge of the hollow. The sight of it brought Ajijaak’s dream back to him in vivid detail. He put the fur in the pouch he wore around his neck. Gently he lowered his stiff body into the emptiness of the tree.From his food pouch he began to eat the dried blueberries and rice. He ate slowly. If he ate too fast he would be sick. It began to rain. He cupped his hand and held it out in the rain. He felt the drops, like cold tears slide into his palm. When it was full he brought it to his mouth. It cooled his swollen tongue. He felt life begin to seep back into his body and his spirit.
*
When Ziibi awoke beside her Noko, the sun had not yet colored the sky. Inside her heart was a dance of joy and sorrow. She quieted her mind. Something had happened. It was both good and difficult. In that instant she knew. Ajijaak had dreamed. As soon as she had eaten and done her chores, she went to Ajijaak’s tree. It was the old oak where in secret he had often watched Miinan. Her short arms and legs made the climb up the tree, difficult. She scraped her knee badly. Her blood was warm as it ran down her leg. The morning sky was now full light. Not a single cloud could be seen. Fear crept upon her and leapt. What if Ajijaak did’t come home today? He should have been home days ago. Some young men never recovered from their dream quest, some died in their quest. Her heart thudded fast inside her. Was he all right? Where was he? She saw his Uncle Ogaa walking toward the river. Was he going to check on Ajijaak. She prayed so. Ziibi wanted to follow him, but was no way to follow without a canoe. She could swim, but she would not be able to swim against the current for long. So she was left, helpless, to wait. To wait and see if all would be well. Would it be well? Would he be all right?
If anything happened to Ajijaak she would never forgive her sister for not loving him and fighting for him. A seed of bitterness tried to take root in Ziibi. She wanted, needed someone to blame, and she chose her sister. A breeze stirred. Her nose wrinkled and she sniffed the air. A wind rose and set the trees to talking. She turned to the sound of their voices. They murmured, All is well. She could let fear take her on its harsh journey or she could trust the voices of the earth and voice within her. She chose to trust.