The voice of the crane sounded within Ajijaak. Surely its cry was a sign that he was headed in the right direction. He dug his paddle into the rocking waves of the Great Sea. Beneath its churning surface the Snake King slept. All at once he became aware of another presence. Ziibi. Though he did not turn back he could feel her small dark eyes on him. If he sniffed the air hard enough he was certain he would smell the salt of her tears. Poor Ziibi, her heart was too large for her small body. She would know much pain in this life. What would become of her? Her fate was not one he would know until they both dwelt in the land of souls.

For a long while he knew she watched him. She was going to be in so much trouble. He was tempted to turn back and wave at her to go home, but he did not. He was not sure why. Something inside him seemed to forbid it. She needed to grieve him in solitude the same way he had needed to grieve Miinan. When he turned his canoe to the right, he felt her presence leave him. She had at last gone home. He knew she would take whatever punishment was meted out to her. What would Mikinaak do to his youngest daughter? He would not be harsh, just disappointed. Mikinaak was good to his daughters. He could see that now. He had not been able to before his dream came. All he could do was see Mikinaak as an obstacle. No, he was a good father. A good father did not let his daughter join her life to a broken vessel. That had been wise. Ajijaak now knew his brokenness was not just physical but it was spiritual as well. His father’s life had left wounds upon his. Wounds he hoped would heal one day and become scars. He did not know how to be a proper mate. He had no example. Would he love another? He did not know, his life was no longer his own. He had surrendered it to the force beyond the visible. In the days ahead he would do his best to listen and follow the path as it spread out before him.

The sun arced then began to go lower in the sky. Ajijaak’s back and arms ached. His feet had long fallen asleep, yet he still paddled against the the tide. At least it was not windy. When night fell, he pulled his canoe onto the shore of a small island.

*

The sun glanced off the water. Ajijaak squinted at the jagged island that rose from the water. It was Migizi-manidoo. Soaring columns of water beaten stone cut into the morning sky. He had heard the old men speak of this place, though he had never expected to see it. The island stone was layers of color, browns and reds and yellows, like autumn leaves pressed tightly together. In places it was sculpted like the delicate bones of the deer, in others like the thick skull of the bear. Parts of it looked like tree trunks. Above the stone island was a thin layer of soil on which grew actual trees. Their green leaves pushed against the blue of the perfect sky. Awe filled Ajijaak.

Beneath the island was a honeycomb of stone where water flowed in and out. The water sang a song as it lapped against the stone, eating, slowly eating away at the surface of the rock, and leaving ridges with its wet chewing teeth. The truth that water had much power became real to him. It could carve stone. It was a slow power though. Not fast like an arrow or a knife. The sea had much patience as she worked to eat away at the stone. In the process she created untold beauty. The arcs of the stone brought an awareness of the spirits. Over their presence Ajijaak felt a larger more encompassing power. The earth was a wondrous place. A place he had not appreciated in a long time. He bowed his head and reverenced the earth. Aki, he called her. His noko’s name was Aki. He wondered if her unseeing eyes could see him here. For some reason she felt very close. Also with him was another presence, distinct, but not known, or at least not remembered.

A human voice whispered in the trees. He looked up. There far above him on a rock outcropping stood an old man. His hands rested on a walking stick. In a gruff voice he shouted, “At last you have come.” The old man did not wait for him to form a response. He said, “There is a rope.” He pointed a rope that was tied just above the water on one of the island’s stone pillars. “Tie your canoe and climb up the handholds. I will be waiting for you in my house. You will see the smoke.”

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Tying the canoe was easy. The the climb was not. The rocks were wet and slippery. It took all Ajijaak’s skill to manage to ascend the handholds that were cut into the stone. Once on top, he could see smoke rising from a birch bark house. The old man sat on a low stool. His head turned to the sound of Ajijaak’s step as he neared the house. When he was close, the old man said, “I have been waiting for you. You will carry on the making of drums and the sacred word. I will teach you both.” He motioned for Ajijaak to stand before him. The old man’s eyes were clouded. He was as blind as Ajijaak’s noko.

The old man grasped Ajijaak’s amulet and pulled his face down. He read Ajijaak’s face. His gnarled hands smelled of wormwood and juniper. The hands were rough and ridged. They reminded Ajijaak of the stone carved by the great sea. The old man said, “It is a good face. A handsome face. I know you cannot speak. You came to me in a dream. I was worried, you would not come in real life. A girl held you captive, and only you could free yourself. You have suffered much, as I have. We will share our suffering and create a future for you.” He removed his hands. “Sit, I am sure you are hungry.”

The old man called out, “Wiinizik!” A young woman appeared. She was quite beautiful. Not as beautiful as Miinan. She dropped her eyes. Embarrassed that he had been staring, Ajijaak looked away as well. The old man said, “This is my granddaughter.”

*

After a night of deep sleep, Ajijaak was awakened by the old man. His name was Misko-amik. He shook him gently and said, “Come, we must recover our sacred words.”

Sleepily, Ajijaak stared at the old man. His braids hung long and white on either side of his creased face. Misko-amik’s eyes though dulled emitted a watery light. “Hurry you have slept too long. We must make shore before the sun sinks.”

From behind him Wiinizik said, “Nimishoomis, you must eat first. Now give him time to awaken. You have waited a long time; you can be patient a bit more. Besides I am not done packing yet.”

Ajijaak’s eyes went to the girl as she spoke. She was shy and did not make eye contact. Her voice was sweet like the sound of copper bells that jingled when he danced. He felt drawn to her, but even in his half dazed state, he knew better than to be attracted to her. His heart would not be broken again.

Though Misko-amik rushed him through his breakfast of roasted whitefish with maple syrup and dried berries, Ajijaak enjoyed every bite. This young woman was a good cook. He tried very hard to keep his eyes on his bowl, but the light of the morning sun on her hair distracted him. It was not the blue black of Miinan’s. It was the deep black of onyx. Her hands trembled as did his when she took his bowl from him. Was she going with them to retrieve the sacred word, what ever that meant. He hoped so.

A little later, it was only him and the old man that left in a large canoe tethered to the sloping side of the island. The girl would stay alone. It did not seem wise for her to stay, but he had no way to protest. It was also not his place. After she had helped him get her grandfather into the canoe, she said, “I will be all right. Do not worry.”

This time their eyes met. It was a moment of unparalleled confusion. The brown of her eyes seemed to reach inside of him and obliterate all feeling for Miinan. As deep as they reached they did not touch the place where Ziibi lived. She was a child he would always remember as the first member outside his family to profess love for him. It had been a gift he did not understand until this moment. To feel the stir of love inside for another and to want to express it selflessly was not how he had felt about Miinan. He had wanted to possess Miinan for her beauty. Wiinizik could not be possessed. She belonged to herself. Though she looked young, he knew she was not a child inside, the way Ziibi was not a child inside.

Wiinizik smiled at him. Her smile sent his pulse to beat like a drum. He felt his face flush with warmth and then shame. He had just betrayed himself. He must be more careful. Surely she would be repulsed by such as him. Still, he had the courage to hold her eyes and he returned her smile. He saw kindness in her eyes. Quickly, he looked away. How could he fall so quickly? How could he forget so suddenly the love he thought he would die without?

“Hurry up!” shouted Misko-amik. “It will be dark before we reach shore and I do not want to be a panther’s supper.”

Ajijaak pushed the canoe out into the water. Since he was not paddling against the waves, he made fast time. The sun had just passed its zenith as they neared the shore. Suddenly, Misko-amik stripped off his blanket and jumped into the cold water. His old body suddenly became fluid. It moved in the way a beaver’s body moved as it swam beneath the water. The light of the sun cast a red glow around the old man and suddenly he looked like the red beaver he had been named after. When the water grew shallow Misko-amik stood. His hair had come unbraided and cascaded down his back in white waves. Sunlight on water performed a second trick of time. All at once Misko-amik did not look like the old man he was but a glowing youth filled with light and life. A cloud passed before the sun, and the illusion vanished. Ajijaak had seen the man Misko-amik was and the spirit that still lived inside his aging body.