With a firm hand, Ajijaak finished the sacred record with his bone pencil. The cold autumn wind murmured outside the house. It had many voices today, some whispered sadness others anticipation. Ajijaak looked at the birch bark page. Delicate symbols ran across its smooth surface. For five rounds of season he had worked on this sacred record in the evenings after the hunting, fishing and the drum making were done for the day. It had been a hard thing to learn at first. On the first pages of the record, the symbols he had made were crude and crooked. It had taken time to develop the skill to make the symbols beautiful and clear. He had done it though. He had finished it. Something deep inside of him felt very satisfied. So much had come to him through the making of these symbols.

Misko-amik sat wrapped in his blankets half dozing by the fire. Ajijaak smiled to himself. The old man would be pleased to know he was done at last. For several long moments Ajijaak remained immobile. His bone pencil held up over the page. He did not want Wiinizik to know he was finished. He did not want her words to break into the holy silence he felt welling within him. Not only had he learned how to communicate better through symbols, he had also created dances in his mind about the stories he had recorded. He could not wait for the next village gathering to share his dances. He practiced them on nights when he could not sleep well. The dances would help the people recall their own power and their own strength. The dances would bring them into the shelter of the spirits.

He put down his pencil. His eyes once again scanned the page. He had learned all the symbols by heart and he would not forget them. Beside the fresh birch bark board plate he had just finished was the stack of rotting plates. These plates had been assembled long before he was born. Usually only rotting pages were replaced, but Misko-amik had insisted that Ajijaak redo all the sacred records. He did not want the history to be lost. The old man had been having troubling dreams. Dreams in which the people forgot all they had ever known about themselves. The people must not forget.

Misko-amik woke from his slumber asked, “Are you finished?” He held out his palm to Ajijaak. Ajijaak moved his index finger up and down inside the extended palm to signify yes. The old man whose palm had once been rough had smoothed as his body made room for his spirit to grow. He was loosing his physical strength as age laid claim to him. “Then it is time for us to return the sacred record to her hiding place.”

Wiinizik who was boiling turtle stew looked up from her pot. “Us, there is no us. Nimishoomis, you must save your strength for our journey to the winter hunting grounds. Ajijaak tell him you will go alone.” Her sharp eyes burned into Ajijaak.

A woman whose man could talk would not speak this way to him. Ajijaak’s hand remained still above Misko-amik’s palm. He had joined his life to a strong woman and while he was not sorry, it made for more quarrels. He agreed it would be hard for Misko-amik to make the journey, but he also understood that a man must finish what he had begun. Misko-amik had kept the sacred record and he had passed his knowledge to Ajijaak, and Ajijaak would pass it to another. He looked at Wiinizik in her current condition. She was ripe with child, his child.

Misko-amik removed his palm from beneath Ajijaak’s hand. He said, “You are right my granddaughter. I will remain.”

*

The wind held a hint of ice. The water rippled beneath the tug of his paddle. Wrapped in water tight skins were the tablets of the sacred record. It would be fifteen rounds of seasons before he looked upon these tablets again. He passed through the honeycomb caves beneath the island. It was slower than going around but he could not resist their beauty. Their water carved arched ceilings captured the sound of the flowing waters and tossed them into the air creating a series of echoes that was mysterious and haunting. It was like listening to the whisper of his ancestors. He dug his paddle deep into the water. He must hurry. Without Misko-amik with him he would be able to make the journey in two days instead of the four it took in the past. Misko-amik was slowing down considerably these days and it worried Ajijaak. Misko-amik had become the father, he had never had. To have a father figure finally had taught him how to be a real man, a man of kindness, consideration and strength. A smile tugged at his lips. He had as much strength as Wiinizik allowed. He was thankful that he could shelter her. Another man would not have understood her independent ways or acquiesced to her oddness. She needed much room to think and be. If she had been born a man, she would have recopied the sacred record. It was she who taught him to make the symbols. It was she who had helped him make his first page.

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With fondness he recalled that first page. It was then, that she had offered herself to him and let him know that he pleased her. He who thought she would never care for him did. It had been the grandest moment of his life. Yes, he was thankful for her and thankful for the dream that had led him to her. He headed out into the open water. With swift pushes of his paddle he made up the time he had lost going through the caves.

For a long while he paddled. The sun rose to the top of the sky and started downward. In the distance he saw another canoe. It was too far away to tell who was in it. This canoe was also going a great speed. Where was it headed?

Suddenly the face of Ziibi filled his mind. He had not thought about her for a very long time. Why would her image come to him out here in the open water? He recalled the night she had claimed him as her man. It remained a fond memory for him, to receive such fierce love from such a little girl. The memory faded. She was no longer a little girl, but a woman by now. A chill of fear for her ran through him. How did she fare in the grown up world? All a once a strange sensation tore through him. Something about her was reaching out to him, seeking his comfort or his guidance, he was not sure which.Had she taken a man yet? Was the man good to her? What if he were not? What if she like Wiinizik needed a man that would tolerate her strong spirit?He prayed so.

Overhead a group of cranes flew. It was late for them to be making their way to their winter homes. It was late for him too. If not for his obsession with finishing the sacred record, they would be safe in their winter home. Wiinizik had all the birch bark rolls ready, and all their winter provisions. The sun dipped low in the sky. The shore was a dark line in the distance. Though his arms ached with fatigue he sped up his pace. He must reach land before nightfall.

The last light of day faded into night as he pulled his canoe onto the shore. Worry about Wiinizik came over him. She did not like it when he was away from home. Strong as she was, she feared the night noises and the darkness. It was at night that his strength met her weakness and he was able to give back to her, the strength that she gave to him in the daylight.

Many people came to their island to obtain sacred drums. They also came for the bird bone flutes that Wiinizik made. Her skill with the small awl was amazing. She would take the hollow bones of cranes, gulls or even swans if the found one and make the most incredible flutes. Their music was sweet and enchanting. She had taught Ajijaak how to play them, and they used them to communicate with each other. Though he had no human voice, he now possessed the voice of the flute, the voice of symbols and the voice of the sacred drum. There were more languages than he had ever imagined. He was working a dance that would utilize every voice he now possessed. It was a beautiful dance which he had not shared with anyone.

After he had eaten the berry mash Wiinizik had packed for him. He went to a clearing and began to practice his dance in the light of the half moon. As he swung his arms up, shadows darted around him. He put the crane bone flute to his mouth and blew a single note. It was filled with all the longing and joy of life. He turned his head, and moved his feet in a rapid but silent step. He swung the flute down and up again, piercing the night with its sweetness. As he danced, small bright eyes watched from rabbit holes and tree branches. The small creatures seemed to know this dance was for them. He danced until he grew tired and then he went back to the canoe. First he checked on the safety of the sacred record and then, he got his blanket bundle out. The night was turning very cold. He hoped Wiinizik and Misko-amik stayed warm this night.

He made his bed in a hollow of brush, which broke the rising wind. Small clouds scudded across the great starry sky. Tomorrow he would walk into the forest and bury the sacred record. He prayed his memory served him well, that it would not take him long to find the holy spot. Weary from his day of travel and his evening of dance he fell into deep and peaceful sleep