The sunlight on the water was blinding. Ziibi refused to see anything of the surrounding scenery. She wanted to go back home. These women had arrived in her village the day after she had left the menstruation hut. It had been too soon. She had not expected to be ripped from her family so suddenly. Judging by her mother’s reaction, she had not expected it either. She could still see her mother’s silent sullen eyes, shooting hateful looks at her father. She could still hear the hiss of her mother’s voice in her ear, “Remember this is your father’s doing not mine.” Why she had said that Ziibi did not know. Had her mother wanted to stir hatred inside of her the way she stirred it inside herself. This was not her father’s fault. This was the way her life was to unfold. Though she did not like it, though it was hard, what must be must be. Her greatest sorrow was that Mikwam had not appeared to her since the night she got her menses. It seemed her guardian, like her childhood had vanished.

The women paddled the canoe into shade. Ziibi was suddenly aware of the sound of many waters whispering and singing. She opened her closed eyes and beheld stone arches. Stone carved by time and the ebb and flow of water. Water was a powerful force, it could eat stone, destroy life, but also give life. The ridges of color were like nothing she had ever seen. A sense of holiness swept through her. This was a special place, a peaceful place. The peace seeped into her turbulent emotions and began to calm them. They glided through the water that caught and reflected the light, then tossed it to another pool. Ziibi wanted to ask what this place was, but to speak would be an act of desecration. They glided back out into the open waters. Ziibi saw a curl of smoke coming from the island. An old man stood above them gazing out at the distant horizon. The sister Mitgokaa called out to him, “Misko-amik, how are your bones?”

A smile spread across his face. He called down to them, “They hurt. I am in need of your medicine and your healing touch.”

“I have medicine.” Indeed she did. Ziibi looked at the huge bags the women carried, filled with remedies and potions that she had yet to see. The sisters paddled the canoe up to the rock ledge, tied it to a ring and then nimbly climbed of the ladder that had been carved in the stone. Getting from canoe to ladder was not easy for Ziibi. She almost tipped the canoe. Annoyed that they had left her to fend for herself, she took a firm grip on the stone and hoisted her body up. The stone was smooth and hard to grip. Surely that old man did not use this means to come and go from this place. When she reached the top, she pulled herself over the ledge. Going up a path the sisters followed the old man. Ziibi remained where she was a moment and gazed out at the vastness of the sea. If Miinan could see this view she would be elated. The thought of Miinan brought such heaviness to Ziibi’s heart that a single tear managed to push through her resolve to not cry and leak out onto her cheek. Angrily she brushed it away. She would see Miinan again. It would be a long time though. But after the winter and the sugaring time, once the spring had come and gone, the villages would meet. Somehow, the time would pass. It always did.

With a quick thrust she stood causing a moment of dizziness. The old man and the sisters were disappearing into the trees. She ran after them. By the time she reached them, they were going into a birch house. Another house stood beside it. No smoke came from this houses roof. Ziibi went to it and peeked inside the door flap. What she saw amazed her. The room contained drums of different sizes. Some had designs carved in them or painted on them. Curious, Ziibi went inside to study the symbols. She had never seen drums like these. Their tops were taunt skins. She ran her fingers across the surface of one. Though it did not speak to her, she felt the power within it. When struck it would speak. Some midewiwin used drums. Did these sisters ever use drums? Might they take one home, might she? There were some very small drums here, one small enough to fit in her cupped hands. She held it like she would hold a baby bird. What sound would such a small drum make?

A voice said, “Hello.”

So absorbed had she been in the drum, she had not heard the pregnant girl enter. Embarrassed, she put the drum down and said, “Hello. I should not be in here.”

The girl said, “That is all right. This often happens. I think the drums call to people, and they cannot help but gaze upon them. My man made all the drums.”

“They are the most beautiful drums I have ever seen.”

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This compliment pleased the girl. “Thank, now, please come and have some food, while the sisters tend to Nimishoomis.”

Though Ziibi was not hungry, she put the small drum down and followed the girl outside. She had not been hungry since she left her home. In the other house the old man sat stripped naked, while the sisters applied plantain leaves smeared in bear grease all over his joints. There was prickly smell coming from the leaves that Ziibi could not identify. The sister’s medicine bags each made from the hide of a badger lay open. There just peeping out of the small opening of the bag was a bear claw. Women Mide were not allowed to carry the bear claw remedy. Yet, there it was. The sister Mitigomin noticed what Ziibi was looking at. Without explanation, she pushed the bear claw back into the bag. What would her father think, if he knew he had given her over to be taught by a woman who disobeyed one of the fundamentals of Mide rule? Fear crept inside of Ziibi. Would she be taught bad medicine by these women?

Small flat stones were banked in the fire. The other sister Mitgokaa threw herbs onto the hot stones. Immediately, the air was filled with a pungent smell.

The pregnant girl gagged. She thrust a bowl of stewed rice and fish into Ziibi’s hands and rushed outside.

Mitgokaa told Ziibi, “Go tend to Wiinizik.”

Now Ziibi knew the girl’s name. She went outside and found the girl hunched over holding her stomach. Her head was covered by beads of sweat. She gasped, “I had forgotten the stench of the treatment. Ever since this little one has come to live in me, some smells make me feel sick.

It was cold outside. Ziibi said, “Let’s go to the drum house. You do not need to be out here.” She looked pale.

Wiinizik sopped off the sweat on her high forehead with the hem of her dress. They went into the drum house. The girl eased herself onto a mat. In one corner of the drum house was a pile of shaving and a row of tools. Strange tools made of bone, and some of stone, there were also tiny shards of copper glinting in the dim light. “Your food is getting cold.”

Ziibi tipped the bowl toward her lips. It was good, almost as good as her noko’s stewed rice. She tried not to think of Noko. She missed her most of all.

Wiinizik asked, “Are you Mide?”

Ziibi was not used to being asked questions so directly. It was something they did not practice in her village. Still she answered, “I am learning.”

“Is it hard to harbor so many secrets?”

This question was another breech of etiquette. Had her mother not taught her the ways of politeness? Ziibi looked steadily into the girls eyes, and suddenly she knew. This girl had not been raised by a mother. Had she only known the ways of her grandfather? Yes, and he had been careless in his practical teaching. Not sure how to answer she turned her attention to the stew. She said, “This is good.”

“Thank you. It is my man’s favorite dish. He should be home today.” She started to say more, but stopped herself. Ziibi sensed that Wiinizik was aware she had some how blundered, but she did not know what she had done. With great effort she was trying to figure out what to say. Several silent moments passed, and then the girl began to speak again. She told Ziibi that their village was on one of the larger islands. Her grandfather preferred isolation because he liked to think. In the village he could not think because the voices of women so often penetrated the air. He did not like chatty women. Old men who lived beyond there stamina were forced to sit by the fire with the old women. He had not liking for such things. There was a sad loneliness in this girl. Even when she referred to her man, there was still a sense of sadness. Her eyes brightened and her voice dropped to a whisper, “I am eager for this child to come. Though my man and Nimishoomis want a male child, I am hoping for a girl. When she is old enough we can talk of female things.” This last statement seemed like a plea to Ziibi. The girl was hungry for the sound and information of a female voice.

Even though she did not want to, Ziibi put down her bowl and began to tell the story of her journey so far. As she spoke the girl’s face filled with light. She hung on every word. When she finished, Wiinizik jumped up and grabbed the small drum that Ziibi had held earlier. She handed it to her. “Please take this. I want you to remember me and my child. Will you pray for us?”

Ziibi nodded. She took the drum and held it in her hands. The wood was smooth, the drumhead tight. She ran her finger across the surface of it.

“Here,” said Wiinizik. She took the drum from Ziibi. “The wind is high enough I don’t think any will hear.” She tapped the drum with her fingers. Its small voice vibrated within the confines of the house. Its voice was sweet and echoed amongst the poles that formed the shell of the house. Wiinizik’s fingers began to move in a quick dance like pattern over the surface of the drum. The rhythm was haunting, it reached right down into Ziibi and touched her very soul. Who was this echo maker who had made this drum? Would she meet him before they left? She wanted so badly to ask when he would be home, but she had been trained too well, and she kept her question to herself.

When Wiinizik finished, she said, “My man taught me how to make my fingers dance on the drum. You should hear him play. I fear you will be gone before he returns.”

Though Ziibi was curious, she did not ask where this man was. All she could do was hope that Wiinizik was wrong.