The village was deserted. All the houses stood empty and smokeless. Some had been denuded, their precious birch bark exteriors rolled up and taken to the winter hunting grounds. For the first time it occurred to Ziibi that she had no idea how to hunt or fish. The sisters did not have men, so who provided for them? As she looked around she saw that this was a larger village than her own, much larger. What would it be like to live among so many people? She turned to the left and saw the glimmer of water. A lake was nearby. A gust of wind rattled the now empty rice stalks.
Mitgokaa, the sister with the scar on her face, went into the largest house in the village. It was almost as big the meeting lodge. The other sister Mitigomin, followed. Ziibi knew she had to follow too, but she was reluctant to see what would be her future home. She wanted her old home, her old village and she especially wanted her Noko. This would not have been so hard if Noko would have come with her. She even asked her to come, but Noko would not come. She had just looked at her with sad eyes and said, “I am needed here.” Her words had angered Ziibi, because as all children do, she had thought she was her noko’s best-loved grandchild. In truth, Ziibi had thought she was more than that, she had thought she was Noko’s best loved of all. It hurt to realize that Noko loved her son, more than her granddaughter. Noko would not come with her because of him. Angrily, Ziibi had thought, He is a man. Why does he still need his mother?
At the time, Noko had seemed to read her thoughts. Gently she had said, “You need to get away from the bitterness of this house. You need to find your
own way, my precious one. If I could I would go with you, but my place is here. To be in the wrong place does harm to all. You will find your place. You will.” Though Noko had tried to comfort her, she had not been comforted. Now, as she stood looking at this huge house tears swelled in her eyes. This was not home. This would never be home.
She pulled her pack off her shoulders and hugged it. Inside of it was the small drum. It made a faint sound as she pressed her bag tighter. The sound of it echoed inside of her. It struck something deep. Courage to step forward moved within her. She crossed the short space and opened the door flap. She had thought her father had a magnificent array of medicine, but she was not prepared for what this house contained. Logs of various barks were piled on the north side. From the poles hung every kind of herb imaginable, and so many flowers. Some flowers were faded to soft yellows and browns, other though withered were still vivid with purple or red. And the smell of the place, it did not stink, but the aroma was foreign to Ziibi. The air seemed too thick, too full. She did not like it. Her courage left her and she fled.
Her legs, much longer than they once had been, carried her back down the path to the river. It was dark now, but she did not trip on the root twisted path. She moved among the white cedars and oaks on sure feet. When she reached the rivers edge she knelt down and wept. All she wanted was to go home. Her spirit called out for Mikwam, but the wolf did not appear. The tears streaming from her eyes obscured her vision and caused her nose to run. She dug into her bag for a soft suede rag to wipe her nose on, as she fumbled around her fingers brushed the drum. The skin of it vibrated ever so slightly. She pulled it out. It was now too dark to see it. She tapped its taut surface with her index finger. The small voice of the drum flowed out and echoed against the surrounding trees. Across the lake the voice of a sandhill crane cried out in the darkness.
Instantly, Ziibi was on her feet. She shoved the drum into her pack and headed toward the sound. In the mud she found a young crane with a broken wing. What had happened to it? How had it lost its flock? It was very weak. The instant she touched it, the bird trembled, but did not try to get away. The bird was almost as big as she was. Its wings were nearly six feet in span and one of them was broken. Gently she lifted the bird and held it close to her body. It made a low sound in its throat, but still it did not struggle against her. Ziibi felt the nearness of death, but it had not yet come to claim the bird. Could she save it? She did not know, but she would try. Through her coat, she felt the wild beating of the bird’s heart. It was fast and thready, but there was a determined strength to it. This bird wanted to live, she felt it, she knew it.
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With out fear or hesitation carried the bird up the path and into the sisters’ house. She did not speak to them when she entered. She did not ask for help. She knew what to do. She took the herbs she needed and the strips of plaited grasses that she needed. She had seen her father set broken bones before. Her fingers went slowly over the bird’s broken wing. The bones of a bird were hollow. She did not know if she would be able to set the break or how badly the break was until her sensitive fingers found the point of fracture. It was not a clean break at all, but it was on the long bone of the wing, and not near the joints. If it could mend, this bird might live to see another season. Mitigomin held the bird while Ziibi pulled the bone back into place. There was an ever so slight popping sound as it slid into place. The other sister, Mitgokaa gave Ziibi two small planks to use as splints for the wing. With the long braided grasses she bound up the splints. The bird seemed to understand she only wanted to help it and did not struggle, or else it was so weak it could not struggle. Still its bright eyes blinked at Ziibi in the firelight. It was alive for now.
After she finished with the splint she fed the crane the fish gruel that Mitgokaa gave her.When the bird had taken some nourishment, its eyes grew heavy. With the help of the sisters she placed the crane in a large basket lined with grass. The basket was placed beside Ziibi’s pallet, along with more fish gruel to give it when and if it woke up.
When Ziibi had eaten the rice and blueberry cake fried in bear grease, she went to her pallet and lay down by the crane. The feathered breast of the crane rose and fell. It was still breathing. She fell asleep watching the crane breathe.
*
They traveled in two large canoes. Each sister paddled one. Ziibi sat holding her fragile patient in her arms. It was best to keep the bird still and wrapped in her robes. The crane had eaten some and she had been able to get it to drink that morning. Those were good signs. Its dull eyes took in the scenery around them, but they did not shine. The crane, like Ziibi, knew it was not headed for its usual winter home.
The river was narrow and had rocks with lines of color in them. Bare, dead white cedars from time to time appeared as beautiful specters along the shore. Their pale rotting bark caught the morning light and turned it to gold. Further back were the precious paper birch bark trees. When Ziibi saw them she thought of Ajijaak’s noko. How was the old woman? It had been awhile since Ziibi had practiced her bark biting skills. In winter, she would have time. Ajijaak’s noko had given her some fine thin layers of bark to bite the night before Ziibi left her village. All at once Ziibi remembered the bark picture Ajijaak’s noko had bitten for her. It had been of a crane on the river.For the first time a sense of well being flowed through her. She was now on a river carrying a crane. Beneath its warm feathers its heart beat steadily. Ajijaak’s noko had seen into her future, and now she saw into this crane’s future. It would live, it would return to its own kind when the seasons had changed. She too would return to her own kind when her learning was done. She must be patient and trust, just as the bird in her arms yielded its trust to her. Time would pass. It would, it always did.
Later that day they reached their camp. A birch house fully prepared awaited them. Inside the house a fire was lit and bass soup was cooking. Except for the pot, the house was entirely empty. Ziibi looked on the floor and it was swept without a single footprint or smudge. She looked first from one sister to another. Neither explained. They took their bundles inside. Ziibi, carrying the burden of her crane ducked into the house. She felt the hair on her arms rise. Who had done this? Who was here?
Mitgokaa brought the crane’s basket inside and said, “Put him in here. He is tired of being held and we need your help unloading.”
Ziibi did as she was instructed. As she walked, she looked around the area for human footprints and saw none. Had the spirits fixed this meal for them? Did they do that? If they did, would Mikwam return to her? She missed him so much. How could the Great Mystery give her the gift of Mikwam only to take him away? She hoped he would return, but even as she hoped, deep down she knew, she would not be reunited with Mikwam until she walked the Path of Souls.