giants were leaving their ordained realms. But he and others like him had begun the process, by exploring into those realms.
He, after all, had broken the rules, as had White Crow, long before the Pukawatchi began to move north. The dwarves had always
lived at peace with those from the other two realms, each with its own hunting grounds. All he knew now was that the closer
to the sacred oak one came, the closer the realms conjoined.
I had been taught that the multiverse had no center, just as an animal or a tree had no center. Yet if the multiverse had
a soul, that was what Ayanawatta seemed to be describing. If the multiplicity of everything was symbolized in a living metaphor,
there was no reason themultiverse should not possess a soul. I went to unroll my buffalo robe and wrap myself against the cold.
Ayanawatta was enjoying his pipe more than usual. He lay on his side, staring up at a three-quarter moon over which thin,
white clouds floated on a steady breeze from the south. He wore his soft buckskin shirt against the cold. It was of very fine
workmanship, decorated with semiprecious beads and dyed porcupine quills, like the leggings and the fur-trimmed cap he also
pulled on against the night’s chill. Again I had the impression of a well-to-do Victorian gentleman adventurer making the
best of the wilderness.
He had already removed and stored his eagle feathers in a hollow tube he carried for the purpose, but he still wore his long
earrings and studs. His elaborate tattoos did nothing but enhance his refined, sensitive features. He took a deep pull from
the pipe before handing me the bowl into which I placed my own reed to draw up the smoke. “What if that tree-soul which the
Kakatanawa guard were the sum of all our souls?”
I agreed that this was a philosophical possibility.
“What if the sum of all our souls was the price we paid should that tree die?” he continued significantly.
I drew the mixture into my lungs. I tasted mint, rosemary, willow, sage. I inhaled a herb garden and forest combined! Unlike
tobacco, this spread lightness and well-being through my whole body. “Is that what we are fighting for?” I asked, handing
him back the bowl.
He sighed. “I think it is. When Law goes mad and Chaos is the Balance’s only defense, some believe we are already conquered.”
“You do not agree?”
“Of course not. I have made my spirit-quest into my future. I understand how I must play my part in restoring the Balance.
I studied for four years and in four realms. I learned how to dream of my own future and summon for myself both flesh and
form. I have read my own story in the books of the horse-people. I have heard my story called a false one. But if I give it
life, I will redeem it. I will respect the people it sought to celebrate. I will bring respect to both the singer and the
song.”
He took another long, delicious pull on the pipe. He was gravely determined. “I know what I must do to fulfill my spiritual
destiny. I must live my story as it is written. Our rituals are the rituals of order. I am working to give credible power
back to Law and to fight those forces which would disrupt the Balance forever. Like you, I serve neither Law nor Chaos. I
am, in the eyes of a mukhamirim, a Knight of the Balance.” He let the smoke from his lungs pour out to join that of our small
fire, curling gracefully towards the moon. “I have that lust for harmony, unity and justice which consumes so many of us.”
The firelight caught his gold and copper, reflected in his glowing skin, drew contrasting shadows. I was, in spite of myself,
enormously attracted to him, but I did not fear the attraction. Both of us had been well schooled in self-control.
“It is sometimes hard to know,” I said, “where to place one’s loyalty …”
He experienced no such ambiguities. He had taken his dream journey. “My story is already written. I haveread it, after all. Now I must
He, after all, had broken the rules, as had White Crow, long before the Pukawatchi began to move north. The dwarves had always
lived at peace with those from the other two realms, each with its own hunting grounds. All he knew now was that the closer
to the sacred oak one came, the closer the realms conjoined.
I had been taught that the multiverse had no center, just as an animal or a tree had no center. Yet if the multiverse had
a soul, that was what Ayanawatta seemed to be describing. If the multiplicity of everything was symbolized in a living metaphor,
there was no reason themultiverse should not possess a soul. I went to unroll my buffalo robe and wrap myself against the cold.
Ayanawatta was enjoying his pipe more than usual. He lay on his side, staring up at a three-quarter moon over which thin,
white clouds floated on a steady breeze from the south. He wore his soft buckskin shirt against the cold. It was of very fine
workmanship, decorated with semiprecious beads and dyed porcupine quills, like the leggings and the fur-trimmed cap he also
pulled on against the night’s chill. Again I had the impression of a well-to-do Victorian gentleman adventurer making the
best of the wilderness.
He had already removed and stored his eagle feathers in a hollow tube he carried for the purpose, but he still wore his long
earrings and studs. His elaborate tattoos did nothing but enhance his refined, sensitive features. He took a deep pull from
the pipe before handing me the bowl into which I placed my own reed to draw up the smoke. “What if that tree-soul which the
Kakatanawa guard were the sum of all our souls?”
I agreed that this was a philosophical possibility.
“What if the sum of all our souls was the price we paid should that tree die?” he continued significantly.
I drew the mixture into my lungs. I tasted mint, rosemary, willow, sage. I inhaled a herb garden and forest combined! Unlike
tobacco, this spread lightness and well-being through my whole body. “Is that what we are fighting for?” I asked, handing
him back the bowl.
He sighed. “I think it is. When Law goes mad and Chaos is the Balance’s only defense, some believe we are already conquered.”
“You do not agree?”
“Of course not. I have made my spirit-quest into my future. I understand how I must play my part in restoring the Balance.
I studied for four years and in four realms. I learned how to dream of my own future and summon for myself both flesh and
form. I have read my own story in the books of the horse-people. I have heard my story called a false one. But if I give it
life, I will redeem it. I will respect the people it sought to celebrate. I will bring respect to both the singer and the
song.”
He took another long, delicious pull on the pipe. He was gravely determined. “I know what I must do to fulfill my spiritual
destiny. I must live my story as it is written. Our rituals are the rituals of order. I am working to give credible power
back to Law and to fight those forces which would disrupt the Balance forever. Like you, I serve neither Law nor Chaos. I
am, in the eyes of a mukhamirim, a Knight of the Balance.” He let the smoke from his lungs pour out to join that of our small
fire, curling gracefully towards the moon. “I have that lust for harmony, unity and justice which consumes so many of us.”
The firelight caught his gold and copper, reflected in his glowing skin, drew contrasting shadows. I was, in spite of myself,
enormously attracted to him, but I did not fear the attraction. Both of us had been well schooled in self-control.
“It is sometimes hard to know,” I said, “where to place one’s loyalty …”
He experienced no such ambiguities. He had taken his dream journey. “My story is already written. I haveread it, after all. Now I must
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