beaks like halberds and wings like top-gallants waited patiently for the chance to symbolise monumental capitalist democracy, and caught salmon the size of sofas to pass the time.
Tatunghut 8 watched the light approaching, and reached into his pouch-bundle for something reassuring, but found only tobacco leaves, a sucking pipe, part of a dried sidewinder and a beaver’s tail.
He pulled a thick blanket around his shoulders, dragged back the drop-hide door, and crept out of the lodge, heading for the lake-edge.
The calls of the loons sounded ill at ease to him. From his people’s encampment, dogs woke and growled and yapped distractedly. Tatunghut looked down at the water that lapped around the toes of his moccasins, glad he had chosen to wear the ones with the fur side inside and the caulked side outside.
Something unwelcome was edging across the Land of his Ancestors, something insidious and cunning that carried the
unmistakable scent of manitou.
Chinchesaw strolled down across the beach to join him, hands on his hips, breathing in the morning breeze through a cheerful smile.
“You’re up early, Tatunghut,” he said.
“Bad wind,” replied the long-limbed shaman, gravely.
Chinchesaw nodded sympathetically. “Too much buffalo, I expect.”
“No, no,” said Tatunghut, holding up a hand that had been known to divert storms and flummox cougar. “Something bad is stirring. Far away, across the Great Water, in the Distant Place. Something bad.”
Chinchesaw considered this for a few moments. As far as he and most of the Senenoyak People cared, the strange, hairy, rough-voiced men who came across the Great Water in wooden islands from the Distant Place deserved as much badness as could be sent their way. They were full of vulgar customs, crude habits and dubious ethics, and could kill you from four bow-shots away with a piece of lead the size of an alfalfa sprout. What’s more, they could not be deterred from the belief that the Senenoyak and their neighbours in the Plains and the Uplands wanted to exchange things for strings of glass beads. However, Chinchesaw knew Tatunghut. He knew how seriously the shaman took the unseen workings of the manitou.
“You’re not thinking of going there, are you?” he asked, nervously.
“Going there?” asked the shaman.
“To do something about it. It’d be just like you, Tatunghut, going off on a wild vision quest to fight the demons that plague another people. The Distant Placers can face their own problems. Don’t you get tangled up in their affairs. Besides, they’re an ugly, smelly lot.”
Tatunghut managed a smile.
“Rest assured, brother, I won’t go,” he said. “It is too far, and even if I did go, I would get there too late. It is a task for their shamans. I just hope by the Great Spirit that they have noticed this Badness in time.”
“I’m sure they have,” said Chinchesaw in encouragement.
“Maybe,” Tatunghut said, sighing deeply. “They seem so dull-witted and insensitive. Maybe they are unaware of the stirrings in the Spirit Plains.”
The wind coursed across the lake, tugging at their plaited hair. Chinchesaw brushed a few loose strands of hair out of his kohl-edged eyes.
“They do have shamans,” he said. “I’ve heard talk of them. They call them” The young brave was silent for a moment as he searched for the word.
“Kardenowls,” he said at last. “These Kardenowls will know what to do. You mark my words. Don’t you worry about it.”
“I suppose so. It’s just” Tatunghut paused. “I have such a great reservation.”
Chinchesaw brightened.
“Well,
Tatunghut 8 watched the light approaching, and reached into his pouch-bundle for something reassuring, but found only tobacco leaves, a sucking pipe, part of a dried sidewinder and a beaver’s tail.
He pulled a thick blanket around his shoulders, dragged back the drop-hide door, and crept out of the lodge, heading for the lake-edge.
The calls of the loons sounded ill at ease to him. From his people’s encampment, dogs woke and growled and yapped distractedly. Tatunghut looked down at the water that lapped around the toes of his moccasins, glad he had chosen to wear the ones with the fur side inside and the caulked side outside.
Something unwelcome was edging across the Land of his Ancestors, something insidious and cunning that carried the
unmistakable scent of manitou.
Chinchesaw strolled down across the beach to join him, hands on his hips, breathing in the morning breeze through a cheerful smile.
“You’re up early, Tatunghut,” he said.
“Bad wind,” replied the long-limbed shaman, gravely.
Chinchesaw nodded sympathetically. “Too much buffalo, I expect.”
“No, no,” said Tatunghut, holding up a hand that had been known to divert storms and flummox cougar. “Something bad is stirring. Far away, across the Great Water, in the Distant Place. Something bad.”
Chinchesaw considered this for a few moments. As far as he and most of the Senenoyak People cared, the strange, hairy, rough-voiced men who came across the Great Water in wooden islands from the Distant Place deserved as much badness as could be sent their way. They were full of vulgar customs, crude habits and dubious ethics, and could kill you from four bow-shots away with a piece of lead the size of an alfalfa sprout. What’s more, they could not be deterred from the belief that the Senenoyak and their neighbours in the Plains and the Uplands wanted to exchange things for strings of glass beads. However, Chinchesaw knew Tatunghut. He knew how seriously the shaman took the unseen workings of the manitou.
“You’re not thinking of going there, are you?” he asked, nervously.
“Going there?” asked the shaman.
“To do something about it. It’d be just like you, Tatunghut, going off on a wild vision quest to fight the demons that plague another people. The Distant Placers can face their own problems. Don’t you get tangled up in their affairs. Besides, they’re an ugly, smelly lot.”
Tatunghut managed a smile.
“Rest assured, brother, I won’t go,” he said. “It is too far, and even if I did go, I would get there too late. It is a task for their shamans. I just hope by the Great Spirit that they have noticed this Badness in time.”
“I’m sure they have,” said Chinchesaw in encouragement.
“Maybe,” Tatunghut said, sighing deeply. “They seem so dull-witted and insensitive. Maybe they are unaware of the stirrings in the Spirit Plains.”
The wind coursed across the lake, tugging at their plaited hair. Chinchesaw brushed a few loose strands of hair out of his kohl-edged eyes.
“They do have shamans,” he said. “I’ve heard talk of them. They call them” The young brave was silent for a moment as he searched for the word.
“Kardenowls,” he said at last. “These Kardenowls will know what to do. You mark my words. Don’t you worry about it.”
“I suppose so. It’s just” Tatunghut paused. “I have such a great reservation.”
Chinchesaw brightened.
“Well,
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