Ring of Fire III

1

Walks-In-Deep-Woods looked up through a haze of tobacco smoke to see Strong-Arm standing at the tent flap. Normally Strong-Arm went where he wished; he entered any tent he chose, never asking permission or hesitating-but he hesitated here, at the entrance to Walks-In-Deep-Woods’ tent.

Walks-In-Deep-Woods did not speak. He placed his hands before him, as if warming them at the fire; then he touched them to his temples, his cheeks, and his breast. Strong-Arm watched each hand motion, perhaps attributing meaning to the gestures…but Walks-In-Deep-Woods smiled inwardly to himself, knowing that they were for show, like most of what a shaman did.

Just for show, he thought to himself, but did not permit a hint of it to appear on his face. Solemnly (very solemnly, he reminded himself) he looked up at Strong-Arm, awaiting the chief’s first words.

“You are working some medicine,” Strong-Arm said. “I will come back later.”

“You are welcome in my tent, mighty chief,” Walks-In-Deep-Woods said. “How may I help you?”

He gestured to a seat opposite, upon a blanket that a daughter of a chief had made for him when he was much younger. Strong-Arm seemed to hesitate again, as if unwilling to enter a shaman’s tent, but after a moment he entered, bowing his head to come through the tent-flap, and took the offered seat.

“You are working some medicine,” Strong-Arm repeated.

“Only the beginning,” Walks-In-Deep-Woods answered. He touched his temples and his cheeks again; Strong-Arm followed his gestures, perhaps again attributing some meaning to them. “I am trying to make clear that which is clouded.”

“By looking in the fire?”

“In part,” Walks-In-Deep-Woods said. “I have seen…the trail of our enemy.”

Strong-Arm was suddenly alert. “Enemy? You mean-”

“The great servant of the Onontio. Yes.”

“He is old now.”

“But still cunning, great chief. And still dangerous. For him to be defeated requires great medicine.”

“Our medicine has never worked against Champlain,” Strong-Arm said, and he picked up a bit of earth from the ground beneath his blanket, tossing it behind him to ward off any curse that might come from speaking the white man’s name. “Not in my father’s time, not in mine. Can you do what no one has done? Can you do what you have never done?”

“I can,” Walks-In-Deep-Woods answered, letting his face settle into a thin-lipped smile. “I can.”

Outside, in the dark, a night-bird hooted. Walks-In-Deep-Woods thanked the Great Spirit for His timing.

Strong-Arm rubbed his hands together and then spread them before the fire.

“What do you intend to do, shaman?”

“It is Champlain that opposes us, great chief. It is Champlain who makes common cause with the Hurons and goes to war against us.”

“Yes, yes,” Strong-Arm said. He was clearly uncomfortable that Walks-In-Deep-Woods was repeating the name.

“Then it is clear that he must die.”

“You…can cause his death?”

“Only at the proper time,” Walks-In-Deep-Woods answered.

Strong-Arm looked a bit disappointed.

“But this is the proper time,” Walks-In-Deep-Woods added. “With the harvest moon in the sky, and the first trace of chill in the air. I will cause the cold to creep into his old white bones and drive him to his bed.” He slapped his hands on his thighs, making Strong-Arm jump slightly. “And once he lies down he will not rise again.”

“When will you make this medicine?”

“When?” Walks-In-Deep-Woods let himself smile again, but this time he bared his teeth. “When, the great chief asks. It is already done. The cold is in his bones already.”

Now it was Strong-Arm’s turn to smile.