Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

excerpt

Ari found a special friendship in Grey Wolf, once Grey Wolf learned from Ari that
he had been avenged for the loss of his ear. Grey Wolf and Leaping Water expected
their first child before the end of the next summer.
Throughout the winter, Rordan and Ula created a deep special connection with
Running Deer and the other camp children, teaching them simple songs in the Celtic
of his own childhood. They called Ula, Aira, meaning Of The Wind, because she
could run like the wind and beat almost anybody in a race. She was expert at throwing
a knife and could hit a target at twenty paces. Ula didn’t mind the new name
because both names sounded so similar and she loved the acknowledgment of her
prowess and strength. The Natives gave Brother Rordan the name Mountain Thrush
for his pleasing voice and happy laugh, though many of the elders referred to him as
Ominotago, Beautiful Voice. The children were also fascinated with his blonde hair,
almost the colour of the cotton traders brought from the Lands of Winter Sun.
For the first time in many years, Brother Rordan had found his niche as a singer
and teacher of song among the Natives. Finten regarded the transformation from
surly boy to happy Brother as a miracle and didn’t object that Rordan and Ula
seemed to spend all their time together. Perhaps this was God’s country after all. He
often thought that if singing were praying twice, the singing of the children would
surely bring conversions.
Music contains a power stronger than many medicines and Brother Rordan’s
chanting was healing Ula’s sadness but she still remained wary, especially toward
Father Finten and Bjorn, both so much older than she or the Brothers. It took a
period of fever, when Ula had to be nursed by Chochmingwu Corn Mother, Brown
Bear’s wife, for Rordan to reach a new closeness with Ula. It was then that he saw her
vulnerability, as she revealed her childhood suffering through fevered ravings and as
he witnessed her tears.
Since her daughter’s murder by Illska, Corn Mother had dedicated herself to healing
the village children and young people. It was a testament to her loving heart that
she nursed one of the white strangers. She also appreciated Rordan’s commitment to
the children and so she reached out to his constant companion.
Corn Mother’s herbs worked their magic. Ula began to speak to Rordan of her
past as she recovered from the fever that had racked her for two weeks, and as she
saw the relief and warmth in Rordan’s eyes.
“How did I come to be a slave? No, I wasn’t taken by Vikings. My parents weren’t
killed in an awful raid. I didn’t crawl out of the flames. My pigshit mother thought
I’d make a good nun and sold me to a convent. A good nun, ha! Could you see me
in a convent?
“My father? I had three fathers. All of them were my father. None of those assholes
was. I was traded to the convent for six chickens and a pig. A pig! My mother got the
better of the deal: She got the pig; they got me.
“I was there a whole bloody year. Thought they’d rescued me from a life of shame
following my mother’s trade. I was their prisoner, more like it. Stale straw and kitchen
slops and prayers, prayers, prayers, morning, noon and night. So I ran off dressed
as a boy. Then they were going to hang me up for a loaf of stale bloody bread. The
sheriff sold me to a Norseman instead.

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Savages and Beasts

excerpt

With the help of the two constables they placed the body
in a plastic bag and carried it to their car. Soon they drove away to
the lab. The two constables left in their cruiser after Ron promised
to come back next day for a more detailed examination. They
still had to find the knife in question. Soon as they left Sister
Gladys with the help of Mary cleaned up the floor off the blood
stains. Father Jerome advised everyone to go and lie down it was
a very hectic day full of sadness and the unexpected passing of
Father Thomas at the hands of a brute.
George the cook reached Anton’s house in five minutes
of a fast walk. Not wanting to risk waking up Anton’s parents he
walked to the back and knocked at the basement door. Anton
opened. He looked at the cook with surprise written on his eyes.
The cook walked inside and in one breath, as if he had recanted
in his mind the whole sentence many times he informed Anton
about Father Thomas’ killing and who the killer was and where
he along with his sister were this very moment.
Anton was dumbfounded. He knew the youth, Marcus,
would someday take revenge on the misfortunes and abuses him
and his sister suffered under the rules of the Residential School,
however he didn’t expected it to happen so soon.
George told him the youth had thrown the knife he took
from George’s kitchen in the water of Thompson River and asked
what they could do for the two youths. Anton didn’t know what to
do and looking at George he realized he didn’t have a clue either.
Then as if an epiphany struck Anton he said,
“Let’s go; I know where to take them,” and with that they
both got in Anton’s truck and drove back to George’s place. They
found the two youths who looked scared and cold.

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Savages and Beasts

excerpt

…flowing in his veins. Marcus knew well he could graduate from
this school tonight he could take his diploma tonight he could
put the Kamloops Indian Residential School behind him and
behind his sister by just learning how to kill. This was the lesson
he had to learn tonight and the power of such a lesson kept him
quiet in the closet just behind Sister Gladys’ desk.
Suddenly footsteps were heard. A door opened and a man
walked along the long hallway going towards the sleeping quarters
of the girls. Marcus moved the closet door a bit open enough to
discern Father Thomas going his regular direction. Marcus walked
out of the closet and twelve steps further he hid behind the door
leading upstairs to the rooms of the priests and nuns. Moments
passed, moments that felt like eons when suddenly Marcus stopped
even his heartbeats as he felt on his body the back of the door opening
slowly. Two persons entered: a girl, his sister Deborah, held by
the hand by Father Thomas who was right next to her.
Marcus charged like a thunder and before the priest turned
to look he had wielded the knife twice up and down striking the
back of the priest in two places. The priest, struck by surprise,
tried to turn and look who was doing the killing when he received
two more strikes on his chest. With a loud cry Father Thomas
stepped backwards and losing his balance he fell on his back and
his head hit the wooden post of the stairs and with a noisy thud
he collapsed on the floor.
“Let’s go,” Marcus said to his sister and taking her by
the hand the priest was holding a few seconds earlier he led her
towards the main entrance door which they found locked. They
ran to the basement and to the carpentry shop, Marcus climbed
on a short ladder and opened one of the two windows. Deborah
first then Marcus crawled out of the building and, running as fast
as they could distanced themselves from the mausoleum.

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Savages and Beasts

excerpt

and people had already found their shelter and the forgetful
ones or late sauntering souls were drenched in a matter of minutes
when exposed to the elements. Rain fell in wide bands
occasionally very strong as if wanting to cleanse all sins from
the souls of sinful men or as if to purify all guilt some people
carried in their hearts such was the duty of rain this November
evening.
While the tempest raged outside the walls of the mausoleum,
the children had had their evening meals; George the
Cretan cook had prepared bean soup for them merely enough
to fill their small stomachs. Marcus as always made sure he was
put on kitchen duty, his teachers hadn’t yet smelled his scheme,
and soon after all other children left for their sleeping quarters
Marcus went to the kitchen where his evening boss, George,
allotted to him tonight’s duty: to scape clean two big cauldrons
which were used for the soup.
The youth, having a perpetual smile on his face, one would
say he had planned this kitchen duty, stood by the sink and leaning
over the huge vessel he started to scrape and clean which he
did bit by bit and stroke after stroke while George supervised
making sure the vessel would be spotless for next day’s use. And
it came to be, spotless as the supervisor would want it and as
Marcus the Indian youth who had a good sense of commitment
knew which resulted in him being worthy of his reward: an extra
bowlful of bean soup, a slice of bread and a small piece of apple
pie. The youth was sitting at his regular kitchen table meant for
the cooks and their helpers and relished his reward up to the
last morsel; George was observing the youth who was enjoying
his pie. Yet he sensed the heaviness weighing on his heart and
reflecting in his eyes.
“What is it, Marcus? What’s bothering you?”

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Arrows

excerpt

I, too, was part of the jungle.
Our lovemaking grew into a world of dreams. Apacuana had the
power to take me to a hitherto unknown God, beyond the Church, into
an expanse of uncharted feelings as miraculous as any star-filled sky.
Her body became a refuge, a place for revival, like an inexhaustible
spring of healing waters. It was a gate past which I discovered a world
where loneliness was banished. I was shocked to discover she was part
of me, as much as Bartolomé was, perhaps more.
When we lay in one another’s arms, I forgot to think before I
spoke. I told her things that would have never have left my lips
before I knew her. It astonished me that we could learn compassion
from our own tenderness. This was not a lesson in a book, or a
lecture from a priest, and it was certainly not everyone’s duty to
learn it, but pleasure was natural to her, and she taught me that my
tongue could talk to her in ways I had never imagined possible.
And it was these conversations of pure touch, with our expanding
vocabulary of caresses, that I yearned for, that I craved, as much as
the need to satisfy my own desire. And so I came to value frankness
as a form of kindness. She loved me for who I was, not for what I
represented. The truth was simple with her.
She began to trust me with her thoughts. She talked to me, and she
told me how she feared for her future, for the future of her people, and
especially for Matyba and Padumay. Apacuana was wise beyond her
years, perhaps wise beyond her sex. Or were all women wiser than
men and men were trained by other men not to see?
That morning, at the base of that tree, as we lay staring at the sky, I
suddenly asked myself what, in God’s name, was I doing with her?
She must have read my mind, for she turned to me. “If my bleeding
stops,” she said, “will you stay?”

Five days of hard drinking had passed since the killings, and I saw
drunken people sleeping in the most unlikely places. I left the hut for
bare necessities only, but Apacuana came to see me several times…

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Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

excerpt

Brother Rordan, tied up alone in another hut, wondered about his new friend, Ul.
So far, no one had been able to get him to say more than a few words. Rordan still
knew nothing about him except for his strange name.
Brown Bear and his son, Running Deer, returned from mourning at the Island
of the Dead to find the camp deserted. Corn Mother was gone but had drawn into
the sandy soil at the door to his lodge a picture of the hunt. He erased the message
meant for his eyes alone.
A young Native with spear stood watch while Rordan relieved himself at a long
pit, dug some distance from the huts. As he squatted, he looked toward the hut
where he’d spent the night, hoping for some sign of the others but he was alone
with his guard. Perhaps they were only being let out one at a time. His business
done, Rordan was led back to one of a dozen or more small huts. The huts were
slung low and covered with sheets of thick birch bark woven between saplings. At
the centre of the camp, several Native women ground corn and roots on a large flat
rock surface with wooden mortars.
In the semidarkness, Rordan’s guard tied his hands behind his back and attached
him once more to the centre lodge pole. Another Native came in with a wooden
bowl of corn mush and baked fish and tried to feed him but he refused to open his
mouth. Rordan heard distant drumming and felt a headache coming on. His eyes
burned but he couldn’t close them. The Native gave up his attempt to feed him and
finally left with the food bowl. Rordan preferred the quiet and darkness.
Brown Bear asked to see the captives. He looked in on two but did not recognize
either. In the farthest lodge, he saw Bjorn, his companion from the night of
the hunting feast, tied to the lodge pole, refusing to eat the food being offered by
Broken Wing. Brown Bear took the bowl and sat facing Bjorn. As soon as Broken
Wing left the lodge, Brown Bear untied Bjorn and handed him the food bowl.
Neither tried to speak. Bjorn wolfed down the corn and fish while Brown Bear sat
and watched his friend eat.
Rordan opened his eyes and gazed down at his previously bare feet now dressed
in gold slippers. His body was covered with brilliant, multicoloured feathers. Rordan
looked up to where a low ceiling had held him in darkness. The sky was filled with
stars. He extended his arms, no longer tied to the lodge pole behind his back and
effortlessly floated up, high above the captors’ village.
He flew with a myriad of birds of many colours, over forests, rivers, and great
expanses of desert landscape with deep canyons and pink sandstone plateaus.
He flew on between mountains capped with snow. Rordan glided above their
frosted solitude then down over a steamy jungle to a vast city on a lake. There
he saw exotic flowers and sparkling fountains and heard strange and beautiful
instrumental music. The birds led him on to another city on a hill. Here were
many pyramids of white and pink stone. People dressed in flowing robes of multicoloured
feathers moved up and down countless steps.

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Arrows

excerpt

Guacaipuro surveyed the damage.
“Your god,” he panted, “is evil.”
Then he seemed to see something in the shadows of the bushes
illuminated by the firelight, and all distress lifted from his
countenance. He reached out, but life left him at that moment. He
collapsed onto Urquía, his face buried in her bosom. I gawked at
them. He had trusted me with her life, and there she was, dead. And
he saw her die.
I was on my feet. Where had all the air gone? I gasped, trying to
suck it in, and stumbled away. My knees buckled, and I held myself
by the middle. A shout emerged from the centre of my soul, a long
throat-shredding, “No!”
She hadn’t converted either.
The Spaniards stepped back. I would have liked to see them try
and touch his body, chop off his head and take it as a trophy.
Something stopped them. Horror, I guess. As they fled uphill,
leaving only desolation behind, I felt Benjamin’s big hand on my
shoulder.
“Coming?”
I shot him a loathing look; pain choked me, tears stung my eyes,
my head throbbed. I saw in the fleeting expression that crossed his
face that that was the last thing he expected from me. He strode
away, looking back over his big, swaying shoulders a couple of
times. It was not his fault, of course, but at that moment he became
the Spaniards, a group I did not want to belong to any longer. My
reaction was unjust, and I knew it, but couldn’t bring myself to be
like Jesus.
Had I ever?
The next hours were filled with the numbness of incredulity. I just
sat there until the hut was nothing more than a glowing mass of
smouldering thatch. Desolation after the storm. Not a breath of hope
in the air. Nothing but pain and sorrow. Fragments of the person I…

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Savages and Beasts

excerpt

Despite all the atrocities the Indian children have experienced
the system couldn’t change them, couldn’t mould them to
their ways. Why these kids can’t become like the proselytizing
Anglos? What keeps them and sustains them and they remain
Indians? How these savages know how to maintain their beliefs
and way of life despite the efforts of the occupiers and proselytizing
church fathers? The only answer lies in the natural abilities of
these savages to never compromise their beliefs and rights which
is the only way they can maintain their sense of goal and purpose
in life. And so they take the hits and strikes and punishments
while they maintain their composure and their rigidity knowing
well in their hearts that what goes around comes around. Truly
this has kept them alive and strong and optimistic that one day
things might turn to their favor.
Suddenly a thought came to Anton, an epiphany one could
say: he could go and take up studies as his father would like him
to do. Yes that could be his future, a higher diploma and a new
career. A university in the East would serve well in that respect
and Mary could feel good to go with him. Yes, a new beginning.
He couldn’t wait until he asked Mary what her feelings would be
for something like that.

Marcus and Lucas got very angry upon learning about last night’s
incident and the light punishment Mr. Wilson received from
Father Jerome. George was very angry too, so was Anton, but
both Anton and George knew the law had to be abided and vigilante
solutions weren’t the best under the circumstances. So they
only hoped that the RCMP would charge the teacher and the
case would end up in a court of law where he would be sentenced
properly. However these explanations weren’t at all satisfactory
to the two Indian youths who would like to see the guilty man…

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Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

excerpt

Questions of Survival
“Why does Father Finten dislike me so?” Rordan held the post in place while Keallach
lifted the beam into position and secured it with two strands of vine.
“I’m sure you are mistaken, Brother. Father Finten cares for all of us. Hold that post
steady. I cannot tie it secure if you keep waving it around.” Keallach lashed the two
pieces together. Now he stood and faced Rordan. “I think Father Finten likes his Brothers
to be trusting, not always thinking the worst will happen as if abandoned by God.”
Rordan shook his head and spat a tiny mosquito onto the sand. “Do you really
believe that? Finten does his own share of complaining. Then he tells us to have
faith in Divine Providence.” He wished he could say what he really felt about Father
Finten without having to feel so guilty about it, like he was speaking against some
great saint.
“Be happy; we’re free of those Viking slavers.”
“That big wrestler could kill us all in our sleep.” Rordan did not really believe that,
but he hated to be put in his place.
“If Blonde Bear slits anyone’s throat, I am sure it will be yours. Now let’s get
this other end up and perhaps we’ll have a place to sleep tonight.” Keallach lifted
the other end of the beam into position and secured it, while Rordan held the
post almost steady.
White Eagle greeted the young brave, Broken Wing, with calm patience.
He himself would investigate. Mountain Lion, levelheaded in times of emergency,
would accompany him. This time, they’d approach the camp with great
care. These hairy strangers were unpredictable. This much they had already
learned.
“Vikings have been raping and killing innocent people since I can remember.
Why should Illska and Hrafen be any different?” Finten spoke as he took the lance
Bjorn had cut for him from a straight sapling. He felt the sharp barbed tip with his
thumb, having never before held such a weapon in his hand.
Bjorn was cutting another sapling to form a lance for himself. “In the old days, it
was different. Usually it was kill or be killed. Better to kill them first. Some fought
for land. Some fought for family. Of course, many raided for profit. And yes, many
were cruel and loved killing, raping and burning. But not all Norsemen are pirates.”
Having trimmed off the side branches, he now began to cut a point at the small
end. “My father and my father’s father were hunters. We lived on the land in peace.
My father treated his thralls with care and respect. They were allowed their language…

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Arrows

excerpt

…how to use the strainer made of woven palm leaves. She took me to a
kind of oven that consisted of a circular structure with a large, flat
earthen plate on top and a fire burning underneath. I poured the
grated root and scattered it into a more or less round cake. I stood
there watching over it, lest it burn. I admired my first cassava cake,
an irregular spill, and fingered it so often that it cracked into pieces. I
ate it that night—it tasted like triumph.
From a tree beside the hut where I slept, I ate mamones by the
dozen, playing with the big, velvety seeds in my mouth until my
teeth felt as if they would fall out. The guavas, which had disgusted
me because of the little worms that sometimes infested them, I now
ate with delight—worms and all.
In time, I learned to differentiate the people of the Teque nation
from the others, who remained indistinguishable. Pure joy filled me
when, thanks to the boys who had taught me to use a bow, I
contributed a small, wild pig. After that, people spurned me less.
Tiaroa, Guacaipuro´s sister, came to me one day and offered me
an onoto—a red-dyed, sleeveless, hoodless tunic. My cassock was in
tatters, but it was the significance of the gift that left me speechless:
they had accepted me. I took the tunic and went to Tamanoa´s grave
to show it to him, so that he could rest assured that I was making
progress.

Weeks turned into months. I kept my distance from Apacuana. As
far as I could tell, she was not living with Baruta, and yet she was not
with other men either. Sometimes when I went to my cave to pray, I
would wonder to myself what might happen if she ever followed me
there, and I struggled to dismiss these thoughts, and often flayed
myself accordingly.
I preferred to make progress teaching my language to
Guacaipuro. If he could one day learn to read the New Testament,
he might be awakened to the ways of our Lord. I often ate at his
house and exchanged words with him. He was particularly puzzled…

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