Tag: n-american-natives

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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excerpt

“They’re family. That’s different.” Ula stood up at the sound of footsteps and tumbling
pebbles just above their perch. It was Brother Ailan.
“You two are out early. Brother Rordan, Finten’s been looking for you. You
skipped morning prayer again.”
“Thanks Ailan. If I didn’t have you to look out for me, how would I possibly survive?
We’ll be there for breakfast.”
“You had better hurry then or Brother Keallach will eat your share. I’ll make sure
he leaves some for you, little sister.”
Ula smiled at the chubby monk. “Thanks Brother Ailan. We’re coming.” She offered
a hand to Rordan and pulled him to his feet.
Rordan and Ula allowed Brother Ailan to get well ahead of them before following
back to the Brothers’ lodge. For the first time in many weeks, the Native village
appeared to be deserted except for Finten, Ailan, Keallach, Bjorn, and Ari who stood
waiting at the lodge door until they saw Rordan and Ula arriving and Finten gave
the signal to enter. Once everyone was seated in the centre eating area, Ari produced
a steaming bowl of baked gull’s eggs and cod.
Father Finten intoned the grace.
Although Father Finten managed to rattle off the entire prayer, the first mouthfuls
were stopped short by shrieks and loud whoops coming from outside the Brothers’
lodge. Brother Keallach jumped up to look outside. “My God! We’re under attack.”
Bjorn grabbed a smouldering piece of wood from the breakfast cooking fire.
Keallach grabbed another and followed him through the door blanket with Ari, Ailan,
Rordan and Ula right behind. Finten didn’t follow but fell trembling to his knees,
seeking help from a Greater Power. No sooner were the six outside the lodge than each
was grabbed and clubbed over the head by warriors with partially shaved heads. Only
Father Finten remained behind, crying to God in whispered Latin,“Déus, salvam mé.”
Rordan came to with blood trickling down his face and into his open mouth.
Shards of pain stung his naked chest and privates. His hands were tied tightly behind
his back and he was standing, roped to a pole. He opened his eyes to a wild, painted
face before a blazing fire. The sky behind the face was filled with a million sparks.
Whoops and yelps of a hundred savage voices rent the air. Painted Face bobbed
up and down in front of him and banged a stick against a burning bough, sending
sparks to burn Rordan’s skin, shouting “Nikamu! Nikamu! Nikamu! Yi! Yi! Yi! Yi! Yi!”
Rordan gritted his teeth and shook his head to clear his thoughts amidst the
yowls. “Nikamu! Nikamu! Nikamu! Yi! Yi! Yi! Yi! Yi!” The warrior applied the burning
bough to Rordan’s hair and, as he felt the searing on his scalp, Brother Rordan
cried out the same “Yi! Yi! Yi! Yi! Yi!”
The warrior laughed and Rordan understood that he wanted him to sing. “Yi! Yi!
Yi! Yi! Yi!”
Again the flame singed Rordan’s scalp, and again he sang, more frantically than
before, Painted Face laughed and singed his scalp once more.
That song’s not helping. If I’m to die by fire, I will go out singing.
Rordan had one song he loved above all others. He raised his head, took a deep
breath and called out beyond the pain. “Salve, Regina, Mater misericordiae, vita, dulcedo,
et spes nostra, salve.”

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Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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excerpt

The brothers replied: “Ad deum qui laetificat juventutem meam.” To God, Who
giveth joy to my youth.
Brown Bear strolled alone to the bluff overlooking the bay. High above green
waters and the multicoloured maples and birch on the far islands, he saw the first
arrowheads of honking geese. Three generations of large white birds announced the
coming snow and stirred the arrowhead of pain in Brown Bear’s heart. “My little
Namid, do you fly with Grandmother Snow Goose to the land of warm breezes? Or
does your spirit dance among your sister stars? My beautiful daughter, your father’s
heart still boils with anger for those who took you from your home and snatched
away your mother’s joy. It’s time, I know, my little Star Dancer, to take your bundle
to the resting place of our ancestors. But we cannot take you there until your brother,
Running Deer, and I make peace in our hearts, or else our anger will be carried with
your bones. We will not be long, my little one. Fly safely on. We will not be long.”
Though Brown Bear, Corn Mother and Running Deer had supported one another
as a bereaved family, Brown Bear needed to renew his own energy and that of
his family, within a village healing circle. As Sachem, White Eagle would organize a
cleansing sweat lodge, erected new for the occasion. The sweat lodge would be built
close to the stream, dammed to create a cooling pool. This work and the organizing
of a healing feast would be done by the women of the tribe.
All those who wished to join the circle knew they must make their intentions
known to White Eagle well ahead of time and prepare for the ceremony with fasting
and sitting apart in the forest. Brown Bear invited his friend White Bear, and
Running Deer invited Mountain Thrush. Kiche, Sky Spirit, also was invited out of
respect for his position among the newcomers. But Father Finten declined the invitation
when he learned to his horror the ceremony would take place in pagan nudity.
He forbade Brother Rordan to attend, but Mountain Thrush chose not to obey his
priest’s command.
Although she never attended the prayers of her companion Brothers, Ula felt
drawn to the Native spirituality and asked if she could be included. She wanted to
be closer to Corn Mother who had been so good to her when she was ill. Ula asked
White Eagle’s permission to be part of the healing circle.
Bjorn and Rordan knew that they represented the evil men who had brought pain
to Brown Bear and his family and to Grey Wolf for the loss of his ear and the pride
of his first kill. Now they’d listen and share with respect and truth and love, and help
in the healing of their new brothers and sisters.
In the days leading up to the healing circle, Bjorn, Rordan and Ula spent full days
sitting beneath single trees in the forest until they each came to know the individual
characteristics of their tree and how it was different from every other one in the
forest. The day before the circle, White Bear, Mountain Thrush, and Una, were honoured
with an invitation to the sweat lodge.
Drums announced the sweat lodge healing ceremony. The circular lodge, big
enough for thirty or more people, was built low into the ground with a framework
of twelve sturdy saplings and covered with woven reed mats and fallen leaves. The
tiny door, also covered with a mat, faced east, the source of life, power and wisdom.

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Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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“Here, we can hear God’s voice in the tree tops, in the rippling waters, in the cry
of the loon. Until you can lower yourself to our level and treat us as equals, there’ll
be very little dialogue.”
Father Finten fled to walk alone in the woods. Now Ailan came to find him there.
He had heard the conversation with Keallach and decided this was the best opportunity
to confirm what Keallach had already said about the relationship between priest
and Brothers.
“I have been wanting to talk to you, man to man, not as penitent to confessor,
for a very long time, ever since we first came to these shores. You are a hard man to
talk to. I do not want your judgments and I do not need your approval. I want your
trust and your love. You call me Brother but what does that really mean to you? Am
I like your own flesh and blood, or are you just being a distant father? Because you
are older than I, does not mean I should call you Father. Show me real love, and I’ll
gladly do so.”
Now Finten felt totally lost. He was unable to speak the thoughts that raced
through his mind. Ready to explode with grief and outrage, he turned and walked
quickly until he was deep in the forest. He needed time to think.
Finten did not return for the evening meal, not for prayers or bed, but stayed
away all night. Trusting that their priest would come back when he’d had time to
think these conversations over, the Brothers decided to overlook his absence. When
Finten did return to camp after three days, he did not say anything about what had
happened. The Brothers respected his silence, waiting to see if there’d be a difference
in their relationship with him, and life went on as before.

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Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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Fears and Frustrations


Brother Keallach was a good listener when Rordan needed to vent his frustration
and Rordan definitely needed to talk now.
“I just cannot understand why Father Finten has such a distrust of my interest in
medicine. Well, perhaps I do know why. Father Gofraidh was the same.
“I travelled for two years with a physician before coming to the monastery. In
my travels, I met many good doctors who had studied with the Moors. But because
those healers were not Christian, their works were forbidden. ‘What is not of God is
of the devil,’ Father Gofraidh preached to his novices.”
Rordan whipped at branches as the Brothers walked. “The Moors have a wonderful
knowledge of medicine and mathematics and astronomy. But do not tell this to
the Church Fathers. Only by chance was I able to learn the little I know about herbal
medicines from an ancient Italian monk who had learned his craft from a healing
woman in Italy. The healing woman was later condemned as a witch and put to
death. Can you believe that? Put to death for helping people. Corn Mother knows
more about herbs and medicines than anyone I have ever met in all my travels. And
Finten does not want me to associate with her.”
Rordan grew more agitated as he walked faster until Brother Keallach had to stop
to catch his breath. Rordan stopped and turned to face his companion but continued
speaking even as Keallach held his chest and breathed like a bellows.
“Because of this mistrust, the knowledge we have is hidden away and forbidden.
Did you know, Brother, the Church in Éirinn has more learning locked up in monasteries
than anywhere else in Christendom yet illness is still regarded as being caused
by sin? Even babies are only allowed healing by prayer. I believe in prayer, but this is
cruelty. It’s ridiculous; bloody ridiculous.”
Rordan picked up a small rock and threw it forcefully into a high arc. Then he
continued striding.
“An infected throat or a bad cough has to be treated with blessed candles and
prayers to Saint Blaise. Saint Roch is invoked to cure the plague. Saint Nicaise does a
poor job of protecting against smallpox, and kings are called upon to cure skin diseases
with the Royal Touch, so commoners are seldom healed of shingles or leprosy.”
Rordan stopped and sat on an ancient tree limb. His companion, thankful for the
pause, plopped down beside him.
“Despite all the knowledge available in our monasteries, monks are still forbidden
to perform any kind of surgery. Cutting into the ‘temple of the Holy Spirit’ is a sin of
murder. In the words of the late Father Gofraidh, ‘Surgery of any kind imperils the
souls of both surgeon and patient.’ So barbers and charlatans cut people open for
profit because real physicians are forbidden by Church hierarchy.”
Rordan put his hands on his head, exhausted from his outburst.

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Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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excerpt

Rordan waited for an answer but none came. Ula merely smiled to see his thumb
caress the top of her hand.
Suddenly aware of what he was doing, Rordan withdrew his hand.
“My problem was with my father,” Rordan said. “He used to get the local bullies
after me just to toughen me up. Then when I wouldn’t fight with them, he’d beat me
with a cudgel. I finally ran away and travelled with a surgeon to the south of France.
I learned a lot from the Saracen doctors in Córdoba but I refused to become a Mohommedan
and had to leave Spain or be made a slave. The only way I could return
to Éirinn was to travel with soldiers, so the very life I wished to avoid was forced on
me. Still, like you, I survived.”
It was through singing that they came to a mutual understanding and respect. Ula
had a beautiful voice and their harmonies echoed through the wooded hills. Sometimes
they made up songs where Rordan would sing the first part and Ula would
complete the phrase:
Thank you birds … for your beautiful songs
Thank you sun … for your warming smile
Thank you trees … for your perfume in the air
Thank you breeze … for blowing through my hair
Thank you God … for bringing us together
Rordan longed to tell Ula of his growing love for her but couldn’t bring himself to
do so. What if she rejected him and thought him strange like Finten and the Brothers
did? He didn’t want to lose their newfound friendship. Ula also had her own feelings
of love but, for the same reason, couldn’t share them with Rordan.
After four frigid months at the hunting camp, the band moved back to their home
by the sea, convinced at last that the devil ship would not return. Upon arrival in the
village, the community of Natives gathered to build a special lodge for the White
Devils who had become Friends of the First Light People.
Through the coldest days, when muted conversations and irritating coughs grated
through the smoky lodges of the hunting camp, Brother Rordan had sat apart, whittling
a piece of deer breastbone with a small flint blade. Now he presented a Celtic
cross to Father Finten. For the first time the young poet could remember, his mentor
offered genuine praise and appreciation, acknowledging this expression of his art.
Finten raised his eyebrows, smiled, and took and blessed the cross. “This is truly
beautiful, Brother. I think your cross should stand above the entrance to our lodge,
that all may see the symbol and be reminded of our crucified Saviour.”
The cross became a meaningful emblem, not only to the Brothers, but also to
everyone in the village. When Bjorn and Ari expressed interest, Finten talked about
Christ. The two Norsemen had been exposed to Christian teachings as children but
had understood little. Finten was careful not to overstep the bonds of friendship by
aggressive preaching.
White Eagle and the First Light people had their own interpretation of the sacred
symbol and likened it to the medicine wheel, which represented the sacred number
four. White Eagle explained that there are four directions and four winds…

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Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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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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Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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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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Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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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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Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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“True, but first we must find a safe shore and make repairs to the prow. She is
ready to break up if we run into more rough weather.”
“Fresh water is running low, and we need fruit and vegetables to stop the spongy
gums and bleeding. Several men are quite sick. Their wounds from the sheep capture
are not healing.”
Hjálmar was the last to speak. “Well, then, we will let the current carry us farther
south. There is land to the west, but ice still floes between here and that far shore. We
have plentiful fish and fresh lamb on board to last us to safe harbour.”
When Captain Hjálmar informed the crew of his decision, they expressed their
approval with a loud cheer. Only Ari voiced disappointment to his new friend,
Brother Lorcan. “Now you will not get to meet my brother, Melrakki, nor fish with
me in our mountain streams, nor ride our Norse horses. But most of all, I will not
see my dear father whom I miss so much. We argued when I left to go to sea. I have
been away from home so long that he will think me drowned as he threatened I
would be.”
With the tremendous pressures of having to fight currents, winds, and unexpected
disasters finally over, Norsemen and monks alike began to relax, to enjoy the
leisurely voyage south. Some mended clothes. Some whittled dogs, horses and sheep
out of bone and driftwood as toys for their children at home. Others fished by attaching
gut line to small blocks of wood. With rock weights and bronze fish hooks
baited with lamb liver, they hauled up cod hand-over-hand as they sailed once more
over open water, steadily southward. The diet of fresh fish was welcome, although
several of the crew were experiencing sores and lesions in their mouths and on their
lips caused by lack of fresh vegetables and fruits.
Brother Rordan at last sat talking with Ul beyond the almost silent sheep pen.
The captain’s thrall had given up trying to avoid the Celtic monk who had been so
insulting.
“Please forgive me and trust me to be your friend. If we were to be sold in Thulé, I
doubt if we will be now. Whatever time we have left, I would like to get to know you.”
“I bloody well doubt it. There’s not a member of Hjálmar’s crew wouldn’t like to
get his filthy hands on me, and if he catches me talking to you, I’ll be in for a beating
and so will you.” With that, the Irish thrall rose to his feet and slipped away.
Eighteen days after the eruption off Thulé and five since their ice encounter, a
huge whale, almost sixty feet long, began following the ship. It blew a fountain of
water higher than the ship’s rail. Then, with a massive sigh and a gentle rippling of
the water, it sank beneath the surface and reappeared far ahead. Later on the same
afternoon, the Norsemen were visited by a shining black pod of killer whales. One
by one, the dozen beautiful mammals moved gently under the hull and resurfaced
on the other side, blowing water like Moorish fountains.
Captain Hjálmar saw the visit as a good omen. “Tomorrow,” he told the men, “we
will find good harbour and all will go ashore.”
That evening, everyone drank toasts of mead to Ægir, King of the Sea and to the
Sækonungar, protectors and patrons of Nordic sailors and explorers. Every Norseman
also drank to the Irish God who had delivered them from an icy grave.
Finten felt a sudden surge of excitement as he recalled stories told to the student

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