The World Above the Sky (29 page)

“And pray for him,” Eugainia said.

Keswalqw gently peeled the spent pack from Henry's side. His was an angry red-lipped mouth of a wound, its scabbed edges crusted yellow, seeping liquid flecked with blood.

Eugainia reeled at the sight. “Lord Help Me! The stench of his wound....I can barely breathe.”

Keswalqw withdrew the white-tipped feather from her braid. She wafted sweetgrass from Henry's feet upward. The spirit bird's wing feather traced two half-circles, the smoke broke and swirled above the wound. She placed the new poultice, redressed the wound. Eugainia replaced the coverlet, folded Henry's arms upon his chest. Keswalqw sat by the bier, keeping silent watch.

Eugainia had reverted to European court dress. At her neck, layer upon choking layer of cloth constricted her throat. She paced the centre aisle. God help me, she thought, as she tugged at the high brocade collar. There are times a rage boils up in me and I wish poor Henry dead. Her fair skin, more used to woodland trails and open air than stones and mortar, chaffed. The doeskin dress was gone, displaced by five layers of floor-to-shoulder clothing. A dress of thick green wool, its cuffs laced tight to her wrists, covered three layers of linen and silk undergarments, the white silk shift she'd treasured once again lay closest to her skin. A floor-length tunic covered the heavy wool dress, its tight weave dense with thick embroidery. The sleeveless tunic was cinched at the waist, close-laced at the back, drawn as tight as her blooming pregnancy would allow.

Her hair was hidden—hair that had flowed free through three seasons, enthralling Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk with its lustre, thick, honey-coloured hair curling down to her broad white hips. The same hair lay flat today in braids, the braids knotted once again in tightly coiled ropes at the nape of her neck beneath a translucent veil. The veil softened the ridges of a squat, ungainly wire-framed headdress stuffed with horsehair, upholstered in gold-embroidered silk. From the front, the headdress recalled the gables of a hipped roof.

“Heaven help me,” she said to Keswalqw that morning as they hoisted the bizarre structure upon her head, securing it with hairpins and a chinstrap. “I look as though I was assaulted by a small house or conquered by a cottage.”

“Why do your wear these things,” Keswalqw asked, “if they give such discomfort?”

“If I wear the costume, perhaps I'll better play the role.”

She stopped, mid-way down the centre aisle, transfixed by motes of dust raised by her skirts swirling in a shaft of light from the rose window. It came to her that guilt advanced no cause but regret. Dressing the part was a useless gesture at best, counterproductive at worst. The trappings of the past confounded the present and circumscribed the future. Henry's was the sin of betrayal: his healing would arise from forgiveness, not retreat into empty ritual.

“These grotesque garments!” she railed, as the train of the underskirt tangled in the upturned toe of her satin slipper. “After what I have been in the Six Worlds, how can I live behind castle walls again?” She sat, her back to Keswalqw. “Please. In the name of all that is holy. Remove this monstrosity.”

Keswalqw unpinned and untied the headdress, set it aside.

Eugainia stood, presented her back to Keswalqw. Keswalqw unlaced the bodice. The tunic was soon in a jumbled pile on the floor beneath the green wool dress. She kicked both aside.

She stared at the tasselled toes. “Ridiculous,” she muttered. She yanked both off, threw them on the pile of rejected courtly gear. She removed all but the bottom of the three layers of undergarments. The thin, white silk shift hung with simple elegance, refracting light where it clung to her belly, breasts and thighs.

Eugainia unpinned the veil and loosed her braids. They fell the length of her back. She pulled one forward and began unplaiting. Keswalqw freed the others.

“This pile of rock and mortar,” Eugainia said. “All our miracles are cast in stone. What rank have they in your land where rocks still sing? We should gather our possessions and our poor battered faith and quietly go.”

“Go where, Woman with the Moon?”

Eugainia drew a thick-toothed comb through her braid-crimped hair. “I don't know. I do not know! Poor fools. Trapped by their own trickery. Twice these infernal traps have sprung and nearly drowned my workers. The closer they get to the Grail, the more swiftly she recedes.”

Keswalqw returned to Henry's side at the bier. His breathing remained shallow but regular.

“While you slept I walked to the pine forest in search of Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk,” Keswalqw said quietly.

“Did you find him?”

“No. But he was there. I found this. ”

Keswalqw handed Eugainia the small birchbark box, tightly fitted with its closely worked lid. Inside, Eugainia found her clamshell, three blue feathers and the small polished stone.

“Sea, sky and earth. Your totem gifts to me last summer, when I was healed. I lost them at the well, the day Henry assaulted us.”

“Yes.”

“Where did you find this?”

“On the ground. By my spirit tree.”

“The old pine on the hill.”

“Yes. Where he knew I'd find it.”

“He made this birchbark box, didn't he.”

“He did. I know because it is perfect. Though why a warrior of his prowess occupies himself with the work of children and elder women, I cannot tell.”

“It's sealed with tar, stitched tight, corners folded back. A replica in miniature of the maple syrup buckets we used on the day of the
sismo'qonapu
. A happy day in memory, that.
Printemps et l'eau de vie.
”

“This box isn't for
sismo'qonapu
. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk isn't a man to waste his time on trinkets. It has some greater purpose.”

“There was nothing else? No other sign?”

“What I saw I will tell you. I entered the trunk and sent my spirit down through the roots to the World Below the Earth. No sooner had I settled myself then
Jipijka'maq
, Horned Serpent Person, thundered past with poor Henry clenched in his jaws, the serpent's fang still piercing his side. Henry spoke, though I knew it was agony for him to do so. ‘Tell Eugainia she is in great danger,' he told me. ‘Tell Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk I beg his forgiveness. Tell him I was wrong. I tell you, Keswalqw, The People are in danger.'”

“What danger?”

“His words died in the tumble of rock that sealed the serpent's wake. Up through root, trunk and branches, to the top of the tree I rose; Raven, Owl and Hawk said, ‘We know what awaits The People. We know what you must do but cannot tell you.' My spirit flew to the World Above the Sky. Grandfather Sun and Grandmother Moon said, ‘Only that which lies within can heal them.' Inside what? I asked. Heal who? Sun and Moon kept silent. I thought, they mean Eugainia's star bowl. Lying deep within the well. I dove to the World Below the Sea. I was caught in a rush of sea water, pulled down a stone-lined tunnel. I know. The well has been opened. I saw this Head of Baphomet, Woman with the Moon. Your star-stone has been found.”

“God and Goddess be praised.”

“It can't help you. Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“You will not drink from it, this Grail you seek.”

“Of course I will. Why should I not? It's why I'm here.”

“You will not drink from it because no one can.”

“Then I am lost.”

“No. You have only just been found. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk will return. I've seen it. Together you and he will change the world forever.”

“I thought so too, once. He deserted me when I needed him most.”

“He prepares himself for the great works you and he must perform together.”

“He left me.”

“He did not leave you. He needed solitude. As we all do when plagued with doubt and fear. When his beloved wife Muini'skw went to the Ghost World, Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk wandered the woods for weeks on end. His wails of grief were loud as thunder. Rocks split, trees were torn from the earth like grass. For three full moons the Sky World wept, such was the power of Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk's sorrow. In his grieving, Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk gained great Power. Great power to protect and nurture The People. Wait and see. He'll return strong. He will heal himself and strengthen you. Together you and Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk will raise Henry Orkney from the dead.”

The chapel doors opened. Sunlight flooded in. Outlined in stolid silhouette stood Athol Gunn. He knelt before Eugainia. He presented a cracked leather sack, streaked with mud.

“Our brother knights secured Baphomet too well.”

Eugainia extracted the life-sized bronze bust, cast the leather sack aside.

“Baphomet,” she said. “Finally. All the tales are true.”

“He is a wondrous God. A wondrous God indeed.”

“The drawings represent him precisely.”

“They do indeed.”

“The Grail?”

“Not yet.”

“Still inside Baphomet?”

“I fear so. Yes. Try as we might, I say, we tried our best and we still can't get the blessed thing open.”

Eugainia held Baphomet at arm's-length, its weight causing winter-strengthened muscles in her lower back to flex.

“'Tis a grim object,” she observed, “for all its beauty. ”

She passed the bronze bust on to Keswalqw.

“The face says two things at the same time. A mix of joy and agony.” Keswalqw handed Baphomet back to Gunn. “And these blue stones. For the eyes...”

“Lapis,” Athol told her. “Note the gilded lips. Hair reddened with oxidized iron, like your red ochre…”

Eugainia observed the head more closely.

“The brow is circled with blunted thorns.”

“The blunted thorns of St. John the Baptist,” Athol offered. “Not the sharp thorns that pierced the brow of the Christ.”

Keswalqw drew their attention to the top of the head. “It looks as though it's been struck by lightning.”

“I noted that,” Athol confirmed. “Some purposeful flaw, I wondered, intended by the artisan to render it imperfect, I say, imperfect so as not to challenge the unflawed work of God.”

“No.” The familiar voice rippled from a dark corner. “It's no flaw. It's the mark of one man's cruelty.”

All eyes were fixed on Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk; none noted that, for the first time in several days, Henry stirred.

“Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk,” Eugainia cried. She ran to meet him. Neither found comfort in their brief embrace.

“Are you all right?”

“I am.”

“Where have you been?”

“Nearby.”

“Look, beloved. Athol recovered Baphomet.”

“It is grotesque.”

“It's my salvation.”

“I'm your salvation.”

Eugainia turned from her lover back to Baphomet.

“Have you opened it?” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk asked Athol Gunn.

“No. There's no clasp. No hook. Just this frontal seam, barely discernable, running vertically, bisecting chin, nose and forehead. Nothing, nothing seems to budge—”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk handed Keswalqw Tooth of Wolverine. She lay it alongside Henry on the bier. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk indicated Baphomet.

“Give the ugly thing to me.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk examined Baphomet closely.

“There is a tale from the World Below the Earth,” he said. “The head of a brave and noble warrior was struck from his body by The People's enemies. So loved was he, and so wise his counsel, the head was kept and filled with stones that spoke.”

Keswalqw picked up the thread of the tale. “It possessed great Power, this talking head. Saw many things. Knew many things. Felt many things. Heard evil when evil was spoken. Tasted selfishness. Smelled jealousy. Heard truth when truth was told.”

“The noble head was stolen by a selfish man who lived alone, but very near his tribe. Always lurking. Well enough fed, but always hungry. A thin man, pale and jealous. Envious of others, wanting what he didn't have. Too lazy, too consumed with desire to feed himself, he fed off others.” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk walked to the bier. “His pride and misery poisoned the air.”

“The People began to suffer.” Keswalqw stood beside Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk. “The People knew why. The thin man's misery tainted the food, soured The People's stomachs.”