The Wolf the Wizard and the Woad Read online

  “Ooma, he’s going to attack me!” cried Mohe, not sure whether to run or keep still.

  The medicine woman spoke quietly. “Just back away, Mohe. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have done so. He’s only protecting her. That is obviously his purpose in life, and he takes it seriously.”

  “Yes, I’m backing away, backing away,” Mohe announced, walking backward, never taking his eyes off the lobo. He appeared unable to utter another word, but the dark, wet stain down the front of his pants told the story well enough. Ooma managed to keep her composure and looked away, but the young braves weren’t quite so kind.

  “Better go change your pants, Mohe, looks like you fell in the creek,” one of them yelled, and they burst out laughing as he sprinted away.

  The aromas from the cooking area were enticing, and the child detected scents that were unfamiliar. “Do you smell that, Rakki? Those scents are different from the cooking pots at home.”

  These people looked and smelled different than where she came from, but seemed familiar somehow. Looking down at her tunic, she saw the villagers were wearing clothing made from animal hides that had been softened, and the coverings on their feet were much like her own. She halted then, turning her head slowly from one side to the other.

  “Do you hear that? Sounds like the prayers being sung at the great stones at home. Hear it?” It was a nostalgic moment that had her clinging to the fur on Rakki’s back as if this bit of contact with him would keep her safe—and it would.

  RUM pum pum...papu papu, RUM pum pum...papu papu. The soft, muffled sound of drums beating in the background and voices being raised in harmony—beautiful voices, both male and female. She could barely hear it, but it had a soothing effect on her. Then she spotted the old men gathered by the fire.

  Tugging on Ooma’s hand, she looked up. "That's what GrandPapi and his friends do at home, smoke their pipes. And they smell just like these men, too."

  Ooma only nodded. To her ears, the sounds were so garbled she wondered how the child could make them.

  Several children squealed with delight as they chased a small dog round and round the campfire.

  "That little dog looks just like Kira’s puppy, see? He’s got spots under his belly. Gorm had a puppy with spots, too. But Gorm was sick. Papi says he’s gone to visit the Goddess.” Then she saw a small herd of goats running about freely. “Makeesa and Torrey chased the goats too. Look how fast they run." Her face was pink, flushed with excitement and wonder, as for one short moment she forgot the predicament she was in.

  As they walked past a group of women working at a long table, the smell of baking bread entered her nostrils and awakened her stomach, as it had been many hours since she’d eaten. She pulled on Ooma’s hand once again.

  “I’m hungry. Can I have some bread?” She had spoken softly and Ooma looked down at her.

  "Child, I have no idea what you are saying, but I will try to understand. Bear with me, little one. Whatever you’re saying is better than crying,” said Ooma as she searched the child’s face, wondering how she was ever going to understand this gibberish. But she was talking now, which was much better, as the first hours of their trip had been filled with anguish and crying and the child had clung to Ooma every step of the way.

  Finally, through hand gestures, the child made her wishes understood. Ooma slapped her forehead lightly with the heel of her hand.

  "Yes, of course. You must be hungry. I should have thought of that." She rummaged around in her basket, where she always had something to snack on.

  "Here, have a slice of plum bread. That should soothe you until we get to my hut." Ooma broke off a piece of the bread, handed it to the child, and was rewarded with an immediate smile.

  The group continued to make their way to the great circle, where the elders awaited them. Standing Beaver kept his face down, could not bear to look anyone in the eye.

  "Why didn't I just leave the child and the lobo in the woods?" he muttered. But it was too late for that now. So here he was, standing in front of the elders, wanting his punishment to be done with.

  After he presented himself and explained his most unusual morning, the elders instructed him to remain while they discussed this event with Chief Austenaco. The elders went inside the chief's hut and, in a short while, came out and called the tribe to gather around.

  "Oh no, they're going to humiliate me in front of the whole tribe. What will I say to them? Ooma, can you help explain why we brought this child to our camp? The chief may listen to you.”

  Ooma stood still, awaiting her punishment as well. Even her status as medicine woman didn’t give her leeway to bring outsiders into their midst. She took a deep breath and stared at the nervous brave. “We’ll just have to take our medicine,” she answered.

  Chief Austenaco was an older man in the sunset of his life, but his words carried as much weight now as they had when he was a fierce, young brave. He had earned the respect of his people and had proved himself a worthy, wise chief.

  The chief walked out from his hut, surprising everyone with his appearance. He had donned his most colorful headdress, and a long, intricately woven robe for the occasion. This meant he would be delivering a most important message.

  Standing Beaver hung his head in shame as the chief came to stand in front of him. Austenaco lifted the brave’s chin, then turned his back to him and faced his people. He opened his arms, lifting them high into the air.

  “My people, gather round. Hear me,” he said, then turned back to face the brave.

  “This brave is to be honored by all. I praise you, Standing Beaver, for having the wisdom to care for one who is different than your own people, and for knowing all are worthy in the sight of the Great Spirit and should be treated accordingly. You have shown great wisdom in one so young, and are a valuable member of this tribe. We will have a celebration at sunset to honor you, and your example will be one to be followed by others."

  Standing Beaver's ego grew at about the same rate as his standing in the tribe. Ooma smiled to herself and walked away with the child's hand in hers.

  The ceremony wound down at the end of day, the fires burned low, and all returned to their huts. When the last red streaks of the sun retreated on the horizon and night came, the child became frightened and held even tighter to Ooma’s skirts. Something inside, something intuitive, told her this medicine woman was to be a special person in her life and she felt drawn to her spirit.

  When the moon rose high in the sky and the twinkling stars lit the heavens, the child lay her head in Ooma’s lap. And Rakki, her protector, lay beside her, where he would always stay.

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  uutan fidgeted with his pants, then looked at the medicine woman. "Ooma, you insisted we bring this child to our village, so you must take her to your hut. She needs to get back to her own people, but until then you must care for her."

  Ooma bowed. “I am happy to take charge of the child, honorable one.”

  Of course Tuutan had no authority to give such an order, but Ooma had already decided to do just that—take the child to her hut—so she smiled at the old one and took the child’s hand and walked away.

  She had no idea how to find the child’s people, and in fact hoped they never showed up. Ooma was a childless woman who now had someone to care for, someone to groom and pass on her healer's skills to.

  Staying with Ooma was the only solution that would have worked anyway, as the child still clung to her and refused to leave her side. Fear was so ingrained in her young, fragile, mind that Ooma feared she would never get over having been abandoned.

  Being medicine woman carried great responsibility, but also great respect and power. Ooma took her responsibilities seriously, but also used her power when the situation called for it.

  After the child had been with them for a few days, Ooma brought her new foundling into the campfire area. She stood in the center where all could see her, placed the young girl next to

  he
r, then put a protective arm around the child’s shoulders in a gesture that said to all those observing: This child is special to me, and you will treat her well.

  Her actual words were, “This child is now in my care, and I need your help in making her welcome here."

  The tribe was pleased to see Ooma taking charge of the orphaned girl, and this command from her went a long way toward the child being accepted in the tribal community, as most villagers knew better than to cross the medicine woman. Even so, their feelings about the small girl were conflicted. They wished her no harm, but an uneasiness about her lingered.

  Several days later, Ooma went to Chief Austenaco. Bowing to him, careful to give him his due respect, she began to make her case.

  “Most honored chief, we cannot continue to call her The Child,” complained Ooma, who was very quickly making most decisions concerning the orphaned girl. Chief Austenaco agreed, and after much discussion with the elders, decided the child should be given a name that would be appropriate for her, even though she was not a Sohochee tribe member.

  "She will be called Ci-Cero—one with hair of flames."

  Chief Austenaco had spoken, and Ooma felt this a fitting name, as the child’s hair was indeed flaming. Further, trying to tame that wild mass of flames was a real challenge for this new mother.

  Apparently the lobo already had a name. “Rakki,” was the word Ci-Cero used when she wished her protector to come. Ooma, through careful listening and observation, also knew that on occasion Ci-Cero didn’t call aloud, but rather moved her hand in a particular way, and the beast came immediately. The tribe thought perhaps Rakki was a cousin to their lobo, and they kept their distance, always a bit unsure as to whether he might attack them.

  Ooma and Ci-Cero spent many difficult days learning to communicate by using gestures, making sounds to imitate animals, and drawing in the dirt. One evening, when Ci-Cero had been with the tribe for about six cycles of the moon, she approached Ooma, who was busy making bread.

  "I'm tired of plum bread, Ooma. Can we make some tarts from apples, like GrandMiMi use to make?"

  “Tarts? Maybe we—what did you say?” Ooma was taken aback.

  Ci-Cero repeated her request.

  “But...you used our language. Sohochee language. How can that be? I knew you could say a few words, but you spoke like one of us. How did you learn so quickly?” The medicine woman was never so surprised, but was sure she was personally responsible for the child’s precociousness.

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  uring the first few years following Ci-Cero joining the tribe, Ooma was often awakened by the child crying in the night, speaking a tongue that only the great wolf seemed to understand.

  "No, go away, I won’t listen to you. Go away,” cried Ci-Cero over and over again in her sleep.

  Ooma gathered the girl in her arms. "Child, sleep now, sleep. Ooma’s here. Rest now." She wanted to help Ci-Cero when her dreams brought such pain, but even a medicine woman has her limits.

  Ooma discovered that motherhood was a difficult task, but one she was happy to undertake. Once Ci-Cero had mastered the language, Ooma was able to learn much about how the young girl came to be in the brush that morning.

  Surprisingly, the child had a keen memory of much that had happened to her before she came to them. Ooma had reservations about bringing up painful memories, but decided it might provide information that would be helpful, so asked Ci-Cero about that time.

  "Can you remember anything about that morning on the beach when your family left you on our shore?"

  Ci-Cero nodded. "Yes, it's etched in my memories. I remember the fog, so heavy we could barely see. But Papi rowed toward the beach where the big boulders stood like great warriors. ‘That’s where we’re headed, little Woad, those big boulders on the beach,’ he told me. MiMi wrapped her arms around me to keep me from falling overboard, or maybe to keep me warm, I don’t know which. But Papi was quiet and kept on rowing toward the shore. I asked if we were going on an adventure. He didn’t answer, and I was surprised. He always answered my questions. Always.

  “The waves were crawling up the sand with their tiny fingers reaching for the smaller rocks then scurrying back to the sea. It was chilly, but not cold, not like at home. I thought the ocean would smell different in a new place, but it was the same—a briny, familiar smell of small fishes and seaweed. And then when we got to shore, there were new scents, ones I was unfamiliar with. And there was one, maybe it was a plant that flowers, I don’t know, but the unique, sweet scent entered my nostrils and remains there even now.

  “Once Papi put MiMi and me on the shore, he got to his knees and began to say words I could hardly understand. He told me there was a sickness on our ship, and they were going to leave me, to protect me. He spoke very slowly. I remember each word.”

  Her voice changed then, as if it belonged to another.

  ‘“You were born under the veil, little Woad. You are special. Our legend tells us the one born under the veil will deliver her people from their trials and suffering. She will be a leader. The Goddess will always be with you, and will send others to care for you. And there will be one, one who will prepare you for your destiny. You must find him. Our spirits will always reside within you. Know that you are loved. You are my heart.’ That’s what he said.

  “I cried and begged him not to leave me, but he wouldn’t hear me. He had closed his ears. So I turned to MiMi, but she had closed her ears, too. She was crying, then went to the small boat without me. Then Papi whistled for Rakki. ‘Rakki will protect you until the Goddess sends one to care for you,’ he said. Then he pulled away from me and rowed back to his ship, the Aurora Brigid. And they disappeared in the fog. They were gone.”

  Ci-Cero kept a few memories to herself—some were only for her. She remembered watching Papi at the bow of the vessel loudly calling out instructions to the crew helping to steer the craft, and MiMi was at his side, yelling at him.

  "Ragnar, we're getting soaked standing up here.” MiMi laughed and laughed as the water splashed over the sides. She let the wind blow through her long, dark hair while she stood smiling up at the tall man standing next to her.

  Yes, some memories Ci-Cero would keep to herself.

  “I wonder what that means, ‘under the veil?’” Ooma asked. “Perhaps it’s the strange birth my mother spoke of. She once saw a child who was born still inside the birthing sack. Could that be the same?” She listened again then. She didn’t want to miss any words Ci-Cero said.

  “I was told the legend so many times I know it by heart. Ooma, are you the One? The One who will guide me to my destiny? And what about that other one the legend speaks of—‘the one who seeks to destroy, to steal thy gifts and power?’”

  Ooma shook her head. “No, Ci-Cero, I’m not the One to guide you to your destiny. I’m simply a medicine woman. Perhaps I’m just the person to care for you until the time comes for you to seek this One you speak of.”

  Ooma watched as a myriad of emotions crossed Ci-Cero’s face as she brought her memories to life. The child shed no tears, but the medicine woman was wise enough to know that some experiences go past tears. Like memories, they are etched in your soul.

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  he nightly visitor still came, even now, more than a y ear later. When he did, Ci-Cero still cried out in her sleep, as if she were talking with someone. “No, I’ll not listen. I’ll not follow you. I don’t know who you are. Are you the evil one? No. Go away.” She’d awaken then and seek comfort from Ooma, but when Ooma asked her about these incidents, she just shook her head.

  “I don’t know, Ooma. But I’ll not listen to that voice anymore. I won’t follow it. How do I know it’s not the evil one the legend speaks of? No, I will not seek the One. My home is here, with you.”

  Ci-Cero still clung to Ooma, so much so that the tribe members talked among themselves, and lately their comments had become hurtful.

  “She was such a sight that her own
mother abandoned her, left her to die. Now she’s a scared little rabbit so timid she’ll never leave Ooma’s hut,” sneered Salalie, a middle-aged woman who had such a sharp tongue it could slice a melon in half. She was childless also, but the Great Spirit hadn’t gifted her with an orphan.

  These comments frustrated Ooma, in addition to making her angry. “Salalie has such a spiteful spirit I wonder why Chief Austenaco hasn’t banished her. She only brings hatred and hostility wherever she goes,” she muttered to herself.

  Ooma disliked hearing these comments about Ci-Cero, but knew they were true. The child did follow her like a small shadow everywhere she went. Most days she tolerated it, but now, after such a long period, she was beginning to feel smothered, trapped. By a child she loved dearly.

  Another year passed, and still the child hibernated in Ooma’s hut and clung to her.

  This morning, as she scurried about her hut creating more medicines and tinctures, Ooma’s frustration hit a new level. She raised her voice, not for the first time, but with more determination than usual. “You cannot continue to follow me, Ci-Cero. You must get out of this hut, make friends, go about the village. I demand that you hear me, child.”

  Ci-Cero nodded, walked over to her mat, lay down next to Rakki and snuggled close.

  Ooma sat down on the edge of the mat and softly spoke to the child she now claimed as her own. “Ci-Cero, you must talk to others, get out of this hut and play with the other children, get to know them.”

  Ci-Cero nodded, but made no reply. Ooma worried that the wound caused by Ci-Cero’s abandonment by her family was one that might never heal.

  TIME MARCHED ON AND the child continued to be a parasite, getting everything she needed by clinging to her host. Today she was behind Ooma, making every step she made, and constantly talking as always.

  Perhaps because the moon was at its fullest, or because she was nursing a splitting headache that wouldn’t go away—whatever—Ooma was done. Enough. This medicine woman would cure this illness.