The Spirit Keeper (21 page)

My urge to hit the woman vanished as my stomach suddenly lurched. I looked up at her. She was smiling nervously, desperate to please me. “What did you say?” I asked, my heart pounding.

“The Seer’s Spirit, his Soul . . .” she said, hesitating before what must have been a terrible expression on my face. “This is what your companion says—that the Seer gave you his Soul, thereby making you his Spirit Keeper.”

I began to tremble uncontrollably. Spirit—
that
was the word Hector had used during our conversation on the river, the word I had not understood. He did not ask if Syawa gave me his sacred vow; he asked if Syawa gave me his Spirit, his Soul, his Eternal Life Force. I said yes and now Hector believed . . .

Oh, sweet Jesus in Heaven! When the woman leant over to ask if I was ill, I brushed her aside, saying I must be alone, that I needed to, um, pray. She stared for a moment, then nodded and walked off slowly, frequently turning to look back at me. I seriously considered running down to the river, throwing myself in, and trying to drown before Hector could come find me.

My mind raced, reviewing everything that had transpired. Hector saw Syawa mark me with his blood when I extracted that splinter from his hand, and that marking, for Hector, meant Syawa gave me his ability to dream, to see the future. Those silly dreams I’d had, dreams caused by the storm, my stories, the stress—Hector believed they were evidence of my new supernatural power. What’s worse, Hector believed Syawa had breathed his Spirit into me as he lay dying, and the only reason Hector agreed to take me with him to his people was that he believed I’d told him Syawa had given me his Spirit, his Soul. And the truth is I
did
tell him Syawa had given me his Spirit! Oh, God, sweet Jesus Christ—how was I ever going to be able to explain the truth to Hector without causing him to believe I had deliberately lied to him?

Because I
didn’t
lie to you, Hector—I
didn’t
! Or at least I didn’t mean to. I swear,
I swear
I gave an honest, truthful answer to the question I thought you asked. But the question you asked was not the question I answered! Don’t you see? What I said was not a lie! It was a simple misunderstanding . . .

~19~

I
SLEPT THAT NIGHT CURLED UP
beneath our upside-down canoe. When I awoke in the morning, I saw a pair of dirty little feet in front of my face. Behind those feet were other little feet, and others and others, and then there was a pair of large feet and I heard Hector yelling, shooing the children away. When I poked my head out from under the canoe, I found at least a dozen youngsters who had, apparently, been daring each other to peek under the canoe to steal a look at me.

Hector’s shouted words in a language they did not understand moved the children back a bit, but when they saw my face, they gasped and scrambled away. This made me feel terrible for many reasons, not the least of which was that I suddenly realized how much I missed my younger brothers and sisters. Since I was old enough to watch others, I had ne’er had a single day of my life when I was not caring for children, and I was surprised how sharply I missed them. Besides, these children were adorable. Naked, save for a few breechclouts, they stood off in clusters of twos and threes, gawking at me and whispering together. I crawled out from under the canoe and leant against it, watching the youngsters watch me.

I asked if anyone spoke French, and when a lad who was perhaps twelve nervously said he did, I asked if he and his friends would like to play a game. He wasn’t sure what I intended ’til I explained how my siblings and I used to pretend to be bears or bunnies. If a bear caught a bunny, that bunny became a bear, too, and the chase went on ’til there was only one bunny left, who was the winner. It took a while for my translator to explain the game, but as soon as the children understood they were supposed to pretend to be a bear or a bunny, they began acting out their parts with great aplomb. Soon we were chasing each other up and down the riverbank, hiding behind or under boats, teasing one another, acting silly. It was such a relief just to play, and the children and I laughed and laughed.

Throughout this game, Hector stood motionless, his face blank as he watched. Eventually I ran away from a “bear” child and hid behind Hector. By this time all the children were after me, and when they descended, I told them this man was my Guardian who would drive off any beast who threatened me; therefore, our game was done. As the children wandered off, I looked at Hector and remembered the revelation from the night before. I dropt my eyes to the ground.

“Why did you sleep under the canoe?” he demanded. “It is an insult to refuse an invitation to stay in someone’s lodge.”

“I not want insult someone. But I . . . I not want you leave without me.”

Hector was deeply offended. “Why would I leave without you?”

“You say you take me to village of trade, leave me. I fear you leave me here.”

Hector tightened his jaw, clearly trying to control his anger. “That was before. I will not leave you now.” He stared off across the river, his dark eyes full of pain. His voice was so low I could scarce hear him, but it mattered not. I knew he was speaking to Syawa, not to me, when he added, “I will never leave you.”

This was the moment. This was my chance to explain to him somehow that we had had a misunderstanding, that it was innocent and harmless, and that we could get beyond it and move on to a whole new understanding, but first he had to accept that Syawa was gone and I was not actually in possession of his Spirit—I was just a simple girl caught in a maelstrom she couldn’t control. This was the moment in which I must make all of this clear.

I knew I should tell him. I wanted to tell him. I had to tell him. I opened my mouth to tell him.

But I didn’t tell him.

I couldn’t tell him. How could I tell him? I tried to tell him, but no words of any language came to me, and my hands, which I desperately commanded to move, remained hanging on the ends of my arms, stubbornly silent and still.

Hector broke the awkward silence. “I made no promises concerning you, but before we left our village I vowed I would protect the Seer always and bring him safely home.”

So that was that.

If I told Hector that Syawa had not given me his Spirit, Hector would turn ’round, get in his canoe, and be gone, and I would be left in a place where I knew no one, with no alternative but to go back east to live with people who abused me in a life that was hollow and meaningless. Syawa’s Vision would be forgotten, for it, apparently, lived and died with him. The only way to keep his Vision alive was to keep him alive in me, and I knew that at all costs I must keep Syawa’s Vision alive. It was, after all, the only reason I was still alive.

I know this sounds fantastical, but I owed my life to Hector and, because of what Syawa had taught me, I believed I could not let Hector go ’til I gave him an equivalent gift in return.

And so I said nothing.

As we stood in uncomfortable silence, my twelve-year-old translator came running back to say his mother—who was, it turned out, the woman I’d met the night before—had food for us. Hector and I followed the lad to his home.

 • • •

After we ate, Hector fell asleep in the French-speaking woman’s lodge, leaving me to play with her son and his friends. We went outside so as not to disturb Hector. Late in the afternoon, I looked up to see a mass of European men approaching, all elegantly dressed in black suits with shiny buttons and lace and long woolen stockings. The children and I stared at this entourage ’til it arrived before me, at which point the armed men shooed the children away. The gentleman who had spoken at the gathering the night before stepped forward with a flourish, as the others formed a human wall behind him. I stared at this curious display.

The man said something in Spanish. I shook my head. He spoke again in French, asking if I could understand him now. I nodded.

In French he went on to explain that he was the Ambassador of New Spain, here to meet with the Ambassador from New France, who had not yet arrived. He said, “You know, of course, you are in New France. I perceive you are planning to cross the river, where you will travel through Spanish territory. I am here to discuss granting permission for your passage.”

I smiled at the jest ’til I realized no one else was smiling. “Oh, my heavens—you’re serious!” I exclaimed, immediately bowing my head before the glare of the Spaniard. I bit my lip and looked back up at him. “Please excuse my outburst, sir, but I am confused. Do the people who live in this land know it is New Spain or New France or New Whatever?”

The Spaniard raised one eyebrow. “Do they know you are not at all what you claim to be?” I must have blanched, for he smiled as he continued: “The people here know exactly what we want them to know—nothing more, nothing less. Now you will tell me everything you know.”

“Of course.” I had no wish to tangle with this or any other individual, so I cooperated to the best of my ability. After briefly recounting my story, I was interrogated about the situation on the Colonial frontier, the state of politics in the Colonies, and the condition of the Indian tribes I met along the way. Whilst I muddled through what little information I could provide, the Spaniard twirled his long mustache with his fingers, staring at me in an appraising way.

“This is all you can tell me?” he demanded at last, clearly frustrated by my ignorance. “This is nothing!” He presst his lips into a thin line as he stared at the ground, twirling his mustache and thinking. At last he looked up again. “And what is this game you are playing, this business of keeping a dead man’s soul?”

I glanced ’round to see who might be listening. No one was within earshot, but I lowered my voice nonetheless and looked the man in the eye as I answered. “I am playing no game, sir. I am merely responding to circumstance.”

The Spaniard narrowed his eyes as he smiled vaguely. “They believe all this nonsense about spirits and visions, you know. If they find out you have been lying to them . . .” He raised one black eyebrow significantly.

“Why would you assume I don’t believe what they believe?” I asked coldly.

The Spaniard gave a little chuckle. “Because you are not a half-wit. These people are like children. They know nothing of the world. You and I do. We can ne’er explain it to them. Believe me, my dear, it is a kindness not e’en to try.”

I stared at the ambassador, grinding my teeth as I fought the impulse to shove him backwards into the dirt. I said nothing.

He stept closer to speak emphatically. “Listen to me, child. I have a daughter near your age, and I would kill her with my own hands before I would allow her to live amongst these heathens. But I know how headstrong girls can be, so if you are determined to keep up your pretense, I will not stop you. I will permit your passage on one condition: if at any point in your travels you discover any gold or silver—any quantity at all—you must immediately send word of your discovery back to this place, addressed to me. Do you understand?”

I tried not to look skeptical as I nodded.

“Do not disappoint me, my dear,” he warned as he reached out to grab my wrist. “There is no place you can go that a Spanish force cannot follow. But if you make me rich enough, I will return the favor. I can make you a princess—maybe e’en a queen!”

I looked at the bejeweled fingers grasping my wrist, then shifted my eyes to meet the Spaniard’s intense gaze. “I appreciate your offer, sir, but what use have I for royalty or riches when I have been given the soul of a god?”

Before the Spaniard could respond, there was a flurry of activity as his hand was torn from my wrist and Hector was between us, his stone blade raised in front of the ambassador’s chest. The wall of Spaniards drew weapons, but I raised my hands to hold off the swords and guns as I pleaded desperately in French.

Unruffled by the uproar, the ambassador twirled his mustache and smiled. “Ah—now I see how it is,” he grinned. “But this is a dangerous course you are on, my dear. Take my advice—be careful what you say about gods and souls, lest you begin to believe it yourself!”

After the ambassador departed, Hector demanded I tell him what the Spaniard wanted, but I simply could not explain because everything about the situation was absurd—the man’s alleged authority, his lust for gold, his belief that he could in any way alter the course of my fate, which was so clearly beyond all human control. But then again, my situation with Hector was already so absurd that I was beginning to accept being unable to explain, or even understand, anything affecting the two of us. I told Hector it was nothing, assuring him he should not worry about it.

“Do not lie to me,” Hector snapt, his eyelids heavy. “I want to know what that man said!”

“And I want tell you, but I not have words!” I replied, getting angry myself.

“You would’ve told
him
,” he said, referring, of course, to Syawa.

“And
he
would understand me.”

Hector’s eyes narrowed further as he raised his chin. “You think I am stupid.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No, Hector,” I said in both words and gestures as I met his bitter gaze. “
I
am stupid one, yes? And I am stinky, lazy, insulting—I not talk right or start fires right or cook right or paddle right. I do nothing right. You are right one—you criticize me and shame me and complain I wrong, always wrong. I am not perfect, Hector, but I am not
petty
.”

Hector looked as stunned as if I had slapt his face. “How do you know that word?” he asked in a tight voice.

I thought about it and realized I didn’t really know. It was a complex concept, one Syawa would have had to explain to me, and I had no recollection of him ever doing so. “I not know,” I said wearily. “You want tell me I use word wrong?”

There was a long pause as Hector stared at the ground, his jaw working as he strove to control his emotions. “It is what he sometimes reminded me. He said I must not be so . . . petty.”