The World Above the Sky (26 page)

“It does. Precisely.”

“The plantings on both isles, Athol, appear at least one hundred years old because they are one hundred years old. Precisely one hundred years old. They were planted by Templars. In the year of Our Lord twelve hundred and ninety-eight.”

“I'm sorry, Henry. An unforgivable oversight.”

“Had this information not come forth, we could have set sail prematurely.”

“At least we're certain to find the Well of Baphomet and recover the Stone Grail—”

Henry's ruddy skin flushed a deeper red. “At least?” The veins on the backs of his hands pulsed visibly. “What has ‘at least' to do with our presence here? At least, sir, is the viper in the Garden of...in the Garden...”

“Henry?”

His breathing, suddenly erratic, fell shallow and weak, barely unsettling the surrounding air. Athol rose, alert, ready to catch his cousin should he fall. The spasm passed.

Henry lay his forearms on the table. He interlaced his fingers, their knuckles white. “If Eugainia is still out there, lost—or worse—will it be enough that men may say ‘at least' she lived? ‘At least' has brought us to our knees. ‘At least' destroyed our Order, man by fragile man. ‘At least' is the coward's call to infamy. ‘At least' is an untilled meadow where Arcadia might have been. Eugainia is the Goddess made human upon this earth. We have sworn to protect Her with our faith, our honour, our lives. We cannot be worthy by offering less than our very best, all the time; to ourselves, to each other, and to our Lady God.”

“It's my fault, sire.”

“Fault has no currency here.”

Athol knelt. He offered Henry his sword.

“Come, Athol. That will solve nothing. Stand up, man.”

Athol stood. He sheathed his sword.

“Sit, man. Sit.”

Athol resumed his place as directed.

“Ours is a sacred purpose, Athol. Take nothing for granted. Be vigilant in the presence of the familiar, particularly on unfamiliar ground. Years of persecution taught us this: leave signs that are discreet or none at all. A pile of stone invites speculation. But a grove of trees? Nothing serves as a landmark quite so well as long-lived English oak. Signposts, Athol, as clear as any on a well-marked country road. Now there is hope.”

“Hope, sire?”

Henry lifted the square and compass, laid them back on the table, arranged carefully, their alignment denoting in distance and direction the Island of the Twelve Standing Oaks, and the Well of Baphomet. He folded his bony hands, the pads of his thumbs attempting to press hope from uncertainty.

“If she lives, Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk is sure to guide her to the Well of Baphomet. The rivers have cleared. The snow recedes daily. The travelling couldn't be better. I know where the well is. They'll soon be on the move. And I'll be waiting.”

“What if they've come and gone already?”

“Fetch Keswalqw for me, will you.”

Athol bowed, left. Henry retested his calculations, secure the sacred knowledge set geometrically by hands such as his a century ago would lead him to both the Stone Grail and, in consequence, the Living Holy Grail Herself.

Keswalqw's shadow fell on the side of the tent. She listened quietly before calling his name.

“Henry. You wish to see me?”

“Keswalqw.” He set the maps aside. “Yes, please.”

“I'll come in?”

“No, no. I'll come out. I find I'm happier outside than in these days,” Henry said as he emerged.

Keswalqw's smile was warm and reassuring. “You make progress, Henry. I think colour comes back to your cheeks. Now, for some light in those sky-coloured eyes...”

“I think it's not food or medicine I need.”

“It's ‘Your Lady.' When you first came I thought, he is Eugainia's father.”

“She would be less pliant if she were my child, I assure you.”

“Rarely in the lifetime of a person does one such as Eugainia appear. She has beauty, and grace. She is wise as Sa'qwe'ji'jk, the Oldest of our Old Ones.”

“It is thus with those of the Royal and Holy Blood.”

“What will you do if Eugainia is not found before the coming cold?”

“Lord in Heaven, Keswalqw. That horror is barely behind us. Winter is eight months away.”

“Even so, it will come. Your men already speak with dread of another winter here. The People are fearful, too. The signs portend another starving time.”

“We'll not tax your kindness further, Keswalqw. When found, Eugainia will be installed in the Grail Castle. I'll leave Sir Athol and a dozen well-armed men to stand guard until autumn when I'll return with stores to last the winter and a complete household to serve her needs. Among them, my wife and daughters, if they still live, God keep them.”

“And if you don't find her?”

“We sail for Edinburgh.”

“If you don't find her, you will leave. If you do find her, you'll leave. You'll leave regardless.”

“Yes. And return next spring.”

“She is not dead.”

“Where is she?”

“With Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk.”

“Is she well?”

“I'm told they thrive.”

“You know where they are?”

“Yes, Henry. I know where they are.”

“Well?”

“I don't like the look in your eyes. I don't like the sounds in your voice. You will do them harm.”

“It is my sworn and sacred duty, Keswalqw, to secure her, and reunite her with her husband.”

“The tired old man who covered her once and sired a broken child?”

“The same. Lord Ard—”

“Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk is her husband now.”

“Eugainia's life is not her own to lead as she sees fit. Never was. She will say goodbye to Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk, and await the arrival of her chosen Lord.”

“Chosen by whom?”

“The highest possible authority.”

“The highest possible authority,” Keswalqw repeated. “Who might that be?”

“I am not permitted to say.”

Keswalqw sat cross-legged on a patch of dry ground. She sought and found a sprouting blade in a dry tuft of last summer's grass. She tugged carefully. The pale green lance slipped easily from its sheath. She severed the tender tip from its shaft and, with practised precision, sectioned it between her incisors. She motioned Henry to sit beside her.

“From what I can tell,” she began when he'd settled, “it seems you are the highest possible authority.”

Henry offered no reply.

She spit the pulped blade with a delicate purse of her lips and a barely audible out-rush of breath. “Perhaps you think our Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk is not good enough for your Eugainia.” Henry's silence confirmed her suspicion. “Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk came to us, with power,” she continued. “Great power in his little lungs and heart. We broke the ice the day he was born, broke the ice in the stream for the newborn's cleansing. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk did not cry out. His flesh didn't so much as tremble. His eyes didn't close: even below the ice-filled water they shone calm with wisdom. His childhood days were filled with gentle wonders. He hunted like a man, so brave was his heart. Hunted like a skillful man, before he saw ten winters. He wept with the sick, the weak, the dying. He gave them his strength. His Power. His beauty and his kindness healed The People. Now he heals Eugainia. Let them be, Henry Orkney. It's their time to be one.”

“Time is not their friend, Keswalqw,” Henry replied. “Nor is it yours. I look out across this quiet strait and find I've come to dread the eastern horizon. They pursued Eugainia to the very edges of Europe. Portugal. Scotland. The outer Islands of the Hebrides. And now, I fear, beyond. I've come to fear the future as much as I abhor the past. They hanged our brothers and sisters—anyone even suspected of protecting Our Lady—by their thumbs. Suspended great weights. Stone by stone. Arms torn from shoulders. Legs pulled from hips. Most lived in the hope some mercy would be shown, prepared to live deprived of their teeth, their tongues, their eyes. Their limbs. Men lost their manhood. Women living breasts. Feet were bolted close to charcoal fires, held long past scream and plea, past promise to reveal. Skin blackened by flame curled away from flesh; their body fat ignited, burned before their eyes. Living bone became ash. All because of Eugainia and her ancient kin; all because the Royal and Holy Blood, the Blood they dare call heresy, runs in Her veins. I devoted my life to Eugainia's well-being, Keswalqw. And now you, dear friend, may soon be in terrible danger from these same monsters who would destroy her.”

The low cliff at the northwest edge of the meadow offered an expansive view of the great gulf. It was toward the west Keswalqw turned when she rose and walked to the cliff edge. “The west is the place of old age and the end of things,” she said as Henry rose to join her. “Also the source of wisdom and of knowing. From the west we draw comfort, for we shall know its secrets.” She pointed north, beyond Apekwit. “What you call the north we call the home of Winter. Cold is the great purifier. Winter tests and strengthens us. Makes us who we are.” She turned southward. “The south is warmth and plenty, yes. The south is also cruelty and death. Partway up the great river, beyond the southern borders of our Abenaki cousins, live The People of the Longhouse, the terrifying Iroquois. We're no strangers to the darkness at work in the depths of the human heart, Henry Orkney. They've seen to that. Our Huron friends fear Longhouse People more than a starving time. When their numbers fail the Longhouse People march up from the south, cross the great river, sometimes come to kill us in search of wives and slaves. They make examples of rebellious men and women whose love of family and children, of tribe and elders is so strong they will fight until the Ghost World beckons. And those strong ones whose wounds weaken but do not kill...? They strip living patches of skin the size of your palm from their prisoners' bodies. Piece by piece. They work up from wrist to shoulder, ankle to knee, thigh to hip. Belly, chest, back. They let the raw patch clot before they take the next. Enough to agonize but not to kill. They're marched through the forest. The spruce and pine needles that gave them medicine and made their bed now pierce and torture them. Three days pass before what was a man or woman, now a mass of blood and pain, falls and rises no more.” Keswalqw took Henry's arm. “Revere the north, my friend. Regard the west with wonder. Fear the south. Where summer and evil live. But never fear the east. Grandfather Sun is an unending source of hope. Grandfather Sun is life. Let your heart seek his council. He will warm you. He will melt the last of the ice in your heart.”

“I've no heart at all without My Lady.”

“Then look to Grandmother Moon. I say this to you, Henry Orkney. When you look east, lift your eyes above the grey sea. Open your angry heart. Do this or an angry death awaits you.”

“A living death infests me now. I beg you. Tell me where Eugainia hides.”

Keswalqw watched the progress of the shipbuilders on the beach below. “If you stay, we are in danger. If you go, you are in danger.”

“Keswalqw. Please. Take me to the Well of Baphomet.”

“What?”

“The Island of the Twelve Standing Oaks on the ocean coast of the great peninsula.”

“Ah. Yes. Your ancestor's well by the edge of the sea.” Keswalqw indicated a column of grey smoke rising from the foundry adjacent to the ship keels. “I see you reshape your iron door-swingers and barrel-belts. All your iron objects.”

“Yes. Into nails.”

“The knives you gave us make long tasks short.”

“It gives me pleasure to see The People profit from our technology.”

“Arrow and spearheads made of this iron would make us stronger.”

“May I speak to our farriers on your behalf?”

“Please. Do. And I'll speak with the Great Spirit on your's. I'll make a spirit quest. Then I'll know if I will or will not tell you where to find Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk and Eugainia.”

• • •

Eugainia woke in the dark of the night. A single goose, white as the driven snow, fat with eggs, big as a Thunder Bird but silent, had flown through her dreams. Her wings seemed to envelope the sky. Beneath her pure white belly, a flock of her more common black-necked, white-cheeked, brown-bellied cousins flew in perfect formation. The snow goose wheeled away from the common flock, back to her home of winter, cold, ice, frost and snow. Is she my animal totem? Eugainia wondered as she watched the snow goose disappear. She reached for her lover. The space beside her was warm but empty. She sat up. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk, cross-legged at the edge of the firepit, sifted ash in search of live coals.

“Where is the moon?” Eugainia asked.

“Still asleep, beloved. About to appear above the horizon. And there, look the Great Bear has already raised her head above the trees. Her cub will soon follow.”

“We slept for hours.”

“We did. Yes. We slept a good long sleep. May I have your fire shell?”

She handed him the punk-filled quahog. He inserted glowing remnants of hard pine knots that hadn't burst or burned as they slept.

“We'll build a new fire?”

“Not unless you're cold.”

“No, no. I'm fine.”

Eugainia reached through the back wall of the bivouac, scooped a handful of snow and washed her face. She rose, stretched. In the black of the night, in the crisp clear air, she felt she could pluck a star from the sky without fully extending her arm.

“Where will we sleep tonight, after our mysterious adventure?”

“I don't know. Take the robes. We should leave before we're fully awake.”

“Oh?”

“It's better to hunt on the edge of a dream, The People say.”

“Why?”

“The hunted and the hunter find each other more easily.”

“What do we hunt tonight?”

“We won't hunt exactly. We pluck our food from the sky.” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk chuckled at Eugainia's confusion. “Wait and see, my love. Wait and see.”

Eugainia slung the rolled robes, one over each shoulder. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk hefted a stout club and a torch. They made their way to the stream. Where it widened, their canoe waited, tethered lightly to an overhang of willow. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk gathered and coiled the braided thong. They slipped silently from the shore. Mid-stream, Eugainia reached for her oar.

“You won't need that, my love,” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk told her. “Tonight we drift into the middle of the harvest.”

“I thought you said we'd pluck food from the sky.”

“Patience, Moon Woman, is a virtue. Is that correct?”

“Correct.”

The lovers boarded and then lay on the bottom of the canoe, their legs entwined at the centre, heads low in the bow and stern. The stream widened. Its flow increased in speed as volume accumulated. The night sky emerged from the tunnel overhang of willow and alder. The crescent moon—old now, and feeble—broke free of the horizon. The stars crackled, vibrant and intense, their light eclipsing that of the dying moon.

Eugainia sensed they'd drifted into the open water of an estuary. One feeder steam after another funnelled late-spring snowmelt into the swollen out-rush of fresh water. The canoe wheeled freely, a compass needle subject to no magnetic imperative, circling first one way, pausing, flowing parallel to the shore awhile, then circling back in counter-rotation, dependent entirely on the spiralling currents of convergent streams. Eugainia couldn't identify the murmurs drifting across the estuary, nor the black shapes afloat on blacker water, barely discernable in the rippling light of the stars.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk slipped noiselessly to the centre of the canoe, where he knelt. He handed her the pine torch, its fire end shaved, sticky withresin. Dry tinder-grass held to the ember flickered to life at the slight urging of his breath. Smoke curled. Embers sparked, then leapt into flame. Eugainia angled the head of the torch to receive the fire. The resin flared immediately.

“Hold it high, high as you can.”

Eugainia held the flame high above her head. Patches of white flashed in its light. Iridescent pricks of light shot back from eyes wide with curiosity. Then fear.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk, surefooted master of the round-bottomed canoe, stood. Eugainia reached instinctively to steady him, her free hand inadvertently clipped by the paddle he raised to shoulder height. He aligned it with the second paddle, extended both fully above his head. He slapped the blades together. Their sharp report startled Eugainia.

It terrified the geese.

Panic erupted. Webbed feet, stretched wide, ruptured the surface. Wings jolted into flight failed to grip the air. Migration- weary bodies confused by the unnatural sun sank in the drag of water on their bellies. Long black necks stretched and coiled, stretched and coiled again, pumping power into breast muscles and cries of alarm from beaks splayed open in fear.

The flock found their wings and rose blind in disarray. With no sun high in the dome to guide them, and the stars dimmed by the sudden flare, the geese—slaves to aerial order—formed a vortex. Wings tempered steel-hard by weeks of migratory flight battered one another: cries of distress became protests of anger and pain. Birds orbiting the outer fringes fought toward the centre, knocking kind and kin from the air. At the centre of the maelstrom shone Eugainia's torch, first a brand of alarm, now a beacon offering the hope of order. The panicked throng all but smothered the light. Eugainia and Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk felt wingtips brush their clothes, their hair, their faces. Quick as a cat among fledglings, his blood running hot, his mind calm and cool, Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk batted geese from the air. Dozens fell back to the water, injured or exhausted. Those tumbling into the canoe he throttled. The rest, battered and disoriented, floated downstream, their ultimate destination the open sea. Night predators or the natural passage of time, the great healer of all wounds, would determine their fate.

The gunwales soon rested a mere hand's breadth above the water. At first Eugainia had been enthralled by the spectacle. Her blood rose. The huntress was engaged, until the twitching mass of beak and feather accumulating at her feet drove her thoughts inward to the secret hope she carried. The same hope beat in their blood, urging the geese from the safety of the mating grounds in the southern bayous and estuaries to their nesting grounds high in the Arctic. Eugainia felt sudden nausea. She doused the torch. Darkness more profound than any she could remember enveloped the canoe. She required no light, only sound, to know what befell the airborne geese. Some dropped like stones to the surface of the water. One collided with the port gunwale. Another struck the upswept bow. One set of wings, then another, then a third rushed past. Many flew blind, full speed, her ears told her, into trees. Cries of distress decreased as others found the polar star and flew off unharmed into the night. They'd sweep low over meadow and forest until ocean breakers called, then plummet helter-skelter, safe to the surface of the sea.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk's eyes adjusted quickly to the dark.

“You dropped the torch.”

“No. I doused it on purpose.”

“How are we to find and dispatch the injured birds?”

“The canoe is half-full already—”

“It's wrong to leave these injured birds—”

“How many geese do we need?”

“I meant to fill it. As a gift to The People.”

“We can't go to The People. Not yet.”

“Why?”

“If the Holy Blood it is not refreshed, the child I carry, our child Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk, will be born as weak and twisted as the last.”

“Our child, Woman with the Moon?”

“Yes.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk placed a hand on Eugainia's belly. “When?”

“I don't know. Autumn.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk removed his clothes.

“Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk. Put on your robe.”

“Come. Stand beside me.”

“You'll catch your death. Our child will be without an earthly father.”

“We must bare ourselves to the stars to show we're strong and worthy. Then give thanks to the four winds. And ask the protection of the Great Bear.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk helped Eugainia to her feet. They drew each other near.

“See that star, the brightest...” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk pointed north and west of the zenith, “...and the three stars clustered near it? That's the canoe of the three hunters; they try to kill Great Bear. Just there,” he pointed. “Nearby. But the north star won't permit them to kill Great Bear, nor her cub, Little Bear. Just there.”

“Bear Power.” Eugainia felt encouraged. “Power from the Earth World written in the World Above the Sky.”

“Yes. Star Power, Woman with the Moon.”

“We'll ask Grandmother Moon to give us medicine to keep evil from our child,” she whispered.

“Grandfather Sun will help me keep the evil priests from you. Come Woman with the Moon. Stand naked before the Great Spirit with your husband.”

Eugainia raised her arms. Her robes slipped from her shoulders and fell to the bottom of the canoe, a warm heap of fur in the silence of the still, warm geese.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk raised his arms. The canoe, caught in a gentle eddy, began a measured, slow revolve.

“Hear us, Great Spirit. Hear us, Spirit Persons of the Six Worlds.”

“We ask your blessings.”

“Hear, Creator, the Spirit Call of the White Goddess, My Wife, and Mother of My Child—my Woman Who Fell in Love with the Moon.”

“We ask your blessings.”

“Hear the Spirit Call of Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk, Father, Healer, Warrior God of The People, I Who would be their Chief.”

“I, the Bearer of the Royal and Holy Blood, the Lady of the Grail, the White Goddess and the Black Madonna ask your blessings. The Spirit of our Unborn Child, the Holy Child, the Two Made One,” Eugainia said, “ask your blessings.”

“We seek the blessings of the east, source of light and wisdom, that Eugainia's people may see the beauty of L'nuk, The People, and love us. That L'nuk, The People, may see the beauty in her people, that we might love them. That all people in all the worlds known and unknown to us may see the beauty in each other, that we may see the beauty of the world itself, and be kind.”

The canoe revolved a quarter-turn. The Great Chief of the Six Worlds and Moon Woman, His Lady Wife, appeared to stand on water rippling with stars. “We seek the blessings of the south,” Eugainia, Goddess of the old and uncertain world, continued, “source of heat and plenty, that the children of all may grow fat in the warmth and love of their people.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk faced the fading moon. “We seek the blessings of the west, home of the aged and of memory, home of the wind that reminds us that we are born of the earth and to the earth we return...we open our ears and our hearts to the west, to its whisperings and its raging.”

“We seek the blessings of the north, oh Creator, home of darkness, home of the cold, home of winter, home of ice and frost and snow,” Eugainia prayed. “Cleanse our minds, our hearts and our bodies. Strengthen us, with the north wind's purifying cold.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk offered the final supplication.

“Oh Great Spirit. Make us joyful in the light of the east, glad in the heat of the south, brave in the winds of the west. Keep us strong and free in the purging cold of the north. Hold our hearts and minds in Your hand at the centre of the Great Circling Heaven, the Great Circle of Heaven fashioned and set in motion by You.”

“We ask these blessings in our Holy names, Goddess and God made incarnate by You, the Creator.” Eugainia placed Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk's hand on her belly. “And in the name of our Child, Mijua'ji'j, the Two Made One.”

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk knelt, guiding Eugainia down to her knees before him. The canoe, caught in the gyre of two converging currents, turned end for end repeatedly without advance.

“You know me now as God, man and husband. Soon as the father of our child. Always as servant, protector, provider. ”

“I do.”

“And you know I love you.”

“I do.”