The Spirit Keeper Read Online Free PDF

stopt as an old man arose to speak loudly at some length. As soon as the oration began, a fellow sitting behind us leant forward to speak in perfect English. Upon looking at him more closely, I discerned he was a white man, but he had lived amongst the heathen long enough to be nigh indistinguishable from them. He explained the speaker was reviewing a list of “offenses” committed by the colonists which led up to the “battle” of our capture. Whilst the savages reacted with glee to gruesome descriptions of the murders of our family members, my mother and sister wept. William and I exchanged nervous glances, more concerned about the future than the past. As the speaker babbled on, our translator explained we were to be taken to some fort, where we would be ransomed back to whate’er remained of our family. There followed a lengthy harangue against the colonists, as well as a declaration in support of the French.
    Having little interest in politics, I allowed my mind to wander as my eyes scanned the crowd. I could feel Syawa’s gaze upon me, and every time I glanced his way, I found him smiling that smile of his, as if entirely oblivious to the gravity of my position and the misery I suffered. The longer the orator’s speech went on, the more excited Syawa became, as if he were a child on Christmas morning, eagerly awaiting his share of pudding. I tried not to look at him, but it was as if he willed me to do so, and every time I gave in to the urge and glanced his way, he was a little more delighted than the time before. Eventually I found I could not help but smile back, which caused him to grin with such abandon that I giggled and must clamp my hand upon my mouth to prevent another outburst.
    Shortly thereafter the droning tone of the speaker changed, and our translator spoke more urgently. Tomorrow, he said, the captives would be removed. But here and now a decision must be made. William, Eliza, Mother, and I looked at each other in trepidation.
    The translator told us the speaker was now recognizing the presence of two travelers, who were, he said, cousins of cousins from the Dawn of Time, participating in the ancient ritual of a Sacred Journey.
    At that point, wood was added to the fire and as sparks whirled skyward and flames leapt high, Syawa was suddenly, almost supernaturally, standing before the fire. The crowd murmured, then hushed in anticipation. First he sang a song—a haunting, wistful tune in a strong, vibrant tenor. Then he began telling his tale, using his elaborate gestures. Because he moved slowly ’round the fire as he waved his hands, his actions seemed more like an exotic dance than a story, but story it was—and what a story!
    The Dreamer of Dreams, the translator said, had been given a Vision upon which he was compelled to act. In his Vision he saw a Creature of Fire and Ice who would bring to his people the Great Gift of Immortality, and so he asked his friend from childhood to assist him, to fight for him and help find the creature from his Vision. Tho’ the translator spoke almost too rapidly as he read the gestures, the gist of the story was that my two guardians had traversed many lands through many seasons, endured many hardships, and experienced many adventures, all to arrive at this time and this place.
    For a moment I stared at the ground, thinking of what I knew of these two young men. It had been clear Hector was serving Syawa as something of a bodyguard, and now I understood why. What was not clear was whether these two apparently intelligent and reasonable fellows seriously believed they might encounter and capture a fantastical creature the likes of which can exist only in dreams. A being made of fire and ice? Preposterous!
    It was as I was thinking these things that the translator reached out to touch my arm to renew my full attention. “On this day,” he said, speaking slowly and dramatically, “the Seer stands before us to reveal the subject of his Sacred Vision. With our