examined it in the glowing radiance of the fire. Sooleawaa circled around the fire and knelt next to Kiera, her eyes widening in admiration.
“It is beautiful,” said Sooleawaa, feeling the delicate stitching. “I have never seen anything like it.”
Kiera, Sooleawaa and Chocan had passed the last several weeks trying to learn each other's languages. It was Kiera's job to improve Chocan's mysterious knowledge of the Celtic tongue, while Sooleawaa had taken on the task of teaching Kiera the Beothuck language. Although Kiera could now understand most of Sooleawaa's phrases, she was having far more difficulty getting her voice to imitate the strange rhythms and sounds of the different tongue.
“Your skirt,” corrected Kiera, in embarrassingly rough Beothuck. “It for you.”
“For me?” stammered Sooleawaa, shocked.
Kiera passed it to her. “Yes. My thank you gift to you.”
Sooleawaa looked to her, then turned in disbelief to Chocan, who sat to the right of the fire. He was using the fire to help illuminate the fishing spear he was carving from what was once a maple sapling. He put the stone and stick down and admired Kiera's handiwork. The flames danced across his glowing gaze.
“Are you going to try it on?”
Sooleawaa needed no further prodding. She stepped into the skirt and pulled it up over the thin, worn skirt she had worn every day since Kiera had arrived. The soft, brown material fit perfectly around her waist, curving down her hips to just above her knees. Kiera was relieved that she had sewn it perfectly. Sooleawaa turned back to Kiera, her eyes as round as the full moon peering through the trees above them. She tried to stammer a thank-you, but she was so excited, she simply hopped up and down three times, turned and sprinted into the darkness.
Chocan laughed. “I have never seen my sister so happy. Thank you, Kiera.”
Kiera put the needle back into the hem of her own skirt. She grinned with a mix of satisfaction and relief. The giving of a gift brought back all of the memories of the last few weeks. Seeing her friends covered in red ochre seemed now just a natural extension of their warm personalities. She was overwhelmed with gratitude.
“It was the least that I could do. You saved my life, fed me and kept me company. I owe both of you much more than a simple leather skirt.”
He nodded towards the trees. “She has gone to show the villagers.”
Kiera turned her gaze towards the woods as well. “When will I meet the people of your village?”
“Soon,” laughed Chocan as he threw another log on the evening campfire. “They know you. They've seen you through the trees. My people, however, still fear you. You are a pale-skinned stranger. I tried to tell them that you are not a spirit to be feared. They're still not sure.”
Kiera straightened. “I would love to meet them. Is there anything I could do to help them not be so afraid of me?” she asked.
Chocan thought for a moment. He then reached behind the stump on which he was perched and brought forward a stained leather bag. Kiera recognized it.
“Your staining powder,” she whispered.
Chocan opened the sack, reached in and took out a handful of the clumpy mixture. He held it up to the fire. “This is ochre. Ochre is part of us, just as skin is part of us. It comes from Earth, our mother. It is also the blood of Beothuck ancestors. When we wear it, ancestors become part of us. Live with us. Ochre connects us to Earth and ancestors. It makes us one with all there is. You understand?”
Kiera sighed. Why couldn't she learn the Beothuck language as quickly as Chocan had improved his Celtic? He had come so far, and now he was helping her make sense of this new world. Just as the cross around her neck was her connection to her family back home, the ochre was the link to their Beothuck family. Her thoughts were broken by the stinging bite of a mosquito on her neck. She slapped at it, but it was too late. Her neck now itched as she scratched at the annoying bite.
Chocan smiled. “Also, mosquitoes hate ochre. No more bites.”
“We never had these little creatures in Iceland.” She scowled, then paused. “I'm ready to try the ochre, if it's all right with you.”
Chocan shook his head. “Must wait. The first time, the mark of the band is very important for woman. The mark must be done by woman. We will wait for Sooleawaa.”
Kiera thought about all of the rituals performed by Chocan and Sooleawaa that she had witnessed since being rescued. They always cut and prepared the fish or meat the same way, singing the same melodious chant that gave thanks to the animal for sacrificing its life for them. They always thanked and honored their ancestors and the Great Spirit before drifting off to sleep. They often talked to the trees, wind or animals with whom they shared their forest home. Kiera now realized that these people were actually connected to the forest in a spiritual sense. They were so different from the Vikings, and even her own family who chopped, tilled and planted the world into an environment that was suited only for human habitation.
Sooleawaa returned from the darkness. She was still grinning from ear to ear.
“They had never seen anything like the skirt before. They think you know magic. They think you are a bird spirit, weaving this garment as you would a nest.”
“Thank you,” laughed Kiera, switching to Beothuck. “I am honoured. You think I am a spirit?”
Sooleawaa smiled. “Special, yes. Spirit, no. I saw you stitch the skirt with my own eyes. There was no magic in your fingers. My village, however, did not believe me. They do not understand this thing that you call a needle and this rock, iron, from which it is made. You must show them.”
“Kiera can show them tomorrow,” added Chocan.
“Tomorrow?” repeated Sooleawaa and Kiera, together.
“Our band will be leaving for the Meeting Place very soon. Kiera will have to be introduced to our family before then.”
Kiera reached over and touched Sooleawaa's knee. “Please…put ochre on me?”
Confused, Sooleawaa looked from Kiera to Chocan.
He nodded. “It is time.”
He passed over the bag. Sooleawaa knelt down in front of Kiera. She smiled warmly at her pale friend then began to hum softly, closing her eyes and allowing herself to drift off into a trance. Her lips quivered as she whispered a prayer of guidance. Stopping suddenly, Sooleawaa took several deep breaths then reopened her eyes. Her dark, caring eyes locked on to Kiera.
“This is the way of our people,” Sooleawaa explained. “It will be your entry into womanhood. After placing the ochre on you, I will mark you with the sign of a woman. It is also the sign of our tribe, our family.”
“Like this?” Kiera leaned forward and touched Sooleawaa's three triangles above her left eye.
Sooleawaa smiled. “Yes. I will mark you in the same way.”
Sooleawaa again started humming a low, wavering tune that flowed softly, like a gentle summer breeze. It was a melody that Kiera found calming. Kiera closed her eyes as Sooleawaa's hands placed the cool, refreshing paste on her forehead. As her swirling movements moved onto
