The Skrayling Tree by Michael Moorcock Read Free Book Online

as well. It was by chance that
     we had occasion to talk. He was not entirely sure that I was real. He was so absorbed in his poem I think he suspected at
     first he had imagined me! When Emerson introduced us, he probably considered me some sort of noble savage.” Ayanawatta laughed
     softly. “Thoreau, I suspect, found me a little coarse. But Longfellow was good-natured almost to a fault. It was a fated meeting
     and played an important part in his own journey. I understood his poem to be a prophecy of how I would make my mark in the
     world. The four feathers I had mistaken for eagle feathers in my dream were, of course, four quill pens. Four writers! I had
     made the wrong interpretation but taken the right action. That was where the luck really came in. I was a bit callow. It was
     the first time I had visited the astral realm in physical form. Sadly, that phase of the journey is over. I don’t know when
     I’ll see a book again.”
    Ayanawatta began to roll up his sleeping mat with the habitual neatness and speed of the outdoorsman. “Well, you know we use
     wampum in these parts, to remind us of our wisdom and our words.” He indicated the intricately worked belt which supported
     his deerskin leggings. “And this stuff is as open to subtle and imaginative interpretation as the Bible, Joyce or the American
     Constitution. Sometimes our councils are like a gathering of French postmodernists!”
    “Can you take me to my husband?” I was beginning to realize that Ayanawatta was one of those men whotook pleasure in the abstract and whose monologues could run for hours if not interrupted.
    “Is he with the Kakatanawa?”
    “I believe so.”
    “Then I can lead you to them.” His voice softened. “I have had no dream to the contrary, at least. Possibly your husband could
     be or will become the friend of my friend Dawandada, who is also called White Crow.” He paused with an expression of apology.
     “I talk too much and speculate too wildly. One gets used to talking to oneself. I have not had a chance for ordinary human
     conversation with a reasonably well-educated entity for the last four years. And you, well—you are a blessing. The best dance
     I ever danced, I must say. I had expected some laconic demigoddess to complete our trio. I wasn’t even sure you were going
     to be human. The dream told me what to do, not what to expect. There is an ill wind rising against us, and I do not know why.
     I have had confusing dreams.”
    “Do you always act according to your dreams?” I was intrigued. This was, after all, my own area of expertise.
    “Only after due consideration. And if the appropriate dance and song bring the harmony of joined worlds. I was always of a
     spiritual disposition.” He began carefully cleaning one of his beautifully fashioned hardwood paddles, curved in such a way
     that they were also war-axes. His bow and quiver of arrows were already secured in the canoe. He paused. “White Buffalo Woman,
     I am on a long spiritual journey which began many years ago in the forests of my adopted home inwhat you know as upper New York. I am bound to link my destiny with others to achieve a great deed, and I am bound not to
     speak of that part of my destiny. Yet when that deed is done I will at last possess the wisdom and the power I need to speak
     to the councils of the Nations and begin the final part of my destiny.”
    “What of the Kakatanawa? Do they join your councils?”
    “They are not our brothers. They have their own councils.” He had the air of a man trying to hide his dismay at extraordinary
     political naivete.
    “Why do you call me White Buffalo Woman? And why would I go with you when I seek my husband?”
    “Because of the myth. It has to be enacted. It is still not made reality. I think our two stories are now the same. They must
     be. Otherwise there would be dissonances. Your name was one of several offered in the prophecy. Would you prefer me to call
     you something