The Spirit Keeper by K. B. Laugheed Read Free Book Online Page A

hypnotic effect I inevitably fell asleep long before he stopt talking, but he continued the ritual long after he must’ve known I had no intention of slipping away during the night.
    Puzzling o’er why Syawa’s stories had such an effect on me, I came to believe ’twas because he reminded me of my father, who was quite a storyteller himself. The rare occasions during my childhood when my family was happy occurred when Father was sufficiently liquored up to be chatty, but not so drunk as to be itching for a fight. Then he would sit before the fire and tell long, lingering, delicious tales of books he’d read or legends he himself had been told as a child. The only time I e’er truly loved my father was when he was telling one of his long stories, and the only time I actually enjoyed being a member of my family was when we were all gathered together on a dark winter’s night, listening to father tell his tales.
    So I supposed all this storytelling predisposed me to accept the peculiarities of the strange little Indian who seemed so besotted by me, and thinking about my father reminded me that e’en if I might have found a considerably more appealing companion back amongst my own people, I was just as likely to end up with someone considerably worse. Thus I found myself floating farther and farther from my former life, swept away by the relentless current of Syawa’s cheerful chatter, and I snapt awake each morning to find him lying near me in his own sleeping fur, smiling, as if he, himself, ne’er slept.
    It occurred to me the real reason behind the babble was to keep my thoughts from dwelling on the drastic way the course of my life had been diverted, and for that I was grateful. It goes without saying I was in desperate need of ongoing distraction from the tremendous weariness I suffered—those first days on the trail were sheer torture. Up and down we went, ’round and ’round, and on and on and on. Brambles tore at my clothing, rocks and roots tript me, my hand-me-down shoes left my feet blistered, oozing, and raw. I bowed my head each time Hector grumbled about stopping, but Syawa only laughed and said all was well. Time and again he said the three of us were exactly where we should be.
    Neither Hector nor I could very well argue with that.

~6~
    A S MY STRENGTH AND endurance improved, our pace quickened, with one notable exception—water crossings. I loathed getting wet, but the invisible trail we followed forced me to wade through innumerable swamps and streams that left my shoes soggy, squeaky, and chafing my feet. Worse still, I was oft required to slog across much larger bodies of water which soaked my skirts to the skin. Oh, how much more bitterly did the March wind bite with clammy, cold cloth clinging to my legs!
    Sometimes it rained, but I recall only one afternoon when a downpour actually delayed us. I enjoyed those hours huddled under the ingenious tent my companions constructed, not only because I was able to rest my throbbing feet, but also because I was able to concentrate more fully on Syawa’s language lesson. Unfortunately, all that spring rain only served to swell the streams, making what was already a challenge for me become almost an impossibility.
    The day came when my companions perked up and quickened their pace—I knew not why. As we topt a rise, they both whooped and ran recklessly down the hillside, shedding their packs so they could dive headlong into the water of a sizeable river. I followed them sedately and stood on the riverbank, forlorn, watching as they splashed about. Eventually Syawa came back to coax me in, but either he did not understand or could not believe I was unable to swim a lick. He told Hector to walk out to the middle of the stream to show me the water was no deeper than his chest, but I found this revelation small comfort in the face of what seemed to me to be a raging torrent.
    In the end the men had to drag me across the river, each clutching an arm, whilst