Free The World Above the Sky by Kent Stetson Page A

stripped of their leaves. A perfect dome formed, about three-quarters her height. In the centre she dug a shallow pit.
    Athol Gunn emerged from the trees at the edge of the clearing carrying a small oak table. He nodded and smiled in their direction. Mimk ɨ tawo’qu’sk and Keswalqw nodded and smiled in return as he left.
    Keswalqw’s opinion of Sir Athol formed instantly and, as it turned out, accurately, on their first meeting. “This one, this Sir-atol, seems friendly enough.”
    â€œHe likes to sing, and last night, Aunt, on Apekwit he danced with one hand on his hip like this, the other over his head, and hopped first on one foot and then the other, like this, all the while pointing his toe and kicking out from under his many-coloured dress as if pestered by dogs. He produced a musical instrument shaped like a goose with many necks. He tossed it over his shoulder, blew into one of its necks—the one with what appeared to be a small round beak—then pretended to strangle it. He strutted around as it squawked and shrieked. It was very funny. Then he played a mournful tune. We saw it seemed to have some religious significance, such was the flow of his tears. We attempted to listen with respectful silence. It was difficult, especially for the children. In time we felt what he intended the music to tell us: love and a certain sorrow. Then he played a merry tune and danced his dog-kicking dance. So we joined him. It was great fun. The children came to love him. Who is this white-as-a-ghost-person bear man?”
    Sir Athol returned with two elaborately carved oak chairs. He sat, head back, arms akimbo, legs splayed, absorbing the sun.
    â€œThis bear man, this ochre-headed one...Sir-atol...he is all hair—ochre hair on his head, his face, and here, and here. He turned salmon-pink then fiery red in the sun. He wouldn’t swim with us.”
    A light breeze ruffled the edges of Athol’s kilt, then whiffled its way across the grass. Mimk ɨ tawo’qu’sk turned his head to the side, exhaling forcefully through pursed lips.
    â€œOouff! He stinks like a bear.”
    â€œHe may be a bear. Spirit bears sometimes quest in human shape, come to us for our medicine—come for the wisdom of The People.”
    â€œFor a bath too, I hope.”
    Athol rose and stretched. He made his way to the terrace path. He nodded and smiled. They nodded and smiled in return. He continued on his way.
    â€œHe’s quite friendly. And just your type, Aunt.”
    â€œMy type!”
    â€œYou like them large and friendly. Yes?”
    â€œYes. And clean, and hairless. Never mind. I’m beyond all that now.”
    â€œOh? That’s not what Wosoqotesk tells me.”
    â€œIt’s true. Wosoqotesk leaves my sleeping robes a happy man. But lately I think; why such energy for such a little pleasure? They’ve been here before, these white-as-a-ghost bear Persons. These kin-friends. They came in the time of my mother’s mother.”
    â€œThis tale is new to me.”
    â€œThis tale isn’t for everyone, Nephew.”
    â€œNot everyone will be the chief of The People.”
    â€œTime will tell.”
    â€œStill. I wonder why they came.”
    â€œIt was said their land across the sea lost its medicine. The earth turned so cold snow fell in summer. Terrible wars cracked the earth. Great sickness fell from the stars. It was a starving time. They came to us across the sea in these great canoes with wind-catching blankets—”
    â€œLike the one on its side in Claw of Spirit Bird Bay today.”
    â€œMaybe. They came for our medicine. Then they built the great stone lodge along the river of the yellow stones, near the well by the sea.”
    â€œ E’e ! The great stone lodge of the blistering deaths. That’s how it came to be. Why was I not told this tale before?”
    â€œAm I telling you now? The spear you carry was found by your