Southend U3A

Writing for Fun

Ghost Story - Jan Osborne

October 2014

Bemidii, the young Ojibwe Fox tribal chief, halted his small band of warriors. They had been hunting on the great plain above the rocky limestone escarpment overlooking the Lake of Clouds. Their village was on the shore just a mile or so to the south. Although only autumn the weather had been unseasonably cold even for Canada.

Gratefully the tribesmen lowered their kill onto the sodden ground: a deer carcass strung between two poles. They stood with heads bowed against the driving wind and sleet and soaked to the skin clapped cold arms against weary bodies in an effort to pump life giving warmth into their frozen fingers. Jina, the hunting party's scout had just returned. 'My chief, the rest of the path down the escarpment is becoming extremely treacherous in this blizzard and more so because of the failing light. I counsel you to take shelter in a large limestone cave I have found just half a mile ahead.'

Wearied beyond measure himself, Bemidii looked around him at his loyal braves. They could not endure much more, especially bearing the heavy burden of their fine kill. He could show no anxiety or any other negative emotion. He was their leader and they looked to him for total guidance in all matters because he was both their physical and emotional support. He made a decision. They would shelter this night in the cave then, in the light of day, carry their precious cargo down to the shoreline to their beached birch wood canoes. From there it would be an easy paddle downriver to their shoreline village.

Half an hour later the weary party stumbled into the cave and, staying near the entrance, some braves started a fire whilst others hauled the kill to the side. They covered it in rocks to protect it against marauding animals after several strips of fatty hide had been cut from the carcass to make torches and meatier chunks hacked off for their supper. The cave had to be explored before all could settle down, as bears and other predators could be lurking in the depths. As chief, Bemidii was expected to take a lighted torch and explore the dark inner reaches of the cave to make sure there were no dangers whilst his men spit roasted chunks of deer flesh over the fire.

The torchlight flickered eerily over the rough walls of the cave conjuring demons and ghosts to torment Bemedii's already tortured mind and soul. For six long agonising months since the death of his beloved young daughter Aysha 'the little one' of some strange fever and the suicide of his shaman Locar who had failed to cure her, Bemedii had shut down all his emotions save those that enabled him to make the necessary daily, and sometimes, life and death decisions needed to keep his tribe safe.

He grieved deeply for his daughter and blamed himself for not saving Locar, who to save his beloved chief the additional burden of killing him, had taken his own life. Although it was the custom to kill or drive out the tribe's shaman if he failed in his duty Bemedii knew Locar had loved him more than any man should but because of this unholy love he would not have failed his chief's daughter if it had been humanely possible. If Locar had not been able to save Aysha it was because the Gods had decreed it.

Bemedii was so troubled that he could no longer act as a man and bed his beautiful wife Akeen. Having other children seemed to him to be an act of betrayal to Aysha. That by having them somehow diminished her short existence. This thought and the added distress he saw in his wife's eyes each time he rejected her advances or even her caresses he could and would not bear any longer. In his deerskin pouch around his waist he carried a birch bark scroll that he had laboriously covered in pictograms that told the story of his personal tragedy and why he was going to stand down as chief and pass the role to his younger brother even if it meant losing his wife to him as well as was the custom. At least Akeen could then retain her status and have the many children she deserved. He would then leave the tribe and let the Gods decide his fate.

He had, by this time, reached the back wall of the cave and, having encountered no dangers, Bemedii suddenly decided that now was as good a time as any to leave his scroll for the gods' judgement. He called his new shaman Obizaan, who had elected to join the hunting party, to ritualize the tucking of the scroll into a large fissure in the wall on his left.

Obizaan made, with much chanting and ceremony, a fire near the fissure and noticed that the smoke from this was being sucked into the gap. He sank cross legged to the cave floor and beckoned Bemedii to do the same. From his shaman's bundle of medicines he extracted dried Datura leaves and flung them onto the flames. Clouds of acrid smoke filled their lungs and stung their eyes. Bemedii inhaled deeply of the magical mist and felt himself drifting in and out of consciousness and the real world slipping away.

Chanting benedictions to the Gods Bemedii inhaled more of the smoke and began to see people in the distance that he recognised. He knew he must put the scroll in the wall but he also felt his soul being tugged towards these figures. He stood with difficulty, walked trancelike to the wall and forced his body into the fissure. It was surprisingly large and he stepped forward surrounded by a fog of the sacred smoke. Breathing ever deeper he took one more step into the darkness and felt himself falling, falling . . .

Bemedii opened his eyes to complete darkness and searing pain in his legs and pelvis. Through the drug induced smoke which was being pulled over his body and beyond he was vaguely aware that he was unable to move and that his injuries were such that he could not survive but he cared not for before him stood Aysha holding Locar's hand. Both were smiling down at him. Tears filled his eyes. Tears of both joy and utter despair.

Aysha's voice filled his head, 'Father, despair not. I am very happy in this new realm and Locar takes care of me and I, him. I was sorry to leave you and mother but I now know that it was ordained by the Gods and that it was my time to leave. As it was Locar's. We know that in time we will all be together when the Gods decree it is your time to join the ancestors as we have. Go and be happy. It is your destiny to wisely rule the Fox tribe until you are very old. You will have many golden years with mother and she will bear you many fine sons and daughters. Tear up the scroll.' With these words Aysha blew him a kiss and faded from view.

Locar's face then body swam into view. He too was smiling. He held out his shamic staff and passed it from side to side over Bemedii's broken body. 'Dear friend, I could not heal Aysha of her malady but the God's have allowed me to give you the gift of life now in return. Your injuries are now healed and your warriors will find another way into this deeper cave tomorrow. The way will be shown to them by the smoke rising from a vent to the outside. Sleep the deep sleep of peace and live the life destined by the Gods. Farewell dearest friend.'

Bemedii felt the pain lifting from his tortured body and mind and a new joy fill his heart. How he now longed to see his dear wife and friends again. He would do all in his power to rule wisely and justly. He would show his dear wife all the love that he had for her but had been unable to express and hopefully give her the many fine children promised. He breathed deeply and drifted off to an untroubled and dreamless sleep.