Black Robe by Brian Moore

Author:Brian Moore [Moore, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature
ISBN: 9781786695024
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 1985-01-01T23:00:00+00:00

6

On the third day of their race through the place of darkness, Neehatin saw the White Face Mountain. He had driven his people hard. That night, he asked men as well as women to help assemble the habitation. All moved like old ones, they were so weary from the paddling. But the habitation was well built. When the last of the smoked moose meat had served as the evening meal, all were drowsy before the fires. They would soon sleep. Neehatin beckoned to the senior men to lie close to him and brought out tobacco.

‘Shit,’ said Amantacha. ‘Where did you find this?’

All were smiling. Tobacco was loved as much as food.

‘I forgot it,’ Neehatin lied. ‘I put it among the beaver skins, and then I forgot it.’ He filled their pipes, then passed back the rest of the tobacco to the older women and the young men. He offered a pipeful to the young Norman, who refused, as did the Blackrobe. The sorcerer, smoking from a curved pipe of his own making, curled up like a child at Neehatin’s feet as Neehatin peered across the smoking fires to make sure the Norman boy was not in hearing. Then he asked the sorcerer, ‘Do you tell me new things about my dream?’

‘It has not yet been told to me,’ the sorcerer said.

‘Then you do not yet know who is the fish?’

He wanted to press this little shit for an answer. For he knew the bentback. He would wait until Neehatin had spoken, then claim his wisdom for himself.

‘No,’ said the sorcerer. ‘It has not yet been told to me who is the fish.’

‘When will you know?’ Neehatin said. He wanted to be sure that all heard, including Chomina.

‘It will come,’ said the sorcerer.

‘Shit,’ said Ougebemat. He was happy. ‘This tobacco is good stuff.’

‘I am smoking,’ said old Awandouie. It was his way of saying thanks. The others said the ‘Ho, ho’ of approval. Neehatin smiled. He was glad he had held this tobacco in reserve. They were grateful. They would heed his counsel.

‘In the dream,’ Neehatin said, ‘the fish swam up to me and led me to the farther shore. Tomorrow night we will reach that shore.’

‘But who is the fish?’ asked the bentback. ‘That is the question.’

‘You are the fish,’ Neehatin said. ‘That is why you did not know the answer.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Chomina said. He lay on his back with his knees drawn up, sucking on his pipe with long grateful puffs.

‘Mestigoit is the fish we have taken with us through the dark place. He has driven the demon out of the Blackrobe. The Blackrobe has lost his power. He cannot cast a spell on us any more.’

‘But how do you know?’ Chomina said. He turned and looked at Neehatin as he said it.

‘Today, as I paddled my canoe,’ Neehatin said, ‘the forest spoke. It said, Mestigoit is the fish who helps us. He has saved us from danger, it said.’ Neehatin looked down at the bentback curled up at his feet.

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