Shaman's Heart

By Cat

Copyright © Cat March 2004

This story may not be reproduced without written permission from the author.

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Chapter 3 - Life Changing Decisions

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"So which will it be?" Raoul asked again once he felt he had given the young brave time to think about his answer. It didn't necessarily mean he would get one, but by now the other man had to be experiencing some discomfort. And though humiliating the decision was relatively fair and better than the alternative.

Keme clenched his fists in his lap, his eyes staring down at them in despair. He had no choice right now if he wanted to win his freedom he would have to accept the white man's offer. Then over time he would lull him into a false sense of security until his diligence slipped and his chance to escape presented itself. Clearing all emotion from his expression he lifted his eyes to the other man's face.

"I am bound by the laws of my people. You did find me as you said and I did release a fox from another trap, but I did not touch any others. Though you are a white man and not of my people I will accept the judgement as you know our ways," Keme answered, his voice sounding calmer than he actually felt.

Raoul nodded thankful that the brave had chosen wisely. He would have had to follow through on the threat to turn him over to the soldiers at Quebec City and he didn't want to do that. He knew what would happen if he did. At least here the young Indian would be a prisoner but he would be treated fairly. Standing up the trapper walked over, pulling his knife from its sheath on his belt. He slipped it under the top most loop of the rawhide next to the knot and sliced through it easily.

In moments Keme's wrists were released and the strips of bear fur removed from his wrists. The bands had protected the soft skin so readily that he didn't even have but a small urge to rub at them. And that was more of a need to ease the soft itch from the tickling fur. He looked up at the trapper as he stood back wondering what next. Within the camps there was always someone to direct camp slaves and when they weren't working they were still free to wander the camp under watchful eyes. He had no idea what the white man would expect.

"Come on," Raoul told the Indian almost as if reading his mind and in a way he had. The brave probably didn't realize how expressive his eyes were or how easy his body language was to read. Again he was struck by the thought that though the younger man might be trained to fight he was no warrior. That had been evident in the placement of the calluses on his hands and the well toned but light muscles. "I need to close the fencing for the night and check on the animals." He could also subtly nudge the brave into taking care of any pressing physical needs before returning to the cabin and dishing up more of the stew and fresh bread for the both of them for an evening meal.

The young shaman rose from the bed of furs slowly trying not to show how much pain he was still in from the blow he had received earlier. He managed to keep his feet and not embarrass himself by falling or stumbling and after a moment followed the trapper who was watching him carefully even as he walked toward the door of the cabin. Now that he was standing Keme got an even better look at the lodge. The tall sleeping platform had hidden some of the large room. He couldn't help stopping to touch a number of herbs hanging upside down on a wooden rack to dry, but a small sound from the Frenchman brought his attention back and he moved to follow him outside.

There was just enough light left to see a bit of the area around and Keme studied it thoughtfully as he continued to walk after his captor. In the ways of the white man the area for more than a hundred steps had been completely cleared of trees and brush. A barrier made of cut and cleaned saplings surrounded the outer edge of the cleared space and it was there that they were heading. He watched frowning as the trapper approached an open section of the barrier and began to pull another wide piece from where it rested to close the open space. The large villages surrounded by the tall wooden walls Keme could understand a bit, though he would feel trapped within them. It kept the animals out that would wander in, but these smaller fences. He had no idea what purpose they really served. He did admit that this one was better than others he'd seen when he strayed too close to a white encampment. It was taller and bushy undergrowth had been allowed to grow up close as a deterrent to deer that would have fed from the large garden he'd seen growing against the cabin.

As his curiosity grew, the young brave's nervousness lessened. He was rather shocked when the trapper led him to a small wooden building only big enough for one person. The bigger man opened the door and stepped inside but not before grabbing one of Keme's wrists in a tight hold. It only took a moment before the shaman realized what the building was used for and he found himself faced with a painful physical need that had up to that moment been only a nagging complaint.

Raoul stepped out of the outhouse and stepped back not actually saying anything simply waving a hand at the building. He turned away a small smile on his face as the young Indian moved swiftly inside. Giving him privacy the Frenchman walked a few feet away looking toward the light coming from inside the cabin as the gloom of night grew. A spatter of water hit his cheek and the trapper sighed, rain, he'd known it was coming. He hoped that it was gone by morning, because he didn't look forward to going out in the morning to set his traps in the rain. Nor did he want to drag his prisoner out in it either. A shuffle of footsteps caught his attention and he turned to see the other man standing just outside the outhouse.

"Come on lets go check on the animals before this rain is coming down too hard," he directed leading the way again. He looked back to make sure the brave was following and a thought struck him. "My name is Raoul. What name were you given?"

Keme looked up at the question, turning the strange sounding word over in his head. It wasn't a bad sounding word just strange, but strong and seemed to fit the other man. "I am called Keme, but I will take whatever name from among your people that you wish to give." Often slaves were given new names if they came from rival tribes and he didn't expect any different now.

"Keme..." Raoul echoed nodding his head as he pulled open the door on a large lean-to that connected to the cabin on one side. "It is a good name, there is no need to change it."

The shaman's eyes widened in surprise, but a sense of relief rippled through him at the unexpected gift. It was dark inside the enclosure until there was the soft sound of metal on stone then a small flame that grew bigger as the trapper worked with a fire incased within metal and glass. He could see that there were two horses, a cow and toward the back a small wooden enclosure from which he could hear the sound of cackling meaning wild fowl. The trapper was a wealthy man by the standards of Keme's tribe with so many burden barring animals at his disposal.

"Here feed them while I take care of the cow," Raoul said catching the brave's attention. He showed Keme a large open space filled with clean hay and picked up a large armful. "This much to both horses and the cow." Then he opened a barrel that was full of corn with a large dried gourd in it. "And two of these full to the chickens just spread it in front of the enclosure they'll take it from there."

Keme nodded and then watched as the big trapper took a metal container from a wooden peg in the wall and a stool and went inside the fenced area with the cow. He did as he was told feeding the chickens first stepping back quickly as they came flocking out as soon as the corn hit the ground. When he finally got to the cow he stopped and watched what the big man was doing. He'd never seen this before, his people didn't keep domesticated animals like this and so he had never seen milk before. "What is that?" he asked as the sweet scent reached his nose.

Raoul lifted his head up from what he was doing to look at Keme. "It's called 'milk'," he answered forced to switch back to French for the name as there was no word for it in the brave's language.

Keme repeated the word several times as he watched Raoul milk the cow. He knew that it was the fluid that baby animals drank from their mothers in their early days, but he'd never thought that it could be used by human's... if that is what the trapper had in mind for it that is. He wondered if it was the same as what the women of the tribe produced when they had babies. Intrigued he put aside pride for a moment and allowed the man to see his ignorance on the topic. "What do you do with it?"

The Frenchman checked to make sure he had completed the job and stood up handing the stool to the young Shaman. "Hang that on the peg on the wall," he instructed as he made his way out of the stall. Once the brave had complied he led them out of the oversized lean-to and began to answer the question.

"Cow milk is very good for drinking," he explained. "But it is also used in the making of other foods, all of them very good. I'll show you because we'll be making some of those foods."

"Can this be done with any animal that feeds it young in that way?" the young Indian asked as he followed Raoul inside the cabin. Now that he had accepted for the time being his fate and lost in his curiosity he had forgotten his reticence.

Raoul carried the pail over to a corner where he lifted a part of the wooden floor and then descended a steep flight of stairs. After a moment Keme followed again his curiosity getting the better of him. The trapper smiled slightly, he was truly a bit surprised at how easily the other man was adapting. Though he had an idea that once the thirst for information was over that things might go back to the way they were. If that was the case he would just have to try to keep things interesting for his captive. He took the pail over to a table and set it down placing a wooden cap on it. It would need to rest for several hours so that he could skim the cream off.

"I know it's done with cows and goats," Raoul answered Keme stifling a chuckle as he turned to see the brave standing at the foot of stairs looking around in surprise. "This is root cellar. Food doesn't go bad as quickly down here because it's cool." From a shelf, near the table he'd placed the fresh milk on, he picked up a clay pitcher and set it near a similar pail.

Keme walked around slowly looking at everything. There were baskets set on platforms on the walls, leaning just slightly so that you could see into them. There were large wooden and metal containers with lids and other things sitting on the platforms covered with cloth so that he couldn't see them. Most of the baskets were empty, but there were a few that still held things like gourds, potatoes and there were some vegetables that became ripe in the summer. He heard what sounded like water being poured and looked to see his captor pouring the white fluid he'd called 'milk' into the clay pitcher on the table. Then as he continued to watch the man poured what was left into a much larger container. The smell from it was sour and the young brave wrinkled his nose in disgust.

The trapper turned to see the look on Keme's face and laughed. "I'll show you why I keep something so foul smelling." He grasped the pitcher with one hand then walked over to where the brave was standing and pulled a cloth wrapped item from a shelf. "Come on, let's get out of here and get some food."

The smaller man followed behind the Frenchman as he ascended the stairs again into the cabin. Uncertain what to do next he went back to the place that had been made for him settling down on the furs. He watched as his captor ladled stew into a bowl and felt the heat of shame color his face as his stomach grumbled loudly. In his village the slaves ate after the tribe, but they were never starved. He wondered if that would hold true here. The question was answered when the big man set the bowl across from where he had been sitting all day and motioned for Keme to join him.

The shaman stood up and moved over to the table. He was used to sitting on the ground with his food, but he'd watched Raoul long enough to know that he was meant to sit in the raised seat. As he sat down the other man filled another bowl and then sat down at the table also. Keme watched the Frenchman carefully, he'd noted earlier that the big man had used something to eat with, not his fingers as the brave was used to. After a minute he picked up the wooden stick with a bowl on the end and copied his captor. It was awkward at first, but he gradually got used to it.

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End Chapter Three