Tale of Wren

The predawn mist wraps around Wren while she walks along the shoreline, adjusting her basket of fresh cut willow bark. With a stiffness belying her age, she moves towards the grassy slopes above the water. The pain was worsening, peaking to a point of paralyses. She pauses, waiting for her muscles to relax, hoping the pain will pass. Glancing towards camp, her pulse quickens when she notices a soft glowing light already challenging the charcoal sky. Breathing deep, Wren continues towards the woods to hide the contents of her pack before she is discovered with it. Suddenly another wave of agony consumes her and she doubles over. If it weren’t for that, perhaps she would have noticed the eyes upon her.

Hootai is startled awake by a scream piercing the morning calm, followed by another. His ancient muscles forgo the usual protest when he rolls out of his bedding and is through the tent flap before his bones even know he is moving. Bewilderment clogs an already foggy head while his mind tries to locate the source of the inhuman noise. Praying it isn't another raid on his village. Shivering in the morning chill, he watches his tribe file into the center of the camp.

Warriors stand with weapons readied.

As the Shaman of his tribe, he is supposed to be the wise one who knows and sees all. Relief washes through him when he realizes there is no raid, but the visceral cry still haunts him. Deep down he fears what it may be. People whisper in groups, their voices expressing confusion.

A distant shout breaks the silence. “Over here, hurry.”

In mass they run towards the shore where the call came and gather around three young males staring into the long grass that grows between the lake and the edge of the woods.

When Hootai makes it to the scene he is horrified.

The crowd gives way when he approaches, taking in the terrible sight. A young female lay twisted in an unnatural position. Her tan dress ripped, slick with dark red stains, raised high exposing her soft belly. A trickle of crimson flows down her thigh and onto the grass. The dress is the only identification of who she is, because her once elegant face is torn beyond recognition. Lying in the grass is the beautiful child, Wren. Her gathering pouch and basket strewn to the side. Fresh white willow strips lay next to her.

An ear-piercing wail tears through the surreal scene Hootai, rushes to the elderly woman. Placing a caring hand on her frail shoulders he whispers. "I am sorry for your loss White Fox.”

Hootai knows time is vital in discovering the truth and instantly becomes the man his people expect. “I need to ask. Did you know Wren was out?”

White fox moans and nods.

Inclining his head, he continues. ”Do you know why?”

She whispers. “Yes.” Then collapses.

Hootai motions a woman to tend White Fox, then returns to observe the scene. Slowly zig zagging, eyes capturing everything, upset the area has been trampled. Approaching the prostrate form, he notices things that tell a story. Exposed bone from lacerations of the scalp. Arms stretched out, fingers twisted into claws, welts upon her arms. His eyes grow wide when he realizes the left foot has been severed and nowhere to be seen.

Wren’s parents perished from the sickness that raged through their encampment last fall. Her uncle, Mahikan, refused to care for the girl, therefore her grandmother became the primary caregiver. At nearly fifty summers White Fox was ancient and her mind wandered. Everyone knew Wren did the work and would continue to do so until she became a woman and married. Her partner would choose whether to accept White Fox as his responsibility or not.

Hootai approaches the three adolescent males who discovered her. "Who found Wren?"

Two young men stepped forward, heads down, worried expressions upon their face. Maskwa, a stocky young man whose shoulders were as wide as he was tall replies. “Ash arrived first. I came soon after."

Hootai looks them over. "Why were you here?"

Ash spoke up. “We were on duty guarding the camp.” The lanky young man glares, thrusting his thin chest out.

Chief Yotin nods in agreement.

Facing the last boy, at fourteen summers Kihew is younger by two years. Hootai notices distress in the handsome youths eyes. He also notices blood on his clothing and damp footwear.

A cool breeze blows stirring Wren’s clothing, giving the illusion of movement to the life-less body. Spirits only linger if there is foul play. People motion signs to ward off evil.

Chief Yotin yells over the rising murmur. “Calm yourselves, this was the act of wolves. Nothing more.”

Hootai shakes his head. “We will inspect if wolves are responsible or if we have a murderer in our midst.”

Before people protest he instructs the women to take Wren to his tent, but not to clean her body yet. Then orders. “March these three into the chieftain’s tent, take their weapons and do not let them leave. Bring them to my tent upon my request.”

An hour later Hootai sits across his firepit staring at the broad-shouldered youth. Taking note of his dishevel appearance and matted hair, twigs and leaves trapped in his unruly dark curls. “Your clothing is torn and you are covered in scratches.”

“Yes, wise one, I ran as fast as I could when I heard the scream. I was on the opposite side of the berry bush and charged through it.” Beads of sweat drip off Maskwa’s face.

“What did you see when you arrived?”

He takes a moment to reply, as if searching for an answer. “Nothing at first, then I saw Ash kneeling beside Wrens body.”

“You knew it was Wren?”

“What? I…” He says no more, but glances towards the tiny form laying in the corner of the tent, frantically rubbing his trembling hands.

Hootai asks. “Did you desire wren for yourself?

Maskwa goes still, then begins tugging on his ear while giving a slight nod. “She was kind to me.” Glancing again at the still body laying behind Hootai.

“Anything else?”

Shaking his head Maskwa pleads. “May I go?”

The large boy is near the exit when he hears Hootai say. “Are you positive there is nothing you wish share?”

Hootai smiles when Maskwa’s shoulders drops and says. “There is one thing.”

***

Facing the lanky boy, Hootai points to a stone axe lying next to him. “There is blood and hair on your axe.”

Ash’s long greasy hair sways as he bobs his head. “A badger was in the trap, I clubbed it.” His eyes roam but never glances in Wrens direction.

“You were the first to arrive?”

“Yes.”

“You saw nothing?”

Crossing his arms, Ash replies. “Nothing.”

“I understand you recently had an argument with Wren.”

Ash looks down and becomes silent.

“What was it about?”

In answer, Ash shrugs his shoulders.

“You may go.”

Before Ash leaves he hears a deep voice say. “Unless you forgot to mention something.”

In the dim light Ash whispers. “There is something…”

***

“Why am I here?”

“It is simple Mahikan. You are Wrens Uncle.”

“Her mother was my sister, which is all. I take no responsibility for her.”

“Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“That you took no interest in caring of her, but I discovered you were secretly searching to find her a husband. ”

“It is my duty as the family elder to find a suitor.”

“How touching. A well-paid duty from what I hear. Wren was exceptionally desired. I am curious what you were offered.”

“Less than you think.”

Hootai adjusts his robe before looking at Mahikan. “What you tell me and what I know seem to conflict. I heard Wren said she will never agree to any suitor you choose.”

“The point is mute now. Besides, wolves killed her, not me.”

“Perhaps. Yet you had motive.”

Mahikan’s large frame fills the space across from him. Shadows from the tiny fire dance upon his puckered face. Once a great warrior, he lost respect due to his many gambling debts. In one motion he is up and exiting but abruptly turns. Tightening his lips he says. “You want to know who had a motive?”

****

In a soft tone Hootai says. “Kihew, it was your voice we heard call out, correct?”

The young man nods.

“Strange that the other two did not call first.”

“I cannot speak for them, holy one.”

“There is blood on your clothing and your footwear was wet.”

With furtive glances between his feet and the fire, Kihew stutters “It’s … from the rabbit.”

“What is from the rabbit?”

“Blood. My feet were wet because I was cleaning it down by the water.”

“Where the willows grow?” Mumbles Hootai. “Strange time to go hunting, is it not”

Running fingers through his soft dark locks, Kihew begins to shake. “The meat is for my family.”

Hootai reaches for the stripped and scrubbed pelt. He feels granules of sand, but the meat was no where to be seen.

“Did you see Wren by the water” Staring at the frightened youth.

“No.”

He starts to ask another question when he is captivated by the youth staring at wren.

“Can I go to her?”

“No. That would not be prudent. I understand you two were close?”

“Yes.” Kihew whispers.

“How Close?”

Kihew stays silent.

“Is there anything you wish to share with me?”

Kihew hesitates, about to say something then shakes his head. “No.”

Immediately after Kihew is gone, Yotin and two elders enter the tent.

“Any luck?” Asks Yotin.

“Yes and no. I am missing something.”

Hootai smiles when his wife Liela enters. “I brought you tea husband.”

“Be quick woman.” One of the elders snaps.

While Liela pours the steaming beverage, her dark eyes lock onto Hootai’s, then roams down to her left wrist. Hootai’s eyes grow wide, sucking in a sharp breath. Her wrist is bare, exposing the hideous tattoo which all slaves are branded with. A practice Hootai abhors. It is the reason he gave her the beautifully beaded leather wrist band as a wedding gift. He wonders why she removed it.

Hootai pauses in thought, then gives a wink to his wife.

Handing Chief Yotin his sacred belt he says. “I need four of your most trusted warriors to run an errand. This belt will assure safe passage.”

Hootai had the women prepare Wrens body for the afterlife, and wrapped in a soft deer hide and placed upon a towering pile of wood. Soon her spirit will be free to fly with her ancestors. Before this can take place an answer regarding her death is required.

Dusks red hue blankets the horizon as Hootai motions the suspects to stand before him. “After much contemplation, I believe I discovered the truth.”

Pointing to the tall one. "Ash, you insist your axe was bloodied from dispatching a badger.”

“Yes.”

“I went to the area and found no badger.”

“Not true. Maybe it…” Hootai waved him silent.

“Ash, you are not committed to a woman. I was informed you were waiting for Wren to become of age, is this true?”

"As you said, she is not of age."

Pressing further. “I was also informed she denied your advances. Did this make you feel.... angry?”

Ash’s only reply is to spit in the dirt.

Standing in front of Maskwa. “You claim you received your cuts while running through the berry bushes.”

“Elder I swear it’s true. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I took that route, but the screams were terrifying.”

Nodding to the young man Hootai continues. “Wren had broken fingernails, conducive with fighting off her attacker. I asked myself, did you run through the bushes going to her or fleeing….?"

Instinctively the young man touch’s a cut on his cheek.

Turning to the last he states. “Kihew, you say the blood and dampness on your footwear was from cleaning rabbits for your family?"

Kihew glances towards his parents, their eyes refuse to meet his.

"You failed to mention that Wren woke you last night. Do you think your parents did not notice? Why did you not tell them where you were going?”

Kihew stammers. “I ...I …she needed a rabbit fur.”

“Why?” The Shaman spoke just above a whisper. People lean in to hear. “Kihew, you and Wren were friends. You knew that Ash desired her. Were you jealous?”

The young man shakes his head, tears dampening his cheek.

“Furthermore, Wren’s basket proves she was by the water, if you were there cleaning the rabbit how did you not see her? I think you did."

"No..."

"Also, I believe Wren was dead before we heard the screams. They came from you, then you fled. Correct?"

Hootai feels the entire tribes eyes upon him. Bets were being placed, speculating who was guilty.

Raising his arms, an instant hush falls. “Ash, there was no badger in the trap. However, there were signs of it once being there, as well as Coyote tracks.”

A couple of men spat on the ground, clearly, they lost a bet.

“Maskwa, you are brave and strong. However, you are not the brightest star in the night sky. Yet, you do not lie. I went to the bushes and found strips of clothing that match your shirt caught in the thorns. The angle of the broken branches tells us you were running towards Wren.”

A gasp goes up in the crowd, this meant there was only one left. Angry rumblings rise into shouts.

Until Hootai yells. “Silence.”

Only the crackling fire is heard as Hootai approaches the frightened boy. “Kihew, you knew her secret, didn’t you?”

Hootai walks towards Wren’s grandmother. With kindness, he holds her wrinkled hands. “White Fox, You knew she was missing before we discovered her body.”

The ancient lines on her face fills with tears as she nods. “It’s ok.” He whispers. “I know the burden you both carried, this is not your fault, but you should have told us.”

Releasing White Fox, he walks to the pyre. “Wren woke in the middle of the night feeling ill. It was a relatively new sensation, yet one she had felt before. Wren realized she required things she did not have on hand. So, in her need, she woke someone she trusted… Kihew.”

All eyes focus on Kihew, the youth remained quiet.

“Wren waited for Kihew to bring the much-needed rabbit pelt. Unfortunately, she was being stalked.”

A voice calls out, “Who is guilty?”

Hootai yells. “We are all guilty.”

The silence became heavy. Hootai continues. “By turning a blind eye, we failed to see the obvious.”

He continues the story. “Wren went to retrieve willow bark to make a tea for the pain, and to the woods to gather fresh moss and bury the old.”

Silent weeping moves through the women as guilt consume their spirits. Females use moss and rabbit fur when it was their time of the moon.

Most men remain confused.

“Wren became a woman moons ago. She worried her grandmother would be alone and vulnerable. Therefore they, and Kihew kept the secret to themselves. Or so they thought.”

He let that sink in. “This case was baffling. We were to believe wolves killed Wren. Yet there were too many inconsistencies. Why was the left foot chewed so thoroughly while the belly, the softest and most desirable part left untouched? I found no signs of wolf prints, fur, or scat. Therefore, if not wolves… who killed Wren, and what was the motive?”

Grunts of agreement confirmed Hootai was correct. “It was my wife who showed me the clue I missed. A tattoo, or to be precise a missing tattoo."

A voice cries out. “Who killed Wren.”

Just then a group of warriors march into the fire light. Four warriors from Hootais tribe and four from the Okemasis. A smaller form wrapped in a Okemasis blanket between them.

Hootai motions the warriors to approach.

Turning to Wrens uncle Hootai states. “You never showed an interest in your niece until you discovered she had become a woman. Mahikan, how many people do you owe a debt?”

With that statement a chorus of grumbles roll through the dark.

Mahikan scoffs. “By your logic old man Wren was worth more to me alive. Why would I kill her?”

Hootai nods in agreement. “You wouldn’t.”

Mahikan’s mouth twists in victory .

Hootai continues. “We mark our slaves with a tattoo on the left wrist, the Okemasis place theirs on the left ankle. Wrens face was mutilated and her left foot missing.”

Reaching between the warriors he grips the blanket and in one swift motion whips it away. The crowd gasps. Mahikan’s eyes grow wide. In front of them is Wren.

“You sold her instead. The young girl we found was an Okemasis slave, dressed in Wrens clothing. You planned this murder so you could sell Wren without us knowing. How much did you receive? Enough to pay your debts? Was murdering a child worth it?”

The crowds murmurs become a roar.

“Yesterday, I sent warriors to the Okemasis, where they found Wren. Their leaders were not pleased to have been deceived in the sale nor were they pleased a member of their tribe assisted you in murdering a child. Slave or not.”

Two Okemasis warriors grab Mahikan and bind his hands. His lips tremble but no words come out.

“Mahikan, for your crime, we give you to the Okemasis. They will administer the punishment as they see fit.”

Mahikan screams. His pleas echoing in the dark until the thick forest swallows them up.

Taking Wrens hand, Liela stands beside Hootai who whispers to the young woman. ”Would you and your grandmother wish to live with us?”

As if in answer a Lone wolf howls in the distance.