THE MAGICIANS AWAKE
The seasons passed, with melting snow, waning summers and scattering
seeds. Many moons were born, each to grow and dwindle, and leave behind
it in the blackness the germ of another moon. The herds of caribou
moved southward and northward again, hunted by men and wolves, yet ever
multiplying. The tribes grew; warriors did deeds of valour; death and
pride and love moved among the lodges. Children were born; old people
and strong hunters and little children set their feet on the Longest
Trail. The north loosed its fields of ice in spring-time, freighted
with cold and fogs and millions of seals; and so it had been since the
beginning of things.
Run-all-day’s village grew like the herds, and like the forests in the
sheltered valleys, until it became a great clan. Run-all-day had lost
nothing of his authority with the loss of the magic feathers, for his
people loved him. He was the head-chief of the clan, and under him
were four lesser chiefs, among whom was Jumping Wolf, the young warrior
from the south. And Jumping Wolf had a lodge of his own, and Singing
Bird was his wife.
Wise-as-a-she-wolf kept close to his magic house, for it seemed that
his whole heart was with the littlest warrior. He named the child
Featherfoot, for the magic feathers were to be his, and his alone, as
soon as they were won back from Crack Bone, the giant. But the magician
seemed to be in no haste to make that long journey again. There would
be plenty of time for it later; and now he had so many things to teach
the child. Little Featherfoot learned readily, for he grew, both in
brain and body, at twice the rate of an ordinary child. And so, when he
was in his sixth summer, he was as large as a boy of twelve summers,
and knew magic that was beyond the understanding of any save the great
magicians. He could make fire in a moment, even as Wise-as-a-she-wolf
had done to burn the lodge of Crack Bone. His bow would send an arrow
the distance of six flights of an ordinary arrow, and no weapon,
unless it were tipped with magic, could break or pierce his shield of
thin leather. He could take upon himself the semblance of a wolf, a
caribou, or a bear, and at such times his speed was as the speed of
the former animals and his strength as that of the latter. Also, he
could make light objects heavy, and heavy objects as light as birch
bark.
While Bright Robe hid in desolate places, harmless but expectant, and
the good magician sat in his lodge, and Run-all-day’s people prospered
and grew, men were blowing on red coals in almost every camp and
village in the island. And the coals they blew upon were the memories
of old battles, and they were red with the fires of old hatreds. The
fires leaped up and touched their flames to the hearts of the warriors.
The tribes had been too long at peace with one another. In the south,
and the east, and the west, they made their war-arrows; and the lonely
hunters and fishers of the north heard of it and returned to their
villages, with the lust of fighting in their hearts. And Run-all-day
felt the stirring of the trouble in the air, and armed his men, and
sent swift and cunning messengers to spy upon the other clans.
“I was once a peaceful hunter and fisher,” said he, to Red Willow, “but
now I am the chief of a people. If the men of other villages come
against me, then must I do battle with them, to the best of my ability.
It is stupid to fight without cause; but it is better to fight, and
give back blows for every one received, than to crouch in one’s lodge
and die like a frightened hare.”
Being but a man, after all, he prayed in his heart that his master,
the good magician, would not pacify the tribes until he had proved his
little army. There was fighting blood in him; and a flame of that red
coal that had lain ash-hidden for so long a time, had got into his
honest heart.
Wise-as-a-she-wolf told Featherfoot the story of the red feathers; and
about two months before the time that Bright Robe would return to his
old form and power, he set out for the land of the giants, armed with
magic weapons, to bring Crack Bone to terms. But Crack Bone was dead
and Stone Hand ruled in his place. When the magician asked word of the
feathers, the true story of the fight and of their sudden disappearance
was told to him, first by Stone Hand and afterward by several others of
the giants. Wise-as-a-she-wolf was disturbed at the news, and blamed
himself for not having taken the feathers from Crack Bone long ago.
Also, he knew nothing of the whereabouts of Bright Robe, and this,
too, disturbed the peace of his mind. He set to work immediately to
find the red feathers. He hunted far and wide, questioning the people
of many tribes. He went north, to the farthest village, and southward
to the great wooded countries, where are thousands of red-skinned
people, and fields of corn, and trees bearing fruits. But nowhere did
he hear any word of the red feathers. For the space of two moons he
sought the lost treasures; but at last he turned homeward, and ran
upon the air, with all the speed of the moccasins of the wind, for a
day and a night and a day. When he came to the western coast of his
own country, he saw below him, lying black and lifeless, the ruins of
a village. Then he knew that the tribes were at war again; and again
he blamed himself for having neglected his duties toward his people.
He descended to the ground and saw the bodies of men, with wounds upon
them, and broken weapons.
Bright Robe, in the meantime, was tasting the joy of his old ways
again. The moment he had returned to his old shape, he had increased
his man-strength an hundred times and splintered the pine-tree. Then
he had placed the feathers in his moccasins and crossed the Narrow
Sea. Again he was the master of his magic; and though he had lost the
silver robe that had turned him invisible at will, the newly acquired
feathers more than made up for the loss. But he had learned discretion
during his five summers spent in the shape of an owl, and so was
content to go quietly among the islanders for a little while, making no
demonstrations of his power. He even concealed his identity and avoided
the lodges of people who knew him. He made himself agreeable by many
fires, talked modestly, and listened attentively to the words of old
men and warriors. And so he learned that his enemy, Wise-as-a-she-wolf,
had been very quiet of late, and that all the clans were uneasy with
war-lust. He knew that the power of Wise-as-a-she-wolf would suffer
if the people fought, for those who suffered would feel that he had
withdrawn his protection from them, and those who conquered would
know that they had done so without any help from him. Therefore he
was anxious to see the islanders battling among themselves, and after
considering the matter, and investigating the relative strengths of the
larger clans and their leaders, he disclosed himself to the chief of
the people of a great district in the south. This chief was a veritable
king, with four villages and hundreds of miles of hunting country
under his rule. His name was Cold Wind, and his heart was harder than
the ice-fields of the north. So to him Bright Robe made himself known,
and offered to give him assistance in the battle and at the council
fire.
Cold Wind dared not refuse Bright Robe’s offer; but he was not pleased
at having a greater person than himself on the scene. The warriors were
called together, armed for battle, and the campaign was begun with the
destruction of that village in which lived the old woman called Hot
Tongue, and those great warriors, Yellow Fox, Seven Knives, Strong
Hunter, and Mighty Hand. Bright Robe had no pleasant memories of that
village; so the people were slain, and the lodges robbed of their
treasures of fur and food and then burned to the ground. The victorious
fighting-parties travelled westward then and destroyed many little
villages. But the clans rose on every side to stem the course of Cold
Wind’s people; so Bright Robe retired from the scene of action, knowing
that the mischief was well begun.
Bright Robe did not want to attract Wise-as-a-she-wolf’s attention
again, for he knew that he was neither strong nor cunning enough to
withstand that great magician. So he left Cold Wind and the warriors,
and crossed the island, to continue quietly in his evil ways. And at
every village and every camp he questioned the people concerning his
enemy’s whereabouts and affairs. The people had heard nothing of the
great magician for several seasons, so Bright Robe learned nothing by
his questionings. He began to believe and hope that Wise-as-a-she-wolf
had left the country.
Wise-as-a-she-wolf returned to his lodge and told Featherfoot of his
journey, and of its fruitlessness. Of this matter, and of the signs of
warfare which he had beheld in the west, he spoke at length. The child
was eager to go in search of the feathers, but of that the magician
would not hear.
“May I help my people in the fighting?” he asked. “With my magic, I am
already stronger than any warrior, and with my shield I can turn aside
the heaviest and swiftest arrow. I have no fear, master, and yet I know
the value of caution. With the knowledge that you have taught me, even
now I would be a help to my people.”
“Nay,” cried the good magician, sorely troubled. “Nay, you are still
but a child at heart, for all your size and strength. Your hand would
stay in the stroke, for very pity, even when your life was at risk.
Keep the protection of this lodge, and I am your friend. Your people
shall be under my special protection until such time as I can show the
clans the foolishness of this strife among themselves.”
It was for love of this child that Wise-as-a-she-wolf had postponed the
contest with the giant, and by that had lost the magic feathers; and
now, for the father-love in his heart, he wanted to keep the child in
the safety of the lodge, where the very powers that he had given him
were of no use to mankind.