Post by Athena Fire-in-Snow on May 8, 2010 1:43:57 GMT -8
It had been a long journey, though not so far as last year’s. Boffin Bay was all well and good, but it was a good sight too cold for her tastes, even if the sight of beluga whales and narwhals starting their migration into the Northwest Passage had been a treat. Well, what did you expect from the Ice Stalkers? She was so much one of them in heart, she sometimes forgot that the icy fields the polar bears called home would turn her own paws to frostbitten lumps in a few hours.
This year the Grandfather calling the Regalia was Chases-the-Ghost-Wind, whose final chosen Auspice was Arcas. He had chosen to call the Ice Stalkers to gather by North Kangalaksiorvik Lake, about sixty miles inland from the Seven Islands bay in the Torngat Mountains National Park of Canada.
Thanks to Ravenna, the trip did not take several months; instead, she boarded a plane from Seattle to New York, and from there to Montreal. There was a brief scare on her layover in New York, when a panicked call from Holly nearly sent her winging off to Denver, but in the end she kept her scheduled flight. And how she loved to fly! Somehow, someday, she’d find a way to learn Spirit of the Bird, or find some other way to fly, on her own, like Ravenna. She loved looking down on the earth, seeing Gaia spread out beneath her, the whole rolling, welcoming bosom of her, a beloved mother worn by her trials, scarred by her life, but beautiful in her children’s eyes.
From Montreal, Maya took an Air Inuit flight to Kangiqsualujjuaq. The Torngat Mountains National Park channeled all of its visitors through two points, Nain (in Labrador) and Kangiqsualujjuaq (in Nunavik, Québec); they had been instructed by the Grandfather to come in through the latter, as there was a Kinfolk on staff there who would make sure that there were no problems with a dozen or so “hikers” headed in with no appreciable camping gear.
The Kinfolk in questions – a charming Inuit man who called himself Sheldon, delighted in asking the standard questions required for all entrants to the park, including group member information, including name, address and phone number; the same information for an emergency contact; a list of major identifiable equipment like tents (number, colour, etc.); the type of communication equipment; the type of intended activities; a detailed itinerary including start and end locations and intended routes; the date she was planning on leaving the park; and, of course, most critically, a description of intended polar bear deterrents.
Maya answered them all with good humor, especially the last, and then boarded the provided charter plane for the Seven Islands bay. The weather was only slightly above freezing, but the skies were clear and blue. She followed the south branch of the Kangalaksiorvik Fjord to the river, and then inland, upstream, to the lake. The grand cliffs of the Fjord soared to each side of her, steep grey barren stone and shining ice a stunning contrast to the startling blue of the sky and the sweeping green of the river valley. As she traveled inland, the river gorge opened into a plain with the river winding through in a dozen little branches, dividing and connecting again with delightful unpredictability. New alpine grasses and wildflowers were in bloom everywhere, and small low bushes that would bear berries in the summer were only just now putting on new leaf.
She was only halfway there when another Ice Stalker caught up to her – a proper polar bear with a proper polar bear’s ground-eating stride. But she slowed down to keep pace with Maya’s short steps, and Maya and her new friend, Miriram Skye, walked the rest of the way inland and north across rolling hills to the lake, chatting all the way.
Fests and Pow Wows might be fun, and the Council of Autumn the most significant for the Gurahl as a whole, but Regalia were the heart of the tribe. Here the Ice Stalkers and hosts of their Kin came together, to speak of the issues that concerned their people, their bear-kin, their homelands. Here all the old rituals were kept, from the formal greetings and leave-takings, to the grand Dance of Creation, with dozens of huge white forms, garbed in richly dyed leathers, white and red and green and blue and black, covered in beads and feathers and fur and carved bone, every bit of it rich with symbolism as old as the Tribe itself, dancing the old and measured story of Gaia and the birth of the world.
Maya found this, her seventh Regalia, to be no less exciting than her first, if for different reasons. There were friends to catch up with, and the new kovi to meet, contacts to renew, and handsome kinfolk to flirt with. And there was food, lots and lots and lots of food. Maya dressed in the black leather of the Uzmati, adorned with gold beads and black feathers to show her ties to Raven, bracelets and necklaces of carved red beads in the forms of all the totem animals, for her special ties to the Spirit Realm. Her staff was white, as her fur was white; gold bells sang the laughter of her name, and the eagle and hawk and owl feathers bore testament to the Honor, Wisdom and Succor she’d been recognized for.
The first day of the Regalia was spent in rituals and traditions of personal natures, both small and large. Kovi recognized at the previous Council of Autumn were recognized by their Tribe, and guided through the Regalia rites for the first time. In the morning, the gregarious Ice Stalkers grouped together in shifting clusters, looking at each other’s new artwork and garb, asking questions and trading techniques and teaching – or attending – impromptu classes. Maya found herself leading one on dyeing leather using natural minerals, and enjoying herself immensely. After lunch, first-year artworks made by the new kovi were passed around and critiqued. There was one youngster, Egan Snowblind, whose bone carvings had particular promise; though the technique was still raw, the power of the figures seemed to crawl out from within. Maya made a mental note to keep an eye on him in the coming years.
That evening, the first night of Council was called to order. This first Council was convened to hear stories of personal deeds, to recognize those who merited a greater Rank. Maya listened, enthralled, as each of the Gurahl present stood up to speak or dance the story of their deeds, their trials, their victories. Oil spills contained, polar bear cubs and their frightened mothers rescued from weak and melting ice, hunters driven off, students taught and exploitations thwarted. Stories, cute guys, food...she was in Maya-Heaven.
At last, her turn came, and her story became half a dance as she rocked and moved, jumped and swirled, telling the story of all that she had done since she had gone to answer the Garou’s call for aid. She spoke of the friends she had made amongst the Garou; the Shifters – Garou, Bastet and Corax – that she had healed; the battle-aftermaths that she had cleansed, people and land both; the Rites that she had taught; the Talens that she had made to support the people; the advice that she had given, great and small, in proper chiminage and respect for the spirits, in matters of the heart, in helping foster hope in those who had lost it; the vast and humbling experience of feeling a Caern given birth under her feet; and finally, the recognition she had earned from the Elder Garou for her service and support. At the end, the applause had been riotous, and Grandfather Chases-the-Ghost-Wind had clapped her on the arm and said simply, “Well done, Mother Maya.”
After the stories, after the praise for one and all, came the celebration. Several eager Gurahl performed the Rite of True Mating, hoping to find their optimal mate here at the gathering, while others started the songs and the dancing. To Maya, it was the last that was the most important, for here, amongst the other Ice Stalkers, it was permitted to dance, to be seen dancing. And Maya reveled in it, her personal heaven now complete. She danced and ate and flirted with as many cute men as she could manage, and collapsed shortly before dawn into a small and exhausted heap next to the bonfire.
The second morning – well, early afternoon anyway – Maya woke well after things had gotten rolling again. As she chatted with Miriam, she tied on new feathers – four each of Hawk, Eagle and Owl – to her staff, symbols of the new renown that she had earned. On Miriam’s recommendation, Maya went to speak with Miriam’s old Buri-Jaan, an old and weathered Homid Rishi named Brian Breaks-Ice. She didn’t even get halfway through her request; upon realizing that she had attained Talchwi and had not yet learned the Rite of True Mating, he made scandalized noises and insisted on teaching her immediately. The two of them made arrangements to take the long way back to Kangiqsualujjuaq together after the Regalia, so as to have time to teach the Rite.
At sundown, the second night of Council began. Matters affecting the Ice Stalkers as a whole were broached – the melting ice floes and the effect on the polar bears, the continued hunting of seals by non-Native peoples, the illegal dumping of all manner of things in arctic waters. Problems were presented, possible solutions debated and considered. Maya listened keenly through all of it, though her territory was far south of the areas being discussed, and her own bear-kin had no need of ice floes or seal meat. She gave her advice when asked directly, but for the most part she simply listened respectfully. During one particularly long-winded bit of tribal politics, she did nip back over to the cooking fires, and helped some of the kinfolk and other less politically-minded Gurahl with seasoning the grilling salmon and seal steaks being made ready for the next break. Of course, the fact that doing this properly required a little bit of taste-testing had no bearing whatsoever on her decision to assist, Maya assured herself.
The Council wound on into the wee hours, until Grandfather Chases-the-Ghost-Wind to call the Council to a close, stating that since no new points had been made in a while, it was probably time to sleep on it all.
Maya was up early on the third day, joining in on a stone-carving lesson being taught by Miriam. She found the young Kojubat’s insights to be helpful, and tucked away a few clever new techniques into her mental file. A cooking lesson for Maya was traded for a basic primer on metalworking and armor; a pair of new Uzmati had been shown “The Golden Compass” and now desperately wanted to make their own sets of panzerbjorn armor. The idea made Maya laugh, so she gave them enough to get started and promised them more lessons if they made it down to Bothell.
The final evening of Council was short, as those present summed up what they thought of the prior evening, and what actions they planned to take as a result. The social nature of her tribe was never clearer than at this point in the Council, Maya thought. For instead of individuals, small family units stood forth, Gurahl who knew each other, who worked together; it was these families who decided together what they would do, and how. Maya realized that she’d formed her own group without noticing – without other Ice Stalkers to bond to, she’d bonded to Ravenna and Zephyrus, to Niall and Holly and Hannibal.
She smiled for a moment when she thought of Whistler and his decision to give her a one-bedroom house. He understood Gurahl well enough, she thought, but not quite well enough to have figured out that the Ice Stalkers were the exceptions to all the rules! Thank goodness that she had her Glade...
At her turn, Maya stood, and simply said “I’m going back to the Sept of the Forgotten Winter, and my Glade.” Heads nodded, and the others went on. It had been expected, after all; she had been given the unenviable duty of representing the Gurahl in that place, and though she could have called her job complete after the Building of the Caern, she had been successful enough to warrant the continuation of the situation. If she’d decided to leave, there might have been arguments, discussions of lost opportunities, but that was unnecessary. Maya wanted to go home.
After the close of Council, there was a brief break, as everyone scattered to get dressed, put on their formal garb and jewelry and face-paint. Maya and Miriam helped each other apply the paint – an abstract pattern of waves in shimmering blues for Miriam, and raven-black feathers framing her face for Maya. And at midnight, the Dance of Creation began. Slow and stately, full of a slow and slumberous passion, it grew as the new world grew, in energy and vitality and hope, all the riches of Creation given breath. Maya lost herself in the ancient forms, the traditional songs, the spectacle and the glory, as the final joyous roars echoing off the distant mountains seemed to call the sun itself up over the horizon.
Later, much later, after everyone had slept well, the packing-out began. Everything that had been brought in was taken out, from the shards of stone and bone left over from carving lessons, to the ashes from the cookfires. The ground was swept clean of footprints and pawprints, and by the time Maya was walking out with Miriam and Brian, it was hard to tell that anything at all had passed here. The caretakers of this land knew their work, to be sure.
It took the three of them a week to walk out to Kangiqsualujjuaq, a week of learning and teaching and laughter. Talking with Miriam only made Maya more certain that she needed to undergo the Rite of the Changing Moon soon. Her life was calling her onward, away from Mangi the Death Bear and into Ursa Major’s motherly embrace. There were a few loose ends she needed to wrap up, some final lessons to learn. But soon, very soon, before midsummer, it would be time.
The three of them traveled as far as Montreal together, before parting ways. From Montreal to New York, from New York to Seattle to Bothell to home, flying over the vast expanse of the wonderful, marvelous, imperiled earth, Maya said goodbye to her seventh Regalia, and looked into the future.
This year the Grandfather calling the Regalia was Chases-the-Ghost-Wind, whose final chosen Auspice was Arcas. He had chosen to call the Ice Stalkers to gather by North Kangalaksiorvik Lake, about sixty miles inland from the Seven Islands bay in the Torngat Mountains National Park of Canada.
Thanks to Ravenna, the trip did not take several months; instead, she boarded a plane from Seattle to New York, and from there to Montreal. There was a brief scare on her layover in New York, when a panicked call from Holly nearly sent her winging off to Denver, but in the end she kept her scheduled flight. And how she loved to fly! Somehow, someday, she’d find a way to learn Spirit of the Bird, or find some other way to fly, on her own, like Ravenna. She loved looking down on the earth, seeing Gaia spread out beneath her, the whole rolling, welcoming bosom of her, a beloved mother worn by her trials, scarred by her life, but beautiful in her children’s eyes.
From Montreal, Maya took an Air Inuit flight to Kangiqsualujjuaq. The Torngat Mountains National Park channeled all of its visitors through two points, Nain (in Labrador) and Kangiqsualujjuaq (in Nunavik, Québec); they had been instructed by the Grandfather to come in through the latter, as there was a Kinfolk on staff there who would make sure that there were no problems with a dozen or so “hikers” headed in with no appreciable camping gear.
The Kinfolk in questions – a charming Inuit man who called himself Sheldon, delighted in asking the standard questions required for all entrants to the park, including group member information, including name, address and phone number; the same information for an emergency contact; a list of major identifiable equipment like tents (number, colour, etc.); the type of communication equipment; the type of intended activities; a detailed itinerary including start and end locations and intended routes; the date she was planning on leaving the park; and, of course, most critically, a description of intended polar bear deterrents.
Maya answered them all with good humor, especially the last, and then boarded the provided charter plane for the Seven Islands bay. The weather was only slightly above freezing, but the skies were clear and blue. She followed the south branch of the Kangalaksiorvik Fjord to the river, and then inland, upstream, to the lake. The grand cliffs of the Fjord soared to each side of her, steep grey barren stone and shining ice a stunning contrast to the startling blue of the sky and the sweeping green of the river valley. As she traveled inland, the river gorge opened into a plain with the river winding through in a dozen little branches, dividing and connecting again with delightful unpredictability. New alpine grasses and wildflowers were in bloom everywhere, and small low bushes that would bear berries in the summer were only just now putting on new leaf.
She was only halfway there when another Ice Stalker caught up to her – a proper polar bear with a proper polar bear’s ground-eating stride. But she slowed down to keep pace with Maya’s short steps, and Maya and her new friend, Miriram Skye, walked the rest of the way inland and north across rolling hills to the lake, chatting all the way.
Fests and Pow Wows might be fun, and the Council of Autumn the most significant for the Gurahl as a whole, but Regalia were the heart of the tribe. Here the Ice Stalkers and hosts of their Kin came together, to speak of the issues that concerned their people, their bear-kin, their homelands. Here all the old rituals were kept, from the formal greetings and leave-takings, to the grand Dance of Creation, with dozens of huge white forms, garbed in richly dyed leathers, white and red and green and blue and black, covered in beads and feathers and fur and carved bone, every bit of it rich with symbolism as old as the Tribe itself, dancing the old and measured story of Gaia and the birth of the world.
Maya found this, her seventh Regalia, to be no less exciting than her first, if for different reasons. There were friends to catch up with, and the new kovi to meet, contacts to renew, and handsome kinfolk to flirt with. And there was food, lots and lots and lots of food. Maya dressed in the black leather of the Uzmati, adorned with gold beads and black feathers to show her ties to Raven, bracelets and necklaces of carved red beads in the forms of all the totem animals, for her special ties to the Spirit Realm. Her staff was white, as her fur was white; gold bells sang the laughter of her name, and the eagle and hawk and owl feathers bore testament to the Honor, Wisdom and Succor she’d been recognized for.
The first day of the Regalia was spent in rituals and traditions of personal natures, both small and large. Kovi recognized at the previous Council of Autumn were recognized by their Tribe, and guided through the Regalia rites for the first time. In the morning, the gregarious Ice Stalkers grouped together in shifting clusters, looking at each other’s new artwork and garb, asking questions and trading techniques and teaching – or attending – impromptu classes. Maya found herself leading one on dyeing leather using natural minerals, and enjoying herself immensely. After lunch, first-year artworks made by the new kovi were passed around and critiqued. There was one youngster, Egan Snowblind, whose bone carvings had particular promise; though the technique was still raw, the power of the figures seemed to crawl out from within. Maya made a mental note to keep an eye on him in the coming years.
That evening, the first night of Council was called to order. This first Council was convened to hear stories of personal deeds, to recognize those who merited a greater Rank. Maya listened, enthralled, as each of the Gurahl present stood up to speak or dance the story of their deeds, their trials, their victories. Oil spills contained, polar bear cubs and their frightened mothers rescued from weak and melting ice, hunters driven off, students taught and exploitations thwarted. Stories, cute guys, food...she was in Maya-Heaven.
At last, her turn came, and her story became half a dance as she rocked and moved, jumped and swirled, telling the story of all that she had done since she had gone to answer the Garou’s call for aid. She spoke of the friends she had made amongst the Garou; the Shifters – Garou, Bastet and Corax – that she had healed; the battle-aftermaths that she had cleansed, people and land both; the Rites that she had taught; the Talens that she had made to support the people; the advice that she had given, great and small, in proper chiminage and respect for the spirits, in matters of the heart, in helping foster hope in those who had lost it; the vast and humbling experience of feeling a Caern given birth under her feet; and finally, the recognition she had earned from the Elder Garou for her service and support. At the end, the applause had been riotous, and Grandfather Chases-the-Ghost-Wind had clapped her on the arm and said simply, “Well done, Mother Maya.”
After the stories, after the praise for one and all, came the celebration. Several eager Gurahl performed the Rite of True Mating, hoping to find their optimal mate here at the gathering, while others started the songs and the dancing. To Maya, it was the last that was the most important, for here, amongst the other Ice Stalkers, it was permitted to dance, to be seen dancing. And Maya reveled in it, her personal heaven now complete. She danced and ate and flirted with as many cute men as she could manage, and collapsed shortly before dawn into a small and exhausted heap next to the bonfire.
The second morning – well, early afternoon anyway – Maya woke well after things had gotten rolling again. As she chatted with Miriam, she tied on new feathers – four each of Hawk, Eagle and Owl – to her staff, symbols of the new renown that she had earned. On Miriam’s recommendation, Maya went to speak with Miriam’s old Buri-Jaan, an old and weathered Homid Rishi named Brian Breaks-Ice. She didn’t even get halfway through her request; upon realizing that she had attained Talchwi and had not yet learned the Rite of True Mating, he made scandalized noises and insisted on teaching her immediately. The two of them made arrangements to take the long way back to Kangiqsualujjuaq together after the Regalia, so as to have time to teach the Rite.
At sundown, the second night of Council began. Matters affecting the Ice Stalkers as a whole were broached – the melting ice floes and the effect on the polar bears, the continued hunting of seals by non-Native peoples, the illegal dumping of all manner of things in arctic waters. Problems were presented, possible solutions debated and considered. Maya listened keenly through all of it, though her territory was far south of the areas being discussed, and her own bear-kin had no need of ice floes or seal meat. She gave her advice when asked directly, but for the most part she simply listened respectfully. During one particularly long-winded bit of tribal politics, she did nip back over to the cooking fires, and helped some of the kinfolk and other less politically-minded Gurahl with seasoning the grilling salmon and seal steaks being made ready for the next break. Of course, the fact that doing this properly required a little bit of taste-testing had no bearing whatsoever on her decision to assist, Maya assured herself.
The Council wound on into the wee hours, until Grandfather Chases-the-Ghost-Wind to call the Council to a close, stating that since no new points had been made in a while, it was probably time to sleep on it all.
Maya was up early on the third day, joining in on a stone-carving lesson being taught by Miriam. She found the young Kojubat’s insights to be helpful, and tucked away a few clever new techniques into her mental file. A cooking lesson for Maya was traded for a basic primer on metalworking and armor; a pair of new Uzmati had been shown “The Golden Compass” and now desperately wanted to make their own sets of panzerbjorn armor. The idea made Maya laugh, so she gave them enough to get started and promised them more lessons if they made it down to Bothell.
The final evening of Council was short, as those present summed up what they thought of the prior evening, and what actions they planned to take as a result. The social nature of her tribe was never clearer than at this point in the Council, Maya thought. For instead of individuals, small family units stood forth, Gurahl who knew each other, who worked together; it was these families who decided together what they would do, and how. Maya realized that she’d formed her own group without noticing – without other Ice Stalkers to bond to, she’d bonded to Ravenna and Zephyrus, to Niall and Holly and Hannibal.
She smiled for a moment when she thought of Whistler and his decision to give her a one-bedroom house. He understood Gurahl well enough, she thought, but not quite well enough to have figured out that the Ice Stalkers were the exceptions to all the rules! Thank goodness that she had her Glade...
At her turn, Maya stood, and simply said “I’m going back to the Sept of the Forgotten Winter, and my Glade.” Heads nodded, and the others went on. It had been expected, after all; she had been given the unenviable duty of representing the Gurahl in that place, and though she could have called her job complete after the Building of the Caern, she had been successful enough to warrant the continuation of the situation. If she’d decided to leave, there might have been arguments, discussions of lost opportunities, but that was unnecessary. Maya wanted to go home.
After the close of Council, there was a brief break, as everyone scattered to get dressed, put on their formal garb and jewelry and face-paint. Maya and Miriam helped each other apply the paint – an abstract pattern of waves in shimmering blues for Miriam, and raven-black feathers framing her face for Maya. And at midnight, the Dance of Creation began. Slow and stately, full of a slow and slumberous passion, it grew as the new world grew, in energy and vitality and hope, all the riches of Creation given breath. Maya lost herself in the ancient forms, the traditional songs, the spectacle and the glory, as the final joyous roars echoing off the distant mountains seemed to call the sun itself up over the horizon.
Later, much later, after everyone had slept well, the packing-out began. Everything that had been brought in was taken out, from the shards of stone and bone left over from carving lessons, to the ashes from the cookfires. The ground was swept clean of footprints and pawprints, and by the time Maya was walking out with Miriam and Brian, it was hard to tell that anything at all had passed here. The caretakers of this land knew their work, to be sure.
It took the three of them a week to walk out to Kangiqsualujjuaq, a week of learning and teaching and laughter. Talking with Miriam only made Maya more certain that she needed to undergo the Rite of the Changing Moon soon. Her life was calling her onward, away from Mangi the Death Bear and into Ursa Major’s motherly embrace. There were a few loose ends she needed to wrap up, some final lessons to learn. But soon, very soon, before midsummer, it would be time.
The three of them traveled as far as Montreal together, before parting ways. From Montreal to New York, from New York to Seattle to Bothell to home, flying over the vast expanse of the wonderful, marvelous, imperiled earth, Maya said goodbye to her seventh Regalia, and looked into the future.
