The Beginning of the End
Welcome to the continuing fictional saga about the life of a young female Indian warrior. The story is told with each episode moving back in time. This backward movement was chosen for a specific purpose to have the reader ask the question; why?
We are each our history and so as the story progresses contemplate the whys and see if what you believe led to the events was in fact true.
Although this is the first episode, it is not The End. That will literally
come at The End, when all the whys have been answered.
The young warrior has been named Kisuhs Nicanol (Moon Child). This name comes from the Passamaquoddy tribe of Eastern Maine. The use of words, traditions, ceremonies, and folklore within the story are also representative of the Passamaquoddy tribe. But the story is not meant to be a historical depiction of tribal events or its people. This story should be viewed as a work of fiction only. The author does not guarantee the proper use of the tribe’s language as it is a very complicated language and is in danger of disappearing. I hope you enjoy the story of Kisuhs Nicanol.
The Ascent - Episode 1
Kisuhs Nicaol stood on the narrow ridge and stared down at the crashing waves. The spray made her shiver in the buckskins worn thin from years of wear. The sharp rocks upon which she leaned felt like the quills of a porcupine against her cold skin.
It would be so easy to follow the spray as it fell back to rocks below. Her muscles ached with exhaustion. She had lost all track of time and did not know how long she had been holding herself upright on the ledge. The stones beneath her bare feet were cold and slippery. The slightest movement and the decision whether to scale the cliffs behind her or surrender to the waves would be made.
Maybe the decision had already been made. Maybe the kansuhsuwok (ancestors) were telling her she had reached the end of her time on earth. Maybe her destiny lay upon the rocks below.
Tears welled in her eyes at the thought she would never know how it felt to belong; to find her place amongst her people.
She tilted her head forward to look down at the rocks once more. The storm’s winds caught her long dark hair and whipped it across her eyes, blinding her to the ocean’s violence.
This was the time, she would never see their approach, and all she had to do was lean a little farther.
Her cold fingers desperately grasped a protruding rock behind her. She couldn’t do it. Despite the years of isolation she still believed there was a place for her; that somewhere hearts beat in unison with her own.
She leaned her head against the cliff-face and let thoughts of hope drift through her tired mind. The winds began to die. The roar of the waves quietened and rays from the sun began to inch from behind the dark clouds. As the rays warmed her body she felt the stiffness in her limbs ease.
Moving carefully she turned to face the tall cliff behind her. She weighed the difficulty of her ascent. Outcroppings that she hadn’t noticed before appeared to chart her course. She carefully reached out for the first stone, pulling herself up so she could grasp the next.
Her muscles, stiff from hours of standing on the ledge reproached her efforts. She did not yield to their protest and continued her climb until she could see the edges of the tall pines that grew near the cliff’s edge.
The closer she came to the precipice the more unstable the rocks became. They began to crumble beneath her touch, slowing her ascent. Each outcrop had to be tested carefully to determine if it could hold her slight weight.
At last she reached the top and reached out for a small masqemus (birch tree) so as to pull herself over the edge. Only inches to go and she could rest upon the damp pine needles and wild grasses. She placed a bent leg on last rock. Grasping the small tree firmly and using the bent leg as leverage she would lift her body one last time and her struggle would be over. She could finally rest under the warm rays of the sun.
Mustering the last of her strength she pulled strongly on the masqemus and lifted her dangling leg. Just as her body lifted over the edge she felt the thin soil surrender the masqemus’s roots …
Pamela I Williams on beBee.com [2016.] Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Pamela I Williams with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.