A TAIL OF NINE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Tsu'nigadu'li

Kanati has me try to start a fire. I don't even get a wisp of smoke. I grew-up with a fox, but I use matches when it comes to making a fire.

There's no way that Mirabelle knows what I'm up to ... but the ito's even colder than it was before.

"There are sacred fires, ones that always burn. By whispering their secret names, we can borrow their warmth for a short time," Kanati tells me as I make a small pile of twigs and dry pine needles. "The fox, or Tsisdu as he was called when the world was young, tricked Rabbit out of his tail, which was once a sense of pride and luxury. But it was also Tsisdu that stole a bit of the sun and brought it to Earth, giving us the gift of fire, which is why a fox's tail mirrors the flames itself."

Looking up, I notice that the sun is a whole lot lower than it was earlier. Soon, it'll be gone. I can imagine a fox climbing mountains, waiting in clouds (which is why they have that white tip on their tails--according to Kanati) to snatch a bit of the sun as it sets.

Still nothing on the fire front. I suck at this! Kanati showed me how to rub two sticks together to get a spark. It's a lot easier in the movies! After nurturing the little flame by feeding it dried leaves and more pine needles, we add bigger branches that we've gathered. No matter what we toss on it—more dried leaves and some trash—the flames burn as gray as before.

Something about that makes me go cold inside. Even after I'm out of this place, will I look at things the same way again? Will colors look brighter, or will I get so used to all this gray that that's all I'll want to see?

All of a sudden, Kanati starts singing.

Soon, another voice joins his. About twenty smoke people, all different sizes, emerge from the shadows. Even though they harmonize, I can pick out the different voices. It's one of the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard in my life.

Instead of more smoke people, a guy and a woman step out of the woods, toward the fire. They're gray like me, so I guess they're regular people. The woman looks pretty old and is stooped over. Her hair's twisted in twin braids that hang over her shoulders. The guy is in buckskins and has a huge, floppy hat.

Before I can ask the guy or the woman their names, the woman pipes up and says, "I am known as Many-Stories. This is Adahy."

Hearing his name, Floppy-Hat Guy nods.

Many-Stories continues, "Kanati has told us that a spirit wishes you and your family harm."

"When did he tell you all that?"

She chuckles. "This place has its ways. What is important is that we help you."

Floppy-Hat mutters, "Tsu'nigadu'li."

"The dance of the people in many faces," Many-Stories translates. "It can be a powerful ritual against harmful spirits. It may weaken the one seeking to harm you."

"Great! When do we get started?"

As if on cue, the faces of all the smoke people, even Kanati, swirl and morph into weird, wooden masks! Some of them have horns and crooked teeth. Others have tufts of mossy hair jutting out of the top. Many-Stories and Floppy-Hat sit down on the ground with me as the shadow people hoop and holler around us. A few get right up in my face, like they're getting ready to jump down my throat.

They spin and dance, as Kanati sings louder in Cherokee:

Tsistuyi' nehandu'yanû, Tsistuyi' nehandu'yanû-Yoho'!

Kuwâhi' nehandu'yanû', Kuwâhi' nehandu'yanû-Yoho'!

Uyâ'ye' nehandu'yanû', Uya'ye' nehahdu'yanû'-Yoho'!