Another Maiden of the Mist

A/N: I researched a Native American Tribe and found some really interesting information. I thought it would make a good short story and here it is. I hope you enjoy it and find it historically acurate!

I have been given the greatest honor. My entire life has pointed me in this direction. Every choice I made was a test to see if I was worthy. And I can assure you that I was not perfect. My brother, my mother, my father, and everyone in my tribe could tell you story after story of how imperfect I am. I even messed up during the Green Corn Festival five years ago when I was eight.

The ceremony takes place after the first full moon once the crops have matured. First, we cleanse ourselves. One woman from each family makes the Black Drink for their family. My mother finally passed the duty on to me. I had received several herbs from one of the False Faces. Each packet held a different herb. My job was to select the correct amount from each pouch and mix them together.

The pouches were made of a thin strip of deer hide that was folded over and sown together with sinew. A little awl made a hole in the deerskin and the tiny piece of sinew was slipped through and pulled tight, binding the edges together. A little extra hide had been left over at the top. It folded over and was secured with a bone button. The pouches were hardly bigger than my hand.

It was hard pouring herbs out of the pouches. They either came slowly or super fast. I am ashamed to say that I accidentally made too much of the drink for my family alone. I didn’t want to pour out the sacred drink. That would be wasting something really precious, so I drank the extras. I was sick for an entire week after the festival. I didn’t get to have any of the carefully made food, or play any games with the other children. I couldn’t hold down any food or water and I lay on my deerskins, hallucinating.

However, the False Face Society still tells me that I have always been lucky; that I was born for this. I understand how important this is and what it will do for my family and even what status I will be remembered by, but I still have doubts. I will have doubts until the end of the ceremony when all of my doubts won’t even be memories.

And, when I lay down to sleep tonight, or try to sleep before the big day, my doubts will accompany me, along with my fear.

Her name is Orenda. She is thirteen years old and an Iroquois of the Cayuga Tribe. She should feel honored and she knows it is wrong, but instead she is terrified. She wishes this honor had been given to someone else. But she is too afraid of the spirits to reject her post. I knew this was right for her. That was why I caused her to be chosen. She is like the others, maybe she is made for this ceremony more than I expected. Either way, she is not getting out of this. I will not let her.

Shaking wakes me. I am surprised I even fell asleep. My grandmother, Nokomis, is standing over me. She asks me if I am ready. It is my duty to say yes. If it weren’t for my duty, even my pride could not have forced agreement from my lips.

I nod my head and try to look important and wise, like someone in my position should. I try not to act like the terrified little girl that I thought I outgrew years ago. I am a woman now. I am expected to behave like one, even more so because of my honor.

Nokomis leads me outside to where my mother, Hiawatha is waiting. Mother steps to the other side of me and puts her hand on my shoulder. Nokomis has her wrinkled but strong hand on my right shoulder. Hiawatha and Nokomis lead me down the short rocky path to the river. Other women of my tribe trail behind. A few carry sacred items blessed by the False Face Society.

When we reach the last bend before the river, the other women stop. Nokomis and Hiawatha guide me the last few steps around the curve until I see the calm, smooth waters. I undress myself, carefully hanging my everyday deerskin dress on a crooked branch. I slip into the cool water, goose bumps form, rising on my bare arms and legs.