The Tale of Wren

A transient fog hovers above the water, while the full moon guides Wren as she walks along the shore. Placing fresh cut willow stalks in her basket. With a stiffness, she moves away from the lake and towards the grassy slopes. The pain was worsening, peaking to a point of paralyses, then vanishing like the wind. Glancing toward camp, dawns colors begin to challenge the darkness as the charcoal skies reveal the vibrancy of a new day. She needs to complete this task before her people wake. Pausing, she waits for her muscles to relax, hoping the pain will go away. Breathing deep, Wren continues towards the woods, to bury the contents of her pack before she is discovered with it. Then, she would wait for him, she knew he would not let her down. She starts to dig when another wave of agony consumes her once more and she doubles over. If it weren’t for that, perhaps she would have noticed the eyes upon her.

A scream pierces the morning calm, echoing across the plains. The sun has yet to fully rise and stretch its golden tendrils across the grasslands, as mist weaves through glowing stalks of wild wheat.

Hootai wakes with a start at the haunting cry, his ancient muscles forgo the usual protest as he springs out of his bedding. He is through the tent flap before his bones even knew he was moving. Bewilderment clogs an already foggy head as his mind tries to locate the source of the inhuman noise. Praying it isn't another raid on his village. Shivering in the morning chill, he watches as others of his tribe file into the center of the camp.

Warriors stand with weapons readied.

As the Shaman of his tribe, he was supposed to be the wise one, who knows all and sees all. Hootai froze the moment in time, as he gazed into the frightened eyes of his people. Relief washes through him as he realizes there is no raid, but the sound still haunts him. Deep down he fears something else. People gather in whispered groups, their voices expressing confusion.

A distant shout breaks the silence. “Over here, hurry.”

In mass they run down towards the shore where the call came from but stop short as they see three young males standing, staring into the long grass that grows between the lake and the edge of the woods.

When Hootai made it to the scene he was horrified. For there lying in a tangled mess was the once beautiful child, Wren.

The crowd slowly moves away, as he approaches, taking in the terrible sight. Wrens young body lay twisted in an unnatural position, her golden tan dress was torn, and red. Thin wisps of steam rose from the still warm blood. Her dress raised high exposing the back of her legs, where a trickle of crimson continues to flow. Her gathering pouch and basket strewn to the side. Fresh cut willow stalks lay scattered. What ever happened, she fought back.

An ear-piercing wail filled with grief tore through the surreal scene, an old lady, her aged hands press against her wrinkled face, collapses in a heap.

Hootai, hurries to the elderly woman who continues to wail. Placing a caring hand on her frail shoulders he whispers. "I am sorry for your loss White Fox.”

Hootai feels a dread in his bones, an illusion of being here before. He knows time is vital in discovering the truth, and instantly becomes the man his people expect in a situation like this.

“Your granddaughter is well loved. I need to ask, did you know Wren was out?”

As if the guilt became her soul, the elderly lady moaned in anguish while nodding her head.

Inclining his head, he continues to ask. ”Do you know why?”

White Fox can only whisper. “Yes.” Then collapses.

Hootai sighs and motions for one of the women to tend to White Fox, while he returns to observe the body. Slowly zig zagging as he walks, eyes capturing everything , he is upset that the ground and surrounding area were trampled from the gathering crowd. Hootai approaches the prostrate form of the young girl. Noticing things that seemed to tell a story. The back of her head shows exposed bone from lacerations of the scalp. Her body lay face down, arms stretched out, one hand, lacerated and torn as if by a sharp blade or tool. While in the other there appeared to be strands of brown hair clutched in her fingers. Her footwear is wet, and not just from the blood.

Wren was a beautiful and well-loved child, her parents victims of last falls sickness. Leaving her grandmother as the primary caregiver. At nearly fifty summers White Fox was ancient, and her mind was known to wander. She was challenged to provide for the two of them. Everyone knew it was Wren who did most of the work. A lot for a child, therefore the entire tribe assisted when they could. Soon Wren would be of age to mate, and It would be up to her partner to choose whether to accept White Fox as his responsibility or not.

Hootai rose, motioning for the three young men who found her to approach. As they stood before him, he walked around them. Glancing up and down, asking questions as he moved.

"Who found Wren?"

Two of the young men stepped forward, heads down, worried expressions upon their face.

The stocky young man whose shoulders were as wide as he was tall replied. “Ash arrived first. I came soon after."

Without a word Hootai looked them up and down again. " Why were the two of you out here?"

The lanky young man glared as he answered. “We were charged to be on duty, to patrol the camp.”

The chief nodded in agreement.

Still facing the taller of the two he points to his stone axe on his hip and points out. “There is blood and hair on your axe, Ash.”

Fidgeting with the strap that held his axe in place Ash bobbed his head, long greasy hair covering his face. “A badger was caught in the trap, I clubbed it.”

“Hmmm, where is the badger now?”

“I left it there.” He stated as he pointed towards the woods with his chin. “I left it when I heard the scream.” His eyes roam about but never glancing in wrens’ direction.

Coming up behind the stocky boy, Hootai notices the dishevel appearance and matted hair, twigs and leaves trapped in his unruly dark curls. “Your clothing is torn and there is blood and scratches on your hands and cheek.”

“Yes, wise one, I ran as fast as I could when I heard the noise. I was on the opposite side of the berry bush and charged through it.” Beads of sweat dripped off Maskwa’s face as he answered.

“What did you see when you arrived?”

It took a moment for him to reply, as if he were searching for answer, or looking for confirmation. “Nothing at first, then I saw movement and Ash kneeling beside Wrens body.”

“You knew it was Wrens body?”

“What? No, not right away…” He said no more. Glancing towards the tiny form laying in the grass, he held and rubbed his trembling hands, reopening the cuts.

Facing the last boy, who was the youngest at fourteen summers Hootai saw distress in the handsome youths’ eyes. “There is blood on your clothing and your footwear is wet.”

With furtive glances between his feet and the crowd, Kihew stuttered as he spoke. “It’s … it’s from the rabbit.”

“What is from the rabbit?”

“The blood, and my feet are wet because I was cleaning the rabbit down by the water.”

“Where the willows grow?” Inquired Hootai. Glancing at the willow strips on the ground he asks. “Did you see Wren while you were by the water” Staring at the frightened youth, a rabbit fur hanging from Kihew’s belt. “Strange time to go hunting, is it not?”

Running fingers through his soft dark locks, Kihew begins to shake. “The meat is for our morning meal.”

Hootai sees the confused reaction from Kihew’s parents.

Reaching for the pelt of soft fur, it was damp. “This is stripped and scrubbed clean.” States Hootai, rubbing bits of sand between his thumb and forefinger, wondering why the meat was no where to be seen.

The crowd once quiet now stirs, murmurs become side conversations, where assumptions are tossed about like leaves on the wind.

Gazing into the distance, he faces the crowd, “Take these three into the chieftain’s tent, take their weapons and do not let them leave until I deliberate longer.” He asks that the women take Wren’s body to his tent, but not to clean her body yet.

As the people begin to move Hootai askes. “Kihew, it was your voice we heard call out, was it not?”

The young man nods.

“Strange that the other two did not cry out first.”

Then he says something which causes a stir amongst his people. “I believe we are faced with a killer.”

A cold breeze runs through the crowd, stirring Wren’s clothing, adding illusion of movement to the life-less body.

All alone Hootai, realizes this is similar to a murder he once uncovered years ago, yet he needs to find proof. All day he wanders about, returning often to the three captive youths. He questions the rest of his people who are willing to talk.

As the light dims, he enters his tent. Singing softly, he asks for Wren’s spirit to guide him, prying the hairs from her stiffening fingers he rubs and sniffs them. A look of satisfaction appears upon his solemn face. He is glad he returned to his tent. It was here he discovers what he suspected all along.

A red hue covers the sky as the sun began its descent. Hootai informs the women to prepare Wren for the after life. Her body wrapped in a soft deer hide, she is gently placed upon a towering pile of wood. Soon her spirit will be released, free to fly with her ancestors. But before this can take place an answer regarding her death is required.

He motions the suspects to stand before Wrens pyre and begins. “It is a sad day for us to lose one so young, yet such is life.”

Taking a deep breath Hootai continues. “After much study and contemplation, I believe I have discovered the truth.”

Pointing to the tall one. "Ash, you stated your axe was bloodied because you dispatched a badger caught in a trap.”

“Yes, elder.”

“I went to the area where you stated and found no badger.”

“Not true elder, I did trap a badger, maybe…” Hootai waved him silent.

“Ash, you are not yet committed to a woman. They say you were waiting for Wren to become of age, is this true?”

"I did notice her, but as you said, she is not of age."

Pressing further Hootai questioned. “I was also told, she denied your advances, how did this make you feel.... angry?”

Ash’s only reply was to spit in the dirt.

Standing in front of Maskwa, Hootai points to his hands and cheek. “You said you received these cuts while running through the berry bushes.”

“Elder I swear I ran through; I wasn’t thinking clearly when I took that route, but the screams were terrifying.”

Nodding to the young man Hootai continued. “Wren had fingernails broken and missing, probably from fighting off her attacker. I had to ask myself, did you run through the bushes to get to her or were you running away?"

Instinctively the young man touch’s his cheek.

Turning to the last he states. “Kihew, you say the blood and dampness on your footwear was from cleaning the rabbit you hunted. Was it really for your family’s morning meal?"

Kihew’s only answer was to look towards his family, their eyes refusing to meet his.

"You failed to mention that Wren crawled into your tent and woke you last night. Do you think your parents did not see and hear her? Why did you not tell them where you were going?”

Shaking, Kihew stammered. “I ...I …needed to get her a rabbit fur.”

“Why?” The Shaman spoke just above a whisper, people had to lean in to hear. “Kihew, you, and Wren grew up together, you were friends. You knew that Ash wanted her. Were you jealous, did you think a gift of fur would win her over?”

The young man shook his head, tears dampening his cheek.

“Furthermore, Wren’s basket proves she was down by the water, if you were there cleaning the rabbit how did you not see her? I think you did see her.”

Hootai felt the entire tribes’ eyes upon him. He witnessed small bets being placed, speculating who was guilty.

Raising his arms to the stars he calls out. “I will tell you, my findings.” An instant hush fell among the attendees.

“Ash, there was no badger in the trap, but there were signs of him once being there, and blood on the ground. Also, fresh wolf tracks show they dragged the animal away.”

A couple of men spat on the ground, clearly, they lost a bet.

“Maskwa, you are brave and strong, but we all know you are not the brightest star in the night sky. Yet, you do not lie. I followed your path into the bushes and found strips of clothing that match your shirt caught in the thorns. The angle of the broken branches tells us you were running towards Wren.”

A gasp goes up in the crowd, which meant there was only one left. No one had believed Kihew could have murdered Wren. Angry murmurs rise into shouts. Ash and Maskwa turn to Kihew with looks of disgust. Until Hootai yells. “Silence.”

Only the night sounds of crickets can be heard. Hootai approaches the frightened boy. “Kihew, as I mentioned before. You and Wren grew up together. You were best of friends everyone knows that. Just like everyone knows you would never harm her. What’s more, she asked you for a fur. You knew her secret, didn’t you?”

With a dismissive wave Hootai states. "You three are free to go."

The people were confused, if one of them didn’t do it who did?

One by one the crowd notices Hootai approach Wren’s grandmother. With kindness on his face, he held her shaking hands. “White Fox, you know something about Wren that you failed to mention to us. You knew she was missing before we discovered her body.”

Sorrow so deep filled the older woman, the ancient lines on her face filled with tiny rivers of tears as she slowly nodded her head. “It’s ok.” He whispers. “I know the burden you both carried, this is not your fault, but you should have told us.”

Releasing White Fox, to the care of the women, he walks to the pyre, where Wren’s basket lay there. Picking it up he tells a story. “Wren woke up in the middle of the night because she wasn’t feeling well. Even though it was a relatively new sensation, it was one she had felt before. Wren realized she required things she did not have on hand. So, in her need, she woke her friend, someone she trusted… Kihew.”

All eyes searched Kihew out, the youth remained still, head down.

Continuing the story. “Wren went down to the lake to retrieve some willow bark to make a tea for the pain, and then she walked to the woods to gather fresh moss.”

Silent weeping moved through the women as blame and guilt consumed their spirit. Realization of what they missed overpowered their souls.

Most men remained confused.

“Wren waited in the tree line for her friend to return with the much-needed rabbit pelt. Unfortunately, she was not alone. She did not feel the eyes upon her.”

A voice calls out, “Enough with this, who killed Wren?”

Holding the carrying pack with the broken straps. Hootai proceeds with the explanation.

“Wren became a woman moons ago but kept the secret. Afraid that once this was public, she would be eligible to become married. She was worried that her grandmother would be all alone and vulnerable. Therefore she, as well as White Fox kept the secret to themselves. Wren prepared a hole to hide and bury the contents in her pack, little did she know this would be her undoing. It was like adding wood to a fire, her killers were drawn by instinct.”

Throwing the bloodied contents from the basket onto the pyre with his head hung low Hootai lamented. “It was the pack that killed poor Wren.”

As if on cue, a chorus of haunting howls fill the night sky.

Thank You,

Jason

Hootai- Derived from the call of an owl. (The wise)

In Cree:

Kihew- Eagle

Maskwa- Bear

The bark of white willow contains salicin, which is a chemical similar to aspirin (acetylsalicylic acid). In combination with the herb's powerful anti-inflammatory plant compounds (called flavonoids), salicin is thought to be responsible for the pain-relieving and anti-inflammatory effects of the herb.

-Mount Sinai health