A short way from the path the trees open onto a clearing where a shaft of golden light pierces the canopy of crimson-tipped leaves. Orenda stands in the centre, a vision of beauty. She sings no song but draws me on as effectively as the sirens drew Odysseus.
She holds out her arms and her hands squeeze my fingers as she holds me at arms length. Her skin is warm and soft. “I am grateful for what you have done for Shodhenawat.”
I start to turn away. Orenda places a hand lightly on my arm, staying me. “You have given him back his honour. He feels he has nothing to offer you in return.” She looks at the ground. “I too have little to give… But what I have,” she raises her head and her dark eyes lock onto mine, “I would gladly give to you.”
She releases me and turns to face the river. “Shodhenawat does not know that I come to you. He says that we do not understand your ways and I should stay away. But we have a debt that must be repaid. You have restored the honour to a warrior. What is that of a maiden in return?” She turns and looks up at me, her hands finding mine. “In my heart I know that Shodhenawat will not be displeased.”
We stand in silence for a long moment then, slowly, she releases my hands and steps to a large log in the centre of the clearing.
She sets an otter-skin bag on the log and withdraws a clay pot of red vermillion. Reaching back into the bag, she pulls out a small blue stone and sets it on the log. The polished stone shines in the light. Carved in the likeness of a bear, a leather thong passes through a hole in its belly.
Orenda slides the sling off my shoulder and leans my fusil against a tree then steps close, unbuttoning my justaucorps. I reach out to stop her but she brushes my hand aside, stepping behind me, and pulling off my justaucorps, dropping it on the ground. Her hands brush my back as she undoes my cravat then flow around me, like the waters of a stream around a rock. She unbuttons the cuffs of my chemise then unties its leather thong at my neck. Slowly, she pulls the chemise over my head, and drops it along with the cravat.
Orenda picks up the stone charm and signals for me to lower my head. Her breath is hot on my skin as she presses close to tie the ends of the leather thong behind my neck. Her touch, like that of a feather, lingers, then, slides slowly across my neck and down my shoulders as she bends to the log to retrieve the pot. With her finger, she traces three red, wavy, lines across my white chest.
Stepping back, she pours the rest of the paint onto the palm of her hand then throws the clay pot on the ground, smashing it. She holds up her hand dripping in paint and smiles. “The left hand is closest to the heart.”
Reaching out with her free hand, she grasps my left arm and presses her paint-covered hand into mine. Our palms slide against one another, the paint oozing between our entwined fingers.
The red paint binds us, like blood, joining heart to mind. Slowly, she spreads her fingers, pulling her hand free of mine and placing it over my heart. With her free hand, she presses my hand over her chest. For a long moment we stand facing each other, neither of us speaking. Her heart beats strong beneath my palm while mine races, feeling as if it has climbed to my throat.
Orenda steps back, surveying the image on my chest then runs a finger down the side of the bear charm. “Now you will be safe in battle. Together, the bear totem and blood hand will deflect blade and ball from your flesh.”
I look down at the handprint on my chest and turn the bear totem over in my hand, lost in thought. When I look up, Orenda and her bag are gone, and I am left, confused, and alone in the clearing, standing bare-chested next to a pile of clothes.
I shudder, but not from cold, as the thought races through my mind. What will Shodhenawat do when he sees my handprint on the front of his wife’s dress?