Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [193]
Berthe was watching me with frank interest, too, twining a lock of her own dark-brown hair around the end of an index finger.
“She who heals said at once that she must see you, and so when we heard that you were here …”
That gave me a small start; I had had no sensation of being watched, and yet plainly someone had taken note of our presence on the mountain, and conveyed the news to Nacognaweto.
Impatient with these irrelevancies, Nayawenne poked her granddaughter-in-law and said something, then pointed firmly at the water by our feet.
“My husband’s grandmother says that when she dreamed of you, it was here.” Gabrielle gestured over the pool, and looked back at me with great seriousness.
“She met you here, at night. The moon was in the water. You became a white raven; you flew over the water and swallowed the moon.”
“Oh?” I hoped this wasn’t a sinister thing for me to have done.
“The white raven flew back, and laid an egg in the palm of her hand. The egg split open, and there was a shining stone inside. My husband’s grandmother knew this was great magic, that the stone could heal sickness.”
Nayawenne nodded her head several times, and taking the amulet bag from her neck, reached into it.
“On the day after the dream, my husband’s grandmother went to dig kinnea root, and on the way, she saw something blue, sticking in the clay of the riverbank.”
Nayawenne drew out a small, lumpy object, and dropped it into my hand. It was a pebble; rough, but undeniably a gemstone. Bits of stony matrix clung to it, but the heart of the rock was a deep, soft blue.
“My goodness—it’s a sapphire, isn’t it?”
“Sapphire?” Gabrielle turned the word over in her mouth, tasting it. “We call it …” She hesitated, looking for the proper French translation. “ … pierre sans peur.”
“Pierre sans peur?” A fearless stone?
Nayawenne nodded, talking again. Berthe butted in with the translation, before her mother could speak.
“My father’s grandmother says a stone like this, it keeps people from being afraid, and so it makes their spirit strong, so they will be healed more easily. Already, this stone has healed two people of fever, and cured a soreness of the eyes that my younger brother had.”
“My husband’s grandmother wishes to thank you for this gift.” Gabrielle neatly took back the conversation.
“Ah … do tell her she’s quite welcome.” I nodded cordially at the old lady, and gave her back the blue stone. She popped it into the bag and drew the string tight about its neck. Then she peered closely at me, and reaching out, drew down a curl of my hair, talking as she rubbed the lock between her fingers.
“My husband’s grandmother says that you have medicine now, but you will have more. When your hair is white like hers, that is when you will find your full power.”
The old lady dropped the lock of hair, and looked into my eyes for a moment. I thought I saw an expression of great sadness in the faded depths, and reached involuntarily to touch her.
She stepped back and said something else. Gabrielle looked at me queerly.
“She says you must not be troubled; sickness is sent from the gods. It won’t be your fault.”
I looked at Nayawenne, startled, but she had already turned away.
“What won’t be my fault?” I asked, but the old lady refused to say more.
21
NIGHT ON A SNOWY MOUNTAIN
December 1767
The winter held off for some time, but snow began to fall in the night on November 28, and we woke to find the world transformed. Every needle on the great blue spruce behind the cabin was frosted, and ragged fringes of ice dripped from the tangle of wild raspberry canes.
The snow wasn’t deep, but its coming changed the shape of daily life. I no longer foraged during the day, save for short trips to the stream for water, and for lingering bits of green cress salvaged from the icy slush along the banks. Jamie and Ian ceased their work of log felling and field clearing, and turned to roof shingling. The winter drew in on