“Later,” Ro continued, “when an adult is troubled or seeking wisdom, they might go on a vision quest, fasting and meditating to understand their role in the universe and whatever conflict lies within and without. Sometimes then, too, they are granted another form or the ability to share strength, heal, or sing the heart.”
Ro looked off into the distance, speaking with a sort of quiet disappointment. “On my second quest, I was also gifted the form of a coyote and the ability to share strength.”
Declan raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but Ro didn’t add anything to the story. Declan would have been overjoyed to shift into a coyote, or really any animal. But that wasn’t the point. Not when someone wanted to become a heart-singer, instead.
May’s happy giggles floated back from the porch, and Declan remembered that she’d been the start of this conversation. “She’s very young, isn’t she?” he finally observed.
“She was removed from her home when she was two. We don’t know what happened before. We’re only glad that the Indian Child Welfare Act required her to be adopted by an Indigenous family, and someone at Children and Family Services recognized what she was and knew where to bring her. But for a child that young to shift…”
“Is that why she’s a house cat?” Declan asked tentatively.
“It must have been the safest form for her environment.”
“She seems happy now. You’re good with her.”
Ro shrugged. “That’s not my work.” But his face fell as he said it. “The heart-singers have been helping her.”
“It seems like you’ve been helping her, too. She trusts you.”
He cheered a little. “My farm was one of the first places where she was willing to play. I would work while she hid under the bushes, and then started to chase butterflies. I was the first person she shifted for.”
“I think you’re more like a heart-singer than you know,” Declan said quietly.
“Do you think we should go back?” Ro asked abruptly. Declan had probably pushed too hard again, but he just wanted Ro to be happy. Not everyone jumped into things like he did.
“Sure, let’s go. I need a picture of my big, bad kraken having a tea party.”
Chapter 18
Geir
Geir looked down at the pair of rocks that were galloping across his leg.
He had no clue what he was doing, but May didn’t seem to notice. He hadn’t spent much time with children before. In so many cultures he’d lived in, children worked or they played among themselves, loosely supervised by whatever older sibling or cousin was around.
The way kids were expected to behave today was different. He didn’t spend any more time around children now than he had before, but he’d noticed the changes when he saw them around. More toys. More pretending. More attention from adults. The whole concept of childhood, really.
May picked up “his” rock, a kind of flat gray egg shape, and put it in a circle with a few more. “That’s Mama Kitty and Me and Aunty Cia and Uncle Ro and Uncle Declan and you.” She looked up at him, eyes serious. “You’re Uncle Geir, right?”
He wasn’t sure if she was confirming his name or his title, but he nodded. He’d become used to being greeted by familial names as a sign of respect, but this seemed much more personal. Like she’d adopted him into her family.
It was sweet. He was starting to get the sense of what Declan liked about her. If Declan wanted to have May come over occasionally, he was pretty sure he could handle it.
As long as Declan didn’t leave him alone for too long.
He looked up, wondering if Ro and Declan were still looking at the garden. He didn’t like it when he couldn’t see them. Only when he looked up, they’d somehow slipped back to the front of the porch. There was a mechanical clicking sound, and Declan was holding up his phone, grinning.
He showed the phone to Ro, who looked at it approvingly. “That’s adorable.”
Geir finally realized that they were looking at a picture. He’d forgotten that phones could do that.
“Tell me about it,” Declan agreed. “When I get a canvas and oil paints, I think this is going to be my first portrait.”
Geir didn’t necessarily want to be in a portrait, but Declan looked so happy that he couldn’t disagree. He would be in as many portraits as Declan wanted.
“Declan!” May squealed, abandoning her rocks. “I found a feather!”
It was a rather bedraggled grayish feather, the fluffy part at the bottom matted and the smooth hairs at the top broken up into irregular clumps. He had still praised it when she found it.
Declan knelt on the ground so that she could add it to his collection.
“What does this one do?” he asked.
“Scares away the bad spirits,” May said, serious despite her small lisp. Then she started jumping up and down. “Horsey! Horsey!”
Declan swung her up over his shoulders in a move that had Geir instinctively reaching forward to catch her, though of course she was perfectly safe.
Declan raced off across the lawn, while May kicked her heels, peals of laughter trailing after them.
Rohahen stepped onto the porch and sat down in the chair he’d vacated earlier. Geir still didn’t know him well, but he was trying, at least a little, because Declan had said he wanted them to be friends.
Perhaps if they conversed, he wouldn’t feel those pangs of jealousy whenever Declan left for the day.
Rohahen faced him with an easy grin. “You and Declan are both good with children.”
Geir hadn’t been expecting that. Was this an observation or were there other undertones? Did Rohahen think that he and Declan should have children? The very idea raised too many questions for him to contemplate. “I don’t know anything about children,” he said instead. “I just sat there while the kitties climbed over me.” He gestured at the circle of rocks on the bench beside him, feeling a little silly and very out of place.
Rohahen chuckled. “Good parents spend a lot of time doing that.”
Oh, he was talking about Geir and Declan having children. No, that was far too much to consider. Declan was his hummingbird, his final ray of sun. Declan was more than enough.
Though Declan looked awfully happy bending over to pretend to eat the grass while May squealed and giggled, upside down.
He gave a noncommittal grunt. Perhaps May could come and visit somewhat often.
“You know,” Rohahen finally mentioned, “my grandparents talked about you. They said you helped build their house.”
Geir squinted at Rohahen, trying to pull back memories from the slippery winds of time. The People had lived mostly in longhouses, temporary constructions made of bark and slim trees. But when they’d moved to a single plot of land they’d learned the European methods of construction. For almost a decade they’d done nothing but build log cabins. He’d worked side-by-side with them for most of it.
Looking at Rohahen, he could remember now. He’d spent many evenings with Jerimiah and Alsoomse, playing cards and eating stew and cornbread while their children played around the fire. One of their children must have grown up to be the otter shifter that he remembered. Rohahen was the next generation.