Interesting that they had a trinity too.
"Some talk about these three guardians and some talk about the guardians of the four directions. As for actual names to call on, the major one would be Unelenehi, who is the Great One. It's also the name for the sun, but according to my grandpa," she said, taking her eyes from the narrowing road to give me a look that said her grandpa had been an important, knowledgeable, and wise man, "the sun was only a reflection of the Great Light behind it, which was the One. You call on this when facing east. Many people like to call on Selu, who was first woman, the corn mother. Her husband, first man, was Kenati. There was also a great female spirit. I've never seen her name written, but it's pronounced like Ag is see qua."
Aggie glanced at me, and seemed to catch my discomfort. Her mouth twisted in thought and she slowed, taking a particularly deep bump that cracked my head against the car roof. While I held on and rubbed my head, she and Lisi chatted in Cherokee for a while; then Aggie said to me, "Going to water is not a hard and firm ritual. It isn't about calling on a specific god or a specific spirit. It is a way of recognizing our roots, our heritage, and calling on the past to lead and direct us into the future. It is as individual as the way you pray, as the god or spirits you believe in. You may adjust it according to your need, and as your god directs."
She braked, turned off the car, and got out, helping her mother out as well, white shell dust and road dust billowing past. The two women moved into the trees, leaving me sitting there, alone, the engine pinging. We were in a small clearing about half the size of my kitchen, surrounded by thin rails of young pine trees growing so close together they would keep out most wildlife.
Wordless, I opened my door, brushing it against the scrub to the side and closing it only with difficulty. I followed the women, my flip-flops spanking the earth, along a flat trail that snaked through the trees, to the edge of a bayou where the ground became so muddy my thin shoes sucked and pulled against my toes with each step. The water in the bayou channel was brown and muddy from the recent storm, running high, overlapping its banks into the trees. It was very different from the clear streams of the Appalachians, and a sudden gust of homesickness swirled through me like a dust devil.
Chatting to her mother, Aggie hung her black cloth bag from the stub of a broken tree limb and unscrewed the lid on her Thermos. She poured the liquid inside into the plastic cup top; it was hot and black, and it smelled like boiled tree limbs and lichen and pinesap. I wrinkled my nose. Aggie gave the cup to her mother, who guzzled it down and said something that sounded unkind before moving into the trees. "Mother doesn't like purging like the men have to do. She likes the women's ritual better, but it must be done."
From the woods I heard retching and my gorge rose in sympathy. I clasped my arms around my waist. I so did not want to do this.
Aggie poured a second cup and swallowed it in a single gulp before pouring another for me. "There are good reasons why we go to water," she said, her tone gentle but not soothing me. "When we face war or trouble, or some great decision must be reached, we must be clean inside and out in order for the gods, or God, to talk to us. Drink. Then go into the woods and do what you must." And this time it was a command. Aggie handed me a small baggie and tapped it. "Native tobacco. Use it like I told you. It's hard to come by these days. Don't waste it." She hurried into the trees, leaving me alone.
. . . War or trouble, or some great decision. Yeah, that kinda spelled out my life right now. I looked at the liquid, black in the darkness.
Beast huffed deep inside. Jane needs this. Beast that is I/ we needs this.
Which is why I don't want to do it, I thought back. My mental tone sounded stubborn. Whiny. Sorta the way my housemates sounded when I was a teenager and my housemother wanted us all to clean the bathrooms or do laundry. I sighed. That was why I was feeling so antsy. It had been a long time since I had to do something against my will because it was good for me.