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Authors: Lisa Klein
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and six other ships sailed from Plymouth under fair skies. I found myself seized with the lust for adventure and almost leapt on board the Tiger . Then I hesitated, recalling how ill I become at sea, and in a moment the gap between the wharf and the ship’s deck grew too great to o’erleap. And so I stayed, as I promised Her Majesty I would.
Chapter 8
Manteo’s Quest
I am called Manteo, which means “he snatches from another,” like a hawk. It is a fitting name for the son of a weroance . But I am more like Cloud-runner, the youth who lay in the grass and stared at the clouds. Like Cloud-runner, I sometimes dream that I am in the land of the star people. Their lodge gleams like the inside of an oyster. Cloud-runner lived among the star people until he grew homesick, and when he returned home he forgot his sojourn there. As I forget the time my father was killed in battle when I was only a few winters old. My people remember their past through the stories we tell.
I was born on Croatoan, one of the islands that are joined like a necklace of shells. They keep the sea from breaking upon the mainland. My mother, Weyawinga, is the weroance of the island. I know my way around its rocky shoals. I know the land of Ossomocomuck from the bay of Chesapeake to the Neuse River, which villages are ruled by friendly weroances, and where our foes live. I know when to plant pagatour, or maize. I know which roots and berries can be eaten, and which ones kill.
I grew up on stories of young men who left their villages on dream quests and returned with gifts to save their people. Openauk , the wild-growing potato. Flocks of kaiauk , who make the ground rich with their leavings. When the youths came back they were men. Everyone respected them.
I grew tall and my voice deepened. I went to the lodge, crossing the sound in a canoe, alone. Fear was like a hand gripping my guts. I might be eaten by a bear or killed by the Pomeioc. For weeks I ate almost nothing. I breathed in smoke that left me dazed. Waited for my vision of what to pursue. It would be greater than a gift of food or skill with a spear, for I was the son of a weroance and deserved more. My dream would fill me with montoac, the spirit power that would make me a hero, like in the ancient stories.
I did everything a young man is supposed to do. But no quest was revealed to me.
Heavy with despair I set out for home. Then in the forest I had my vision. Men with skin as pale as the mushrooms that grow beneath rotting leaves. Wearing plates of shining wassador . What did this dream signify? Twigs and leaves crackled under their feet. Strange sounds came from their mouths. As they drew near I could even smell them. This was no dream! The men were as real as I. When they saw me, they made signs with their hands. They were so glad to see me that I was not afraid of them.
One of the men spoke words I could understand. They were seeking the village of Secotan. I agreed to lead them there rather than return to my village and admit my failure. The white men were hungry and had no skill at hunting. So I shot several rabbits and wildfowl. They were amazed by my bow, such a simple weapon.
The English, for so they called themselves, showed me their weapon, a musket. It produced fire and a loud noise. They offered me ornaments made from the shining wassador and a strong drink that opened my mind. They made signs that more would be given to me if I would go to their land across the waves. The montoac I sought was being offered to me! Spirit power was in the wassador, the drink, the mighty weapons of the strangers. My thoughts leapt like a herd of deer. I would go with these men and bring their powerful things to my people. Returning to Croatoan, I told my mother that this was my quest. She was afraid for me, but did not forbid me to go.
The sea was wider than I thought possible, the English boat big enough to hold everyone in my village. I had a companion, for Wingina, the weroance of the
Chapter 8
Manteo’s Quest
I am called Manteo, which means “he snatches from another,” like a hawk. It is a fitting name for the son of a weroance . But I am more like Cloud-runner, the youth who lay in the grass and stared at the clouds. Like Cloud-runner, I sometimes dream that I am in the land of the star people. Their lodge gleams like the inside of an oyster. Cloud-runner lived among the star people until he grew homesick, and when he returned home he forgot his sojourn there. As I forget the time my father was killed in battle when I was only a few winters old. My people remember their past through the stories we tell.
I was born on Croatoan, one of the islands that are joined like a necklace of shells. They keep the sea from breaking upon the mainland. My mother, Weyawinga, is the weroance of the island. I know my way around its rocky shoals. I know the land of Ossomocomuck from the bay of Chesapeake to the Neuse River, which villages are ruled by friendly weroances, and where our foes live. I know when to plant pagatour, or maize. I know which roots and berries can be eaten, and which ones kill.
I grew up on stories of young men who left their villages on dream quests and returned with gifts to save their people. Openauk , the wild-growing potato. Flocks of kaiauk , who make the ground rich with their leavings. When the youths came back they were men. Everyone respected them.
I grew tall and my voice deepened. I went to the lodge, crossing the sound in a canoe, alone. Fear was like a hand gripping my guts. I might be eaten by a bear or killed by the Pomeioc. For weeks I ate almost nothing. I breathed in smoke that left me dazed. Waited for my vision of what to pursue. It would be greater than a gift of food or skill with a spear, for I was the son of a weroance and deserved more. My dream would fill me with montoac, the spirit power that would make me a hero, like in the ancient stories.
I did everything a young man is supposed to do. But no quest was revealed to me.
Heavy with despair I set out for home. Then in the forest I had my vision. Men with skin as pale as the mushrooms that grow beneath rotting leaves. Wearing plates of shining wassador . What did this dream signify? Twigs and leaves crackled under their feet. Strange sounds came from their mouths. As they drew near I could even smell them. This was no dream! The men were as real as I. When they saw me, they made signs with their hands. They were so glad to see me that I was not afraid of them.
One of the men spoke words I could understand. They were seeking the village of Secotan. I agreed to lead them there rather than return to my village and admit my failure. The white men were hungry and had no skill at hunting. So I shot several rabbits and wildfowl. They were amazed by my bow, such a simple weapon.
The English, for so they called themselves, showed me their weapon, a musket. It produced fire and a loud noise. They offered me ornaments made from the shining wassador and a strong drink that opened my mind. They made signs that more would be given to me if I would go to their land across the waves. The montoac I sought was being offered to me! Spirit power was in the wassador, the drink, the mighty weapons of the strangers. My thoughts leapt like a herd of deer. I would go with these men and bring their powerful things to my people. Returning to Croatoan, I told my mother that this was my quest. She was afraid for me, but did not forbid me to go.
The sea was wider than I thought possible, the English boat big enough to hold everyone in my village. I had a companion, for Wingina, the weroance of the
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