Tamsin and Mika

Tamsin squinted against the sparkle of sunlight glinting off the swirling current of the river. Her stomach rumbled as the sun sunk in the sky. Tonight, there would be a feast. The fishermen’s nets had been full this season, and she looked forward to filling her belly with pink-fleshed fish that had been dried in the sun, the heat of summer lingering in every bite.

“Tamsin.” Her closest friend, Mika, sat next to her on the riverbank. “There you are. You’ve been gone a while. Your mother sent me to look for you to help with preparations.”

His newly developed leg muscles strained against the hide cloth of his leggings as he settled onto the smooth, round stones of the riverbank. In recent months, Tamsin noticed the change in Mika’s body with increasing awareness, especially when he came close to her. Each time, without fail, her cheeks betrayed her curiosity by reddening. Mika was now a man.

“Are you excited for the feast tonight?” she asked her friend with a smile. A gust of wind swept by, whipping her long black hair in front of her face. A string of it clung to her teeth, exposed thanks to her wide grin. She moved her hand up to remove the strand, but Mika beat her to it. Gently, he tucked the strand behind her ear, causing another flush of heat in her cheeks.

“Yes.” He huffed a little laugh. “That is, if you leave any salmon for the rest of us.”

She shoved his shoulder, and he pretended to topple over. “Be gentle with me, Tamsin. Now that you’re a woman, you know I can’t fight back.”

This was true. Mika was now a man and Tamsin, a woman. That was why, tonight, after the feast, she planned to ask him if he would be hers.

It was tradition for the women in their village to select a husband, the man they wanted to share a bed with, have children with. If she were honest with herself, Tamsin would admit that she had hopes of Mika being hers for a couple of years, ever since the sight of the smile that dimpled his brown cheek started to bring heat and tingling to her lower belly. She had waited, though. They both needed to grow, to become the people they were meant to be on their own, first.

Mika stood and offered a hand to help Tamsin up. She didn’t need his help, but it was an excuse to touch him, to awaken her desire, so she took it. Often, she went out of her way to seek the reaction her body had to his touch—it felt deliciously torturous.

“I’ll see you at the feast,” Mika announced before walking away. She watched him retreat up the canyon along the curling path, the sight of his backside as tempting as his front. She smiled, somewhat wickedly.

Tamsin guessed that Mika would accept her request that evening for a few reasons. There was the way he sought her out whenever they were surrounded by their community; wanting to talk and laugh together alone. Also, he found excuses to brush her hand or sit close enough for their legs to graze. Lastly, when he thought she didn’t notice, he would watch her. Sometimes like an eagle stalking its prey, other times, like a friend recollecting all of their best shared memories. This, she knew, was love.

They sat next to each other at the feast, stuffing themselves with fish and berries. When nearby elders directed subtle, knowing nods in their direction, both chose to pretend they didn’t catch the implication. The entire village knew what was to come, as if Tamsin and Mika’s coupling had been fated since their first breaths.

Even though the feast continued, Tamsin could wait no longer. She leaned over and asked Mika if he would like to take a walk in the forest. There was a trail that they enjoyed, which led to Tamsin’s favourite field of sweetgrass near the river’s larger bend, out of sight from the village. It was nearly harvest time and the blades would be enticingly fragrant that night.

Winding along the path side-by-side, the two friends did not utter a word. They stole glances of each other, their eyes giving away hesitant desire. Tonight, Tamsin wore a dress decorated with ochre painted stars as beautiful as the ones that shone above them, their light flitting down through the canopy. Ferns tickled her bare legs and her heartbeat sped to a gallop in anticipation. Once they were among the sweetgrass, she planned to ask her question. If Mika said “yes,” she would kiss him deeply. After that, she hoped to explore his lips and tongue with her own for the rest of the night.

As they neared the field, a rumble sounded. A summer storm approached. A flash lit up the sky followed by another growl of thunder. No matter, Tamsin would ask for what she desired, and given permission, she would kiss Mika whether they were dry and hot or drenched from rain.

“No!” Mika’s shout pierced the quiet as his eyes caught on something behind them. Tamsin’s mouth dropped in disappointment and surprise. Did he already know the question she would ask? Was he fervently rejecting her before she could ask it?

She followed his gaze back towards the village. An orange glow crested over the trees. Their camp was on fire.

Mika shot past Tamsin, nearly knocking her over. When she regained her footing, she followed after him. When they reached the village, it didn’t appear that anyone was in a panic. Their reed-walled dwellings were temporary, and the whole village had been at the feast when the lightning struck, setting three of the dwellings ablaze. Tamsin breathed a sigh of relief but stopped short when she heard a scream.

“Baby Utka, baby Utka!” Tamsin’s cousin, Reep, was pointing and shouting at the one of dwellings on fire. Her baby Utka must have been asleep within when the lightning struck.

Tamsin watched in horror as the flames rose from the dwelling’s roof. The blaze was pushed back by a gale of wind that lifted embers and sparks into the dry branches of surrounding trees. A moment later, another crack of lightning fell from the sky, striking a tree paces away from the ones already alight. Before Tamsin could take a full breath, the fire melded together, spreading to several more trees deeper in the forest. She stood rooted in place, gaping at the display of nature’s force which she beheld yet could not fathom. Mika, on the other hand, was already in motion.

He dashed to the dwelling Reep had pointed to, peeked his head in, then came back out with a cough and baffled look on his face. The forest was now intensely ablaze. It would not spread far since their people had taken care to thin out the trees as a precaution for such an event. Still, a large portion of the forest next to their camp was in flames.

A head-splitting cry came from Reep and Tamsin tore her eyes from Mika to look back at her cousin. Now, Reep’s finger was pointed at the forest, directly into the flames. In the clearing, at the middle of a ring of fire, baby Utka stood. The rolls of her legs were deceiving, giving her a look of one too young to walk, but baby Utka had begun exploring upright on her own a few days before.

Mika leapt over the ring and was beside the baby in a blink. He picked her up and began carrying her out of the clearing. Just as he reached the tree line, Mika abruptly stopped. Tamsin cocked her head in confusion, the moment stretching out into an eternity.

He fell to his knees, gasping. Still, he managed to place Utka down gently on her feet on the other side of the fiery ring. The baby toddled swiftly to her mother. Tamsin had forgotten something about her friend, her Mika—he could not breathe with the strength and vigour most could.

He was strong and agile, but after a short sprint, Mika would be keeled over, struggling to catch his breath. Tamsin panicked, running towards him, watching with terror as he fell over onto his back. Suddenly, a crack sounded from above. A branch, weakened by fire, broke. It dropped, landing on Mika with a thunk.

Tamsin paused, shielding her face from the brilliant flames engulfing the branch, then rushed forward. When she reached him, Mika was wheezing, stretching his arms into the air, searching for something, someone.

“Tamsin,” he rasped. He was searching for her. His eyes fluttered, their dark centre rolling back into his head. Not caring about the pain to come, Tamsin grasped the branch. It was heavy, but she would not allow it to cut off Mika’s breath, to take his life. She heaved the branch off of him, the skin on her hands blistering like crackled animal fat.

Tamsin stared down at her friend. He was a husk of his usual self—splayed out in the dirt, motionless. Around her, the entire village worked hard to douse the trees in water. The fire was almost out. She crouched low and bent her ear over Mika’s mouth. His breath was still coming. Reluctant to know the amount of damage that had been inflicted, Tamsin slowly lifted Mika’s shirt. In the dying fire’s light, she made out the purple of an enormous bruise, blossoming across his ribs. Tamsin’s breath hitched as the world around her turned hazy, distant.

A spiritual healer and a medicine woman came from a nearby camp each day to help Mika and check on his healing. His breathing remained shallow, barely perceptible, for days. Tamsin’s question for him, the request she wanted to make that night among the sweetgrass, sat impatiently on the tip of her tongue. She would take him like this, frail and half-way in the Spirit World. In fact, she would have him any way she could. But even if she asked, Mika could not answer her. His mind was not aware of where he was, what had happened. He slept a lot and ate little—only sips of broth and small bites of fish when forced.

Each day, Tamsin spent nearly every hour by his side. Her usual duties like gathering food, helping with the children, all of it was forsaken. This was forgiven by the rest of the village because even though her request had not been spoken, all who knew them, knew them to be one.

An entire cycle of the moon completed before Tamsin’s hope began to wane. Her dream of watching hers and Mika’s children playing on the riverbank, just as they had done themselves as children, was melting away.

One night, exhausted from worry, Tamsin rested her head against Mika’s chest. His heart beat quietly, slowly, against her ear—a drum song that thumped to the tune of a farewell. She closed her eyes, letting the flow of her tears soak his shirt.

Tamsin could not imagine loving another or walking through this world without Mika at her side. She prayed to Creator for strength. Strength for Mika and strength for herself. She sensed the ancestors’ arrival. They surrounded the two friends, waiting. But for what? Were they there to collect Mika or help him to heal? Trapped in a web of fear and despair, Tamsin fell into a fitful sleep.

Sun filtered in through the reed walls. The morning air was crisp, stinging against Tamsin’s bare cheek. It was almost time for their village to move on for the next season, she thought offhandedly. Then, all at once, she remembered.

Tamsin remembered Mika saving baby Utka from the forest fire, remembered him collapsing onto his back, the branch falling and crushing his chest… the days and days spent at his side as he lied there helplessly.

Moving her face up towards his, Tamsin inhaled his scent, committing to memory every smokey note of it. The odour of sweetgrass lingered in his clothes, reminding her of the question she had yet to ask. Mika’s breath was the quietest it had been since the night of the storm, which sent rivulets of tears coursing down her cheeks. He may not have been able to answer her, nevertheless, Tamsin needed to make her request.

“Mika,” she whispered next to his ear, her voice cracking with emotion. “Will you be mine?”

Silence.

Tamsin sobbed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burrowing her face into his neck. Did she imagine it, or did he feel cold to the touch? Slowly, she pulled her chin up and shifted, aligning her lips with his. She bent lower and kissed Mika’s mouth. His lips were dry but still soft. One more time, one last time, she kissed him again.

A cough escaped Mika’s mouth and Tamsin jumped. She stood and watched in shock as his eyelashes fluttered, struggling to open. With effort, he pried them into slits, his dark brown irises moving to look on her. Then his lips parted.

Tamsin gasped, clamping her hand over her mouth.

Another cough, a swallow of the lump in his throat. “Yes,” Mika finally rasped. “Yes, of course I will be yours.”

Mika’s words sent Tamsin into a downward spiral of shocked joy. His lips hitched at one corner, only a small tick. But she knew, he was smiling.

With this, Tamsin’s dream reawakened. In her mind, a child with Mika’s dimple and another with her own long, thin legs, splashed one another at the river’s edge, laughing from their bellies. She sighed, releasing all the worry from chest. New tears, ones of relief, formed at the corners of her eyes. Tamsin’s Mika was going to be alright.