Rise of the Underdogs: Jasper

Clarity Found

Once we arrived at the house where the Bear shifters lived, Geraldine was already outside, sweeping snow from the front porch steps. This action was more than just practical housekeeping. It was a purposeful gesture meant to welcome light and goodness into the home. By clearing the snow, Geraldine was performing a ritual rooted in the beliefs of the Indigenous caretakers of the Great Mother. The act of cleansing was not only about physical tidiness but also served to prevent the invitation of bad spirits, ensuring that only positive energies entered the household.

The sharp, sweet scent of burning sage mixed with cedar, sweetgrass, and tobacco hit us, overwhelming our noses and making us sneeze in wolf form. Hearing laughter, I looked around to see several locals taking in the sight of Werewolves brought to heal by a mixture of herbs that dispelled evil spirits and prevented their intrusion into the home. Not mocking laughter, but the kind that said the town was humoured by our reactions more than they were afraid of our intention.

Focusing my senses, I pulled knowledge I had been taught growing up. Going over each scent in my head, I matched it with Mother’s lessons and relaxed as I linked up with my shifted brothers to explain. ‘She prepared this for River’s return as the culmination of man and wolf becoming one. Sage is mean to purify, protect, and push out negative energy. When burned, it cleanses people, places, and objects that may carry negative attachments. It carries our prayers to the Creator. In our case, that’s the Lady of the Hunt, Artemis.’

River blinked slowly, deliberately. ‘What are the other scents for?’

‘Cedar is for grounding and connection to the spirit world. Something neither you nor Akita will likely need to worry over. Cedar smoke blesses the home and is commonly used in healing ceremonies to attract good spirits and repel the bad.’ I told them.

Levi perked up, his memory catching up as he caught the smell of the third component. ‘That’s sweetgrass! It’s for positive energy, blessings, and harmony. The traditional name is hair of Mother Earth, and it signifies kindness.’

He sniffed again, deeper this time as he held still. ‘Oh… that… that’s pungent. Is that tobacco?’

I barked a laugh through the link, ‘It hold purpose, Brother. When burned with the others, it is an offering to communicate with the spirit world. It’s not just used in smudging, but also as a sacred offering of peace to show respect and send prayers to the ancestors.’

Geraldine cleared her throat, her dark eyes softening slightly.

Stepping toward us, she directed her son and daughter-in-law to approach each of us in turn before setting herself on her knee in front of River. “You six have been through much in such a short time. to assist you in breaking free from that which binds your mind and heart to the stress and ache of loss, I offer you passage through smudging. As you each walk through the smoke, open your minds to the ancestors so they may bless your future travels. Your minds are united.”

Wendy, Tara’s mother, smiled as she knelt in front of me. Holding out her hand, she waited until I pressed my forehead to her palm, feeling the warmth of her connection. “Your other siblings are resting. We’ve already cleansed them of any negative energy and spirit attachments while leaving their goodness intact. Your hearts beat as one.”

Tara’s father, Guilliam, knelt in front of Levi, his gaze holding a contemplative warmth. “You came to us, guided by the spirit of my ancestor, not for war, but in search of sanctuary. You came in peace, respected our home, and proved your intent was true and pure. Your souls echo the ancient pact.”

Then they began chanting in Inuit, the syllables low and breath-bound, curling through the air like mist off the bay. The melody was haunting, familiar to us, mostly because it was the same cadence the Elders used when invoking the spirits of the land, when calling for healing after loss. The same cadence that reminded me of hunting prayers back home.

Tara stood on the stoop, her posture reverent, tapping the qilaut against her thigh in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The rawhide drums notes vibrated on the air, and bone handled beater produced a low, smooth, ceremonially-ideal thud that was rhythmic and lingering. Each beat syncing with the pulse of the earth beneath us.

Smoke rose from the smudge bowl in gentle spirals, flickering embers glowing in the carved stone dish. Sage burned first, sharp and sweet, purifying the space and pushing out the remnants of sorrow and fear. Cedar followed, grounding us, shielding the home from intrusion. Sweetgrass braided the air with warmth, calling in harmony and ancestral kindness. Tobacco, pungent and potent, carried our prayers upward, a sacred offering to the spirits watching from beyond the veil.

The smoke didn’t just cleanse.

It claimed. Wrapping around our limbs, seeping into our lungs, and pulling something loose from our chests. There was no pain. No desperate collusion of questioning our path, our worth, or our strength. It was not a call to arms, but a call to rejoice.

To rebalance.

As the chanting deepened, the voices layered. Each one breathy, rhythmic, and pulsing like the ebb and flow of tide. I felt the shift before I understood it. The slow, subtle realization of my wolf calming. The bone-deep ache of carrying too much for too long seemed to lift gradually

Eagle feathers floated before our eyes. Moving the smoke into swirling patterns as it ghosted over our bodies from the tips of our ears to the ends of our tails. As the feather came full circle, as all things must, I closed my eyes and felt.

Not just my grief, but the pain, the loss of my friends, my teachers. My mother. Though Alpha, she was fair, kind, and provided for all pack children as Mother Earth provides for all her children – animal, human, and those who walk the in-between. I felt the family connection pathway clear, my mind refocusing through the shadows I endured until now.

Enduring didn’t mean choice, either. Many make that mistake. Choice indicates agency over the situation. We were thrust into it with nothing but the clothes on our back and whatever we could carry without weighing down our escape. I endured becoming their guardian because I was the eldest. I was the most trained. I endured the loss because I didn’t know how else to survive long enough to see my siblings reach age-of-majority.

As the sun broke fully, tumbling down the surrounding mountains, it bathed the land with soft, yet powerful golden light. It chased shadows into corners, revealing paths the moon concealed. I felt it warm me. Touching my blue-inlayed white-gold fur until the dark skin beneath pulsed with renewed vitality, soaking in the heat as it would do for any Arctic-born animal.

Fun fact: when I said "soaking in the heat as it would do for any Arctic-born animal" I was referring to actual, documented, as well as socially, theoretically, and scientifically true details. Most animals born in colder climates – specifically wolves, bears, and foxes – have dark skin beneath. This is the fine-tuning of biological survival in places most would consider uninhabitable. While the dark skin absorb the heat of the sun, the pale fur holds the heat in for hours at a time to guard the animal against the icy cold.

Once we were done receiving the prayers and the smudging, we remained seated in the snow. Levi to my right, as second-eldest. River on my left, the third brother and newly transformed. Calm serenity filled us, swirling in the air around us as it lingered on every whisker, every strand of fur, the pads of our paws and, of course, our claws and fangs.

The cleansing left our eyes clear and able to see various shades, and auras. Our ears picked up more as well. From the distant calls of sea birds to the baleful call of the Caribou and the answering call of their mate. I could hear the whisper of wind around the feathered arms of birds in morning flight. We could smell foods being cooked, the sharpness of the frost. We could hear the beating of hearts, the crack of ice in the distance. And we felt and saw with more clarity than we ever had.

Next, several local families stepped forward. I sniffed, scenting the freshly herbed cuts of wild game. Blood was still oozing, but it was mixed with the animal fat that the meat had been seared in, brought to a perfected, sizzling rare that started my stomach growing. Three platters were ceremoniously placed in front of each of us, set down by young boys and girls whose innocence shone with the brightly dazzling aura of light. Adults watched in awe and apprehension, both relaxed and ready to intervein if they felt any sign of danger.

River, his tail swishing the snow into tiny dust clouds, looked between me, our hosts, and the platter. He swallowed tightly, his tongue licking at the drool dripping from his maw like a faucet someone forgot to turn all the way off. ‘This is… for us?’

‘Yes, little brother. We’ve been marked by these people as sentient guardians of peace, so let’s not give them a reason to change their minds.’ I said softly, putting emphasis on the meaning behind my words. As the human settlers stepped back, Levi, River, and I moved to take our fill of the meals we were graciously provided.