‘Come, to the hunt,’ said Gianni Rombaud. ‘It is time I gave you all another lesson with the fire sticks.’
Eager voices receded, soon swallowed up by the forest. Tagay waited, every second that passed an agony, forcing himself to stay still. When he could stand it no longer, he cautiously emerged from under the wrecked craft. The beach was deserted.
Swiftly checked, each canoe proved a ruin. Cursing, he walked up and down the shoreline, looking out to the mass of land opposite. The quality of the setting sun’s light made the forests there stand out in great detail. He could even see the outline of the taller tree-tops.
‘We rowed downstream and across,’ he muttered as he paced. ‘It took only a few hours. Could I …?’ He looked again, tried to will the opposite shore nearer than it was. He had always been a strong swimmer. When the King had summered in the Loire he had spent days avoiding the Marquise by traversing that great river, back and forth. But the Loire was a stream compared to the water before him, that the French called the St Lawrence.
A pistol shot carried clearly from the forest, muffled shouts of triumph, some laughter, brought to him on the wind. They were hunting down the last of his people. When they were done, they would leave the island, for they did not know he was still here. When the last canoe set out, he would be safe. Safe but trapped – and the man who had vowed to rape and kill his Anne, and then destroy his tribe, would be free to wreak that evil unchallenged.
There was no choice. Pulling the odd-shaped stone from his pouch, he said, ‘Donnaconna. Uncle. Chief. Protect me now.’
He replaced the stone, made sure the drawstring was tight and the pouch firm to his belt. Then, as he walked to the water, he trod on one of the paddles. They were made of lighter wood, so that they would float if dropped over the side. It gave him an idea and, dismantling his bow, he used the string to swiftly tie both paddles across his back. When he entered the chill water, they made it slightly awkward to use his arms in an overstroke. But they supported him as he kicked with his legs.
He got offshore, the calmer water letting him go as he would. But as soon as he passed the spit of land, a current took him, pushing him downstream, away from the direction he wanted. There was no hope of swimming against it so he let it take him. At least it pushed him partially toward the opposite shore also, if away from Stadacona. When the force lessened he kicked out hard, until some other current seized him and he was able only to kick, to float with the paddles. But gradually he realized he was not getting much nearer the shore he desired, could not make headway toward it. He looked the way he had come and it was just as far. Despair grew.
A sound came, above the slapping and sucking of the waters. He sought its source and saw what he first took to be part of a tree; then, as he came closer, he realized there was a head under the interwoven branches. The antlers of a stag were cresting the water just ahead of him.
It had to be the one he’d spared! With the strength born of sudden, desperate hope, he kicked hard. The paddles resisted the water so he discarded them. Still the creature seemed to be moving away, despite his hard pulling against the current. Then a rush of water pushed him suddenly up against the animal. One huge eye, bright with panic, regarded him. He grabbed for the antlers, his hands slipped down the ridged surfaces, then held. The buck tossed its huge head, shrugged him off. He grabbed again, half-hoisting himself onto the animal’s shoulders, attempting to thread his arms through the thicket of horn, to lock and hold. He got his grip, had partially mounted the beast’s back, when it suddenly plunged beneath the surface of the water, taking him down just as he’d exhaled with his efforts. Water filled his mouth, his nostrils, closed over his head. His body felt instantly empty, a void of air. He tried to free his arms, but whichever way he pulled the animal seemed to twist its head to hold him, to keep them joined. As they plunged deeper, Tagay’s arms lost their strength and, in doing so, slipped free. Immediately the stag kicked hard for the surface, leaving him behind.
Light was above him but it seemed such an effort to reach up to it, so he allowed himself just to float toward what he knew he could not reach. Besides, he was beginning to enjoy the way the sun’s beams filled the trail of bubbles above him, transforming them into a ladder of air that his limbs were too tired to climb. At its summit, four hooves beat the water, creating new rungs.
Ungrateful beast, he thought, then smiled. An animal did not know gratitude, had no need for any such human trait. And Tagay was losing what made him human, he could feel it, shedding like a stag shed its antlers, merging into the elements that surrounded him, the green water, the yellow light of his land.
Above him, so far away, the beast continued its journey. As it went, it drew shadows in its wake, filling the sky.
Go, brother, Tagay thought, reaching up almost gratefully into the darkness. He had been born again. And all things born must die.
FIVE
WITCH HUNT
The night was still, broken only by the waves on the shore and the sharp cries of a hunting owl. The darkness was intense, for huge clouds had rolled over the sky, blotting out the waxing moon. To the north, downriver, a storm lashed lightning, thunder crashed. Gaka had told her that it was the sound made by a giant bird in the sky, flapping its wings. So far their village had escaped the rain Anne scented in the closeness of the air.
The dark was pierced only by the shifting flames of her fireplace. She had stolen a tiny ember from the hearth, carried it there in one of the bowls, nursed it with kindling then sticks. Her vigil was lonely enough without its little light. No one else had come to watch for the returning hunters. ‘They will be here when they are here,’ Gaka had said. But no one had her need.
Tagay! She had to tell him of Black Snake, of the danger she was now in. Gaka had warned her to be cautious. Black Snake was a war chief and highly respected, accusations against him would have to have the weight of much evidence behind them – and the word of a group of enamoured boys, who had not really understood what they saw, would not be enough.
She stared out toward the water, blind beyond her flames, listening. They were meant to be back before nightfall; all the other hunting parties had returned with their different kinds of game. Only the venison that the hunters sought on the island was missing from the full moon feast, three days away.
A dog howled in the village above her. She could just hear a faraway voice telling it to hush. A wave reached the shore, bringing a different type of sound, as if something had grounded on the shale. She called out, ‘Tagay?’ but there was no reply.
A sudden shriek just behind her, had her scrabbling on her knees away from the sound. Looking back in panic, she caught the shadowed outline of spread wings, firelight glimmered on talons, something small wriggling in the heart of the darkness. The owl immediately flew skywards, giving a sharp cry of triumph. She rose, taking deep breaths, trying to follow the bird’s soaring shape. Gradually, her heart calmed.
The arm that went around her neck choked off any hope of sound, the weight of the body that pushed her to the earth knocking all air from her lungs.
The arm withdrew, a hand returned, forcing her head into the earth. Her mouth, open and desperate for breath, sucked in mud. Another hand reached round inside her dress, grabbing at her breasts, twisting and pulling.
She got some air, whimpered in pain. The man on her back laughed.
‘I knew I would take you, White Cedar. I did not think it would be so soon. And so easy.’
Black Snake rolled her over, so she could see his tattooed face, his hand covering her mouth, his weight still crushing her. She tried to bite, caught a little flesh between her teeth. He took the hand away and, as she took in air to scream, struck her hard across the face. Her cry choked, she tasted blood.
He flipped her again so her front was once more pressed into the earth. She could barely breathe let alone cry out. Both his hands were now free to run over her body. She felt him pull her dress up, past her thighs, up further, then felt h
im fiddling at his breech cloth. He pulled her up off the ground so her hands were free again, but she had to brace herself to prevent falling back to the earth where he crushed her, where she knew she would faint.
‘I know what you want, White Cedar,’ he grunted. ‘I saw the way you looked at Tagay. I will give you now what he never would. And, since he is dead, he will not be able to, ever again.’ He levered himself backwards, his hand reaching up between her legs.
She let her left hand go, so that they both slipped. Her bruised face banged into the ground. Her right hand reached sideways, into flame, a different pain that she pulled to her. Cursing, he jerked her up again, banging her thighs hard into his. For a moment he had to take his own weight to steady them both. That was when she brought her right hand straight up off the ground, past her own face, over her shoulder. The burning end of the stake she clutched caught the side of his head, skittered past his eye, embedded in his nose.
The blow could only be delivered contorted, lacking a fuller force. But he reeled back with a howl, clutching at his face, and his weight shifted off her. In a moment, she was up and stumbling along the beach.
A hand wrapped around her ankle. She slipped onto her hands, kicked back with the other leg. She heard another grunt of pain and then she was running, trying to summon enough air to scream. The best she seemed to be able to manage was a whisper, as if she was held in a nightmare.
‘Help! Help me!’
The beach lay just below the village but out of sight, beyond a series of huge boulders. If she could round them, she would be in sight of the guards at the palisade gates and she would not need to scream.
He was coming after her. She could hear his footfalls on the path, getting closer and closer. She didn’t look back. Just as she passed the boulders, suddenly she was no longer running but flying, tumbling, rolling along the path. He was on top of her again, a blackness was filling her eyes. Then she heard another voice, different from the harsh croak of Black Snake.
‘What happens here? Speak, or I will shoot you down.’
She was looking up into light, into torches held aloft.
‘Help me!’ she wheezed, and there was someone there, dragging her to her feet, a gate guard, and she pressed against him, while his fellow took a step toward the still prone Black Snake, raising his torch above him.
The warrior was hunched over, his face to the earth. When he raised his head, Anne could see the damage she had done. Blood ran down the side of his face, as if it dripped from the fangs of the snake. Black ash mixed with the red.
As his eyes met hers, he began to howl, an animal scream. She heard noise, then became aware there were words within it, a word she’d never heard and one she had – their word for the magic spirit that lived in all things.
‘Oki!’ yelled Black Snake, again and again, pointing at Anne, as more people ran from the gates, clutching weapons, more torches. Soon a crowd had gathered in the suddenly bright night, forming a semi-circle around the howling man and the woman still slumped against the guard.
The line of people opened and Chief Tangled emerged. At the sight of him, Black Snake fell to his side, and began to jerk and toss on the ground.
‘What does this mean, Tawane? What of the hunt? Where are the others?’
The jerking stopped long enough for one tattooed arm to be raised. It pointed straight at Anne. Then the man spoke the word that Anne had not understood, that he had been alternating with ‘Oki’.
‘Ontatekiahta,’ he said and fell back to the earth to shake.
Immediately, the guard who was supporting Anne against himself pushed her away. She fell toward the line of villagers who gave ground before her.
‘What does he say?’ She looked from one face to the next. Getting no response, she shouted, ‘He … attacked me. I … I do not know your word for it. He wanted to take me, as a man takes a woman, but I did not want it. I had to fight.’
There was a muttering, then, the eyes shifting back to the prone man. His jerking suddenly stopped and he sat up, his eyes rolling around before settling again on Anne.
‘Yes, I attacked her. But not because I wanted her like a man. I attacked her because she has cursed me. She cursed our hunt. She brought disaster to it. All the hunters are dead. All! Because of her curse.’ At this, cries burst from the people, of anger, of dismay. Someone began to wail. Raising his hand again, he pointed to Anne but away from her face, to her side. ‘She has an Oki there, in her pouch. It is the remains of an Ontatekiahta from her land across the Great Water. She has used it to bring her evil to us.’
Anne suddenly realized the only thing the word could mean. She screamed out, ‘It’s not true!’ but her cry was lost in the shouts of the people. Most of them backed away still further but the two guards, on an order from Chief Tangled, grabbed her. Rough hands tore the deer skin bag from her belt, fingers fumbled for the drawstring. It was inverted and shaken upside down.
The hand fell onto the earth. It landed palm down. All could see its six skeletal fingers.
A woman, one who had been wailing loudly, ran forward and struck Anne hard across the face, another woman followed, and soon blows were falling from every side. She went to her knees, where kicks were aimed at her. So many came, she was unable to do much to protect herself.
Then, as suddenly as the attack began, it stopped. Tangled had given a command, and the women fell back. The two gate guards bent, lifted her up.
‘This is not the time for justice. This is not how we judge,’ he thundered, staring down any who looked back at him. ‘Tomorrow all the wise men of our tribe will be gathered. We will decide this matter then. I will take her Oki for I do not fear any Ontatekiahta of the Pale Thieves. She will have no power here.’
He picked up the skeletal hand. Groans issued from all around him.
‘Now, put her in the cage where the dogs for eating are kept. Watch her. Even without her Oki she may be dangerous. Do not talk to her or breathe near her. If she speaks, beat her. Otherwise, leave her alone.’ He glowered at the faces around him. ‘I have spoken.’
As she was picked up under her arms and dragged away, Anne caught sight of Gaka standing amongst the rest, saw the old woman shake her head and put a finger to her lips. As she went, the people followed her through the village gates, chanting the word she had not known before, that she knew, only too well, the meaning of now.
‘Ontatekiahta! Ontatekiahta! Ontatekiahta!’ they chanted.
‘Witch! Witch! Witch!’
He had built the fire in the lee of a huge, overhanging rock, a small shelter from the rain. The worst of the sudden summer storm had passed over them, thunder rumbling away to the east now. But it had hit while he was still on the water, wrestling with the unstable craft, great spears of lightning arcing into the landfall he sought. One bolt had struck a tree, transforming it into an instant inferno, a beacon on the shore. He accepted this sign from God, turned the canoe toward its safety, for it was known that lightning did not strike the same spot twice. Also, the man he’d pulled from the river was blue-cold and since he had neither flints nor one of the native fire starters, a tree in flames seemed a good place to seek warmth.
Now Thomas stared at the youth, whose knees were drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped round them, lying under the deerskin Thomas had snatched from the village. Redness had displaced the icy blue of his cheek. The shuddering breaths had stopped. He had even begun to mumble a little, his head moving back and forth, driven by some dream; perhaps there was a fever building. But Thomas preferred that to the frozen stillness he had thought meant he had arrived too late.
‘God’s will,’ he muttered, shrugging deeper into his heavy black cloak, as another cascade of thunder ran down the heavens. He saw more lightning strike the opposite shore, probably close to the village he’d come from. Maybe the rain was keeping them inside their lodges. Perhaps he hadn’t been missed yet. They seemed to pay him little attention, while they had taken Gianni Rombaud to their warrior hearts.
The mumbling of the man across the fire grew louder. Words that Thomas could not understand but recognized as the native tongue came pouring out, interspersed with words in French, words that chilled as much as the rain. Shivering, Thomas tossed another log onto the flame.
Tagay was fighting demons in his dreams. They weighted his chest down with giant rocks, forcing the air from his body. They burned him with hot irons, slashed him with rusted swords. Then, suddenly, hands were upon him, tattooed, iron-strong, unbreakable. He was stripped, turned over, his legs were forced apart …
‘Anne-edda,’ he screamed, leaping back from the flames that burned him, from the hands that reached for him, crashing into hard rock walls. A shape rose from the other side of the fire, spreading huge black wings.
‘Demon!’ Tagay cried, trying to burrow back into unyielding stone, his legs scrabbling in the shale. Then, they gave way and he fell, covering his face with his arms, awaiting the touch of this Devil who had dragged him to hell.
‘Tagay.’ The voice that reached him was gentle, spoke in French. ‘That is your name, isn’t it?’
Through the crossbars of his arms, Tagay looked out at the shape that folded its wings now and sank back to the ground. The demon had a human face, with grey streaked through the black hair and beard.
‘What Devil are you?’ His voice quavered.
‘Thomas Lawley is my name.’
‘A fallen angel?’
A smile came. ‘All too human. Otherwise I could raise a mightier fire than this.’ He gestured to the flames before him. ‘Nonetheless, it is all we have and you look cold. Come closer, friend.’
Tagay had begun to shake again, and not just with fear. But he did not move. ‘Is this not hell, then? Am I not drowned?’
‘It is not and you were not. Come to the warmth and I will explain.’
Tagay, shaking badly now, stumbled forward, fell. In an instant, Thomas had plucked the cloak from his own shoulders, draped it over the younger man’s.
Blood Ties Page 39