Language of the Bear

by Nathanael Green

  “We’re in danger,” he blurted and the words sounded angrier and louder than they felt.

  Lifting Smoke stood, nonplussed and quiet for a long moment. Wolf Tongue filled the silence. “The English wanted to kill Storm-of-Villages, and they wanted a Susquehannock to be their guide. But he has an army of his own, and I fear he’s coming for retribution.”

  Lifting Smoke straightened and looked about with searching eyes. The feathers in the tight cap he wore rustled. He turned back to Wolf Tongue and studied him, his gaze lingering on the wound on his face. Then, he cleared his throat and said, “If it’s true, then we should all gather.” Turning to the side, he called out to a few people, instructing each to find some key member of the war council and also the elders and matrons. He turned back to Wolf Tongue.

  “Meet us at the fire,” he said, and let a narrowed gaze linger on Wolf Tongue as he turned away. Lifting Smoke slipped his bony hand into that of his niece, who looked over her shoulder with wide, walnut eyes at Wolf Tongue.

  Strikes Twice, who’d just jogged up, stopped beside him. His uncle looked him over quickly, and as if deciding Wolf Tongue’s wounds weren’t grievous, said, “Food?”

  Wolf Tongue heard the question as if filtered through the water as he watched the little girl disappear beyond the woolen curtain into the longhouse. He shook himself and looked around. The people who’d gathered began to disperse, some going off to bring back family members, or others to prepare themselves for what might be a long, cold night of debates beside the fire.

  Wolf Tongue nodded to Strikes Twice. He didn’t feel particularly hungry, but he knew he needed fortification. And hot food would be even better. “Thank you.”

  His uncle nodded back and said, “It’s good you’re back. Your mother will be happy.”

  As he bustled off, Wolf Tongue stepped toward the pit of ash and charred branches at the center of the Ring of Ancestors. On festival days and celebrations, the flames would reach higher than he stood, and nearly twice as far around. Tonight, though, he feared it would be a low, simmering fire that reflected his mood. The twelve carved posts encircled him. Each face watched him with unknowable, wooden eyes.

  He spread the skins he’d traded for on the ground and settled into a seat beside the soggy pile of ash. He could have begun building the fire himself, but he did not much feel like it. He simply felt weary and worn now, even more than he had when he’d first come into the village moments ago.

  He’d said what he had to say. He’d told Lifting Smoke of the danger, and most of the Susquehannock had heard it. But the chief was calling together a council, and Wolf Tongue would need to speak again, to retell what he had, and doubtless much more about his time away.

  A breath hissed through his nose as he smiled ruefully. The tale he had to tell was a great one. He had won blood and glory in battle, but for one moment when his enemy stole his friend and he was left with an unfulfilled oath.

  “Wolf Tongue.”

  He looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of Fox’s Smile. He could not keep a grin from beginning and his stomach tightening as he watched her approach. The wind tossed her hair so that it almost looked like the streaks of clouds in the darkening sky behind her. Her round face was dark, her thick lips pinched together as she hustled to kneel beside him.

  Immediately, she took his face in her hands and examined the slice along his face. She probed with one hand and he winced with a sharp intake of breath.

  “It’s not deep,” she said, relief clear in her voice. Then, she pulled away slightly and moved her eyes over the rest of him, searching for more wounds.

  “I thought I’d come home to a kiss,” he said.

  “I thought you’d come home handsomer.”

  Wolf Tongue cocked his eyebrow half-heartedly. “I thought a scar would be an improvement.”

  The corner of Fox’s Smile’s mouth tightened and she spoke from the other side. “There’s not much help for you.” Despite her words, she leaned in and kissed him. He stroked one hand against her cheek before she pulled away. Her eyes flicking back and forth between his, her face sobered.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Are you hurt more?”

  Wolf Tongue shook his head and looked back to the remnants of the fire. Sits-by-the-Tree, Fox’s Smile’s mother, and the little girl he’d seen earlier began to lay out a fire. The woman, bent over at the waist, looked up once to Wolf Tongue with unreadable eyes. Then, with a flop of her braid, turned back to her work.

  Wolf Tongue looked to the hide between his feet for a breath and felt Fox’s Smile lay her hand on the back of his neck.

  “I failed,” he said. It came from his mouth so quietly that even he was not sure if he’d said it aloud.

  Fox’s Smile caressed his neck and leaned in. “You came back alive. That was all I asked. You will win glory another day.”

  He shook his head with chagrin. “I did win glory.” He turned his eyes to hers and he felt for a moment the thrill and the excitement of battle and fantastic deeds. “I fought against men who outnumbered us. I scaled a cliff to ambush our enemy. I eluded capture and killed men who wanted to sell my scalp to the French.”

  Fox’s Smile stared back, uncomprehending.

  Wolf Tongue sighed and his fervor passed. “I went with an English soldier, Hugh Pyke is his name. We were to kill Storm-of-Villages. And even after all we did, he still lives, he captured Pyke, and now I fear he’ll try to rain his retribution on us.”

  “We will fight,” she whispered, her voice light as if any other solution were ridiculous. “He is only a madman trailed by escaped slaves.”

  “He is a madman, but a smart one. And vicious. And he has more than escaped slaves. He has at least thirty armed men.”

  Fox’s Smile sat back on her heels. The first wisps of smoke rose from the heap of tinder in the fire while the little girl fanned the flames. Others were crowding around the fire, laying out blankets and settling down. Some glanced furtively at Wolf Tongue and whispered while others, friends, stared with open concern and curiosity.

  “That’s not all,” said Fox’s Smile. “You’ve never been afraid to fight. Why are you so soul-sick now?”

  Wolf Tongue licked his lips. She was right. It wasn’t solely the prospect of open battle with Storm-of-Villages that bothered him. He ran a hand along the stubble of his scalp.

  “I swore a blood oath to the Lenape that I would see Storm-of-Villages die. I swore it to their gods, and to Hahgwehdiyu after he murdered some of their people.”

  “The Lenape …” she began, confused, but Wolf Tongue continued.

  “And now my oath goes unfilled while Storm-of-Villages might have killed or tortured Pyke and is coming here.” He emphasized the last word and locked his eyes with hers.

  She thought for a moment and leaned in, taking his hand in hers. She drew a breath as if to speak, but then closed her mouth and offered a simple, closed-lip smile.

  Wolf Tongue hadn’t noticed him before, but Kicks-the-Oneida had come with his wife and son and sat slightly to one side of Lifting Smoke. The big warrior showed no signs of their fight more than ten days ago.

  Wolf Tongue turned as he heard his mother call his name. She came from the side with Strikes Twice and Runs-in-Water carrying a wooden bowl. They all settled around him, and his mother passed over the cold fish stew and quickly inspected the same wounds Fox’s Smile had prodded a moment ago.

  “I’m still whole,” he said. River’s Mist smiled and hugged him. Then, as she pulled away, Lifting Smoke called out. She sat back and patted Wolf Tongue’s forearm once.

  “We are gathered?”

  A murmur of assent rumbled through the ring. People still meandered about out in the village, but they would come later, while some already here would drift off part way to return again. Fox’s Smile withdrew her hand from his and settled onto the ground beside him.

  Lifting Smoke sat beside Sits-by-the-Tree. He looked to Wolf Tongue with raised eyebrows and said, “You retu
rn with warnings. So share them.”

  Wolf Tongue cleared his throat and straightened his back. He began to speak, though he was often interrupted with questions and digressions. He spoke of how Storm-of-Villages had murdered the Lenape, how he’d seen his gathering of warriors. Questions arose of his first departure and he told of how he’d been taken to the English town and charged with Pyke. He warned Storm-of-Villages now knew that the Susquehannock aided the English in their plot and would come to make them pay in blood. He saw many wide eyes as he talked of scaling the cliff and leaping into the river.

  All the while he talked, he was aware of Fox’s Smile sitting beside him, her presence like a magical totem that he could feel in his spirit that lent him strength. He was also aware that he did not mention his blood oath, though its weight hovered around him. Fox’s Smile knew of it, and that was enough.

  When he finished speaking, the night had come on in full. People tended the fire and now it had grown so that its light illuminated the faces of all who sat near it while the village behind them was but hulking black shadows.

  “How do you know Storm-of-Villages truly is coming here?” asked Kicks-the-Oneida.

  Wolf Tongue hesitated. To be truthful, he did not know for certain. “I have seen his anger,” he said finally. “His head is wrong, but he’s fierce. When the Lenape spurned him, he murdered four of their people just for refusing to join him. He has enough followers to rise against us, and if he knows that the Susquehannock aided the English in trying to kill him, he will come for all of us.”

  “You tried to kill him,” came a retort from someone to Wolf Tongue’s right. “Why won’t he come only for you?”

  Wolf Tongue shook his head. “Because he is mad. If I could fight him alone, I would. But he won’t stand alone, and he’ll come with his army. And those who do not join him, he will fight.”

  Kicks-the-Oneida leaned forward. “What would you have us do? This is one madman who came begging at our borders, and now you say he is a war chief?” He frowned and shook his head. “I am not afraid of any Mohawk. Especially a crazy one with half quhanstrono blood.”

  Wolf Tongue’s head snapped up in anger, though Kicks-the-Oneida now looked elsewhere. Whether the insult had been meant partially for him or not, Wolf Tongue did not know, but he felt the barb of it nonetheless. He wondered whether Kicks-the-Oneida had really allowed him to win the fight.

  “We must fight,” said Wolf Tongue. “I have seen this man. I know he’ll come for us, and it’s better to meet him where we like than to wait for him.”

  “No,” said Kicks-the-Oneida. “He’s no threat to us. If he comes, we’ll be ready for him. But it’s foolish to arm yourself for the bear and go chasing through the forest when there are only rabbits. I say we wait. We don’t even know if this man is coming at all. And if he does, he’s no match for the Susquehannock.”

  Wolf Tongue searched his mind for a retort, but could find nothing that he had not already said. Something inside him whispered at the danger, that war blew on the wind, but he could not prove it. He had no reasons to truly think that but his own fears.

  Lifting Smoke blew out a puff of smoke and rested his pipe on his knee. “If Storm-of-Villages challenges us, and I doubt that he will, I would have Kicks-the-Oneida lead our warriors against him. But I hope this does not happen. We have a friendship with the English that would only be more complicated if we were to fight with some of their own.” As he finished, he took up his pipe again and looked to the other elders and matrons. Wolf Tongue noted that while two nodded in agreement, three of the others frowned as if with conflicted spirits.

  “Wolf Tongue knows of what he speaks.” Fox’s Smile rarely spoke at council and her voice made Wolf Tongue turn. Her young face was drawn with worry and conviction as she leaned forward toward her father. “It was us, our whole village, who sent him with the soldier. And now he comes back with information and warnings that he has seen firsthand. We should listen to him, heed his words. And if there is to be war, he has earned the right to lead us into it.”

  “And he returns to us with more danger than when he left,” said Kicks-the-Oneida in a low, slow voice. Wolf Tongue felt a heat rise in his face, though he saw no malice in the older man’s gaze. Instead, it seemed to be disappointment or frustration, and that chafed at Wolf Tongue’s spirit more than any ire could have. “I believe you are a warrior. I see your wounds and your trophies. But perhaps you seek too much to make your name among the Susquehannock. I have led men in battle before. And I will again if the elders agree.”

  Kicks-the-Oneida looked to Lifting Smoke, then to a few of the other elders around the fire. Wolf Tongue shifted his feet and said nothing. He noticed Sits-by-the-Tree staring at him. She still sat beside Lifting Smoke with a deerskin curled around her shoulders and fists. The slight age lines in her face were smoothed away by the firelight, making her look almost as a twin to her daughter. She watched him with soft, curious eyes that did not move away when he saw her. She seemed to ask him whether he would again challenge Kicks-the-Oneida.

  Wolf Tongue looked back to his feet. Around him, people continued to talk. The elders and Lifting Smoke agreed that it was unlikely Storm-of-Villages would attack the village. If he did, they would rely on their hill, palisade, and Kicks-the-Oneida for protection.

  Wolf Tongue watched on with his tongue pressed against his teeth in silence. Slowly, the conversation drifted away from Storm-of-Villages, and then branched into more, smaller discussions. People talked with those who sat next to them, or among their own family. Occasionally, someone would rise to add another log to the fire or drift off to their longhouse.

  The moon rose and the gathering thinned until fewer than a dozen Susquehannock still sat around the fire, hands stretched out for warmth. Wolf Tongue and Fox’s Smile sat in silence, staring at the ebb of red and orange. Without a word, Fox’s Smile rose and stepped between Wolf Tongue and the fire. She stared into his eyes, then took his face in both her hands and kissed him on the forehead. She let one hand linger on his neck as she drifted away toward her bed.

  Wolf Tongue watched her go, then turned back to the fire. With a sigh, he laid down on his side and pulled the skin up over his shoulder. The murmur of hushed conversations hovered in the air. With one elbow under his head, he watched the flames chase one another in an angry dance, joining and breaking alliances, swelling high, only to fade again while the wood beneath them charred and crumbled away.

  ***

  The morning broke before the village truly began to stir and Wolf Tongue awoke, cold and sore, to a steel sky and the cawing of crows. He rose from beside the ashes of the fire and slipped off through the silent ways back to his family’s longhouse.

  There, he slept for a few hours more, then rose in search of food. Those he shared the house with, his mother, sisters, and a half-dozen other extended family, had disappeared from their bunks that lined the hall. Wolf Tongue slipped to a smoldering fire at the center of the house where a copper pot still sat next to the coals. The fish stew had thickened in a white sauce and was still warm. It was unseasoned and fresh, and as Wolf Tongue spooned down what remained in the pot, he felt a warm glow building in his stomach as if he’d begun to rekindle a fire.

  After filling his belly, Wolf Tongue looked around the empty longhouse. The sunlight hung like a white curtain through the opening in the roof to illuminate the smoke and motes of dust that floated on the air. The bunks piled with woolen blankets and animal skins were all empty, though somehow the house felt still occupied and cozy with the dried goods, pots, water vessels and tools that hung from the ceiling and walls.

  It felt odd to be home now. He’d been away for longer stretches when they hunted deer in the fall. But somehow, his journey with Hugh Pyke had seemed to take him farther away than anything before.

  He leaned back against a post that held the roof aloft and breathed in the scent of wood smoke, of bear grease used as an ointment, of earth and dried herbs. It was soothing to be h
ome, even if his family was gone to their daily duties. Wolf Tongue thought for a moment that he should go find them and help with whatever his mother worked at this day. Or else find his uncles, who were likely fishing at the river.

  Instead, he climbed back into his bed and closed his eyes. The aches and bruises felt much better after a full night’s sleep and some hot food, though they still pained him. A little more sleep would always be welcome.

  Wolf Tongue had just begun to feel the swooping, falling of his body away from the world when loud noises outside yanked him back to wakefulness. He stared at the gray of the bark ceiling. Outside, people whooped and called out to one another. For a brief moment, a fear fountained inside him that Storm-of-Villages had already come, but the voices he heard did not seem sufficiently alarmed. When he heard someone say something about quhanstrono, he swung his legs to the ground and rushed to the door. He’d left his tomahawk wrapped with his musket beneath his bed, but a war club he’d trained with hung by the door. Almost as an afterthought, he lifted it from its peg and slipped out.

  As he ducked through the door, he squinted in the flare of the sun. He stepped outside and stopped abruptly as he nearly crashed into Fox’s Smile.

  “I wondered if I’d find you here,” she said.

  Wolf Tongue grunted and shook the sleep from his head. Before he could ask his questions, Fox’s Smile continued, “There is a quhanstrono here looking for you. He says he is your friend.”

  Wolf Tongue stared. “Pyke?”

  Fox’s Smile’s face was furrowed in the confusion that mirrored Wolf Tongue’s, but she nodded. “He said his name was Lieutenant Pyke. He came on a horse and waits outside the palisade on the road. Kicks-the-Oneida is already there questioning him with my father and a crowd of others.”