by Zoe Saadia
“We are to leave at once.” Achtohu was out of breath, having evidently run around for some time. “You are coming, too.”
“Why?” He eyed the young man with a measure of wariness, never comfortable around that particular crowd. Some young warriors were nothing but a nuisance.
“Your father says so. He is to stay here for another day with a handful of our men. Something to do with our guests, snotty squirrels that they are.” The narrowed eyes flashed. “He wants to makes them listen? Or did he despair already? Were you there in the council house?”
Migisso just nodded.
“What went on there?”
“The usual speeches.” He shrugged. “Father spoke well. Some of the leaders in there were attentive to his words.” Another shrug. “Others were not. The chief of their Porcupine Clan argued.”
“The leading bastard of Skootuck? We should have expected that!” Achtohu kicked at the stone, then moderated his tone, glancing at the people around. There were so many of them. How did they manage to live together, tucked in that impressive double row of palisade, protected, with not a care in the world?
“There were those who did listen. Our leader spoke well.”
“Your father always does. But his words are not always falling on attentive ears.” The young man picked a stone, then threw it away. “Well, come with me. We are sailing now.”
“Now? So close to nightfall?” Puzzled, Migisso glanced at the sun, which was tilting toward the western hills, clearly visible over the nearest houses and the distant silhouette of the fence.
“Yes. We will camp out there. Reach home before the next nightfall.” The young man’s eyes sparkled with impatience. “Come.”
A group of girls swept by, their decorated skirts swirling, their laughter infectious. Trying to avoid their scrutinizing gazes, he averted his eyes, still puzzled over the sudden change of plans. Why would they go back in a hurry and without their elders, after arriving only this morning? Had it something to do with the negotiations, with his father’s farfetched ideas?
“Who stays to escort our elders back?”
“The warriors. A handful of the real ones. More than half of twenty, enough to keep our elders safe.” Achtohu’s eyes followed the colorful group, his frown fading away. “Nice sights they have here.”
“Maybe it has something to do with the hunting. Maybe they realized that most of our people are needed out there, storing meat and fish.”
“Maybe,” said his companion absently, eyes still wandering, lingering on one of the girls, holding her gaze. “Or maybe they just don’t like so many of us around, reminding them that we are not some poor, distant cousins, but people just like they are.”
Chapter 4
“Are you certain this is the shore?”
The old hunter knelt again, this time in the shallow water, scooping some of it with his palm, studying the wet sand, letting it run between his fingers.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
She hated the way her stomach churned, with a mixture of anger and fear, wishing, for the safety of her people, that the enemy would be anywhere but here, hoping they would still be around for her annoyingly doubting companions to see them and know that she had been right to give them her warning. No one believed her, not fully. At this point, she began doubting her own observations as well.
“I was up there, on the Sacred Hill,” she added, her anger giving her courage. “I saw them most clearly. I’m certain of what I saw.”
“You must have an eagle’s eyesight, girl,” said one of the older hunters, his lips twisting unpleasantly. “It’s a long way to be able to see all you described. Their faces, their paint, the way they had done their hair… Even their words! Are you sure your spirit was not wandering, entering the dream worlds?”
“Or they might have been a hunting party,” added another man not unkindly, obviously trying to be helpful, but not helping at all. “Maybe she saw some of our people, or the villagers of the Long Creek.”
“I know what I saw!”
She prevented herself from stomping her foot at the last moment, remembering her company. Her companions were not girls of her age to grow angry with and throw insults. They were respectable men of the village, the hunters that came back home expecting a happy welcome, receiving nothing but an agitated commotion and spells of fear from their womenfolk. And now, instead of a day of rest, they were trailing along the western woods after her, not pleased or grateful. Their side-glances told her so.
She pressed her lips stubbornly.
“I know what I saw. They were warriors, enemy warriors. I could hear them speaking, not enough to try to understand their words, but still. They were not speaking our tongues. They were armed like warriors, not hunters, and they were careful to keep quiet and to make no fire.”
“Did you watch them until nightfall?”
She returned their gazes. “No.”
“Then how do you know they didn’t make fire?”
“They stopped to eat, before dragging their boats behind the trees. They would have made a fire to cook some meat if they were hunters.” It came out muffled, seeping through her clenched teeth.
“What did they eat?”
“Something out of jars.”
“Meat?” Schikan, one of the younger hunters eyed her with an open friendliness, his eyes dancing. A companion of her brother for quite a long time, he was the one to teach her all the unwomanly things for which she received frowns, from shooting a bow to running the right way, not like silly girls did.
“No, it must have been some sort of dough. They used spoons.”
“It still proves nothing.” The older hunters were not about to be pacified, set against the demand to spend their day verifying the strange claims of a strange girl. A silly attempt of a useless female to get attention, was their mutual verdict. One could not mistake that expression.
“This shore certainly shows signs of someone being here recently,” said another man, coming from behind the bend of the river. “If they were warriors, they covered their tracks well. Still, one can see that it was not abandoned, not recently.” The man frowned. “The lower bank down there shows that a long boat was dragged out of the water. Not a light hunters’ canoe, but a heavy dug-out. It was picked up quickly, as there is no trail, but it might have been a long boat.”
They looked around, perturbed, and again, she felt the peculiar wave running down her spine, a wild excitement mixed with an acute fear. What if they were attacked?
The trees guarding the shoreline moved slightly, rustling a warning. Had they sent the same warning to the enemy who had stood here only yesterday, busy and unafraid? That warrior with the tattoo of a wolf and a terrible hairdo. Had he sensed the same uneasiness? Somehow, she knew he had. He had been watching her side of the hill most intently. Though unable to see his expression or what his eyes held, she had known he was perturbed and on guard, maybe even aware of her watching him.
Catching her breath, she peered into the semidarkness behind the trees. There must be some evidence there, something that would make her people believe her.
“I think we can look around some more.” Schikan’s voice rang with sincerity, deferring to the older members of their party, but not about to give up. “There is no harm in doing at least that, since we came so far.”
Their foreboding expressions reflected the frown of the opaque sky. Such a cloudy day.
“I can take you to the place I was hiding yesterday,” she said in desperation. “You’ll see that I’m not exaggerating, that it was possible to see clearly…” The heaviness of their gazes made her voice trail off.
“I will check this grove.” She was sorry Schikan’s eagerness to help made him dive into the darkness of the trees, leaving her to face the rest of them alone. It was daunting to battle their prejudice.
“I’ll go with you,” said one of the men, shrugging as though tired of being upset with the uselessness of it all. “The young man is right. If we are h
ere anyway…” With a light wave of a hand, he disappeared behind the muddy embankment.
“We all should join young Schikan,” said the older of the hunters grimly, the unofficial leader of their expedition. “See if there is any evidence we missed scanning this shore at first.”
“There is none, and there will be none.” The glance the speaking man shot at Kentika was dark with disdain.
She summoned the remnants of her anger. “You will find evidence, and plenty of it,” she said, meeting the dark glare with enough fire in her own. “I’m not lying, and I’m not mistaking what I saw. Our settlement better be prepared for the coming of the enemy. They are roaming our woods, and have been for a full day now. They are here.”
The glances they shot at the river and the trees were perturbed, openly unsettled. She regretted saying the last words. They scared her as much as they scared them. It sounded like a prophecy.
“Stop talking nonsense, girl!” Paqua was the man of their own clan, as dignified as Father and almost as influential. Almost. He was a friendly rival, Father used to joke. Well, he looked anything but friendly now. “Your words will bring us trouble, if you keep talking this way. Do not tempt the spirits that are guarding our woods.” Another of the squashing glances. “Just keep quiet. Sit here until we are finished looking for your non-existent evidence. Enough that you dragged us all here with no reason. Do not make more of a nuisance out of yourself, girl.”
“I am not—” Their stony gazes stopped her words, making the lump in her throat grow. She was never listened to, never taken seriously, never! But this time, it was so very important. “Please, you must believe me! You—”
The man who had gone to inspect the next bend appeared almost at the same time that Schikan burst from behind the trees, both breathless with agitation, waving frantically. The boats! their hand gestures said.
Her body went limp with relief. They had found the boats!
The enemy might have covered his tracks, leaving no evidence of them lingering among the rocks and the muddy forest ground, but their boats were not something they could make disappear, to reappear later, at their convenience. However well hidden between moss-covered rocks, camouflaged by plenty of branches and rotten logs, the vessels were there, a clear evidence, an unbreakable testimony, one large, heavy dugout, with many lighter canoes, decorated to this or that degree, painted, proclaiming the enemy’s might and ferociousness.
Holding her breath, Kentika watched the men dragging the vessels out, in a frenzy now, their silly remarks forgotten, their demand that she wait on the shore as well. Of course she did not stay.
Her heart pounding wildly, chest swelling with both satisfaction and fear, she rushed after them, hot on their heels. No more poison-dripping reproaches and dark glances. She had been proved right. The boats confirmed her story.
However, they did more than this. They told them how serious the situation was, how threatening. The well-hidden vessels professed one thing. The enemy was out there, planning the attack on their village. There was no other likely destination, unless the invaders were prepared to walk for days. Which, of course, made no sense whatsoever.
“What are we going to do with those?” she asked Schikan quietly, catching the other side of the heavy vessel he was lifting with a visible effort, remembering the warrior with the wolf tattoo tossing the bark canoe upon his shoulder as though it were a branch of a tree.
He looked at her briefly, his eyes twinkling, assessing her, clearly debating whether to remark on her volunteering help as though she were another man, or to just accept it. But for the heaviness and the uncomfortable slickness of the boat’s side, she would have stared back.
“We’ll take what we can sail, and burn the rest, I presume.” Pausing briefly, he wiped the sweat off his brow. “Or maybe hide what we can’t sail in another place. Those vessels are good.”
“What will they do when they come back and don’t find them?” She tried to pay no attention to the nauseating fluttering in her stomach. “I mean, won’t they grow even angrier, more dangerous than before?”
His face darkened. “By the time they come back to retrieve their boats, our fields may be burned and our people killed or captured. They are warriors on the raid, Sister, not traveling foreigners.” Grimacing, he shifted his grip, trying to take the most of the canoe’s weight. “So to answer your question, no, they won’t get any more dangerous than they are now.”
But for the heaviness of their cargo and the necessity to watch her step, she would have shut her eyes, terrified by his words.
“They won’t manage to get to the village, will they?” It came out hoarsely, more of a whisper.
The boat shifted as though he attempted to shrug. “We’ll do everything to prevent that. Thanks to you, we were forewarned.” Another kind glance over their cargo. “You did good, dancing girl. You did right by bringing your timely warning, and then battling their lack of trust.”
Despite her mounting worry and her anger at the earlier sneering of the others, she chuckled, the old nickname he had given her once upon a time making her smile. Everyone called her that now—Kentika, the dancing one—although she was a terrible dancer, worse than anyone in the village. The toddling baby girls barely able to walk on their own could dance better than she could. Good for them. She had no wish to dance. None of those who paced gracefully enough to be allowed to perform at the rituals, and all those who could sway beautifully when everyone was allowed to join the ceremonial circle, could climb, run, or shoot a bow better than her, and these were the things that mattered, not the silly dancing.
Yet, they called her Kentika now, the dancing girl, because, once upon a time, this same Schikan, still a funny boy full of jokes, said she could never stand still, always dancing with impatience. She had seen probably eight or ten summers back then, and they were out there beside the fence, and he was about to show her how to fit an arrow into a small bow he had made especially for her behind her father’s back, but his friends, other youths, came along, and he stopped to talk to them, and as much as she tried to wait patiently, her feet were moving on their own, making her pace back and forth and hop all around, tapping out the sounds of her barely-contained excitement, until someone laughed and said: “What is this dance all about?” And ever since, they had called her that, dancing girl.
“Why did they have to argue and ridicule instead of just believing me?” she asked him, her brief amusement gone. “I didn’t lie, and I wasn’t mistaken. They see the proof of it now. I proved myself right. But I know they will refuse to listen to me again, next time I say something. Why don’t they ever listen?”
The boat was slippery, and she propped her shoulder against its rough surface to aid her straining arms. He seemed to appreciate her help, although it made him bend a little in order to be even with her, as he was taller, but not much.
“It was something no one wanted to believe.” He would have shrugged, but for their heavy burden. “This is a sort of a trouble no one wishes to hear about. They did not assume you were mistaken. They hoped you were.” A fleeting smile flashed. “It was not something against you personally. Not this time.”
She glanced at him from above the muddied splinter-covered bark, then returned to concentrating on her step. “And the other times?”
His sigh was loud enough to rustle in the morning heat. “You know the answer to that, little one. You are not so little anymore.”
Her stomach tightened anew. “No, I don’t know the answer to that. All I know is that no one ever wishes to listen to me, to tell me things of importance, to take me seriously.” His silence was annoying, carrying a message. She felt like dropping their cargo, or pushing it onto him. “I know I’m just a girl, and it is not my place to talk about wars and agreements, or to shoot a bow. Or to search the woods, and run, and bring news. But… but I’m no good at anything else, and…” The struggle to keep her voice from breaking was turning difficult, and she clenched her teeth, swallowing hard, dete
rmined to say it. “Like now, you see, it was useful, me being out there. I spotted the enemy. It was useful; it may give us time to prepare. Why weren’t they grateful instead of growing angry and impatient?” She swallowed another lump that was forming rapidly in her throat. “I could do it more often, you see? I’m good at reading the earth. I know our woods so well. Why can’t I do this?”
Back at the shore, the sun burst upon them, shining unrestrained, yet the breeze of the open ground was most welcome.
“They won’t let you do this,” he said quietly, easing the boat off her shoulder, making it slide smoothly onto the glittering pebbles of the shore. “You can’t battle them on this. They have broken stronger spirits, Kentika. And you are a girl. You can do nothing but learn to fit in now that you are not a child anymore.” There was sadness in his eyes as they brushed past her, turning away quickly, refusing to meet her gaze. “This is the only way for you, to accept your lot and to do the things you are supposed to do.” His mirthless chuckle was more of a snort, barely audible because he was turning away, to head back into the woods and the rest of the enemy boats. “And yes, to hold your tongue more often than you do. They would appreciate that.”
Before he disappeared behind the rustling trees, she could hear him muttering, “They don’t know you the way I do, the way your brother does. I wish they did.”
Chapter 5
He saw the ascending people first, before the others did. Nothing but a faraway, blurry spot, moving imperceptibly, climbing the hill, to disappear into the rustling greenery.
He would have missed it altogether had it not been for some inkling, something that made him turn away from the village they were watching and, for the thousandth time, to try to see the river beyond the hill; the hill they had climbed twice by now, once on the evening before, when he had managed to convince Akweks to follow the footprints all the way, and the second time in the predawn grayness, when he was required to lead them all here.