Beyond the Great River (People of the Longhouse Book 1)

by Zoe Saadia

  “I just told you, she speaks our tongue.”

  “She does?” His eyes leaped back to her, making the battle against her fear more desperate. “You do?”

  She pressed her lips and said nothing, busy trying to stand the intensity of his gaze. Another heartbeat of staring and his brow darkened as though his earlier scowl was not enough.

  “You do understand me, that’s obvious.” His shrug related a fair measure of disdain, as he went to dump his armload of logs onto the ground.

  “Get busy working with the stones,” he tossed toward his friend, pulling smaller branches out of the pile, arranging them quickly and surprisingly prettily, as though building a tiny tent. Dumfounded, she watched him working, her mind blank, clear of thoughts.

  “You,” he looked up sharply, “don’t make any more trouble. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you keep making trouble.”

  She licked her lips. “What want from me?” It came out strangely, unnaturally high. She cleared her throat. “What want?”

  He picked up a flat stone and began rubbing it against another. “I want to know who took our boats.”

  Her breath caught, she watched his hands moving rhythmically, stroking the stones, his palms large and weathered, full of fresh scratches and cuts. The silence prevailed, a strange, indifferent silence. It was as though they all waited for something to happen.

  “Why would she know something like that?” asked the wounded, his own attempts with the stones not looking promising, lacking in the determination his companion seemed to have in abundance. “She is just a girl.”

  “She knows.” The wolf man doubled his efforts, as the rare sparks his stones produced did nothing to the meager pile of dry grass that the wind was trying to scatter, causing him to stop every few heartbeats in order to rearrange his treasure. “She was running around there for a reason, armed with a bow, ready to shoot at people. Weren’t you, warrior girl?”

  Grateful that he was too busy to look at her, Kentika fought the urge to bring her palms to her cheeks, which were suddenly burning despite the cold.

  “What were you doing there?” This time, he looked up, causing her stomach to tighten in a painful way.

  “Nothing.” She swallowed, but it didn’t help. Her voice was just too high, shrill in an ugly, or maybe funny, sort of a way.

  “Nothing, eh?” His laughter wasn’t a pretty sound either, lacking in true mirth. “After I’m done with this fire, you will have to tell me what I want to know. Then I’ll take you back to your village, unharmed.” There could be no mistake at the hardening of his voice. “I want nothing else from you, and there is no need to make it all ugly.” His hands never stopped, striking the stones in an even, somehow calming way. She watched them, fascinated. “You are from up there, aren’t you?”

  The thought of her village hit her, the desperate fighting that she had managed to forget while dealing with her own mounting troubles. Oh, Mighty Glooskap, were they still shooting up there, dousing the fires, lining the walls with their bows clutched tightly? Now, at night? It didn’t seem like a likely possibility, but with the fierce foreigners, one never knew.

  “Where is my bow?” It came out hoarsely, as opposed to her previous squeaking way of speaking.

  He frowned at the scattering pile, then shifted slightly, his back toward the river, trying to block the wind.

  “Back there.” The light motion of his head indicated the curve of the river. “I broke it. It was a lousy bow.”

  Gasping, she stared at him, forgetting her fear. “It was a good bow,” she said, quiet as a breath in the end. “You… you bad, really bad people, person. Lowlife, bad spirit. Like Malsum, bad wolf spirit.” The tears were near, tears of anger and frustration, tears of rage. He broke her bow. How dared he? “You terrible bad. I hope you die badly—”

  “Stop yelling!” He glared at her, not amused anymore. “You shot at me. In a lousy way, like a child would, but you did. So what did you want me to do?” He shrugged, then went back to his attempts to make fire. Unsuccessful attempts. He was lousy at doing that. She wished the wind would come in force, scattering them all. Killing them. “Anyway, it was a child’s bow, to shoot at rabbits, not people. You should have tried a real one. That is, if you managed to pull a string of a real weapon.”

  That was too much. “I manage. I shot real bow, I did. Killed one warrior, your people.” There was no harm in embellishing the truth. He had no way of proving otherwise, and she had shot a real bow, difficult as it was. She had made the jar of their people topple and break, stopping the fire arrows. “I shot a real bow. It was easy, not difficult at all.”

  He glanced at her with open doubt, before returning to his stones. “Well, you should have come after me with that real bow of yours.” His grin was sudden, startling in its lightness. “You came after me with a toy. What did you expect me to do?”

  The other youth leaned forward, forgetting his efforts to get a spark. “She shot at you, and you broke her bow? How stupid is that!”

  “What?”

  “We could use a weapon, couldn’t we?”

  “A toy bow? Oh, please!” But there was a defensive note to his voice now, and she felt something close to satisfaction. He had acted stupidly. Even his friend thought so.

  “As weaponless as we are now, I could use a bow, even the one meant to shoot at rabbits.” The wounded’s gaze was merciless in its suggestiveness. “Or to make that fire without rubbing my hands to nothing.”

  The wolf man just grunted.

  “It was a toy bow,” he insisted. “It was of no use.”

  She wished she had a real bow at hand, or maybe a knife. Her anger kept gathering, pushing her fear away. It was a good feeling. She watched the grass whispering, turning dark in some places, yet every time a spark would catch, the wind would strangle the tiny flame, despite his attempts to cup it with his palms. The wind was always faster. But of course it was.

  “Can’t make fire with no bow,” she said. “Rub stones, pebbles is stupid.”

  “Not as stupid as it is to run around the woods with a toy, shooting at people, and just as your village is about to be taken,” he retorted. “That is a real stupidity.”

  But this time, she was prepared. “Better run woods, enemy woods, with no bow at all, eh? Then break one, one that you do get. Real stupidity, yes. Oh, yes, real stupidity.”

  The way he looked at her made her afraid again, but the open laughter of his friend was encouraging for some strange, unexplained reason.

  “Stop talking. You understand nothing, and we have no time for this.” His stones struck each other so forcefully it was a wonder no pieces flew off instead of sparks, which now stopped coming as well. “And you, Akweks, if you don’t stop laughing, I’ll leave you here with no fire. And with that wild thing to keep you company, to try and kill you maybe, eh? She is well capable of doing something like that.”

  “Oh, but she did, she did get you there, Brother.” The sprawling youth almost doubled in a paroxysm of laughter. “She is right, you know?” Receiving another direful scowl for an answer, he made an obvious attempt to calm down, still trembling with mirth. “It’s just too funny to watch you two bickering, like my sisters when forced to sort maize together.”

  Both grinding stones went flying, bouncing off the nearby cliff. “Would you shut up!”

  The outcry made Kentika go rigid with fear. Oh, this man was a bad spirit all right, still a mere youth or not. She could feel his rage seeping through the darkness, spreading in the coolness of the night air, filling it with poison.

  “It isn’t funny, this entire thing.” He was making a visible effort to calm down, his voice low but still trembling, still vibrating with rage. “You are wounded badly enough to be stuck here, and what do you do? You laugh about it. Well, it isn’t funny.” His drawn breath tore the silence. “Our scouting mission failed, and we are stuck here with the others dead. While our people are also stuck up there, and only local spirits know what po
ssible surprises are heading their way.” He kicked at the pile of logs, sending some of them scattering. “Our boats are found. Do you realize that? The locals weren’t surprised. They were prepared, and something is telling me we are the ones who are up for a surprise.” Suddenly, he whirled around, facing her, making her heart lurch again. “Your people knew we were approaching, didn’t they?”

  But for the solid stone behind her, she would have tried to back away, to put as much distance between herself and the power of his menacing presence as possible.

  “They had taken the boats and they got ready?” One long, forceful step and he was towering above her. “How did they know?”

  She pressed deeper into the uneven surface, clenching her arms tighter around her bent legs.

  “Why do you think she would know any of it?” The other youth’s voice held no more mirth, ringing as eerily in the wind-stricken darkness.

  “Because she does.” His voice calmed all of sudden, as he knelt beside her, making no attempt to touch her. At least that. “Tell me what I ask you, and I will let you go. I will not harm you, I promise. Even when we take your village, I will make sure you are not harmed.” His eyes narrowed. In such close proximity, it was easy to see what they held, anger, yes, frustration, most certainly, but there was something else in there too, something reasonable that made her taut nerves relax, if only a little. “There is no point in keeping secrets now. Our warriors are up there, and they will know about the boats the moment I reach them. If you tell me now, it will change nothing.” He took a deep breath. “Yes, it will help us, but we will be successful anyway, so there is no need to anger us now. Tell me where the rest of the boats are, and I will let you go.”

  The urge to trust him welled, but she fought it fiercely, not about to be deceived. If her telling him the whereabouts of the boats did not matter, then why was he so anxious to hear about it anyway, before he went looking for his people?

  “I don’t know boats, your boats. I know nothing about it.”

  His jaw tightened. “Yes, you do. If you didn’t know, you would have told me that before.”

  “I could tell nothing. You were yelling a lot. You didn’t let talk.”

  His gaze turned piercing. “What were you doing out there now?”

  “Nothing.” Oh, Mighty Glooskap, she did sound silly, didn’t she? His narrowing eyes told her that. “Nothing to do with the boats, that is. And the other things, the attack and all that.” As always, under stress she talked better, more eloquently, in her tongue or in a foreign one. The realization pleased her, ridiculous as it was. “I no lie. No boats.”

  He drew in a deep breath. “For your sake, I hope you are not lying.” Pressing his lips, he got to his feet, as nimble as before, his tiredness gone, or not as evident. “I can’t let you go, not yet, not before I get to our people. You two will have to stay here until I come back. Hopefully, before dawn.” His gaze returned to her, as reassuring as before, direful scowl or not. “I will not return alone, but don’t be afraid. I will make sure you are left unharmed.”

  “You realize that I won’t be able to chase her the moment she decides not to wait for your return.” The other youth’s voice held a measure of urgency now, reminding her of the moment when she came back to her senses and was listening to them before trying to get away.

  The wolf man’s gaze turned thoughtful, even if as piercing as before. “You won’t get far, running around these woods at night.”

  Neither will you, she thought, but this time she had enough presence of mind to hold her tongue. He was leaving, letting her off without telling him a thing. He was such a lousy interrogator!

  “My promise not to harm you when your village is taken holds if you stay here until I come back for him.”

  “You will not take my village.” She didn’t regret saying that. His arrogant self-assurance was just too much. “We fight, fight your people off. Half day, shoot them. Take…” She hesitated, searching for a proper word. “Take fire off, not let the houses burn.”

  The intensity of his gaze grew. “You were there?”

  “Yes.” But the doubts were gnawing again. Was she telling too much?

  “How did you get out?”

  “Oh.” Frantically, she tried to think. “Yes, mistake. People not notice…”

  Even in the darkness, she could see his eyebrows climbing quite high. “People not noticing, maybe. But warriors?” He shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Wish I had the time, or means, to make you tell it all. As it is, I’ll have to trust your good sense.”

  He was kneeling beside his friend now, talking in whispers. Still an impressive form, even in the darkness, battered and tired. How would one get stuck in the woods, nearly weaponless and with a wounded friend, so far away from his warriors’ forces, and still look every bit the forceful, imposingly dangerous presence she remembered from the previous afternoon, while observing him from a safe distance—had it happened only yesterday?—as lethal and unrelenting as the animal spirit tattooed on his cheek. And yet, he was nothing but an annoying youth, incapable of dealing with matters that required more than just fighting, clearly caught beyond his experience and abilities. Some interrogator!

  “If you do something treacherous or silly, you will pay for that dearly. I’ll see to that.” His parting words sent a shiver down her spine, as she watched him disappearing down the steep bank.

  Chapter 10

  Migisso fought his uneasiness down, desperate to show none of his fear.

  “You just keep an eye on them,” whispered Achtohu. “Make sure they are going nowhere. Don’t shoot unless you see them about to leave. Or to attack you.” He hated the wink that accompanied the last of the youth’s words. “We’ll be back shortly.”

  Clutching his bow in his sweaty palms, Migisso just nodded, beyond words. He only hoped his helplessness didn’t show.

  The enemy warriors, only two of them, crouched lazily, bending over a pile of arrows, checking their flint tips, fastening those that, probably, felt loose. Not as wary or on guard as one would expect the warriors attacking a village to be, but then, no attack was mounted on this part of the grove, near the farthest side of the fence.

  It seemed to be quiet on the other side as well now, although the ground leading toward this part of the village showed evidence of the earlier attempt to storm the settlement, the invaders’ efforts obvious, manifested in patches of blackened palisade and the heavy stench of the burned wood and goods lingering in the air, refusing to disperse, permeating one’s breath, a solid testimony.

  Still, from what Migisso’s companions managed to gather, sneaking around, careful to keep their presence a secret, a surprise, the invaders were attacking in a ridiculously small force, maybe barely twenty men. An encouraging discovery.

  The moon was bright, too bright, painting the surrounding woods in unfriendly colors. He wanted to wave a fly away but dared not. If these warriors saw him, he would be dead in a matter of heartbeats. He could shoot fairly well, but the warriors were no hunted deer. He had learned all about it earlier today, back in the clearing. With the enemy, one has no time to take aim, to analyze the situation. It was run and shoot, then tear the next arrow out of your quiver and shoot again, all in a matter of mere heartbeats. No time to think, unless you thought very fast. And he was famous for just the opposite.

  He shivered, remembering that clearing, and the bodies spread upon it, the ground muddy with blood and discharges and smell, such a stench. The enemy were few, only two warriors, wounded and battered, and yet they swung their clubs and ducked arrows with not a flicker of hesitation, charging forward, set on the killing. If not for the fast reaction of their men, who shot arrow after arrow, with the practiced skill of warriors and not only hunters, it might have developed into a battle. As it was, the enemy was dead before having an opportunity to engage.

  Before he, Migisso, had an opportunity to shoot his first arrow. How shameful. He was left to check the other bodies
, to find out if those were their people who had been killed, while the rest of the men rushed to chase the remnants of that scouting party. It was evident that some of the enemy got away after the first battle, before their arrival. The uneven blood-stained path trailing off the clearing let them know that.

  He shook his head, then concentrated on his current observation. Why was he left alone to keep an eye on these warriors? What were his companions planning as a means of surprise? They were fairly few, eight men in all. They could not face twice as many hardened, evidently veteran fighters. Unless aided from within. Is that what they wanted to do, to try to contact their people from behind the fence, to time an attack?

  The grove to his left beckoned. He remembered the elevated side behind the ceremonial grounds, where a thick maple tree was spreading its branches, giving its blissful shade. Aside from the early spring dances celebrating the wonderful gift of maple sap, this corner of the village was usually neglected, used by the children for play.

  And yet, if one was to sneak behind the giant of a tree, to slip between its branches and the fence, one could find the loose pole and a gap wide enough to squeeze through. Kentika was proud of her discovery, swearing him to secrecy before showing him her favorite way out. Not that she wasn’t allowed to go in and out as she pleased. It’s just that, evidently, his wild sister needed to sneak away more often than that. For a girl of her age, much chores needed to be completed before her free time would come. Also, he suspected, she liked the thrill of unauthorized sneaking away rather than just going out. To walk through the entrance like any other person would be boring, mundane, not challenging or offering a sense of adventure.

  Was she all right in there now? He fought the tightening in his stomach. What did she do while under attack?