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

by Zoe Saadia

  “Honorable Leader.” The voice of one of the warriors broke the venomous silence. “Let us not talk in such a manner. We are at the foreign hills, about to fight the enemy. Let us proceed with our plans.”

  Another heartbeat of deadly staring, and the tension began dropping slowly. The air became easier to breath. Still, he didn’t dare to relax, not with the dangerous man being so close, spoiling for a fight.

  “Yes,” murmured the others. “Let us fight the enemy, not our own people.”

  The tall man moved away as suddenly as he had pounced before. Okwaho dared to breathe again.

  “Start organizing yourselves,” he heard the man saying in a stiff, strident voice. “You,” the wide back was the only thing that faced him now, “go back to the boats and wait for us there. You are not among my warriors’ forces anymore, and I will let the leader of our expedition know about this incident.”

  Chapter 13

  Pacing back and forth alongside the high poles of the front entrance didn’t help. Nothing other than the regular morning sounds reached her ears, no matter how hard she tried to listen. She had bitten her lips into a mess, then went on biting remnants of her fingernails off, and still nothing changed. It was as though both the invaders and the defenders had disappeared, went away, leaving the village for good, never to return. Where were they, her brother and the others?

  She stopped for a moment, then shut her eyes to hear better. There was distant murmuring. It interrupted the rustling and the chirping of birds, but barely so. Somewhere out there, people were wandering around. The invaders?

  No fire arrows pounced from behind the fence, so if the sounds she heard were the enemies, they were just roaming out there, preparing some new devilment. Unless stopped, surprised like at night, thrown out of balance. Where were they, Migisso and the rest?

  It had been some time since they had left, then come back—well Migisso did—then left again. Her worry overwhelming, she tried to be of help, delivering the old healer’s bag to him as she had been told, then some other requested tools; running around, bringing water to the wounded. Doing nothing of importance.

  When the dawn finally broke, everyone who had been treated was taken to their homes, or helped to walk there, but there were still enough people who waited for the medicine man to ease their pain, their relatives suffering as much, trying to be patient, powerless to help.

  Even Schikan’s mother, a very sick, nearly blind woman, insisted on staying, replacing Kentika by his side, not especially friendly once she had realized who had been taking care of her son. As though it mattered. Kentika pressed her lips tight and went away, seething. So they were not about to thank her or to trust her any more than before. So what? She knew what she had done, and Schikan knew, and he would go on appreciating her even more than before when he was finally able to come back from the lands of the dreams. What did it matter what others thought?

  When the graying sky turned blindingly bright, she had made her way toward the blackened ruins of the houses near the troublesome part of the fence, unable to stand the tension. Many people were crowding the space, anxious, perturbed, the question in their eyes unmistakable. Were the invaders still out there, preparing more fire arrows? Did Migisso and the others manage to surprise them again?

  Yet, her head buzzed with additional questions. What about the wounded youth by the river? Was he still alive? And his companion with the wolf tattoo and fearsome disposition?

  She tried to push them out of her head. Surprisingly decent or not, her and her people were their enemies, and they were the invaders. If they died, it was for the best. They should never have sailed here, wishing her people harm.

  “Here you are!” Namaas’ round face jumped into her view, welcome this time.

  Embarrassed by her own pattern of thoughts, Kentika shook her head. “What?”

  “Where have you been?” The girl’s face was pale and gaunt, but flushed, full of excitement.

  “Why?” She still stared, finding it difficult to make her head work. Had this empty-headed thing been looking for her since last night, too? As though Mother’s and Migisso’s indignation were not enough.

  “Schikan, he was asking for you. He is back among the living.”

  Kentika gasped. “Oh, is he… is he well?”

  The girl pursed her lips importantly, enjoying herself. “Of course not. He is wounded. In great pain. Would you expect him to be well with all those broken ribs of his?”

  The dark look Kentika bestowed on her converser made Namaas stop her silly blabbering. “Where is he?”

  “In our house. Mother made them bring him there, so she could make ointments for him, and take care of his mother, too. She isn’t well, and their house half burned, anyway.” The girl’s face darkened, as her eyes wandered toward the blackened patches of earth and the still-smoking ruins. “Our men will show them!”

  “Unless they don’t manage.” Turning around so sharply her matted braid jumped, Kentika ground her teeth. “They should have done something by now. Why don’t they just attack the enemy or something?”

  “Maybe they did. Maybe they attacked them already. Maybe they killed them all. There are no flaming arrows flying all around like yesterday, Sister, if you didn’t notice.”

  “I did notice the lack of arrows and fires!” She gave the annoying thing a look that made the girl back away. “But maybe it’s you who is dreaming and walking at the same time, sister. No one has attacked anyone. On such a clear morning, we would hear the noise their fighting would make. The enemy is still out there. We all heard them, roaming around the place they camped before. If you bothered to spend your time out here instead of running around, relating gossip, you would have known all that.” The quivering lips of her companion made her yet angrier. “Oh, don’t do that! I’m off—”

  The commotion exploded all at once, the cacophony of shouts and noises and blood-curdling cries, coming from behind the fence, happening seemingly next to it. As her eyes leaped toward the blackened poles and her heart jumped before tumbling down her chest, to slip all the way into her stomach, she felt the people around her going still. It was as though an invisible wave, a breath from a nasty creature of the underworld came and made everyone freeze. Even the breeze stopped, even the chirping of the birds. The burned-out space near the fence turned into an island of terrified silence, while out there, the terrible noise peaked, and the sounds of running feet, falling objects, groans, and gasping could be heard intermingling with the war cries and shouts.

  Her feet took her forward, acting as if on their own, without consideration to her numbed mind. All around, people were coming back to life.

  “They are fighting!” someone gasped.

  It triggered an exaggerated reaction. Everyone broke into a mindless run, rushing back and forth, carrying things.

  “Ladders, bring ladders!” screamed several voices.

  “Water, water is more important! The fire arrows…”

  Grabbing the rickety structure of wooden planks that was lying helplessly upon the ground where it must have been thrown the moment the previous day’s battle against the fire was over, Kentika dragged it toward the nearest cluster of poles, oblivious to the way it scratched her limbs. Panting, she struggled to lift it into an upright position, putting all her strength into the attempt, near tears at her lack of success. The accursed thing was more cumbersome than heavy, the ropes tying the rungs loosened, about to fall apart with her harassing it.

  “Here!” Someone’s hands pushed the ladder up helpfully. “Hold it firm.”

  The man leaped up the rickety bars, and for a moment, she did as she was told, leaning on the trembling structure with her whole body, her mind still numb, the splash of resentment going away, but not quickly. She had dragged this thing for herself to climb, not for some other pushy person.

  The bedlam from the outside grew.

  “What do you see?” she cried out, unable to keep still. If not for the ladder being so unstable, s
he might have tried to climb it alongside the man.

  He was pulling himself up, propping his upper body against the top of the poles.

  “What is happening?” she cried out again, trembling with impatience.

  Other voices joined her question, as many people surrounded their ladder now. And the neighboring ones.

  “Bring bows,” shouted the man from the nearest observation point. “Hurry.”

  A frantic movement ensued. Kentika stubbornly stayed where she was, pressing her lips together tightly. If they were not about to let her be of real help, she would not be the one rushing to bring things.

  “And stones to hurl,” suggested someone. The man was clutching the base of the ladder tight, and only now did she realize how helpful it was. She might have been strong for a girl of her age, but the heavy structure was truly too cumbersome to dominate.

  “Do you know what is happening out there?” she asked, knowing he wouldn’t know anything about it, but desperate enough and in a need to talk.

  “They are fighting, that’s what is happening.” The man gave her a look that she must have bestowed on Namaas earlier, but something in her face probably caught his attention as he smiled fleetingly before turning to watch their fellow villager on the ladder. “Don’t worry, Dancing Girl. The rotten pieces of meat will not get in. We’ll make sure they don’t.”

  Only now did she recognize her converser, a prominent hunter belonging to her mother’s clan, a good person, one of those who would always smile at her.

  The ladder shook viciously, and she pressed it with her body to help secure it, intuitively ready to leap aside, to move out of the falling man’s path. It didn’t happen. A quick glance confirmed that their observer was still up there, unharmed. If anything, he was leaning out more openly now, oblivious to the fact that he was presenting a target.

  “Careful with your bows,” shouted someone from above.

  And then it dawned on her. Not a single arrow had landed on the ground since it all had begun, neither burning and oil-dripping, nor simply flint-tipped. Their side of the fence remained unharmed, unassaulted, with only the frantic running around and shouts of too many people serving to disturb the peacefulness.

  The other side of the densely packed poles was drowning in deadly chaos, terribly familiar after the last day, and especially the last night, but not their side. And it only meant one thing. The enemy was fighting against other forces. It was not attacking the village. It was too busy for that.

  The vastness of her relief made her body go limp, and if not for more hands securing the ladder now, her companion might have a difficult time holding it all alone.

  Oh, Mighty Glooskap! Their warriors were successful. They made the enemy fight, and if they did that, then maybe they’d manage to harm it as badly as through the night. Oh, but for that chance!

  More people were pressing, crowding all around, making the air hot and difficult to breathe. Hurriedly, she slipped behind the ladder, feeling safer in the small getaway it provided, not liking the pressure of the crowds—a highly unusual occurrence in a village of their size.

  “Let me up there!” Waving a bow he had managed to acquire by now, her neighbor shook the rickety construction lightly, attracting the attention of the man up there. He was one of the best shooters, she remembered, his arrows never missing.

  The man from above whooped with excitement before jumping neatly, not bothering to climb down.

  “The War Chief is back, and right about time, I say,” he cried out, beaming. “Oh, but they will teach the enemy a lesson!”

  Father? Kentika stifled a gasp. But how was it possible?

  “How?” cried out several voices. “It can’t be.”

  “It is, it is!” The man turned back to watch their shooter, dancing with impatience. “Oh, but they’ll show the dirty rats. Not a single one of the disgusting pieces of rotten meat will see our Father Sun going back to sleep today!”

  The War Chief’s face was sealed, expressionless as always, but the spark was there. She could see it most clearly. Father was pleased.

  Studying him from a respectable distance, safe in doing so, forgotten with everyone besieging the returning leader with words of excitement and congratulations, Kentika shivered, her thoughts on the slaughtered enemy, killed to the last man.

  Or so the returning men said. The villagers fought like mountain lions, like a pack of cornered wolves, and they were victorious, with the War Chief and his small reinforcements coming with perfect timing, as though a reward for their bravery. Mighty Glooskap did not leave his people alone and unprotected. He fortified the defenders’ spirits, and he sent them help when it was most needed.

  A cornered pack of wolves…

  She frowned, not liking the direction her thoughts were taking. The youth with the wolf tattoo. Was he dead now too, impaled by an arrow or crushed by a club?

  Somehow, the thought made her feel strange, as though she was regretting it. He deserved to die, of course, like the rest of his terrible countryfolk, but maybe not right away. He had his wounded friend down there by the river, and he did let Schikan and her live, while anyone else, even her people, would have killed them both on the spot. And maybe even earlier, in the woods by the river, when she tried to shoot him with her bow. He should have killed her, but he did not. He punched her unconscious, yes, and he did break her bow. Oh, how angry that had made her back then! But now, upon a reflection, his actions didn’t seem that bad, even logical. She did try to kill him, after all, and he did need to keep his presence there a secret. He had his wounded friend to take care of, the youth with a wrecked leg.

  The thought hit her like a punch in her stomach. The wounded must have been still there, not in the best of shape, probably, unable to walk, maybe dying by now from hunger or thirst. No, it was too early for that, and he surely could have hobbled down the shore. And yet…

  She bit her lower lip, afraid of this line of thought. To check on the wounded enemy would be a silly thing to do. And what would she do if she did find him? Give him news of his people’s defeat? Give him more water? He was so very grateful when she brought him that hollow bark before leaving. Just a boy, really, a person, like her playmates from the village, youths like Schikan and her brother. But how could it be? How could the lowlife enemy from the lands of the setting sun be a person like anyone else?

  The bushes behind the ceremonial grounds rustled with a light breeze, inviting, encouraging. She sneaked a glance there, then another. Her semi-secret getaway was left alone again after the frantic night. Everyone who could walk was crowding the other side of the open space, congregating around the victorious men and the War Chief, listening avidly, speaking, or talking between themselves. Father wanted to know everything that happened since the invaders arrived here, every tiny detail. She knew the man well. He would want to hear about her discovering the enemy in the first place too, not pleased with her continued wandering about, but leaving the reprimands and the punishments for later. The matters of their people came before any private affairs, always. He was the War Chief for a reason, admired by most, even though his immediate family feared him.

  Well, it wasn’t fear, she corrected herself, negotiating her way out, anxious to attract no attention. They respected and admired the man as much as the rest of the village. It’s just that he was not as reserved with his family, not as restrained as with the outside world or the people of other settlements. He had so much responsibility to carry, their entire village’s well-being and protection. Of course it was easy to anger him, even though she never meant for it to happen.

  Passing by the partly covered storage pit, she knelt beside it for a moment, scanning its contents quickly, afraid to be detected. One was not to pick anything one wanted from the storage places, but to allay one’s hunger at people’s dwellings, hoping to find enough remnants of the meals if it wasn’t a mealtime. But to pass by her home would have taken more of her precious time, and Mother or any one of the other women mig
ht be there, asking questions. Hunger was not an excuse to stuff one’s hands with portable food, such as slices of dried meat and rolls of cornbread, and she had no good explanation for her attempt to carry away some of it.

  Her heart beating fast, she peered into the semidarkness, enjoying the smell of fresh earth mixed with the slight odor of bark that was lining the pit’s sides, old but still distinct. A quick grab of some dried meat and a few cobs of maize, and she was back on her feet, facing Namaas and two other girls, all of them staring, wide-eyed.

  Kentika’s heart missed a beat.

  “What do you want?” she blurted, hating the wave of heat that rushed over her face, making it burn.

  Namaas’ eyebrows climbed high, and her laughter made a piercing sound. “Are you that hungry, Sister?”

  She followed their gazes as their eyes slid down to her awkwardly folded arms, clutching the hastily-picked treasure.

  “Yes, I am.” Tossing her head high, she stood their stares. “I’m going home to eat, and if you follow me, I’ll make all three of you regret it.”

  Their narrowing eyes and arching eyebrows, not to mention the disdainful glitter of their eyes, made her yet angrier, so she whirled around, heading toward her house, indeed—it was on the way, in any case—hating them and their laughter. They were such silly, useless rodents, all of them.

  The gap in the fence was wider now, with another pole missing, and it still stank of blood and other revolting odors that came along with fighters, as she had discovered, the muddy ground all around it soaked and slippery. Breaking into a run, she dived into the delightfully fresh aroma of the woods, afraid to stumble over remnants of the night battle, a cut body, or maybe a limb, and yet feeling better by the moment. It was so good to be out there.