by Zoe Saadia
“You are lying to make us do something stupid, so your people will get us easier,” he was almost shouting now, his face glowing with red as opposed to its previous paleness, eyes wild, about to faint, maybe. “You came to trick us. You told them up there in your ugly, stupid, worthless village… You told them all about us, and they sent you to scare us out. But it won’t… it won’t work… You will never… ”
The flow of words was interrupted more and more often, his chest laboring, fighting for breath, both hands pressed against the ground as though he were about to try to get up. Not much chance of him succeeding in that. Still, she jumped to her feet, afraid.
“You are lying!” The shrillness of his voice was jarring, echoing between the towering walls of their small hideaway.
“What in the name of the Great Spirits?”
The sound of rapidly cracking branches brought the owner of the wolf tattoo back, breaking through the bushes, wide-eyed. The improvised water vessel balanced carefully in his hands held a barely adequate amount—the rest must have spilled as he hurried. He scrutinized them anxiously, eyes jumping from one face to the other.
Reassured that no one was harmed, he dropped next to his friend, his eyes now narrowed into slits. “What?”
The wounded, by now half-sitting half-lying, slumped rather than propped against the rock, drew shallow breaths one after another.
“She said… she said our people… they were all dead,” he murmured, coughing.
The contents of the bark disappeared, gulped all at once, trickling down the bruised chin.
“Lie back. Rest now.” The wolf youth tossed his improvised vessel away. “I’ll think about what to do.”
“But she said…” Resisting the attempt to make him lie back down, the wounded gripped his friend’s arm. “She said there was a battle, this morning. She is lying, isn’t she?”
The wolf youth said nothing for a moment, again going still, lost in thought. “I don’t know, Brother,” he said finally, getting up. “I’ll think about what to do.”
“But how? It’s impossible. You said they didn’t manage to surprise you at night. You said—”
A violent spasm went over the broad face all of sudden, transforming it, making the image of a wolf shudder, as though about to come to life. Watching the smoldering fire pouring out of his eyes, Kentika felt the old fear coming back, trickling down her stomach, making it twist.
“They didn’t manage to surprise us at night, but that was not the case in the morning,” he growled, and she knew that if it wasn’t for his fear of being detected, he would be thundering now in the scariest of voices. “The stinking rat Kayeri! He didn’t listen to me at night, when I came to tell him about you, but he did pay attention when I talked about the shadows sneaking out of the village. But in the morning, his ears were again full of moss, and he didn’t listen any more. He chose to accuse me of cowardice, instead. He sent me away and ordered me to never come back!”
The vein pulsated on his forehead, and his protruding cheekbones turned dangerously sharp, enhancing the glow of his eyes, as dark as the river at night.
“He didn’t,” whispered the wounded, openly aghast.
The air hissed, drawn forcefully through the clenched teeth. “He did worse than that. And if he paid for his stupidity, I will not mourn for him, but I do for the others, those who didn’t deserve to start seeking their Sky Path ahead of their time.”
A silence prevailed, a heavy, suffocating silence. It was as though they had been cast under water, at the bottom of the river, able to see but not to hear, let alone breathe.
So much impotent anger, so much frustration!
Like in a dream, she watched him unclenching his fists, turning around, glancing at her briefly, with no recognition.
“So it’s true. They are dead!” The wounded sagged against the wall listlessly, fighting for breath again, once more a heap of limbs. “I… I can’t believe it.”
Another bout of silence. Then the wolf youth shrugged. “I’ll find a way out of it,” he muttered, turning around and disappearing back in the direction he came from, his eyes blank, empty, not seeing either of them.
Still outside herself and not completely aware, Kentika stepped into the light of the late afternoon, letting the warmth wash over her, envelope her, encourage her spirit. It was all too confusing, too strange. It was time to go back. Before they noticed her disappearance up there in the village. Before she did something stupid, like helping these two to … what? To escape? There was no way of escape for them. But why would she be concerned with it?
The wall of brilliant green stood in her way, urging her to take a different direction. It warned her, the rustling of the wind and the murmuring of the river so very close but still out of sight. Resolutely, she pushed the branches away.
He was sitting on the overturned boat, the smaller sort of canoe, a narrow dugout with two benches inside. The sound of her footsteps did not make him turn his head. His eyes were glued to the glimpse of the water the curving line of the shore provided, she discovered, coming closer, afraid but somehow needing to be near him. Squatting on a nearby stone, she watched the flying drops, the current strong even here, so near the shore, carrying broken branches.
“They are truly gone, aren’t they?” he said after a long, strangely comfortable silence. “You weren’t lying to us?”
She shook her head, then ran her palm over the smooth, pleasantly warm surface of her seat. “Father say, and he no lie. He is our War Chief. He always tells the truth.”
“So not all of your people were out there, trying to surprise us at night.” He phrased it as a statement, shaking his head, grimly amused. “He must be a good leader, your father, to plan all this.”
“He didn’t plan it.” The wish to speak normal people’s tongue welled. It was so tiring to talk in this stupid, simple way, seeking words every time she needed to say something. “Father, he was not, not here, not in the village. He was away.”
“Then how?” He glanced at her, puzzled, the dangerous look gone, smoothed by the peacefulness of the woods and the river.
“I don’t know, don’t know who plan, or how. But my brother, he was not in the village. He was away, too. And then, then they came back, first Migisso, at night, then Father, in the morning.” She shrugged. “Glooskap, maybe sent them, made them come and help.”
“Who is Glooskap?” His frown deepened but did not turn direful, not ruining the peacefulness. “Another war leader?”
Against her will, she laughed. “Glooskap? War leader?”
His lips trembled as though he was about to join her in her laughter. “He isn’t?”
“No! Glooskap is the greatest, the greatest spirit. He always good, always keep us, us people, safe. He, he protect.” The curiosity of his gaze seemed genuine, not marred by hostility or contempt. “He has a brother, twin brother, Malsum. Malsum is bad, truly bad. He tried to kill, many times, to kill Glooskap, his brother. He didn’t manage. So now he is in the Underworld, the wicked wolf-spirit. Still dangerous, but not, not in daylight.”
His eyebrows climbed high. “Wolves are good. They are smart and loyal and strong. They are leaders, most of them, and they take care of their own. Wolf spirit can’t be bad.”
“Yes, he can,” she insisted, the old annoyance with him creeping back. “Of course, he can. Malsum is a wolf and he is bad.” His tattoo caught her eye, so wonderfully detailed, almost alive in the deepening shadows. “But yes, there are good wolves too, many of them good. We don’t think all wolves bad. But this one is.”
He shrugged. “My name, Okwaho, means wolf in Flint People’s tongue, and my father chose it carefully, consulting the wisest of elders and the medicine men from both our nations. He knew from the very beginning, as soon as I was born. He knew, because he is the wisest man alive. He said wolves are the most beautiful creatures, the wisest. He said their loyalty is to be praised, and their sense of responsibility. He said this name honored me and that I s
hould never let it down. He said he knew I wouldn’t.”
“He right? He was right?” It was difficult to follow his rapidly flowing speech, but the way his face lit and his eyes shone made her wish to keep him talking.
“I hope so. I hope he’ll prove right over the course of summers. He is always right. He is a great man.” His smile turned self-conscious. “Oh, I didn’t even need to change it when my time to pick a more appropriate name came. On my quest for the guiding spirit, who did you think was there, on the very first day of my fasting?” The excitement was spilling out of his eyes as he peered at her, pausing, as though savoring his own story. “The silvery wolf! Large, sleek, noble, the most beautiful creature you have ever seen. And the wisest, I could see that. I wanted to go down that tree, to come near him, to talk to him, to ask for his strength. One is not supposed to climb down, you see? One is to converse with his guardian only in spirit, but this wolf, you understand, he was real. He was there for me, and I knew he wouldn’t harm me.”
“And then?” she asked, mesmerized, imagining it too well, despite the lack of some words—the woods, and the clearing, probably near dusk, some distant forest full of strange creatures, like this wolf; and this youth, just a boy back then, both belonging to the world of the spirits.
His chuckle shook the air, soft and mischievous, breaking the spell.
“By the time I managed to come down, he was gone. It took me time to do that, you see? I’m usually not a bad climber, but this time, I was so clumsy. I made so much noise.” The widest of smiles revealed a bright row of teeth, with the gap of a missing one. “I’ll never admit it, but my legs were trembling too badly. And my hands, too. But it wasn’t fear. Well, not all of it. Some of it was excitement.” Another chuckle, this time as provocative as the smile. “It was dark already, so when I saw he was gone, I rushed back up as fast as I could. I was not about to test him and his patience right on the first time of our bonding.”
She fought her own smile no longer. “How old, how many summers you see back then?”
“Close to fifteen.”
“So old!”
He peered at her, surprised. “Why old?”
“Our boys, men, they do early, go and seek the spirit. Not fifteen.”
“When then?”
“Maybe thirteen, or younger. My brother, he see, saw thirteen summers. And it was old too. But Father said no before. He wanted him to turn more… more prepared, more old.”
“More matured?”
She appreciated his helpfulness. “What matured?”
“Experienced, grown, advanced, a person who did things already.”
“Oh, well, yes, yes, matured. Most boys go out, seek spirit earlier.”
He shrugged, unimpressed. “Well, our people are not in such a hurry. We have no enemies worth mentioning, no serious wars, not since the Great Peacemaker, so there is no need to hurry boys into men. Your people should be more patient.”
That sounded outright patronizing. She pursed her lips. “No enemies? But here you are, here make war.”
“That is barely a war. Those are just raids, meaningless but for the people who are involved in them. The town of Cohoes Falls would benefit, yes, but for the League of the Five Nations, it’s nothing.” His wink held a sort of mischievous apology. “Raids keep young men from getting bored, from doing stupid things. It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?”
Speechless, she stared at him, too enraged to find anything to say. To keep men from getting bored? They came here, disrupting her village’s life, killing people, wounding others, shooting fire arrows and burning houses, out of boredom?
“Well, you know.” He shifted uneasily, dropping his gaze. “That’s what warriors do. Your men are doing the same, I’m sure. Don’t they raid neighboring villages or something?”
“No, they don’t! Why… why would they?” A fly was buzzing next to her ear, and she waved it away impatiently, needing to say too much, not finding enough words to communicate what she wanted to express. “You evil, evil as Malsum if you come here, come here to harm because you are bored. It is evil, and wrong, and… ” She stomped her foot in frustration at his audacity and her lack of words. “It is bad!”
His puzzled frown might have been a funny sight, had she not been so angry.
“Just don’t start yelling, would you?” He shrugged, raising both hands, palms up. “Look, it is how it is. Warriors go out and raid other people’s settlements. You said your father is a war chief. So you must have warriors, then. And they must go out and raid someone’s towns and villages, don’t they? Why would you have a war chief if you had no warriors?”
She almost groaned aloud. “We warriors, we have warriors to protect. To defend against people like you!”
“And they never go out to attack some of your neighbors’ villages?” he asked, openly derisive now. “I don’t believe you!”
“No, they do no raids. Our warrior only protect.”
But she hesitated, for, of course, there were warriors, in their village and the neighboring ones, who would join the war parties organized at Skootuck, or some other large towns along the Great River Whose Waters Are Never Still. The talk of the alliance that Father was eager to promote, the reason he went to Skootuck this time, related to exactly that, the need of sending large, concentrated raids into the land of these same western savages. But it was different, it was!
His laughter made her wish to hit him. “You are lying now,” he said, his voice trembling with genuine mirth. “So obvious. You are a lousy liar.”
Bereft of words, she just glared at him.
“Of course your people do raid others,” he went on, unconcerned. “Or they would not have put up a decent fight, or built that funny fence of yours.”
“Our fence is not funny,” she grunted through her clenched teeth.
“No, it’s not. But it’s not the most sophisticated palisade, either.” His eyes lit again. “Our towns are protected by a double row of palisade, with a corridor in between, to make it truly difficult to fight your way in. Easier for the defenders, you see?” He made a face. “And our longhouses aren’t built too close to it, so no one has much chance to put it ablaze with fire arrows. See? This is how you keep your people safe.”
“People safe, but not warriors. Your warriors die, die when raid funny village with funny fence. All of them!”
His derisive amusement was gone, disappearing all at once, replaced by a tightened jaw and hardened eyes. The sight of it pleased her, despite the small twinge of fear, well familiar by now. He was dangerous when angered, even if he turned out to be surprisingly nice otherwise, interesting, even chatty.
“We are not done yet,” he growled out, getting to his feet. “We may be full of surprises, too.”
Following his example, she rose, trying to do it slowly, as though indifferent to his movements. She needed to hurry back home, anyway. They would be truly incensed with her now.
He was watching the river, eyes blank, seeing nothing, face again haggard and empty, the wolf on his jaw lacking in life.
The unwelcome ripple of compassion crept in, uninvited. Why should she pity him and his situation? He was an annoying, self-assured enemy, an arrogant beast with no respect and no mind to listen to anyone but himself.
“What do? What will you do?” The words came out before she was able to stop herself, surprising them both.
He looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Take Akweks and sail away, I suppose.”
“You can’t now. He is sick, too sick. He won’t, won’t manage to stay living…”
His face closed again. “He will be better by the next dawn,” he said sharply. “His wounds are not rotting.”
“He sick.” Now it was her turn to shrug. “Rotting, no rotting, he is sick. Can’t sail. Need to see healer. Need ointment, need drink medicine.”
The air hissed, escaping through his clenched teeth. “He will have to manage with no healer. He’ll be all right.”
>
“I come back, with dawn,” she said, surprising herself more than she surprised him as it seemed.
She fought the urge to press her palms to her mouth, to push the words back, but his smile caused her forget the embarrassment, that same open smile that made his face look boyish, like before, when he was talking about his wolf.
“You are kind.” His eyes glimmered softly, relaying his gratitude, and yet there was something in there, something else, something amused and mischievous. Something measuring. As though he was wondering if she was up to a challenge.
Embarrassed for no reason, she dropped her gaze.
“It’s nothing,” she murmured. “No kind. Just, just want help. You saved Schikan. Didn’t kill when you can.” Relieved, she looked up in time to see his eyes turning serious, attentive, losing that disturbing spark. “And your friend, I want to help.” Shrugging, she looked away again. “I bring things. Food. Maybe medicine, eh? To put on his wound.”
“If you do that,” he swallowed, then drew a deep breath, his gaze grave, reflecting no amusement anymore, “I will repay you. I will find a way to repay you your kindness. You’ll see.”
Chapter 14
She was missing again, nowhere to be found. Migisso sighed.
His sister was incurable, such a restless spirit, made worse by the recent upheavals. The last two days should have calmed her down, made her understand the fragility of life, the fleetingness of it, made her respect the dangers and the customs that were created to minimize it. They should have made her more reasonable, less prone to her impulses and whims.
However, they seemed to do just the opposite. Instead of keeping low, like her other fellow women and many of the men did, she went about her life in a more independent manner than before, going in and out as she pleased, as though no enemy was prowling out there, shooting and killing, and setting houses on fire.
“Did you look around the ceremonial grounds, or just outside that opening in the fence?” Schikan had asked him earlier, when he came to check on his wounded friend for the tenth time through this daunting, exhausting day.