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

by Zoe Saadia

  Schikan’s broken arm worried him. It had not been fixed properly through the night, even though the protruding bone was returned to its place, and the wound cleaned most thoroughly. Still, the special splint he had carved out at night was nowhere to be found, with nothing but a hastily obtained stick securing his friend’s broken limb.

  Kentika!

  He had grunted through his teeth, wishing to find her and shake her hard. Why couldn’t she be trusted to stick around for at least one single morning in order to take care of his friend? She cared about Schikan, obviously enough to risk her life while saving him—an adventure he, Migisso, had yet to hear all about—but not enough to stay around and do something as boring as caring for the wounded.

  Where was she?

  “Or maybe near the storage pits. Women might have decided to sort our supplies if stuck in the town for another day,” Schikan went on, leaning heavily against a chest padded with a generous layer of blankets, not daring to move a limb. He should have been lying down, Migisso knew, but neither he nor the old healer were able to convince the stubborn man to do that. The wounded insisted on sitting up, and he would have been walking or crawling but for the unbearable pain any attempt of movement had caused.

  Broken ribs must be a terrible thing to cope with, he thought, shivering. May the Mighty Glooskap keep him from such a trial.

  He shook his head grimly, getting rid of irrelevant thoughts. “I looked everywhere. She is not in the village.”

  “Then where can she possibly—” The heated exclamation stopped in midair, as Schikan’s face twisted, turning yet paler, breaking out with sweat.

  His heart twisting with compassion, Migisso watched his friend’s features contorting into an unrecognizable pattern, eyes closing, teeth making a mess out of the thin lower lip. How terribly painful it must be!

  “You should lie down and rest, try to sleep a little,” he said, when the new outburst of agony evidently receded, leaving the wounded’s face empty, just a colorless mask.

  “Don’t want to,” groaned Schikan, careful to move his lips only. “Want out, want to sit out there.” The glittering eyes opened, dominating the lifeless face once again, a bit too glossy. Was his blood beginning to boil? Migisso suppressed his welling anxiety.

  “Not now, not today. But maybe with dawn, eh? I’ll come and take you out. I’ll bring someone to help me.”

  “Bring your sister.” Schikan’s grin held a measure of grim amusement. “She is strong, strong enough to carry me all the way here.”

  “If I find the wild thing by then, and if she doesn’t disappear again.” Migisso grinned back, then shrugged, not amused. “She is getting worse as she grows. It is as though the forest is ruling her spirit, more so with each passing summer.” He hesitated, uncomfortable with sharing such inner thoughts. “I fear it will claim her for good one day.”

  Schikan’s eyes darkened. “I pray it won’t.”

  For some time, they kept silent, each deep in his own unhappy thoughts. Did his friend care for her? he asked himself, suddenly perturbed. Did anyone?

  She was such an outcast, a strange little thing, not pretty in a womanly way, not belonging. And yet she had seen close to sixteen summers. She was a woman. At her age many girls began casting glances and gathering admiration; many mothers began to think of proper arrangements. Did Mother? Or Father?

  He suppressed a shiver, hoping he did not. She wasn’t a woman, no matter what her age said, and she wasn’t ready. She wouldn’t agree to anything like that, and then it would be another war, another struggle to darken the insides of their family hut. More punishments for her, and maybe for him too, because he would have to stand by her side in this.

  “What was she doing out there at the night of the battle with you?” he asked, mainly to channel his thoughts in a different direction.

  A fleeting smile lit Schikan’s sallow features. “I don’t know. I wish I did.” He shook his head lightly, almost imperceptibly; still, it made his face twist and the teeth attack his lips again, savagely. “She jumped out of nowhere, collided with me, you see? I didn’t recognize her at all. It was so dark, and they kept popping up everywhere, like mushrooms, like the evil spirits that they are.” Carefully, he drew a short breath, obviously afraid to do more than that. “It’s a wonder I didn’t hit her with my club. How were we to tell one from another in the darkness? But you see, something stopped me, made me hesitate. But then that warrior, he managed to surprise me. Oh, Benevolent Spirits, did it hurt, that blow!”

  The anguished eyes closed again, as though desperate to hide. Another heartbeat of heavy silence passed.

  “She helped. In her very special way, you know. By messing this particular fight up. That man, I bet he didn’t know what happened.” The bloodied lips quivered into a thin smile. “I don’t remember it all, but she seemed to hang onto him, and then somehow, they were on the ground, and while he struggled against her, it was easier...”

  A shrug, even if light, proved to be of disastrous consequences, and while supporting the wounded in his agony, Migisso fought the familiar uneasiness. For whatever reason, she was there, in the middle of the battle, fighting, actually fighting, helping his friend, carrying him back to safety, saving his life. She, a woman, a young girl! While all he did was drag after warriors, not even expected to participate but to help, to guide when needed, to treat the wounded. To be of use, yes, not a coward, but not a warrior either. Not like Schikan. Or her, his little sister.

  “You need to rest,” he said when the agony receded and Schikan’s panted breath began to have a semblance of normality. “I’ll bring you water, then make you another medicine.”

  The young man just nodded, drained of strength. With practiced efficiency, Migisso brushed his palm against the damp forehead, feeling it out. It wasn’t burning. He breathed with relief.

  Inside the house, the water bin was still mostly full. His mind only partly on what he was doing, he fished a cup from the pile of utensils.

  “There was another strange thing.” Schikan actually seemed to look better. Half-lying against his padded prop, he drank thirstily, careful not to move a muscle other than those necessary for drinking. “I don’t remember that clearly. My mind might have been wandering already when she brought me back. But…” A painful frown crossed the ashen features. “But I think I remember … remember a warrior, an enemy. He was going to kill us both. You see, I could not fight, not by this time. But then…” The disoriented gaze clung to Migisso, agonizing. “Kentika talked to him. In their foul-sounding tongue, she talked to him and he, he listened. That warrior listened to her! He seemed surprised, puzzled. But maybe I wasn’t there anymore. Maybe my spirit had already been wandering.” Another harassed frown. “Yet, I remember reaching the opening of the fence, and the way we were struggling through it, and the healer. I remember us reaching the healer, and other wounded there on the ground. I remember that as clearly as that warrior, and her talking to him. And him staring at us. He was surprised, but he stared at her. And when he talked, he sounded almost amused. But only for a heartbeat. Because there was noise, people coming, and he said something in a hurry, and then he was gone. But it can’t be, it can’t! No enemy would… And her, how could she know what to say, all those strange words? I must have been crossing into the dream world by then.”

  “Yes, I think you must have, Brother,” said Migisso, his thoughts only partly on the frantically spoken words, the main part of his mind occupied with the question of where to find the necessary plants and how to make his brewing of them not very noticeable, not by the War Chief in any case. Had he been an accepted assistant of the old healer, he would have many roots and plants in his bag now, and a place to work with them in the bargain.

  He stifled a sigh.

  “Rest now, old friend,” he said. “I will be back with the medicine shortly.”

  Nodding at the women who lingered nearby, stirring bowls of maize dough, members of Schikan’s immediate family, most of them
, he hurried off, trying to pay no attention to the throbbing behind his temples.

  These had been terrible two days, no sleep, no rest, no satisfaction in the victory even. The enemy was held off, then killed, yes, but the village had still paid the price. So many wounded, so many mourning ceremonies to conduct. Death in every other clan, wounded in almost each cluster of houses. Not to mention the repairs and rebuilding. These would take time and effort, and just as the entire village was so busy in the fields and the woods. Not to mention Father, and his ideas of this strange alliance with the neighbors that the prominent man had been busy pushing with his usual forcefulness and no consideration for the feelings of others.

  Father!

  He felt the knot in his stomach tightening, pressing his insides, reminding him that he needed to relieve himself. Father had been as efficient, as always, first finishing the enemy off, then coming inside to organize everything and everyone, without so much as a pause to take a breath. The man was truly a great leader.

  He had found no time to see his family as yet, too busy with attempting to return everything back to normal, but he had interviewed Migisso while speaking to the rest of the warriors, those who came back from Skootuck on the day before.

  There was a glint of satisfaction in the man’s deeply set eyes, as he nodded gravely, acknowledging his son’s active involvement, not displeased with it, not like always. It should have made him, Migisso, feel good, but it didn’t. He had been too busy thinking of his wounded friend and his missing sister at that time. Father would wish to see her too at some point, to interview her as he had the warriors and the others. Not as a daughter, but as a person who had been involved. It was she who had spotted the enemy in the first place; she who had been out there when no one was; it was she who had saved Schikan.

  Oh, the War Chief would wish to hear it all, displeased with her, of course, no matter the helpfulness of her information or the mostly positive outcome of her actions this time. And when he summoned her, she had better be near and available, not missing again.

  His legs took him toward the ceremonial grounds. Paying no attention to the hubbub and the people rushing all around, he nodded absently at their greetings. The things they said did not enter his mind; neither did their wondering stares register.

  Around the maple tree there was not much activity, thank all the great and small spirits for that. Trying to act disinterested, he looked around. Some women were sweeping the ground, and a group of men hurried off, carrying axes and a half-shattered pole.

  Lips pressed tight, Migisso strolled toward the giant tree, still ready to be detained, asked questions. He had every right to walk around, hadn’t he? It wasn’t like he was doing something bad.

  Behind the wide trunk, it was dimmer and warmer, the soft afternoon light and the breeze not easily reaching through the thick foliage and the mass of the fence. His heart beating fast, he rushed on, not looking around, not anymore.

  The gap between the poles greeted him reservedly, not friendly or hostile, but indifferent, the woods behind it darker, preparing for the night. He hesitated, but the gust of fresh wind beckoned, cooling his burning face. It was calmer out there.

  The treetops above his head rustled reassuringly. It was good to be outside, he decided, his taut nerves calming. It was a welcome break from all the pressure.

  Strolling in a leisurely way now, he headed down the hill, not sure of his destination. She was most probably wandering the river’s shores, as she usually did, all her favorite places and little hideaways. She had been such a forest animal, this little sister of his. Annoying in her strange ways, yes, difficult to handle, but still such a good person, a pleasant reality of his life. To try to shield her from Father’s disapproval and punishments as much as he could was his choice, not her demand. She deserved this, and he hadn’t even thanked her for saving his friend’s life last night. Instead, he flared at her for the same crime she had been scolded for all her life. As though Father’s punishments and Mother’s reprimands were not enough.

  He rolled his eyes, then hesitated again. He could not possibly go all the way down to the river. It would take too much time, and he wouldn’t even reach it before the dusk. The last part of the daylight should be spent in a better, more efficient way. He was not supposed to wander out there with no aim any more than she was. What was she doing, the annoying little thing?

  A branch cracked in the distance, causing him to tense. An enemy? But the enemies were killed, to the last man. Or were they? Frantically, he reached for his knife, clumsy, cutting one of his fingers in the process.

  The silence was natural, serene, rustling with the breeze. Undecided, he strolled along the hill’s incline, toward the trail, remembering the night, the thrill, the expectation, the shame of the fear. Frightened and excited at the same time, what a strange combination. Ready to fight, undoubtedly this time, and yet relieved when they kept sending him back and forth, to bring things, to communicate messages, even when the fight erupted. Their mistrust hurt, but not enough to cause him to argue, or better yet, to make independent decisions, like most of them did. Communicating messages was a waste of time. No one listened to the other.

  He shrugged, then caught his breath as a shadow fell across the trail.

  “Oh, it’s you!”

  There was laughter in her voice, laced with an obvious thread of relief. Pale, dirty, and disheveled, she stood before him, beaming, her smile wide, her eyes sparkling with guilt. He tried to will his heart into a more reasonable beating.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Her smile widened. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” He took a deep breath, remembering his decision not to get angry with her—a difficult resolution to keep. “Listen, I came here looking for you. Come back and stay. Father will want to talk to you. Maybe he got around to sending for you already. Do you want to make him angry at such a time?”

  The smile died away, replaced with tightening lips. “He was looking for me?”

  “No, he wasn’t. Not to my knowledge. But he might have by now.”

  She tossed her head impatiently. “I needed to wash up. It was a terrible day and an equally terrible night, and I needed to wash up, and I went to do it in the river.” Her eyes sparkled with well-familiar stubbornness, set on fighting for her version of events, however unreasonable it might sound. She was always like that, impossible to be budged, especially when caught in a web of the silliest of lies.

  He measured her with an openly questioning glance. “Did you enjoy your leisurely swim?” She said nothing, so he laughed outright. “You are caked with mud and what not, and you stink worse than a skunk after it got scared most thoroughly. Find a better excuse, not one that only a blind creature with no sense of smell would accept.”

  Her eyes narrowed into slits. “You think you are so very clever, Brother!”

  “One doesn’t need to be clever, not in this case.”

  She stomped her foot. “Will you tell on me?”

  He shrugged. “What can I tell? I don’t know where you were and what dubious things you did, neither now nor on the day before. Or at night, for that matter. All I know is that right now, you lie about it, and in a ridiculous manner. That is all I know.”

  The frown made her look plain, almost unappealing. She was never held to be beautiful, or pretty even. She was too tall and angular, too awkward, too strong and swift when it came to doing men’s things, running and climbing and finding one’s way in the forest, but useless in anything the women did, clumsy to the point of ridiculousness. Careless with her appearance, she never bothered with a comb, let alone a needle to make her clothes better fitting. And yet she could sparkle like a lake on a sunny day. It was something about her eyes, or her smile maybe, the way she had usually spoken or moved, with a cheerful passion and unstoppable enthusiasm that he had yet to see anyone else displaying. She was rare and precious, and no one had seen it, but him.

  “Well, I’m not lying.” She was watchin
g him from under her eyebrows, the way a petulant child would. “I went to wash up, but then something happened. So I didn’t. But I did go out for that reason and nothing else. You must believe me on that.”

  “What happened? What prevented you from taking that swim?”

  “Nothing.” She dropped her gaze at once, staring angrily at the damp, messy ground. “I can’t tell you now.”

  His suspicion was sudden but overwhelming. “Have you been going around with someone?” She stared at him blankly, but it did not serve to calm his agitation. “Have you been seeing a man?”

  Her laughter brought the familiar spark back. “What? Don’t talk in a foolish way.” Bringing both hands up, she smoothed her hair, a surprisingly self-conscious gesture. “Me? Strolling around the woods with a man? How silly. Have you eaten something bad, Brother?” Her giggle trilled, free of guilt. “Or were you hit on your head by the enemy club?”

  He tried to suppress an unwelcome urge to join her in her laughter. “I hadn’t eaten for too long, and I saw less fighting than you did, you wild thing. So no, my head is in the best of shapes, all things considered. But you,” he peered at her, still annoyed but amused now too, “you have much explaining to do, Sister. Whatever you will tell the others, you will not lie to me. Promise!”

  Her teeth flashed, showing in the wideness of her smile, large, even, and very white. “I will tell you. Maybe. But later, not now. If you promise not to get angry. Or preachy.” The guilt was back, sparkling out of her eyes, in no apologetic manner. “It is something strange, wild, and unacceptable. Still, well, it is something I want to do. I’m trying to understand something, you see.” Now it was her turn to peer at him, with much intensity. “The enemy, they are vicious and alien and bad, yes, but you see, they… they are not all bad. Not always. Sometimes they are quite like us. I just found that out…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes strayed away, immersed in the study of the tree he was standing next to.