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

by Zoe Saadia

  The familiar trail twisted, taking him on a path he could have walked with his eyes shut. Down, all the way to the river. Oh, Mighty Glooskap, was she truly guilty of aiding the enemy? His stomach twisted painfully. Kentika, his little sister, his only friend. A wild thing, yes, unruly, impossible to understand or to make behave properly, but still a good girl.

  No, it could not be. She would not do anything like that. He was wasting his time following her, and yet…

  Where could she possibly be going in the dead of the night, sneaking away, carrying a bag?

  Wriggling out of his soaked loincloth, Okwaho sighed with relief, spreading it before the flickering flame, glad to be free of its cold, sticky touch. It needed to be dried, somehow, if not washed thoroughly. The tanned material, usually soft and decorated, was now stiff with all the sweat, blood, and mud it had accumulated during the past few days. The last forced swim in the river didn’t help to wash it out at all. It only made him terribly wet and cold.

  Fire, he thought. What a blissful thing it is. Warm and friendly, it helped to banish the chill, to disperse the worst of the darkness. To lift his spirits as well. Only a little, as much as anything could have in their troublesome situation. Still, it was better this way. It gave him the opportunity to relax and to think.

  When he had managed to make his way back, well after the darkness fell, he had found Akweks undisturbed, curled awkwardly at the same corner he had remembered leaving him at before dusk, drifting between their world and that of the spirits and dreams, in pain. There was no improvement in the youth’s condition. His strength did not seem as though about to return, the gash on his thigh still wet, still oozing liquids, spreading a light odor, now unmistakable. He didn’t need to lean closer to smell it. The peculiar scent filled the closed-up space, noticeable now, especially when one came from the outside. Akweks was in bad shape, and there was no point in deluding himself, convincing them both that all was well.

  He eyed a half-eaten cob of maize rolling in the dust. Had he had any energy left, he would have gotten up and picked it from the ground, dirt or not. The violent twisting in his stomach must have been the result of hunger, not fear. Or so he hoped.

  Would he manage to take Akweks away? He didn’t want to face this particular question, not yet. When the time came, he would manage, somehow.

  When? he asked himself, staring into the darkness, desperate to sense the danger if it was near. How long did they dare to stay here?

  Not until dawn break, surely. The enemy would be certain to start combing this shore with the coming of the first light. He should not have attracted their attention in the first place. The girl said they were thought to be dead. She was surprised to run into him here, alive and strolling about. So the rest of her countryfolk must have assumed the same. But not anymore. Now they knew he was out there, on the loose. To hope they assumed him dead now would be naive. He could have died like that other man, yes, but he didn’t. They would be fools not to scan every tree and bush around here. And fools they were not. Now he knew it for certain.

  He stifled a curse. But for the nosy bastard who, instead of helping his companions to carry the accursed boats, had to start sniffing around, none of it would have happened. He would have waited patiently, and they would have taken the boats and gone back to their stupid village, leaving him and Akweks alone, in charge of the shore, to decide what to do. However, now he was left with nothing to decide but to stumble his way in the darkness, carrying his wounded friend to the boat he had had enough sense to hide—at least that!—to try to sail home, hoping he would be able to make that journey in time for Akweks not to die.

  Bracing himself against the cold, the wind sneaking in, threatening the small flame, he stared at the fire. Was it wise to make it at all? What if the enemy was wandering out there in these very moments?

  “It’s still, still night… yes?” Akweks’ voice was barely a whisper, but it made him jump all the same.

  “Yes, it’s near midnight.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm the wild pounding of his heart. “I made some fire. They won’t be looking for us before dawn.”

  “Do you think… you think we have any water… left? Just a little…”

  Okwaho stifled a groan. “I’ll… yes, I’ll bring water.” The loathsome piece of bark that leaked more than it held in stared at him from the floor, thrown carelessly where he had left it earlier, before the last trouble began. “May the Left-Handed Twin take them into his realm and make them suffer for all time to come!”

  “They will be looking for us, won’t they?”

  “Yes, they will.” He rubbed his eyes, bracing himself for groping his way back to the shore. “But we can stay here for a little while, until the second part of the night. To get some rest, gather our strength.”

  “Why did they—” A sudden outburst of coughing left the wounded gasping. Okwaho shot to his feet. “Why did they chase you?”

  He held the sweat-soaked shoulders, helpless to contain their trembling. “I… They were looking for our boats. They might have found you.”

  Another bout of coughing. “If I can’t make, make it to the boat … don’t stay. Sail.”

  The lump in his throat was forming fast. He swallowed it.

  “We’ll sail together. Before the next dawn, we’ll be away from here, moving against the current. Four, five dawns and we are back in Cohoes Falls, with that roaring of your stupid cascades forcing us to yell at each other. Why did they have to build your stupid town right under that thing?”

  The smile was faint yet unmistakable. “Your Little Falls is not any better, I hear. They say … they say your falls are nasty … not little. They lie with that name.”

  “Those are not my falls. Little Falls is not my town. I’ve never been there but for a short stay when I traveled to your place. Where I came from, all is quiet and pretty. You can sail our streams without listening to their every murmur.”

  The longing for home swept him with a breathtaking suddenness, gripping his insides, twisting them viciously. The cozy town sprawling upon a hill, longhouses spreading up and down, in cheerful disarray. Everything hilly, uneven, full of small rivers and springs, plenty of ponds to swim and fool around in, barely enough flat land to have decent ballgames that were usually organized in the neighboring Onondaga Town, that haughty capital of the entire nation, where the annual meetings of the Great Council were held. Many wondered why Father, the War Chief of the Onondagas and one of the most prominent leaders of the entire Great League, did not live in the capital itself. It would have been more fitting. Yet Father claimed that High Springs was his home, even though he had no extended family there, no roots, nothing to tie him to a relatively unimportant settlement. Still, he preferred to travel every time the meetings of the Great Council needed to be organized, or some pressing matters of the Five Nations taken care of.

  “Father came from Little Falls, yes,” he said, wishing to have this great man here now, and not only his necklace. Oh, Father would have taken care of it all, solved this terrible mess. He would have made it all work, with no failure, no loss of men, no defeat, even though the Onondaga War Chief dealt with the matters of peace more often than with the matters of war. There were no wars in the heart of the Great League.

  “Little Falls, yes. The Great Peacemaker performed his first miracle there.” Akweks’ pale lips stretched into a broader smile. “He should have come to our Cohoes Falls, tried to jump those. They would have demanded no other proof if he survived our falls.”

  “They demanded nothing more, anyway,” said Okwaho, remembering the tale.

  Like everyone else, he had heard plenty of stories about the wondrous prophet, the Messenger of the Great Spirits, the Great Peacemaker. But one day, Mother laughed and told him to ask Father about that miracle. She said there was more to this particular tale, and if he managed to make Father tell him the truth about it, she’d make a whole bunch of his, Okwaho’s, favorite sweet maple cakes only for him. Her eyes glim
mered with mirth, like those of a young girl, teasing, but no matter how many times he tried, Father would shrug and refuse to tell him more than everyone else knew. So Okwaho had no favorite cookies all for himself, although Father admitted that he had been there with the Peacemaker. Well, of course he was. He had been the man the Peacemaker trusted the most.

  He shrugged. “If the Great Peacemaker died in Little Falls but came back with the rise of the Father Sun, then he would have done that in your Cohoes Falls as well. It didn’t matter where he would have been required to perform the miracle. He was a divine messenger. He didn’t care about the height of the cascades or the amount of water in it.”

  Closing his eyes, Akweks sighed, but the smile still played on his colorless lips. “If he came there in fall, he would have to climb down a few stones and save himself all this miracle-making. The falls dry up dreadfully during the summer.”

  Okwaho tried to remember. “Yes, I think they came before the Cold Moons. My father was with him. He was the one who brought the Messenger to our people.” It came out too proudly. He moderated his tone, embarrassed. “Or so they say. It must have been strange back in their days.”

  But Akweks’ face lost the trace of a smile, covered again with a sheen of perspiration. Clenching his teeth, as though bracing himself for a difficult trial, the youth shifted, then tried to sit up. Despite Okwaho’s supporting hands, it was a difficult feat that left him breathless, unable to suppress his groans.

  “I’ll bring you water.”

  Snatching up his knife along with the accursed piece of bark, he dived back into the cutting wind, glad to escape the suffocating closeness. It was colder now, but the wind made the clouds disperse, with Grandmother Moon shining stronger, lighting his way. No need to grope and stumble in the darkness, spilling most of the water on his way back. A quick trip back and forth, a bit of a rest, and then they would be gone, never to return. Akweks would manage to stay alive until they reached home. Somehow. Somehow he, Okwaho, wouldn’t let him die.

  The rustling in the woods uphill made him dive into the thickest of the bushes, his heart lurching in fright. It might have been the wind, he told himself, or maybe an animal, this or that forest creature.

  He clutched the knife tighter, regretting not having brought his newly acquired club along. One good thing had come out of the evening disaster. The club of the man whom he had dragged along into the river was washed ashore along with its dying owner, so now he possessed a prettily carved, decorated spoil of war, to make up for his old weapon that he had lost. Yet, it wasn’t at hand now.

  He cursed, then listened. The suspicious sounds continued. Sporadically, with no pattern to them. Once silence, then resumed rustling, then an occasional stone rolling down. Not an animal. A person. Someone sure-footed, and in a hurry. Once again, he cursed himself for leaving the club behind.

  Trying not to stumble in the surrounding darkness, the prickly vegetation thick, not letting the moonlight through, he moved as silently as he could, the constant hum of the river distracting, not allowing him to listen properly. A stone rolled out into the open patch of ground. Why would someone—

  The figure that followed it didn’t seem in a hurry to dive back into the protective darkness of the tree. Instead, she stopped and looked around, one hand clutching something that looked like a bag, the other darting up, pushing the hair off her face in a familiar gesture.

  He watched her for another heartbeat.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The question didn’t seem to startle her, as though she knew she was being watched. But when he stumbled on a root and almost fell out of his hiding place, flopping his hands to stabilize himself, instead of stepping out gracefully and in control, she covered her mouth and jumped back hastily, almost stumbling on something herself. Her eyes were enormous, wide open and gaping, traveling up and down, her mouth ajar. In the brightness of the moonlight, it was easy to see her lips moving, yet no sound came out.

  “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t get frightened. It’s me. I was on my way there.” Hurriedly, he pointed at the direction of the river, as though it explained it all. “Did you come back here looking for us?”

  She just nodded, still pressing her hand to her mouth. Her eyes slid downwards, then flew back up hastily. Suddenly, he became aware of his nakedness.

  “I-I was on my way. To get water. I made a fire. Back there, where Akweks is.”

  He heard his own stammer, and it made him angry. There was nothing wrong with going down to the river to bring his wounded friend water, or with doing so bared of clothing when one’s loincloth needed to be dried. What was wrong with him, or with her?

  “Wait for me up there, with Akweks,” he said firmly, his voice low but not whispering anymore. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  His returned briskness seemed to have a calming effect. “I brought things,” she said hurriedly. “Medicine, a little. Food.”

  “Oh, good!” He moderated his voice, still uncomfortable, not attempting to come closer. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. “Thank you. I’m grateful. Without you—”

  A rustling like that of a rolling stone came from the direction of the river this time, a distant murmuring. He saw her turning as well, tensing visibly. A silence prevailed.

  “Did you come alone?” he whispered.

  She nodded readily.

  More silence. His senses honed, tuned to the humming of the river and what it might be hiding, he let his eyes roam toward her bag, wondering as to its contents. A little medicine, she said. Oh, but it might be a perfect timing.

  He found his gaze lingering, studying her face, safe in doing so as she was looking away, in the direction of the suspicious sounds. Outlined clearly against the dark sky, her profile presented an enjoyable sight, with the tip of her nose tilted teasingly and her forehead pleasantly high, free of hair that was now pulled backwards, collected in a braid, not sticking out everywhere like before. He didn’t remember her being pretty or attractive on either of their previous encounters, but it was different now, somehow.

  “I don’t think someone follow,” she whispered, turning back, her frown deep, taking away the magic. “I was careful. I move quiet, no sound. Can do that better. Better than men!”

  The challenge in her voice made him wish to laugh loudly.

  “Better, eh?”

  “Yes.” Her smile flashed suddenly, catching him unprepared. It brought the magic back, this time in force. She was not a pretty thing, but the attraction was there, in her wild, unusual sort of a way.

  He turned away abruptly, wishing to conceal certain sights. He should have tied his loincloth on before going out, whether it was dry already or not.

  “Thank you for bringing things. The medicine, it’s good. He needs it. You see, he doesn’t get better.” He waved his bark in the air, glad to have something to fiddle with. “I’m going to bring water. You wait here. Or maybe there, with him. You remember the way?”

  She nodded again, averting her eyes in too obvious of a way. Damn it.

  “Well, then go there now. Tell Akweks I’ll be back shortly.”

  She lifted her bag, undecided. “You go bring water?”

  It was his turn to nod, his thoughts on the way back. Just a short run, to reassure Akweks that the girl meant nothing but good. And to put his loincloth back on, disgustingly wet or not.

  She was still fiddling with her bag, obviously embarrassed.

  “Here.” Her fidgeting produced a round, fairly large vessel. “Your bark is no good.”

  “Oh!” Excited, he snatched the flask, feeling it hollow and solid, made of light pottery, not a gourd bowl. “That is wonderful. Exactly what I need!” He eyed her in wonder. “You thought of everything.”

  “Just things.” She shrugged, but her smile spread again, even more charming than before. “I remember you running, running with silly bark. All water spilling. Bring just drops.”

  He tossed the annoying bark away, then regretted it. U
seless and leaking, it provided some sort of a cover.

  “I come with, with you,” she was saying. “The wounded, he get scare if see me alone. He doesn’t like me. He think I’m bad.”

  “No, he doesn’t. It’s just…” Now it was his turn to shrug. “He felt very bad, scared. You brought us bad news. But he doesn’t hate you or anything. He appreciates what you did for us as much as I do.” Arriving at the decision, he turned resolutely. “Stay here. I’ll tell him to wait for us, to be ready. Be back in a few heartbeats.”

  It was a relief to walk in the cover of the merciful darkness, away from her gaze. She didn’t hesitate to face him before, not even when he had captured her at first, sniffing around their stolen boats. She had looked back at him angrily, fearless, telling him her mind and not what he wanted to know, frustrating and yet strangely comfortable, easy to communicate with, even as enemies. And then, later, after the exhausting night battle and the disconcerting morning, when she brought them the terrible news, but some food too, and some encouragement, not an enemy anymore, but a friend. There was not a moment when either of them felt uncomfortable around each other, he was sure of that. But now they just didn’t know where to look or what to say. Why? His silly lack of coverage could not be the reason. People strolled naked everywhere when needing to wash or change their clothing. There was nothing wrong with it. Her people could not be that different.

  Akweks was again drifting, his breathing jerky, uneven, muttering and in pain. Okwaho brushed his palm against the clammy forehead before snatching his loincloth up, despite the fact that it was still revoltingly wet. To tie it quickly was a challenge; still, in no time he was back, rushing into the night.

  “The medicine, is it ready to use?”

  She was standing in the same pose, as though ready to run, but at the sight of him, she relaxed visibly. “What?”