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

by Zoe Saadia

  The wave of warmth was back, this time accompanied by regret instead of fear. If they managed to get away, he wouldn’t be able to see her again, tell her of his gratitude, and maybe talk some more. She was so easy to talk to, so strangely comfortable to be with, to laugh and tell intimate things. It was still difficult to believe he had told her about the silvery wolf.

  Was she all right out there? What if she got in trouble on account of her involvement? Her brother was angry in too obvious of a way. The cheeky rat! He glanced at the man sprinkling more water on Akweks’ lips, trying to prompt a reaction.

  A curt nod had Okwaho dashing to fetch the pot.

  “Is he still hot?” he asked, mainly in order to break the silence, reaching for his friend’s glittering forehead. It felt clammy against this touch. Maybe cooler, yes, but unpleasantly damp. Was it a good sign?

  The healer was dousing the wounded’s pasty face with the last of their water. Okwaho swallowed to make his thirst go away. He would have to go out and bring more water soon. As soon as they used the brew in the pot, he decided. He wouldn’t run all the way to the river, risking certain exposure in the brightening daylight, to bring back a few gulps he would manage not to spill out of the accursed bark. That would be too much to ask from him. But for the girl still being around.

  The warmth in his chest grew again. What was it about her that made him feel this way? She wasn’t pretty, or womanly, or even sweet in the way some girls could be without sporting beautiful features or alluring curves. She didn’t make his blood boil. Or maybe she did, but only this last time. What had possessed him to kiss her, and in such a demanding way? He didn’t plan for it, didn’t want to do anything of the sort. That kiss surprised him as much as it surprised her. As though he had been a silly boy of little summers, he who had lain with girls, and even women. Hadn’t that woman in Cohoes Falls, a widow, a person who had seen more than thirty summers, taken a fancy to him for the entire time he had spent in this town, luring him into the woods every now and then, giving him so much pleasure he was left speechless and breathless every time anew? She made the memory of the girls, those whom he fooled around with at home, look artless and meaningless. What did they know about giving pleasure or demanding the same? But even they would do better than that local girl. Or maybe not.

  Akweks stirred again. And then there was another sound. He heard it clearly, and it made his heart stop. The distant hum was coming from the river, a steady noise that belonged to a large body of vessels progressing along its current. Or maybe against it. Unmistakable!

  Snatching the bow, he darted back toward the bushes.

  “Watch him! If something happens to him …”

  His gaze must have reflected the last of the phrase well enough as the healer positively froze, staring at Okwaho as though facing a poisonous snake about to pounce.

  “I’ll be back shortly.” Paying the frightened man no more attention, he reinforced his words with more gesturing, before diving into the entanglement of branches.

  Heedless of his step, but still careful not to make any noise, he didn’t rush toward the shore, but made his way upward, in the direction of the cliff he was forced to jump from on the previous evening, while luring the enemy away from Akweks.

  Could it be? He didn’t dare to let the hope enter his mind. If only…

  Crossing the open ground in a zigzagged run, just in case, he clawed his way up the nearest rock, his breath coming in gasps, heart threatening to explode in his chest. No, these could not be their men. It was too early for them to return.

  The river sped ahead, far below his feet, as unfriendly, as treacherously tortuous as before. Indifferent, empty. And yet, the familiar hum of the rushing water was interrupted more clearly here. Somewhere beyond its numerous bends, a group of vessels was progressing. Against the current.

  Oh, Mighty Spirits, please let it be them!

  Still careful, ready to duck should his gaze spot any other hint of movement, he shielded his eyes, not allowing his hope to surface, not yet. All sorts of fleets may be coming from the enemy’s heartland. And yet, the main part of their warriors was there now too, hopefully victorious, full of high spirits. Was it too soon for them to return?

  His mind was calculating frantically. How many dawns had passed since they separated? Five, six? It was too soon. And where were the locals? The peacefulness of the awakening woods all around frayed his nerves. It wasn’t right. Weren’t these shores supposed to swarm with villagers, eager for his blood? Was the girl that successful at taking their attention away? With all her fierceness and incredible determination, he didn’t believe she would manage. But maybe she had.

  When he finally saw the first canoe appearing behind the distant curve, his nerves were as tight as an overstretched bowstring, about to snap. Biting his lips into a raw mess, he strained his eyes, seeing one long canoe cutting the glittering surface, then another.

  His heart made its way up, to flutter in his throat, the elation impossible to push down, not anymore.

  The warriors were returning!

  Chapter 21

  “What were you doing out there, wandering these shores at night?”

  Swaying, Kentika tried to catch her balance, caught completely unprepared by the fierceness of the grabbing hand.

  It had been so hectic since she had left in the middle of the night, so frantic, and turbulent, so unreal. What had happened there on the shore still hadn’t settled in her mind, the treatment of the rotten wound too terrible to even think about it, with Migisso cutting revoltingly glaring tissue, widening the wound instead of closing it, swapping foul-looking, foul-smelling fluids that didn’t even look like blood, the smell terrible, silence unbearable, her own fear impossible to deal with. She would have run away but for the wolf youth, but for his reassuring presence. He needed her there. Somehow, she had been sure of that, and also of the reality that he would not abandon her if she fainted, would not laugh or ridicule. He trusted her, and so far, she hadn’t disappointed him. Well, maybe once, on their way back from bringing water for the last time, when it all became too confusing. Another thing she didn’t dare to think about.

  “I…” Startled, she looked up, her mind refusing to accept what her eyes were telling her, Father’s fiercely glowing eyes boring at her, his face contorted, not an impenetrable mask as before, when she had burst into the meeting with the elders uninvited, against every possible custom and rule. “Like I told… told the elders, I was looking for, looking for… helping. I wanted to help…”

  Desperately, she tried to find something plausible to say. Back at the meeting, they hadn’t dwelled on this particular question. Once over their indignity and shock with her rude, unheard-of interruption, they turned to the practical side of this unexpected development. No one had asked what she has been doing out there at night and alone, not once they heard her news.

  Oh, how smart he was in suggesting that she tell them about Amaue’s body and its whereabouts. That caught their attention! And yet, she was smarter, smarter than that. The smile that had threatened to sneak out back then was easy to suppress under the sternness of their suspicious gazes, but she still couldn’t wait to tell him of her improvisation. Why limit her discovery to one body? Why couldn’t she claim she had found two bodies there, that of Amaue and of his rival as well? Why couldn’t they both get killed down there in the river?

  He had explained where it was, describing the inlet until she believed she would recognize the place; yet, of course, they could not be sure the body was still there, and not washed away or dragged by some hungry forest dwellers. They all knew that such a possibility existed, so if there was no body, no one would hold it against her. They would be angry as always, yes, but they would not be able to accuse her of anything. And if so, then who could blame her for one missing body if she claimed that originally there were two corpses there? Why couldn’t they both be washed onto the same shore?

  Oh, but it was disheartening to stand their piercing gl
ares, to handle their probing questioning. Still, she had stuck to her story, and in the end, when they told her to wait outside, but not to go anywhere, she knew she had been successful. She would be leading them out and away from the right shore. Unless Father insisted on coming.

  She had addressed all the spirits she dared, asking for their help in keeping him inside the village, and yet her plea didn’t help.

  “Don’t lie to me, Daughter!” His eyes didn’t let hers sneak away, glowing in too close a proximity, taking away the relative protection of the people rushing about. “Why were you out there, tonight or on the day before, or at the time of the enemy’s arrival?”

  “I-I was just…” She swallowed, but it didn’t help. Her throat was like a corn husk left at the mercy of the sun. “I wanted to help.” Stubbornly, she kept studying the ground under her feet.

  The grip on her arm tightened painfully. “You will tell it all to me later, when we are back. Don’t think you will be able to get away with your lies.”

  Relieved beyond measure, she watched him turning away, talking to people who were supposed to come along. Quite a few men, all renowned hunters and warriors. Her eyes counted more than ten. Oh, Benevolent Spirits, oh, Mighty Glooskap, she prayed. Please let me keep them away for as long as I can.

  She tried to pay no attention to the glances shot at her from all over. They all stared, the members of their searching party, and the rest of the villagers, their curiosity great. What was her part in all this? What had the wild girl who did not know her place done wrong this time?

  It was a relief to leave the fence behind. Yet, the woods outside did not greet her with their usual warmth. Instead, they towered all around, foreboding and solemn, relaying their displeasure. The spirits did not favor her pathetic attempt to deceive her people, that much was obvious.

  “Here.” Clearing her throat helped, but only a little. “We need to go down here.”

  “Why?” asked one of the warriors.

  “This will bring us to that shore faster.” Wondering why her voice still sounded firm, she met their stony gazes. “That inlet, it’s some walk toward the rising sun.”

  Father and the others exchanged glances.

  “We’ll split in two,” said Father finally. “Eight of you will go to the shore with the boats. Scan it most thoroughly. If you find nothing, follow the river from the point where the lowlife jumped.” His gaze rested on the youth with a sling, relaying a message, not a friendly one. “Achtohu, you’ll lead. Make sure there are no failures, not this time.”

  The youth nodded, his lips pressed tight, eyes glittering.

  “The rest of us will follow my daughter to the shore where she found the bodies.”

  A curt nod invited them to proceed.

  “But Father—” His gaze cut her words off before they were born, but still she went on, desperate. “Why go to that other shore? There are no people and no boats there anymore. It’d be—”

  Their glares made the words die away. As did the dark cloud that shadowed Father’s face as he turned abruptly, stomping on through the rustling greenery.

  The awakening forest enveloped them in its freshness, but there was no familiar ease, no comfortable friendliness she used to enjoy while wandering out in this awakening part of the day. The trees rustled above, distant, aloof, not approving. She was to fail, and it was only expected. They didn’t approve of her treachery. They were not about to help.

  Her legs as heavy as drifting logs, mind numb, she followed the familiar trail, oblivious of their following footsteps. Eight men. Would he be able to deal with eight furious, battle-hungry, highly alert men? Would he manage to trick them away like he did on the day before, to allow Migisso to take the wounded somewhere else? It didn’t seem like a possibility. But then, he was so quick, so resourceful. He might find the way, if only she could warn him, somehow. He trusted her to succeed, and she was failing him, failing miserably.

  The foliage all around her glittered brilliantly, still wet with dew. What if she tried to run? Just dived into the thickness of the nearby bushes and ran all the way. Would she manage to reach him in time? Or would they catch her? Was she their prisoner?

  She shook her head angrily, trying to get rid of stupid thoughts. These were her people, not her enemies. He was the enemy. But not anymore. What was he to her? And did Migisso stay? What would her brother do when Achtohu and his men started combing that shore? Would he try to help, or would he abandon the wounded, the person he worked hard to save from a certain death this night? But he had been forced to help, she remembered. He didn’t come to help voluntarily, not like she did. And yet, Migisso was a decent person, courageous when pressed. He would not disappoint her. He always did what she wanted.

  Another turn.

  The trails became steeper, and the smell of the river grew along with the fresh wind. It pounced on them from behind the protection of the woods, as though trying to warn them, to make them slow their step.

  Shivering, she listened, but it was someone’s warning grip on her hand that made her halt. It made her heart stop too, but her senses told her not to move, or protest for that matter, to do as her companions did, their frozen forms surrounding her, eyes on the foliage.

  The hum of the river was strong, but even the strengthening wind did not camouflage the sounds of a large body of vessels progressing up the stream, the splashing of paddles and the occasional voices distinct enough, reaching their ears despite the wind.

  All eyes went to her father, who gestured silently, singling out some men, indicating the others to stay behind, his face a wooden mask, calming in its determination and lack of fear. As the green foliage closed behind them, Kentika let out a held breath. Father would not let this new danger harm them.

  What was it? she thought frantically, staying near the swaying branches, the presence of the others not reassuring, not like Father’s was. They were peering in the direction of the river too, tense and ill-at-ease, six more men and she, a useless girl. If attacked, they had no chance. She thought about the way the wolf youth moved, so swift and deadly. Were those his people rowing out there? But it could not be. His people were dead.

  More sounds of splashing paddles came from behind the trees, more distinct now. Were those people from one of the neighboring villages, or maybe Skootuck itself? The enemy could not be coming from the direction of the rising sun. His people would be coming from the opposite side.

  Barely aware of her movements, she went closer to the now-calm foliage, her senses probing and not her eyes. Father must be near the shore now, crawling along one of the lower cliffs, scanning the river. What did he see there?

  The branches blocked her way stubbornly as she pushed through them, relieved to notice that no one paid her any attention. They were too busy trying to listen. Oh, but why did they have to split with the rest of their people? Regardless of her original plan, if it was the enemy down there, making their way against the current, then close to twenty people were better than barely ten men trying to do something. And if she dwelled on that, then surely Father might have been getting angry over exactly the same thought.

  The sun was shining strongly now, reflecting off the furiously spitting water with a glow that hurt the eye. Crouching behind the nearest rock, she blinked again and again, eyes desperate to adjust, mind refusing to comprehend.

  The canoes were many, of various sizes, made of bark, larger and smaller, but with no tiny one-man dugouts among them. Progressing in a strikingly organized manner, they made their way against the current, determined like an army of ants, unstoppable, impossible to delay. Not even people of Skootuck would move in such numbers.

  As though in a dream, she stared at the approaching boats, not surprised when one of the larger vessels turned toward the shore, nearing the cliff where Father and his warriors crouched, where she clung to the rocky surface transfixed, not daring to breathe, or even to blink for that matter. The enemy was coming again. Against all odds and from the wrong direct
ion, they were coming all the same, to harm their village despite it all.

  Trying to make her mind work, she watched Father gesturing to his men, moving as though through a fog, slowly and deliberately, with no sounds accompanying his motions. One of the hunters slipped back into the foliage she had emerged from before, coming back in a short while, followed by the rest of their people, while the boats kept nearing, now disappearing under their cliff, impossible to see from this vantage point.

  Mesmerized, she peered at the sparkling surface behind the curve, hoping against hope that it would stay calm and undisturbed, with the enemy swallowed by the angry current down their cliff, every one of them, to the last boat. Behind her back, she could hear Father’s warriors spreading along the rocks. Preparing to do what?

  Pressing against the protruding stones, she didn’t dare even to blink, desperate to catch a glimpse of the boats, when the first arrow swished, tearing the crispness of the morning air, shattering its peacefulness. Many more followed, pouncing downwards, like birds of prey.

  Crawling closer, she watched the people in the canoes reacting swiftly, diving to take cover behind their vessels, those closer to the rocks of the shore paddling vigorously, in a hurry to land. To hope that the enemy would panic was to wish for the impossible, she realized, swallowing a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Fists clenched until she could not feel them anymore, she watched one of the canoes swishing right beneath her hideaway, in a tempting proximity. Oh, but for her old bow at hand. She could have shot the warrior at the boat easily, maybe not kill him but wound him badly enough, making it more difficult for him to join the fight. Her bow was not useless as the wolf youth claimed, even if it was not a warrior’s bow. How dared he break it as though it were just a stick!

  The thought of him made her head clear. He was still out there, vulnerable and in danger despite her attempts to take their people away; still sought after, he and his wounded friend. Did the other youth come back to life? Or did he stop breathing for good? And what about her brother?