He leapt straight at them. With one blow of his club he crushed the first man’s head in, and he went down like a rock, the deer going down with him. The other man yelled, half-pinned under the falling load, and before he could get free Miska killed him too.
He wheeled around, back toward the camp, where the woman had sprung up to her feet, ready to run, her face wild with fear. He fixed her with his eyes. She stood fast, she could not run. He held her with his look, and walked to her, and she did not move. He took her by the hair and pushed her up against a tree, hauled her skirt up around her waist and used her until her knees gave way and she sagged down against the tree, her face slobbered with tears. He let her go. He thought of killing her but she would bring Tisconum quickly and so he let her go. He went to the nearer of the two dead men; he wanted some proof he had killed them, these Turtles, and the best was the long lock of hair they wore above their ears. With his knife he cut the scalp quickly in a circle around the first man’s lock, and yanked the hair off.
He heard a whimper, behind him, and looked around, but the woman was running. She darted past him and down the path and disappeared into the green brush. The urge came over him to chase her, bring her down again, but he stayed where he was, listening to the sounds she made fading into the usual sounds of the forest.
He tore the lock of hair off the other body, and fixed both of the long bloody trophies to the haft of his war club.
Night was falling. He went back and found his bundle, and returning cut out the tongue of the deer; in the camp, over the woman’s fire, he roasted the tongue and ate of the cakes and the berries. In the deep night, with the trees stirring in the wind, and the owls gliding soundlessly under the branches, he went up the pass a little, crawled under an outcrop of stone, and slept.
Hasei squatted down on his hams and rubbed his hands together, staring up at the Bear village. The people here had rebuilt it since he had seen it last; then it had been some way closer to the Broad River, but now it stood on the crown of a rocky little hill, its wood fence tracing around the rim of the hill, and the way up winding along the side.
These people, he remembered, had sent gifts to Miska of their own will, courting him, in spite of how much the two clans disliked each other. Now he thought they had done so to keep Miska away until they could build themselves this fort.
Yoto, his brother, hunkered down next to him. The rest of the men were sprawled idly under the trees. Yoto said, “What does Miska want us, to do here?”
Hasei shrugged. He had been mulling over Miska’s orders since they left their own village and he still didn’t understand. He said, “He said he would come.”
Yoto grunted, looking around at the woods. Here the forest yielded softly through a borderland of high brush and young trees to a broad flat meadow that sloped down toward the distant stream. Strips of fields crisscrossed the meadow, women’s wealth, stands of beans, clumps of green lit up with the little yellow suns of melon blossoms. “Should we wait?” Yoto said.
“No,” Hasei said. Tell them to get ready, Miska had said. Tell them I am coming. He said, “Who is their headman? Is he a sachem?”
“Ekkatsay, his name is. I don’t know where he stands in the Bear council.” Yoto was still looking around. “In any case, Hasei, they don’t like us, we should wait for him to get here.”
Whatever Miska wanted, Hasei was sure it wasn’t for them to do nothing. He straightened to his feet, his gaze on the village. “Go up there and tell them that we are here. We have to have a gift for him—who brought a pipe?”
Yoto got up, his forehead crumpled. “Basha has a pipe.” He bobbed his head up at the village. “They aren’t going to like this, Hasei, and there aren’t very many of us.”
“Do it,” Hasei said.
A little while into the day, Yoto came back, trotting down the path beaten through the meadow, and behind him, Hasei could see people crowding on down out of the city. He went back to the trees, where the other men were lolling around half-asleep, and roused them. He got the pipe from Basha and collected all the smokeherb the men had, and with him going first they moved out onto the path to greet the Bears.
Yoto jogged up to him. “All their men are here, they just finished some ceremony, even the outliers are here, there are a lot more of them than us.”
“We’re Wolves,” Hasei said. Up ahead, the crowd of the Bears had stopped, at the foot of the path up to their village, and he straightened himself up and strode forward down the path to meet them, the other men on his heels.
They got up close enough to see the eyes of the waiting Bears, and then one in front of the crowd threw his hand out, palm out, and said, “Stop! What are you here for?”
Hasei glanced from this man to the broad-shouldered man behind him, who wore a great breastplate of shell and horn, and a shock of feathers in the knot of hair on top of his head. Hasei said, looking at this man, “I bring the greetings of Miska of the Wolves to his brother Ekkatsay.”
Ekkatsay was looking through the pack of men behind Hasei, and as he did the harsh planes of his face eased, relieved. Hasei knew he had seen that Miska was not with them. Ekkatsay turned back to him, fierce.
“What are you doing here? We have sent the year’s gifts to your village. We need give you nothing else.”
Hasei said, “Haka-Miska-ka sent me here to tell you he would come, and you should be ready.” His face burned. Ekkatsay’s voice had a rough jeering edge that made Hasei want to plunge his knife into the other man’s chest. He had the pipe still in his hand but this was going in the opposite direction than sharing smoke.
“But Miska isn’t here,” Ekkatsay said. “Just go away. There is nowhere for you to stay here. Nor do we have any food for you.”
At that Hasei stiffened. He turned and put the pipe into the hands of the man nearest him, who was Yoto, standing there with his eyes blazing, glaring at the Bears. Hasei swung back toward Ekkatsay. “We are blood with you. Are you not Miska’s brother? We have the right of guests with you.”
Ekkatsay sneered at him. “There are less of you than us. Don’t try to threaten me.” From the dense mob of people packing the ground behind him came a general murmur of supportive amusement.
Hasei stared this big man up and down. Behind him were seven Wolves, and around him, as Ekkatsay said, a good number of Bear men, but there were women and children also, and the Bears did not fight much. He thought if they fought much they would not need such a fort to live in. He wondered again what Miska expected of him—certainly not to accept insult, to give in.
He stared at Ekkatsay, trying to look him into obedience, as Miska did, but Ekkatsay only stared back, and folded his arms across his chest.
Then from the crowd behind Hasei, standing higher on the hill, a gasp went up. They were pointing out over the heads of the men in front, at something down the path, and they were calling out and more and more were moving up the path to look. Hasei wheeled. Behind him, the Wolves were jumping out of the way, and down this open path Miska walked.
He had painted himself with black and red clay on his face and his chest. He wore his wolf skin robe, with the wolf’s mask set over his forehead. He carried his war club in his hand, and from its haft swung two fresh swags of long black hair. Hasei’s heart thudded at the sight of them, his muscles tightened, his belly stirred, hungry. In the whole great crowd watching, nobody spoke, their eyes followed him, the Wolves turned to watch him go by. Hasei stepped back away from Ekkatsay. It occurred to him suddenly that, whatever it was, he had done what Miska wanted.
Miska walked straight up to Ekkatsay and stood chest to chest with him. He thundered words into Ekkatsay’s face.
“I greet my brother Ekkatsay.” His voice rang loud in the stark silence. “And thank him for coming down here to greet me from his high place.”
“You are nothing but trouble, Miska,” Ekkatsay said. They were almost the same height and he did not have to look up at Miska the way other men did. His face was set hard and
stiff. Hasei saw his eyes flick toward the woods in the distance, and knew he was wondering how many other Wolves lurked under the trees. The people crowded together onto the path behind him were watching keenly, leaning on each other’s shoulders and craning their necks.
Miska said, “I’m sorry to hear you say that, my brother. Yet I have only come here to help you.” He moved a step closer to Ekkatsay, his wolf paint almost touching Ekkatsay’s fancy breastplate.
“To help us,” Ekkatsay said. He held his ground, although he swayed slightly on his feet. He gestured at Miska’s war club, with the two long swags of bloody hair dangling from it. “You will bring Tisconum down on us.”
“Hai,” the people in the crowd murmured, agreeing. “Hai, hai.” But at the back of the crowd Hasei could see people sneaking away up the path to the safety of the village on its height above them.
“Bring Tisconum on you,” Miska said, looking puzzled. “Should Tisconum not worry that you will come at him? Surely my brother will not stand and see his hunting grounds stolen.”
Ekkatsay suddenly took a step backward, getting space between them. “You make trouble, Miska!” His voice had a high nasty whine to it.
“Hai,” someone called, but another voice rose in the packed crowd. “Which hunting grounds have they stolen, those hardbacked fish eaters?”
Miska raised his war club over his head, the bloody hair swinging. “These came from your deer meadows, from Bear deer meadows east of the Broad River, from the heads of men hunting on those meadows.” He turned back to Ekkatsay, and took another step toward him, so that they were almost nose to nose again. “Are you afraid of Tisconum, my brother?”
Ekkatsay bellowed, “I am afraid of nobody! Not of Tisconum, nor of you, Miska!”
“Hai,” somebody called, but not loudly.
Miska smiled. “Then welcome me and the rest of us into your high place, there”—he jerked his head toward the village—“and give us food and shelter for the night. My brother.”
Ekkatsay shot another glance toward the distant trees. His eyes narrowed.
“Just you,” he said. “And these others here.”
Miska gave a harumph of a laugh. “Just us, Ekkatsay.”
Ekkatsay’s gaze licked over them all again. Hasei thought if they went into his village they might not come out again. But it amused him the way Miska said “high place,” as if it were a joke. Whatever happened, Miska would get them through it.
“Very well,” Ekkatsay said, now, his voice smooth, hiding thoughts. “Come in, then, Brother, and we shall talk all this over.”
“Good,” said Miska, and even gave him a little nudge, to lead them up the path.
C H A P T E R S I X
Ekkatsay had moved his home village from a fine flat meadow by the river, with plenty of water and good fields close by, up here on this stony hilltop where everything had to be hauled up from below, all to keep Miska out, and now here was Miska sitting in the center of it, eating Ekkatsay’s own meat.
The Bear headman’s gaze went to the war club, which never lay far from Miska’s hand. The round black stone head was crusted with something, hair, maybe, stuck on with blood. Ekkatsay’s belly churned. He wanted to pick that club up and strike with it and feel the crunch of bone under it.
Miska’s bone. He straightened, pulling his eyes away. Two of the women were bringing up flat baskets with bean cakes, ground cherries, wedges of gourd roasted soft and brown, whose nutty aroma made his mouth water. He glanced at Miska, who was not eating.
“My brother disdains our food.” Ekkatsay reached for a piece of the gourd.
“My brother’s people eat well, and they have fed me well,” Miska said. “I cannot eat mouthful and mouthful with a Bear, I admit that, brother.”
Ekkatsay grunted, wondering if he should take that for an insult. He fell to thinking again that he could seize Miska, that he had far more men here than Miska, that he could take him prisoner and kill him.
When he thought that, part of him went off to one side, and looked back, and said, “He is your brother, eating your food at your fire.”
Another part of him, in his head still, said, “He would fight, he would fight, they would all fight.” He found himself staring at the war club again, lying beside Miska’s thigh. He had heard how Miska did battle, always in the middle, always striking furious blows; they said he had never taken a wound, that some power protected him, no living man could even pierce his skin.
The other Wolves were sitting beside Miska, and many more of Ekkatsay’s men were sitting on the other side of the fire. The women brought more food but nobody was eating. Then one of the Wolves held out a pipe, and another offered a little pouch, and the smoke went from hand to hand.
Ekkatsay took the pipe, when it came to him, but he did not smoke it. He passed it on. Miska saw this and said, “What troubles you, my brother, that you are not friends with me?”
Ekkatsay turned his head to one side, sorting through his mind for words, but then someone on the other side of the fire called out, “What about these deer meadows? All the ground east of the Broad River to the Lightning Tree belongs to us, by ancient right.”
Ekkatsay knew that voice, Taksa, his troublemaking nephew. He clenched his teeth together. Taksa did not know his place, talking out, not waiting for Ekkatsay to choose words. Miska was already answering, as if any Bear could speak to him, any Bear at all.
“Tisconum will take everything he can. I will drive him back, if you will help me—” He turned his face toward Ekkatsay, his eyes wide and solemn, and said, “If you will not lead them, my brother, let your fighters come with me, and we will regain your rights.”
Ekkatsay burst out, “I will lead my people!” His face felt hot, he glared across the fire at Taksa who had betrayed him, and who would feel it, and thrust out his hand at Miska to hold him back. “If Tisconum is hunting on my grounds, then I will deal with him, and if my people need to fight, I will lead them.”
Miska sat back, smiling, his face bland behind the stripes of paint. “Good, then,” he said. “We should leave early, in the first morning. I shall wait for you.”
There was a sharp gasp among the people watching. Miska reached out for the pipe, which the Wolf beside him had just packed again.
Ekkatsay said, “The morning is too soon.”
“Noon will be too late,” Miska said. Another of his Wolves had fished a coal from the fire, and was lighting the pipe for him. Miska inhaled the smoke deeply, and let it out in a gust.
He said, “In my village there lives one who keeps fire in a little box. The smoke tastes different when he lights it.” He was smiling. All around, the fire shone on faces, the people creeping closer to see, to hear, and every shining eye was fixed on him. Ekkatsay knew of Miska’s stranger, everybody did, a sorcerer of some kind, with much magic, people said, part of the web of power that surrounded Miska.
He wondered what Miska was threatening him with. He wondered if Miska and Taksa knew each other already.
The pipe came to him, with its fragrance, its promises. He took it. Miska was watching him; everybody was watching him. He put the pipe to his lips and inhaled the smoke.
“All right,” he said. “At first morning. But I go first.”
“As you wish, my brother,” Miska said.
Ekkatsay’s people had spent the spring by the salt, fishing and digging for clams, and they were soft and lazy from it. They were Bears anyway, Miska thought, lazy and strong and fat and slow. The day was well along before the men were even ready to leave their hilltop village; they had to travel well south of the village to ford the Broad River and Miska drove them hard, wanting to get to the camp below the blasted tree before Lopi had been there long enough to get into trouble. He wanted also to see how Ekkatsay’s men went, who was capable and who was stupid, and who might be of use to him.
Ekkatsay kept no order over his people. The Bears complained and lagged back and stopped and strayed and by afternoon it was constant
work to keep them moving. Miska gave up, sent the other Wolves out to hunt, and pushed the Bears into making a camp where they were. Since neither of the bands had brought any women with them the work fell on the men, who groaned and tried to sneak away and did a bad job of everything when they did do it, even the Wolves.
They were at the edge of the broad grassy meadows between the river and the hills, which were the deer grounds Miska had told them Tisconum was poaching on, and he wanted them across the place before it occurred to them that there were no signs of any Turtles anywhere here. The haze of summer hung in the sky. By the spring where they were camping a few tall trees grew, casting a deep shade on the fading grass; under the widespreading boughs the Bears were gathering up the wood for their fires. Miska went away toward the open meadow, looking east across the bending grass, the land flowing away from him in waves. He walked along the edge of a great trampled swath where some deer had lain. Their droppings lay everywhere like black pebbles. The sun lay soft on his arms and he stretched them up into the light and shut his eyes.
The Forest Woman came into his mind; he knew she was everywhere, and he promised to be worthy of her. He felt the gentle warmth of the land around him as her kindness toward him. The wind and sun like her arms around him. Then he heard footsteps behind him.
He wheeled, annoyed at having his thoughts broken into. A tall Bear was coming toward him across the grass, and seeing Miska face him now he stopped, lowered his head, and turned his hands up at his sides.
“Come,” Miska said. He disliked these empty-hearted ritual shows; most of the Wolves had cleverly noticed this, so he was unused to it.
The Bear glanced around, back toward the camp, and approached him. He was young, thin, with sharp eyes and a smooth, womanish smile. Miska had marked him already, noticed all day how most of the other young Bears followed him, and how openly he disdained Ekkatsay.
The Serpent Dreamer Page 5