by Socha, Walt
Joe’s eyebrows narrowed. He shook himself. “Ahh...” Larry took Joe’s arm and led him a few strides away from the fire circle. “Daru’s been acting up again.” “What is it this time?”
“I caught him throwing rocks at one of the horses. Said the horse wouldn’t follow commands.” Larry took in a deep breath. “Tried to fight me when I stopped him. Just held him till he stopped.”
“Where is he?” Joe closed his eyes. Always a problem to be solved.
“He skipped dinner. Last time I saw him, he was a couple hundred yards up the Snake.”
“I’ll try talking with him now.” Joe looked at Potts who was ladling seconds into one of the kid’s bowls. “Maybe I’ll eat my dinner with him.”
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Joe stepped out of the light of the fire circle and paused to let his eyes adjust. The waning moon had risen, giving some visibility. He felt some pride in what they had accomplished. Several new huts dotted Haven’s clearing that lay between Snake Creek and its smaller tributary, the Salamander.
His eyes took in the toothy outline of the fort that provided some measure of security. Kristi’s new hospital would be relocated inside. Another project. His smile faded. Carrying the two bowls, Joe walked downhill to the small path along Snake creek.
Within minutes, he reached a fallen tree that spanned the creek. Even in the dim moonlight, he could see a small figure straddling the accidental bridge.
“Hi,” Joe said as he approached the tree. “I’ve brought some stew. Potts claims it’s one of his best.”
Daru made no reply.
Joe placed one of the bowls on the log near Daru and sat. He took two spoons out of his shirt pocket, placed one in Daru’s bowl and started eating with the other. “Actually, it’s pretty much just Potts’s usual. There’s not much he can do with the present ingredients.”
Joe ate for several minutes, the silence broken only by the buzz of insects and the gentle murmur of flowing water. “I imagine Potts will put on a better feed once the crops come in.” He turned toward Daru. “It’s gonna get cold.”
Daru scooted closer to the bowl, picked it up, and started eating.
“I hear you had some problems with one of the horses.” Joe licked his spoon and put in it in his pocket. “Something I can help you with?”
A muffled choke rose over the background of insects and water. Joe’s eyebrows pinched together and he willed his face to relax.
“You care more for those animals than you do for my parents,” Daru said, his words slurred with emotion.
Joe froze. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”
Daru threw his bowl in the water. “My parents’ bodies are lying on the ground. Eaten by animals.” His racking sobs silenced the insects.
Chapter 44. Day 91
Joe set the bucket down and lifted his left arm then right over his head, stretching out his back muscles. A muddy mound rose in front of him, its top layer now containing the remains of the village of Big Elk’s deceased. And Daru and Bata’s parents.
They had arrived late in the evening, two days ago. Yesterday had been spent collecting the scattered remains. Today he and Larry moved earth while the two children packed the soil around and over their relatives and former neighbors.
Larry rode into view, dragging another load of dirt from the nearby stream’s bank.
“This should do it.” Larry nudged Mojo closer, dragging the travois up to the mound. It rose to twice the height of a man, maybe four times that in width.
“I hope so,” Joe said. “I don’t seem to be getting any younger.”
Larry dismounted and started filling the second bucket. On the mound, Daru and Bata finished the spreading of soil over the bones of their village’s dead. In spite of the bodies being scattered by scavengers, they were confident that they had most of their parents’ remains identified by clothing fragments and personal amulets. To those they had added a stone knife and a clay cooking pot in memory of their daily life. Both children worked in silence.
Joe looked at the sun. They had about two hours left in the day. He filled his bucket, climbed the mound, and joined Larry in pouring another load of the loose soil over the packed layer of remains.
The top was stomped flat by the time the light was failing, and they gathered at the base. Larry took out the notebook Kristi used to record daily events and fumbled in one of his pockets for a pencil.
“We are gathered here to honor the deceased members of the Big Elk village.” Joe sprinkled a handful of tobacco at the base of the mound. “We ask your forgiveness for not preparing your remains in a timely manner.”
Daru and Bata spoke their words of farewell. Squinting in the dim light, Larry recorded everything in the notebook. Joe stood behind the children. When they finished, they both turned and allowed Joe to wrap his arms around them.
“Please don’t leave us,” Bata said between sobs.
Joe closed his eyes. “I will try not to.” He couldn’t promise anything more.
Dinner was a stew of squash and fish, flavored with a few pinches of Potts’s herbs. Everyone ate in silence.
Chapter 45. Day 92
Joe and Bata watched as Larry and Daru disappeared around the bluff.
They had found the canoe that Joe had stashed some three months ago still hidden in the brush along the river. The long spell on shore had opened a few long cracks in its bottom but a repair with heated pine pitch mixed with charcoal from the village’s campfires had restored its water-tightness.
When Larry had asked Daru if he’d like to help paddle upstream to Haven, the boy had jumped at the idea. Joe suspected that the opportunity for him to be the companion of the powerful warrior was not to be missed. Luckily, Bata appeared content to help Joe with the horses. “You ready?” Joe had given Bata the task of leading Larry and Daru’s horses, hopefully diverting her attention from her ruined village and the newly buried dead. She appeared to take the responsibility seriously.
Bata answered with a smile.
“Then let’s go,” Joe said. Although both children had still been subdued this morning, he’d been heartened to see Bata taking an interest in her surroundings. “We should see Larry and Daru in about one hand.” He looked toward the sun, a bright spot in the low clouds. They might get wet today.
Joe sneaked glances at Bata as they rode. The children had shown an amazing resilience. Could he have shaken off the violence they’d seen? He hadn’t witnessed the accident that had killed his parents. He’d only experienced the confusion of a seven year old pulled out of school by a policeman.
The trail veered away from the higher hills along this section of the river. Through a break in the trees at the summit of the hill, they could see the river reappear as it flowed out of the north-northwest from Haven.
“What’s that?” Bata pointed.
Joe eyes followed her outstretched arm. A few miles upstream, three canoes floated in the middle of the Susquehanna. Joe’s pulse pounded in his ears; the canoes’ occupants were unlikely to be anyone but white clay warriors. Most likely with spear throwers. Larry only had the revolver with less than a dozen cartridges. And Daru was with him.
He scanned the trail. The main trail continued downward, disappearing into the forest. But about a hundred yards ahead, a small stream cut across the trail and a smaller path veered off to follow it toward the river. Joe turned his attention back to the river, which narrowed to about a half-mile as it veered around the low cliffs to their right. Larry should be appearing any minute now and when he spied the canoes, he’d head for shore. If Joe could reach the bank before then, he could back Larry up with the Ruger. Or at least distract the warriors. “Bata, follow me.” He led her further along the trail to the point where the smaller side trail forked.
At the intersection, Joe dismounted and led Bata and her horses off the trail into heavy underbrush. “Bata, I’m going to help Larry and Daru. I need you to protect our horses.” He helped Bata dismount. “I will be back as soon
as I can.” Joe paused and held her shoulders. “If I can’t make it back, please stay hidden until tomorrow. Then return to Haven by following the main trail upriver.” Bata nodded, her eyes wide and her mouth a thin line.
Misgivings flooded his thoughts as Joe mounted Snark. But at least she’d be out of sight and probably safe. He followed the smaller downhill trail; low overhanging braches forced him to lean low as he rode.
The path disappeared at the water’s edge. After urging Snark into the shallow water a few yards, he could just see the lead canoe to the left. Unless he drew them in, they would pass out of his range, six or seven hundred yards out, as the white clay warriors followed the deeper channel on the far side of the river. To the right, the river disappeared as it curved around the hills.
Joe dismounted and stood, the water lapping at the top of his boots. Draw off the canoes or wait? What if they had one of the guns Samatu stole? They most probably lack any long-range skill but there was always a chance they’d make a lucky shot.
He looked at the river. Shallow for at least a hundred yards or so. Walk or ride?
Seconds passed. A second canoe appeared. Joe counted two warriors in each. His pulse raced. Where was Larry? The third canoe appeared.
Joe checked the Ruger. Slapped his pocket. Full of shells. More than he’d have a chance to use. He remounted Snark and urged her deeper into the river.
Eighty yards out in the river, the water just came to Snark’s belly. “Hold on, girl.” Joe patted her neck and nudged her around to face the canoes. One of the white clays warriors shouted and all three canoes turned, the lead warrior in each fitting a dart to his atlatl.
Seconds crawled as the paddlers stroked the canoes into range. Each held two warriors, with the face of the front warrior in the lead canoe entirely covered with white clay. The others only wore two slashes.
At a little over a hundred yards, the lead warrior flung a dart. Joe flinched as the narrow six-foot missile flashed past his head, mere inches away.
Joe raised the pistol made for punching holes in cardboard targets. “Easy Snark.” He aimed. Squeezed the trigger.
Snark twitched under him. The paddler in the first canoe jerked and fell backward into the cavity of the canoe. The warrior at the front fitted another projectile to his atlatl.
Joe fired again. Wood splinters sprayed the warrior as he flung another dart.
Joe flattened himself against Snark’s neck and heard the whistle of the missile’s fletching as it passed over them. The second and third canoes were now within spear throwing range. Joe fired. Again. The warrior in the front of the lead canoe cried out and leaned over, grabbing his right shoulder with his left hand.
Two darts streaked by. Joe fired several more times, but Snark’s nervous footing in the deep water and the movement of the canoes spoiled his aim.
Joe pulled the trigger. Click. Damn, he hadn’t counted. He fumbled with the cylinder. He ejected the eight spent shells, watching the precious metal plunk into the water. Hands shaking, he forced in fresh shells.
He glanced up. Warriors in the second and third canoes held their atlatls ready, waiting to close.
A sharp crack echoed over the water. The forearm of the first warrior in the third canoe exploded, spraying the paddler behind him with blood and bone. The dart from the distracted warrior in the second canoe flew harmlessly into the water in front of Joe.
A second shot sounded. From around the downriver curve, another canoe appeared. In its bow, Larry held his revolver in two hands as an open-mouth Daru paddled. Joe thumbed in the eighth shell, slapped the cylinder into position. With Snark dancing beneath him, he aimed at the frantic enemies now attempting to turn their canoes.
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“If you hadn’t popped up, they’d have likely surprised us coming around that bend.” Larry snatched a glance at Daru.
“I think we’re even on this one.” Joe grunted as he helped drag the canoe onto shore. “Any thoughts as to why they were even here?”
Larry stood on the bank and rolled his shoulders. “It’s only been a couple of miles and I’m already cramped up.” He looked downriver, where the last of the bodies and an overturned canoe floated around the bend, following the single escaping canoe. “That Tork guy is gonna be even more pissed off when he finds out that we just about wiped out another group of his men.” Larry shook his head. “Maybe just a coincidence. Or maybe they were coming back after checking on Haven?”
“Very likely.”
“Yeah.” Larry paused. “At least they didn’t have any of our guns.”
“The gun thing did pass my mind.” Joe blew out a long breath. “Still want to take this canoe back?”
“Well, the trail does hug the river most of the way.” Larry raised an eyebrow at Daru. “Think we’ll be okay with Joe watching us?”
Daru’s posture straightened. “We will take canoe back to Haven.” He gazed back up the trail. “My sister?” “She’s hidden at the top with your horses. I’ll get her now.” Joe remounted. “After I send her down, I’ll ride back and confirm that the two warriors in the surviving canoe are still heading downstream. Then we’ll go.”
“Have her bring Mojo down. My gun cleaning kit’s in my saddlebag.” Larry’s mouth tightened into a thin line as he gazed at the river. “Down to four shells.” He shook his head slowly. “How much longer is our luck gonna hold?”
Chapter 46. Day 94
Samatu stared as the young slave woman rhythmically pushed the mano stone over the metate, grinding the small grains of corn into meal for the evening meal. Her small breasts swung in opposition to the movement of her shoulders as she leaned her weight on the long cylindrical mano. Only shadows remained of the bruises on her face. A shout broke Samatu’s thoughts. Activity in the direction of the assembly circle drew the attention of all but the slaves, although a few of the braver ones briefly glanced up before returning to their tasks.
Samatu rose, adjusted his loincloth, and joined the growing crowd of warriors, women, and children moving toward the center of the village.
When he arrived at the assembly circle, the common warriors parted at the sight of his white clay face and he moved forward to take a position at the rear of the Skullmen.
The crowd quieted as Tork, standing in front of the ceremonial poles, glared around. The warriors settled on the ground, their murmuring quieting under Tork’s eyes. Beyond, the women and children stood silent. Several of the children quieted a barking dog.
Two warriors stood in front of Tork, heads low, looking only at the ground. The one with an injured arm shifted his head to look at his companion. Samatu recognized the man as one of the scouts assigned to watch Haven. Their replacements had left a little over a hand of days ago. But six should have returned.
“Samatu.” Tork scanned the crowd.
Samatu jerked at his name. His jaw clenched as he rose. “These men say that they were attacked on the river, a day’s journey down from the strangers. With lightning weapons.”Tork’s eyes bored into Samatu’s. “I thought you took all of them?”
Samatu tried to meet Tork’s eyes but looked down within a breath. “I took the weapons that were kept in Haven’s central hut.” He tightened his leg and torso muscles, standing a little taller. “The stranger in the bird nest overlooking the village had other weapons.”
One of the other Skullmen rose to face Tork who nodded.
“I entered the strangers’ village to free Samatu,” the standing Skullman said. “He spoke of this warrior. Said that the warrior in the nest had magic to see in the dark. Samatu recommended that we not attack this nest.”
The Skullman glanced at Samatu, his face impassive, and then sat.
Tork shifted his eyes to Samatu.
“The warrior in the nest usually had two weapons.” Samatu forced his shoulders back. Tork’s anger would only increase if he showed fear.
“A Skullman and three warriors were killed by these strangers.” Tork’s face twisted in rage. “May dogs
eat their flesh.” After several breaths he continued, looking over the faces of the warriors. “When the days shorten, we will not only harvest their crops, we will harvest their remaining weapons.”
Keeping his eyes lowered, Samatu sat. How long until Tork’s increasingly frequent rages resulted in Samatu’s own death?
Chapter 47. Day 120 - July 4
Joe rolled over, the fragments of a distorted dream of dead bodies fading into obscurity. He shook the last echo of a scream from his head and leaned on an elbow. Through the tent flap, a pale dawn sky outlined the small hill to the south of Haven. Whoever was on watch would be waiting for him. Probably Brent.
He slipped into his jeans, frowned at the stiff fabric, and pulled on his boots. He’d have to do some washing today. That thought triggered a long list of projects. Soap required fat. They needed to render the fat from the bear he’d shot. Maybe even get another bear. There were the skins to be scraped and brain tanned. The meat had to be dried. Crops would need to be harvested soon. They would need drying frames and probably a root cellar.
Joe shook his head. First, his plumbing. He crawled out of the tent, stood and worked the kinks out of his back. Panic swept over him and he slapped his waist. Then he knelt and pulled the 22 Ruger from the tent. Alita had insisted he keep her pistol with him. Unlike the others, she still acted as if she thought he was some sort of hero.
He strapped the gun belt on, mentally wincing as the feel of the weapon triggered thoughts of Samatu and the stolen weapons. He squared his shoulders.
Joe looked about the village and nodded. With the storeroom now in the fort, the villagers could at least hold off a small attack for a few days. They still needed to build a new hospital inside the walls—something more permanent than a tent. Outside the palisades, a half-dozen huts now supplemented the collection of tents. All opened to the east. Across Snake Creek, an enclosed field corralled the working horses—including two for emergencies—and a small hut contained their tack. To the south, the ridge on the other side of the Susquehanna River rose like a dark behemoth, its crest hinting of green in the predawn light. He tore his eyes from the peaceful surrounds and detoured on his way to the tower. It’d been hard to agree to a fixed latrine area. Any convenient bush was the local habit. Last thing they needed was one the children catching him cheating.