by Vella Munn
“You are hurt.” Morning Song indicated the side of Kayla's neck.
“A scratch. Nothing that...” Much as she hated to, she had to say this. “If we're safe here, if your shaman's magic is so powerful, how come I got hurt?” She closed her eyes. “Morning Song, what if True Hand doesn't come back?”
Chapter Thirteen
“I didn't mean to abandon you,” Kayla admitted as she watched Morning Song weave tule reeds together for a small mat. Feeling inept, she envied Morning Song because she'd found something to do with her hands. Sitting and waiting was hard on her nerves. “I promised I'd do what I could to get your baby back, and I'd give anything to keep that promise. It's just that—I tried to explain this to True Hand—I feel overwhelmed. And scared.”
“We are all afraid.”
“Are you? Of course you are. I didn't mean to say that the way I did. It’s just that you seem accepting of many things.”
“I try not to think about what winter will bring,” Morning Song said. “But it is impossible. Winters are hard, cold. Sometimes it feels as if the wind will never stop blowing. Many animals leave, and the lake turns into ice, making it hard to fish. When it snows, that too freezes.”
It was hard to imagine that great body of water icing over. “And you and your people have never had to spend a winter living in caves?”
“No.” Morning Song studied her surroundings. “For as long as we have been in this land, we dig winter lodges in the earth and cover them with poles, brush, and dirt. These—” she indicated her tule mat. “keep our floors warm. It will be harder with rock instead of earth for our walls.”
“And with enemy soldiers about.”
Morning Song nodded, then concentrated on what she was doing for several minutes while Kayla divided her attention between several children quietly playing a game with small sticks and round rocks and listening for True Hand and the other men's return. She tried to imagine her nephew growing up with these children. If he’d known nothing else, he’d be content. The same couldn’t be said for Megan.
“I was wrong to ask so much of you,” Morning Song said at length.
“Ask?”
“To return my child to me.”
Kayla's heart made a queer little thump.
“I should not have tried to hand my burden to you.” Morning Song indicated the scratch at the side of Kayla's neck. “When I first met you, I told myself you were a spirit girl, and that harm could not come to you. I was wrong.”
Kayla drew the reeds out of Morning Song's hands and then gripped her fingers. Right now she felt as if she’d known the Modoc girl forever. “You were desperate. You still are.”
Tears glistened in Morning Song's eyes. She opened her mouth but didn't speak.
“I can't imagine what you're going through. In my world, girls your age—at least most of them—are interested in boys and shopping and music and school, not being a mother.”
“Why is that?”
“Because that's the way things are now. It’s been like that for a long time, ever since there have been modern conveniences, I guess. For one thing, most sixteen year olds are still in high school and living at home. No one expects them to earn a living, well hardly anyone does. I have a cousin who got pregnant at seventeen. She dropped out of school, which makes her parents crazy, but she didn’t think she had a choice. Now she and her son live in this dinky little apartment. She's afraid she can't pay the rent.”
“She and her child live alone?”
Kayla nodded.
“She should have family with her.” Blinking away her tears, Morning Song turned her attention to the children. “It is the Modoc way to be surrounded by family. New mothers learn from their mothers just as boys learn to hunt from men.”
“There isn't room for two adults to turn around in Megan's apartment,” Kayla said. She hoped she wouldn't have to explain what an apartment was. “Besides, like I said, her parents don't approve of some of the things she's doing. They want her to go back to school. I agree with them on that, but she keeps—-”
“What is school?”
How do I start? “Mostly it’s a place where children go to learn what they need to in order to become adults. Sometimes we’re expected to learn stuff we know we’ll never use. I’m not sure why.”
“They cannot learn those things at home?”
“Not anymore.” Maybe it’s better your way. “Most parents are off working, and the world has become so complicated—no, that's not the way to explain because I can't imagine anything more complicated than what's happening between your people and the newcomers, but I guess—”
A boy of about seven jumped to his feet and ran over to the ladder. Barely daring to breathe, Kayla strained to hear. Beside her, Morning Song did the same. After too long, a moccasin appeared at the top of the steps.
A man Kayla didn't think she'd seen before climbed down first. One by one, others joined him until there were six armed newcomers in the now crowded cave. Kayla felt intimidated and overwhelmed. True Hand was the last to descend. As soon as she saw him, Morning Song ran over and embraced her brother. Instead of making a fool of herself by hugging True Hand, Kayla stood off to one side and wiped away tears of relief.
The men explained that there was no reason to fear that the Army might attack today. A few soldiers had found a passageway in the Stronghold, and that had allowed them to crawl closer than before and fire randomly. Foolishly, the solders must not have thought about how easily the Modocs could have trapped them. Fortunately, their bullets hadn’t struck anyone, and when the Modocs fired back, the soldiers had retreated. The Modoc men would have been back before now except that they’d rolled boulders into the passageway so it couldn’t easily be used again.
“We should have blocked it before,” a man who Morning Song identified as one of her numerous uncles explained. “We were careless.”
Kayla wondered if it was that, or if they’d depended too much on the shaman’s assurances that his magic would protect them–just as Morning Song had tried to believe that she was some kind of spirit. She waited until the men had finished their explanation, and all questions had been answered, then went over to True Hand. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she said. “I wanted you to know that.”
“You are still here,” he said. “I was not sure you would be.”
“I’m not running away this time,” she reassured him. “I’ve learned a few things that make that impossible. Some of them are about me.” Although saying that nearly closed her throat, she knew she had no choice. “I’m glad it turned out as well as it did.” Unless the historians had missed documenting it, today’s excitement hadn’t qualified as a battle. “But the next time—not the next time, but eventually—nothing’s changed. I still want to talk to Kientpoos. I have to!”
Afternoon had reached the Stronghold before True Hand returned again. This time he told Kayla that he’d located his chief who, although hesitant to meet with a stranger, had agreed to see her because the request had come from one of his braves.
“He will not be alone,” True Hand said.
“I’m, uh, glad. Everyone needs to hear what I have to say.” A sudden fear clenched at her stomach. “True Hand? They’ll listen to me, won’t they? They won’t order me to shut up because I’m a girl—a woman?”
“Among the Modoc, a woman’s voice is as strong as a man’s. They will listen. I cannot say whether they will believe.”
“I—I realize that.” She’d never liked being called on in class, let alone give a speech; as for holding some student body office, forget it. However, this time she didn’t so much as think about being nervous because too much was at stake. Besides, she now recalled that Carol had mentioned a Modoc woman interpreter named Winema who’d been held in high regard. “But I have to try,” she went on. “I’d never be able to forgive myself if I don’t.”
After eating and drinking, a tired looking True Hand led her to a spot at the rear of the Stronghold, a journey tha
t took the better part of an hour. Kayla couldn’t see the Army camp or even smoke from their fires here, which was probably why it had been chosen for leadership meetings. She wasn’t sure what she expected. Instead of some fancy outfit fit for a war chief, Kientpoos had on a loose, collarless shirt and pants similar to the ones the soldiers wore. His hair was cut short. She couldn’t tell how old he was, maybe in his forties. He wasn’t what she could call physically fit, but she liked his bright, dark eyes.
Five other men sat in a circle on flat stones, dressed much like their leader except for the youngish, round-faced man to Kientpoos’ right. That man had added a necklace made of porcupine quills and held a handful of large bird feathers in such a way that no one could ignore them. He glared at her. Guessing he was the shaman, Curly Headed Doctor, she accepted him for what he was–the opposition.
“Sit down,” Kientpoos ordered. “I do not understand what brought you here. True Hand says you came from another time.” He indicated her tennis shoes. “I have never seen the things you wear. Our shaman says we must carefully weigh your words and be cautious because you may have been sent by our enemies.”
“No, never.” She started to say more, then glanced at True Hand who shook his head.
“I have stood with many whites and heard them say a great many things,” Kientpoos continued. “Their ways are strange. Their women never speak to a Modoc the way you and I are doing. Are they not allowed to?”
“No, not really,” she stammered. . “At least I don’t think so. I’m not sure about the division of labor back then.” At his puzzled look, she went on. “White women don’t become soldiers. I guess they don’t think they have anything to add. And maybe—I doubt that the generals and other leaders would pay much attention to them anyway.”
Kientpoos actually laughed. “Modoc women are listened to. Our mothers, wives, and sisters would not allow it to be any other way.”
“I’m glad. And I’m sorry that the only ones you talk to these days are military people.”
“I do not take their words to my heart,” he said. “Much of what they tell me are lies.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“How could you know that? Because their leaders told you what words were said?”
“No. I’ve never met a soldier in my life.”
“She lies!” Curly Headed Doctor insisted. “The spirits warn me of false speakers.”
“We will not know if she is a false speaker until we hear her out,” Kientpoos replied. She couldn’t be sure but thought Kientpoos was irritated with Curly Headed Doctor. “True Hand said you were sent back from far in the future to rescue his sister’s baby.”
How could she answer that? “At first that was my mission,” she said, hoping that would do for now, and the shaman would buy her story. “But the more time I spent with your people, the more I wanted to know—about what happened to you.”
“That is impossible!” Curly Headed Doctor shouted. “No girl walks into tomorrow. Only one who has learned from the spirits can know what will happen. Not all spirits are good and pure. Some live in darkness.”
“I don’t just walk in the future,” she said. “That’s where I live. I’m able to come back in time because—”
Desperate, she looked at True Hand. He tapped his upper chest, prompting her to pull the necklace out from under her blouse. “My brother sent this to me,” she explained. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time but now—now I believe in its power.”
That must have made an impact on Kientpoos and the others because after talking among themselves in Modoc for a while, he said that because she and Morning Song had found each other and had become friends, they were willing to hear her out. Curly Headed Doctor’s scowl left no doubt that he didn’t agree.
“Where I live,” she began, “everyone who is at the lava beds today has been dead for many years.”
That prompted the shaman to shake his feathers at her. Fortunately, Kientpoos glared at him, and he stopped. By keeping her attention on Kientpoos and thinking of the courage and determination it had taken for him to lead his people off the reservation, she managed to keep talking. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Kientpoos that he’d be beheaded following his trial. Just thinking about his fate made her want to cry. Instead, she said that when the war was over, every Modoc would be sent far from their accessorial land.
“That’s why I had to talk to you,” she finished in a whisper. It was all but impossible to ignore everyone’s shocked, disbelieving expressions. “Because I don’t want that to happen.” Because I think I can change history?
Curly Headed Doctor got to his feet and stalked over to her. “Sky Spirit made this land for us,” he snapped. “After that was done, Kumush, Old Man of the Ancients, took bones from the underground world of the spirits and scattered them over the world. The last to leave his hands were the bones that became the Modoc. He told the bones that they would be the bravest of all, his chosen people.”
Kayla could only nod and try to draw back from him without it being obvious.
“He said that, yes, the Modocs would be a small tribe and their enemies many, but we will stop all who come against us.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Before Kumush returned to the sky, he told the men he had created to go to the mountains and ask to be made brave and wise and have the power to help themselves. We have done that.” He clasped the feathers to his chest. “I learned Kumush’s law and follow his ways. I have been made powerful and wise. No one will say otherwise. No one!”
“I didn’t—”
“Hear me, chief.” The shaman turned toward Kientpoos. “I opened my heart and mind to the spirits. They say that this girl is not a girl at all but a wolverine.”
True Hand sucked in his breath, and the others looked grave.
“A spirit wolverine from the place of darkness with sharp teeth and powerful claws.”
****
“He won't change his mind,” True Hand told Kayla as he walked with her back to where they'd left Morning Song. “Sometimes Kientpoos says one thing in the morning and another at night, but I know he has made his decision in this.”
“Because the shaman thinks I'm a wolverine? That's crazy.”
True Hand gave her a puzzled look, reminding her that certain words had different meanings to different people. “You don't think I'm a wolverine, do you?” she asked. “I'm not even sure I know what one looks like. Apparently they have sharp teeth.”
“They are fierce, full of anger and courage. No creature wants to fight them especially if they were born in darkness.”
“Do you believe what the shaman said?”
“In this thing, no. If you were a wolverine, I would be dead.”
Taking it as proof of his regard for her, Kayla tucked away that piece of piece of wisdom, but it didn't really matter. After Curly Headed Doctor had said what he had, she'd tried to convince the others that he was wrong, but what chance did she have against the Modocs' spiritual leader? The truth was, she could barely comprehend what was happening herself. Believing she had to tell the Modocs about the future was one thing; actually doing it was turning out to be something entirely different.
“What if I try to talk to Kientpoos when he's alone?” she asked. “I can't just give up! If I can explain things to him—”
“The shaman will not let you near our leader.”
“Because he's afraid I'll turn into a wolverine and start chewing on everyone?” She could almost laugh at that. Almost.
“I cannot say that. Kayla, Kientpoos and our shaman walk together, but they do not share the same mind. Each believes he is right.”
“I have no doubt of that.”
“So much is at stake.”
“More than you realize,” she whispered. It had been morning when she arrived this time, hadn't it? Now it was afternoon. She'd been shot at and terrified that something bad had happened to True Hand. As if that wasn't enough, she'd tried to convince
the Modoc leaders that they were going to lose this war and failed miserably. No wonder she felt exhausted.
“True Hand, do you believe what I said about your people being forced to leave here?”
He didn't answer right away but leaned against a boulder and rubbed his temple.
“Do you?” she repeated.
“I do not want to.”
“Neither do I.” She laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “I feel helpless.” She thought about sitting down but wasn't sure she could get up again. “I need to do something. If only I knew what it was.”
“You do not have to stay here.”
“Is that what you would do if you were me? Walk away from everything?”
“I cannot.”
No, he couldn't. No more than Morning Song and the others could. “Neither can I,” she whispered.
Chapter Fourteen
A strong wind blew across the rocky land. True Hand, however, didn't seem to notice. At the moment he stood at one of the lookouts, staring at the army camp.
“They do not belong here,” he said so softly that Kayla could barely hear him. “They have no right! This land is where the bones of my ancestors lie, and where I want my own bones to rest.”
“I understand,” she whispered. If only she dared touch him, but he seemed so remote and filled with frustrated anger. And maybe he was thinking about what she’d told him about his people being defeated. He hadn’t said anything about his reaction to that or whether he believed her.
“Do you?”
“I'm trying. Yes, I know I do.”
He nodded, but his fists remained clenched. “I want to say those words and have them be enough. I pray for the strength to repel our enemies and have that strength be enough.” He faced her. “But the spirits do not hear my prayers.”
“It—I don't know what to say.”
“Kayla, you can tell my chief and the others what you believe the future brings, but you cannot put those words in their hearts.”