"You can't make a sacred act out of this!" Kate protested. "What they're doing is wrong. I won't marry either one of them! I don't care what anyone says."
"If brother fight brother over woman, woman must be wife of man win. His medicine stronger. Woman no wife, circle no fix anger. You see? Shawnee law. Must be husband, wife. Long time, many winters, when grandmother small child, two squaw fight for man. Man must many woman win. Shawnee law."
"It's barbaric," Kate said incredulously. "I'm not Shawnee. If it is your law, it can't mean me. I'm English."
"No Englisher long. You be Shawnee."
"I don't want to be a Shawnee."
Wabethe shrugged and continued nursing the baby.
Pride and Tschi came from opposite ends of the village, walking proudly, heads up and shoulders back, like Oriental princes. For an instant, Kate didn't recognize Pride and thought there had been some substitution. Then she realized his head was shaved in the same manner as Tschi's. Each bore a single spot of blue paint on his cheekbones, and each wore only a white deerskin breechcloth. The crowd grew silent.
A strange Shawnee in a wolfskin head covering and black robes stood before first one, then the other. He murmured softly in the Indian tongue and sprinkled cornmeal over their heads. Then, he too stepped back, and they entered the circle.
Each man carried a knife. In the center of the circle, a steel tomahawk was stuck, the blade partly buried in the dirt. They faced each other in a half crouch, moving like dancers to some silent rhythm.
Without realizing it, Kate strained forward. Wabethe held tightly to her arm. "Make no sound," the girl warned. "Sound bad."
A drumbeat began, so softly that Kate thought at first it was her own heart. She could not see the drummer; perhaps he was hidden in the edge of the forest. The beat was urgent, disturbing. It throbbed, stirring her blood, and she found her breath coming in deep gasps.
Pride looked into his brother's dark eyes. Tschi laughed and beckoned with his knife hand. Control your anger, Pride told himself. Don't let him use it against you. He stepped sideways, his bare feet lightly brushing the earth.
The morning sun rose bright and hot over the trees. In the early light, the two men looked like bronze giants, their knife blades glimmering. Tschi's back was to Kate, broad and muscular, oiled to keep Pride from getting a grip on him. He was three fingers' width shorter than his half-white brother, but thicker in the waist and thighs. His skin was but a shade darker.
Pride's body had been oiled, too. He circled, his face a granite mask, his eyes expressionless. The sinews in his tanned back strained like braided cords.
The crowd was silent. For years men had watched the brothers and known this day would come. They were evenly matched in strength and speed. Whichever man fell, the Shawnee would lose an epic warrior. Wishemenetoo alone knew who would walk from the circle of death, knew which man's medicine was more powerful.
With the speed of a diving falcon, Tschi lunged for the tomahawk. His hand closed on the handle, and he swung it at Pride. Kate screamed. Time slowed, and the deadly ax soared through space toward Pride's undefended face. She would have thrown herself into the circle, but Wabethe and another woman held her fast. Unable to watch, she shut her eyes, then opened them. Pride was a full two yards from the spot he had occupied not a second before.
Wabethe elbowed Kate hard in the ribs. "No scream!" she ordered. "Look! Your man no be trick like child."
Kate covered her mouth with a hand, vowing she would not shame Pride by crying out again. She bit down hard on a finger, tasting blood, as she saw Pride rush at his brother and slash with the knife, barely missing a blow from the tomahawk by twisting aside. The blade drew blood; a thin trickle ran down Tschi's left thigh.
Bile rose in her throat as Kate tore her gaze from the red stream. Tschi seemed not to notice the blood. Her eyes fastened on his face; his white teeth gleamed wolfishly, and he let out a shrill war cry. Kate gasped as the tomahawk left Tschi's hand and flew through the air, cutting a crimson furrow across Pride's shaved head.
Stunned, Pride stumbled and went down on one knee. Tschi leaped on top of him, and they rolled across the hard-packed ground. Tschi was on top, his knife poised, frozen in the air. Pride's hand was locked around Tschi's wrist; his own knife lay a few feet away A hooo went up from the watching Indians; the man on top held the clear advantage. It took raw power to hold back a descending blade.
Sweat beaded on Tschi's face. Kate couldn't see Pride's. Blood ran down his head and pooled on the earth. The wound must have hampered his thinking! "Pride!" she cried. "Fight!" Wabethe elbowed her again, and she pushed her back. "He's hurt," she whispered to her friend. "Can't you see he's hurt?"
Tschi's knife hand wavered and moved, inch by inch toward the man beneath him. Then, almost too fast to see, Pride's other hand let go of Tschi's left wrist and drove upward into his brother's face. Tschi groaned with pain; his knife hand was pushed back, and Pride rolled free.
Shaking his head, Pride scooped up his knife and hurled it. It struck Tschi full in the chest and the warrior crumpled backward. Like a panther, Pride was on him, pressing his brother to the earth, and raising the tomahawk for the coup de grâce.
"No!" Kate cried. "Don't!"
Tschi's head lay to one side, his hand tugged futilely at the knife. He opened his eyes and he whispered in Shawnee. "Strike, brother."
Pride's face contorted with emotion. Muscles twitched in his upraised arm as he balanced the steel ax. A savage war cry sprang from his lips, and the tomahawk plunged down.
Kate twisted free of the women and ran toward him. "No! Pride! Don't kill him!"
The tomahawk buried in the earth beside Tschi's head. He shuddered and tried to raise his head. "Tschi... tschi," "he begged. He lay there panting as Pride leaped off him and raised both arms in the age-old symbol of victory.
Kate ran to Pride and threw her arms around him, oblivious to the dirt and blood. "I was so afraid he'd kill you," she cried.
A murmur of approval rose from the onlookers, and women hurried to see to Tschi's knife wound. Pride walked from the circle, head high, his arm possessively about Kate.
"You shouldn't have entered the circle," he murmured. The stern expression did not hide the light in his eyes.
"I thought you were going to kill him."
"I should have." Pride placed his hand over her heart and nodded to the old chief. He said something in Shawnee, and the old man nodded back.
"What did he say?"
"You'll find out soon enough. Wabethe! Take my woman and see to what needs to be done." Pride pushed Kate in her direction.
Wabethe grinned. She and a half-dozen women ran toward Kate, shouting in Shawnee.
Kate tried to shake off the clutching hands. "Pride! What are they going to do to me?" She began to struggle, halfheartedly at first and then in earnest. "Stop! What are you doing?" she screamed.
Chanting, they dragged her to the river and proceeded to tear off all her clothing. Kate fought in desperation now, despite Pride's laughter from the riverbank. She landed a few good punches, but ended up swallowing half the river before she was finally pulled ashore. She spat water and shook her head like a drowned rat.
"This isn't the least bit funny!" Kate yelled. "Stop laughing, damn you, Pride Ashton!"
Wabethe threw a mangy bearskin around Kate's naked body, and the women surrounded her again. Laughing and shouting, they dragged her toward the edge of the village where a low bark-covered structure stood.
"What's that?" Kate demanded. "Where are you taking me?" The women pushed her into the darkness. To her surprise, the hut was dug into the ground. Wabethe and two older women followed her inside, stripped off the bearskin, and threw it out the door.
"Panther no afraid," Wabethe giggled. "No tear. Shawnee no hurt baby."
"Baby? What baby? Ouch!" Kate swore as she stumbled over a large round stone. The floor was covered with them. "There's no baby here," she protested.
"You baby
," Wabethe explained. "We make you good Shawnee. Marry Chobeka Illenaqui. You like, yes?"
"Yes... I mean no! No, I don't like to marry."
"No matter. He great warrior. Win you Tschi." A spark glinted in the darkness, then another, as Wabethe struck her firestones together. Soon, a whisper of a flame was spiraling upward. Wabethe blew on the tiny flame and pushed shaved bark into it. Soon a brisk fire was burning, and Kate could see the curving roof of the tiny building.
"Isn't it too hot for a fire? What kind of a wigwam is this?" Kate asked. The fire pit seemed huge for such a small hut.
Wabethe chuckled merrily. "No wigwam... sweat house. Make clean for be Shawnee." She pushed stones close to the flames. Then, she and the other two women removed their short skirts. Someone outside opened the skin door flap and handed in buckets of water. Wabethe poured them on the rocks and the hut filled with steam.
Kate choked, hardly able to breathe in the thick steam. She had been in the steam lodge for hours, maybe days. Water ran off her body in streams. She felt like she was drowning in the steam; the other women moved about the low space like dancers in a dream, chanting.
She clutched at her mid-section. She'd felt queasy since she'd gulped the container of liquid Wabathe had given her. It was bitter, and she wouldn't have swallowed at all, but she was so thirsty. Now, her stomach gargled ominously. "Wabethe!" she cried. Suddenly, it was urgent she get out of here! "Wabethe, I've got to—"
Giggling, the women threw the damp bearskin over her head and pushed Kate out the opening. They surrounded her, leading her blindly away from the sweat lodge and into the forest. Kate was frantic! If she couldn't relieve herself soon... Waves of shame surged through her body.
In the privacy of the trees, the bearskin was removed. "Now," Wabethe instructed, barely hiding the merriment in her eyes. "We no watch."
A weak Kate staggered under the dripping skin back to the sweat lodge. Abruptly the ground gave under her feet, and she tumbled through space into running water. Screaming, she began to splash about. The bearskin nearly smothered her, and the water felt like liquid ice. Laughing, Wabethe and her friends dove in and rescued her.
Sputtering and cursing, Kate was hustled back to the sweat lodge. "No more," she protested. "You'll kill me."
"Just like baby," Wabethe chuckled. "Scream. Cry. Kick."
Once more, rocks were heated, and water poured on them. Kate laid her head against the bark wall. She was too weak to fight anymore. She'd be the first English lady ever steamed to death. Maybe it wasn't only the Iroquois who practiced cannibalism. The Shawnee were probably going to serve her as the main course at Pride's victory celebration.
Wabethe was shaking her. "Come. We go now." Tugging at her arm, she coaxed Kate to the doorway once more. "Stay," she ordered. The other women held her arms while Wabethe went through first. "Now come!"
Kate crawled out of the door and was mortified to see she had crept out between Wabethe's spread legs. "What are you doing to me?" she begged. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Stupidly, she felt like giggling and did. Had she lost her mind?
Rubbing her eyes, she peered around. Women and little girls danced around her, faces painted. There were no men in sight, not even boy children. The skins over the wigwam entrances were closed tight.
The little daughter Wabethe had given away, Squithetha, came shyly forward. She covered her face with her hands and giggled. Her mother, Unsoma, gave a gentle shove, and the child uncovered one bright eye. Unsoma gave another nudge, and Squithetha reached up toward Kate with a string of red beads.
Uncertain, Kate looked puzzled. Wabethe cleared her throat loudly, and Kate bent down so the little girl could slip the necklace over her head. There were coos of approval from the women. The child clapped with pleasure, a wide smile spreading over the round little face.
"Thank you," Kate murmured. The child skittered behind her mother to safety.
Wabethe cleared her throat again and pointed toward a large wigwam. The door skin was moved aside and an old woman stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight.
Kate couldn't remember seeing the woman before. She was so old, the parchment-like skin was stretched tightly over the bird bones of her face. Snow-white braids hung below her waist. She wore a robe of red fox pelts that left the thin arms bare.
The procession moved toward the wigwam. Kate was captivated by the old woman's eyes. They were huge pools of molten ebony. They dominated the diminutive face. They seemed generations younger than the old body.
"Quaghcunnega Squithetha," Wabethe whispered reverently. "Her name is Rainbow Girl. She is all knowing. Great medicine woman."
The old woman stared into Kate's eyes. A great feeling of peace and contentment crept through her. Kate knew she was in the presence of a great lady, a queen in her own right. She curtsied, no longer realizing that she was completely nude, except for the red beads. "Madam," she murmured. "I'm very pleased to meet you."
Quaghcunnega smiled, showing ivory teeth, worn almost to the gum line. She inclined her head slightly and spoke in the shrill, piercing voice of the very old.
Wabethe translated. "She happy you, much like. You strong woman. Enter circle. Bad. Your heart good. You enter circle for good. Want save Shawnee warrior make you slave. You no like French woman. No like Englisher. You have Shawnee heart. Rainbow Girl say she call you Ki-te-hi Equiwa. Woman of Great Heart."
"Ki-te-hi," Kate repeated softly. "Tell her I am greatly honored."
Wabethe did, beaming at her charge. "You Shawnee, now," she explained. "Born from Shawnee woman." She giggled, remembering Kate's fact: as she crawled out of the sweat lodge. "You Wabethe daughter. You Ki-te-hi." She grinned. "Now daughter come. We make Shawnee—"
Suddenly, a woman burst through the laughing women. She screamed and shook her fist at Kate. Kate drew back. It was the woman she had fought with when she first came to the Shawnee camp.
Strong hands caught the woman and held her fast. Enraged, she spat at Kate and let loose a volley of angry words. She looked like a madwoman; her hair was chopped off in uneven handfuls, and her face was streaked with ashes. Even the deerskin skirt around her loins was ripped and smeared with filth.
Quaghcunnega went to the woman and laid her palm on the screamer's forehead. She spoke quietly, and the woman went limp and began to weep.
"Rainbow Girl say," Wabethe whispered. "Rainbow Girl say Englisher woman kill her man. Bad Englisher. Duty of wife to kill evil murderer. "
Kate paled.
Wabethe continued. "Where is this Englisher? Who can say? No white woman here. Only Shawnee. Eyes see Shawnee woman, Ki-te-hi Equiwa. Sister. Englisher dead. No weep."
"But that won't work," Kate insisted. "She knows who I am."
"She know. Ki-te-hi no know. You no more Englisher. You Shawnee."
One by one, the women pushed forward to pat the grieving widow and offer words of comfort. Wabethe nudged Kate. "You're crazy," Kate said. "I'm not getting near her!" Wabethe shoved her hard. "No!"
Quaghcunnega looked in Kate's direction, an order in the shining eyes. Holding her breath, Kate took a step forward and held out her hand cautiously.
The woman took it and held it against her cheek. She looked into Kate's face, murmured something, and turned to another woman.
Kate stood in shock. "I don't believe it."
Wabethe took her hand. "No worry. No more fight. You sister. Englisher..." She shrugged and threw her hands in the air. "All gone."
The older woman who had been in the sweat lodge with Kate came out of the wigwam carrying a deerskin garment. There were coos and cries of approval as the dress was dropped over Kate's head.
It fell to her knees, soft as velvet, with eight-inch fringes at the hemline and plunging vee neck. Marvelous designs had been worked into the deerskin, red and yellow and blue, both quillwork and beading. The delicate decoration only accented the startling whiteness of the dress.
A child came with beautiful knee-high moccasins to match the dress.
Shyly, Wabethe offered silver earrings, cunningly fashioned into tiny bells that tinkled as Kate shook her head. She was glad her ears were already pierced. She had no doubt that the women would have pierced them on the spot in order that she might wear the lovely jewelry.
Quaghcunnega removed a silver armband, worked in ancient design, from her own frail body, and slipped it on Kate's arm. Kate nodded thanks, touching the smooth, cool surface with joy. The old woman stretched up and rubbed her frail cheek against Kate's. The cheek was warm and Kate embraced her gently.
Women rubbed dried flowers and herbs into the palms of Kate's hands and painted her face with two red dots on the cheekbones. They brushed her hair until it shone, making thin braids on either side of her face and leaving the rest flowing free down her back.
Next, she was offered sweet corncakes baked with berries and strips of toasted squash. There was a rabbit stew, but Kate could only swallow a few bites. Little Squithetha brought fresh water from the spring in a gourd dipper. Nothing would do but that Kate eat and drink of each offering.
Gifts were brought for Wabethe' s new daughter: a copper pot, a precious steel needle, a knife with an otter skin sheath, a hoe made from the shoulder bone of a deer, and a new skirt. Kate thanked each woman with smiles and gestures.
By now, it was growing dark. Children and men began to drift out of the wigwams. Some of the women left to begin cooking the evening meal. Kate noticed large portions of a deer roasting over a fire near the council house. Drums began to sound, and excitement was evident throughout the camp.
Wabethe's husband came across the clearing to join them. Together, they led Kate to a spot directly before the council house. Kate looked around her; there was no sign of the circle. The lines had been wiped out. Wabethe pointed to a deerskin robe and motioned for Kate to sit on it. Wabethe and her husband sat on each side. Then Wabethe clapped her hands.
A man wearing a false face dashed from behind the council house. Children screamed and shouted, running close to touch him and then dodging away before they could be caught. He wore a furry mantle and huge bear paws with claws over his hands. Another, smaller man, his face painted yellow and blue, danced after the Bear Man, playing a bone flute.
By Love Alone Page 22