The Rage

by Lassiter Williams

  There were murmurs of agreement from the People.

  “Do we ask Jongren and his daughter to speak to the Pale Ones on our behalf?” someone asked, raising his voice to be heard from the back of the great circle. “The dream tells us nothing of that.”

  “In the stories, fighting and violence divide the People and make us weak,” another elder replied. “Manito does not want us to shed blood. He is offering us a peaceful solution to the situation with the Fighting Women and the Pure Men by bringing Jongren and his daughter to us…”

  Peyewik saw Mikwin nodding in wholehearted agreement, but Okahoki gave no sign as to what he thought of Jongren’s plan for peace.

  Afraid of being reprimanded by Okahoki again, the People entered into a discussion that moved around the circle in an orderly and polite manner, the chiefs seeing to it that everyone who wished to speak was heard. Peyewik took the opportunity to turn his attention back to the storyteller. Kwineechka was no longer shaking, but he looked pale and drawn.

  Just then, Mikwin addressed the circle.

  “Because the story tells us that our strength is in our brothers, the elders and chiefs will not make this decision on their own. Each of you will have a say in it. Take time to pray and call upon Manito for your own guidance. Then we will vote.”

  After a period of silent prayer, the vote was passed around the concentric rings of the great circle. Mikwin kept track of each person’s reply. It took a long time, and it was nearly nightfall by the time the final person had spoken. Mikwin took a moment to tally and then stood up.

  “The People have decided, and the elders and the chiefs stand by their decision. Jongren and his daughter will go to the Pale Ones to ask for peace on behalf of the People.”

  rib crouched behind a large rock and watched ten Puritanics sneak up on a group of Native women. The round-faced girl, whose name Trib had learned was Kinteka, was among the women. They were pulling a fishing net out of the river, seemingly unaware of the approaching threat.

  The Puritanics stopped a few paces from Trib’s hiding place, and her muscles twitched with the urge to attack. They were the same monsters that had killed Cuss and destroyed Peyewik’s village. But she forced herself to stillness, remembering Jongren’s careful plan for securing peace.

  “Approach these primitives with caution,” said the man who appeared to be the leader of the Puritanics. Trib thought he looked older than Jongren, with a scraggly beard and hair that had turned from black to mostly gray. He was of middle height, and his build was solid, despite the effects of long-term hunger.

  “There are no New Murians here to protect them,” replied one of the Puritanics, a short, younger man with dark curly hair. “We should just kill them and be done with it.”

  Trib’s lip curled into a silent snarl as flickers of red appeared at the corners of her vision. She was ready to forget Jongren’s plan and launch herself at the Puritanics.

  Their leader held up a hand and said, “You forget yourself, Josiah. Not all women are like the New Murians. Most are weak and vulnerable. It would be a sin to use our strength against them without provocation.”

  “But they are allied with the New Murians!” the man called Josiah argued. “They deserve to die for such an unholy allegiance.”

  “Who are you to condemn them with no proof?” the Reverend replied in a warning tone, surprising Trib with his lack of bloodthirst. “No Natives have attacked us yet. We will approach these women for the sole purpose of gaining information.”

  “If they resist?” Josiah asked, sulking.

  “Do what you must,” the leader said. Trib saw that he had a pistol shoved into his belt, but he was the only one. The others carried blades imported from the Old World, lighter and more refined looking than the Scath-made sword strapped to Trib’s back.

  “But only what you must,” the Puritanic leader added. “Kindness to lesser beings is a virtue, and the Lord sees all.”

  He gave a signal, and the Puritanics left the shelter of the rocks and moved to surround the Native women. Kinteka and the others looked frightened, dropping the net and huddling together as the Puritanics backed them up to the river’s edge.

  Trib recognized her cue. She pulled her sword from behind her back and stepped out of her hiding place.

  “Stop where you are!”

  The Puritanics whirled around, weapons raised.

  “A New Murian!” Josiah exclaimed. “I knew they were in league with the witches. Shoot her before she summons her Rage!”

  The Puritanic leader pulled his pistol from his belt and pointed it at Trib.

  “Coward,” Trib said.

  The Puritanic cocked the gun and took careful aim.

  “I advise you against that course of action, Reverend,” Jongren said, stepping out from behind a nearby tree. “Tribulation is not alone.”

  “Jonathan Green, the traitor.” The Puritanic turned the gun on Jongren. “You escaped us recently, but I swear to God, you shall hang yet.”

  “Perhaps, but not immediately,” Jongren replied.

  There was the faintest sound of rustling, and Trib watched the Puritanics’ faces as they realized they were surrounded.

  “Now who’s weak and vulnerable?” she sneered.

  “Tribulation,” Jongren said quietly. “Put your sword away.”

  She started to refuse but then caught sight of Okahoki, standing with the other hunters who had just made their presence known. He held his knife loosely at his side and watched the Puritanics impassively. If anyone had reason to hate the Puritanics, it was the chief of the Original People. Trib decided that if he could restrain himself, so could she. She replaced her sword on her back as Kinteka and the other women sidled past the Puritanics.

  At Okahoki’s signal, the hunters formed a semi-circle around the Puritanics, who now took a turn being herded back towards the water’s edge.

  Trib watched them with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. She had never been this close to Puritanics who weren’t prisoners, servants, or opponents in battle. The first thing she noticed about them was that they didn’t look well. They were thin and tired and dressed in rags with dirty beards and matted hair. The recent battles with the New Murians had left them even worse for wear, none free of ugly bruises or bloody bandages. She couldn’t believe she had thought Jongren was one of them the first time she saw him. He was clean, strong, and healthy-looking, with more in common with the Natives than the Puritanics.

  “Reverend Edward Wilson,” Jongren addressed the Puritanic leader. “May I introduce you to Chief Okahoki of the Original People and a number of his hunters. You will be acquainted with them as the people whose village you attacked and destroyed three nights past.”

  The Reverend and his men eyed the Natives warily.

  “Your souls shall be eternally damned for allying with the New Murian witches,” the Reverend said.

  Jongren smiled. “According to your laws my soul was damned long ago. This particular transgression won’t make much of a difference, except perhaps to make the flames burn hotter. Nonetheless, you must hear our request. The Natives have no place in our quarrels. It is your duty as a man of God to repent of the damage you have done them already and leave them in peace.”

  The Reverend grew red in the face.

  “How dare you tell me my duty to the Lord!” he cried, spittle flying out of his mouth. “It is my duty as a man of God to bring His Truth to all souls so that they may be saved. If you are allied with the witches then you are too far gone to be saved, and it is my duty to rid the earth of such irredeemable sinners.”

  “The Natives are not in league with the New Murians.”

  “How can you lie to me when one of the witches stands before me?” the Reverend spat.

  “Tribulation is formerly of New Murias,” Jongren replied. “My daughter is no longer in league with Aoifa either.”

  “Your daughter?” the Reverend said.

  Expecting further condemnation and abuse, Trib was caug
ht off guard as the Reverend stared at her with sudden curiosity.

  “Daughter or not, she attacked us in the Native village,” Josiah said impatiently.

  “And you ambushed and murdered my friends in the marsh,” Trib countered, itching to reach for her sword.

  The Reverend’s anger and contempt returned as quickly as it had gone.

  “You murdered a boy,” he accused Trib. “The son of a friend. His name was…”

  “Stop!” Trib said, not wanting to hear it.

  “Could it be your conscience trouble you?” the Reverend sneered. “I thought the witches were not bothered by such a thing.”

  He turned to Jongren. “How can you ask me to leave the Natives in peace with this murdering fiend in their midst?”

  “Edward,” Jongren said calmly. “New Murians and Puritanics alike have committed atrocities in this small war of ours. But the People are innocent. I have known you for a long time, Edward. We came to the New World together, and I know you to be a man of good conscience, as your God requires. These are peaceful people. They do not deserve your abuse.”

  The Reverend said nothing but crossed his arms and studied the Natives as if looking for proof of Jongren’s words. Trib followed his gaze, her heart sinking at what she saw.

  Far from looking innocent and wronged, two of the hunters, whose names Trib couldn’t remember, were shaking with the effort of not laughing.

  The brothers were both tall and muscular, intimidating-looking men, but Trib had learned the truth about them. They were pranksters who refused to acknowledge the seriousness of the situation, instead thinking of the whole thing as one big joke they were playing on the Puritanics. They had laughed the whole time Jongren tried to prepare them for this encounter.

  Fortunately, the Reverend didn’t notice the brothers’ struggle. He stuck his pistol back in his belt and said, “Allow me a moment to consult with my brethren.”

  As the Puritanics huddled together, Jongren caught Trib’s eye and nodded reassuringly. Trib frowned in reply, still doubting his claim that the Puritanics could be reasoned with. The idea went against all her training, and she stayed on her guard, expecting the Puritanics to attack at any moment, like the bloodthirsty savages she knew them to be.

  Finally the Reverend turned back to Jongren.

  “We will leave the primitives in peace,” he said.

  “Even though you consider them condemned souls?” Jongren asked. “Perhaps you are looking to convert them?”

  “I would show them the light of God’s Truth if I may,” the Reverend said. “However, that is not my sole intent. We had thought them in league with the New Murians. This is the only reason we attacked them before. As you know, Aoifa harries us from dusk until dawn, both here and in the north. Over the past few days alone she has caught and killed or enslaved with her devil magic fifteen of my men, diminishing our numbers by half. It is all we can do to keep one step ahead of her and stay alive.”

  Trib heard the desperation in his voice and for the first time it occurred to her that he might regret the loss of his companions as much as she regretted the deaths of hers.

  “Aoifa, ungodly harpy that she is, will not rest until we are exterminated,” the Reverend continued. “We do not wish to inflict this same trouble on anyone who is still open to God’s truth. It would be wrong to do so.”

  Trib remained suspicious, but the Reverend turned to Okahoki and addressed him directly.

  “I deeply regret what we did to your village. We will leave you in peace if you can forgo the need for revenge and pledge to remain unallied with Aoifa.”

  Okahoki was silent for a time after Jongren translated. Trib was sure he would at last show some of his anger towards the Puritanics. Instead, when he spoke, his voice was clear and steady. Jongren listened intently and Trib noticed that the prankster brothers weren’t laughing anymore.

  “You are the men who destroyed Okahoki’s home and killed his people,” Jongren translated. “His grief is a pain so constant and terrible that he has wished he could die to escape it. He hears Snakebrother hissing in his ear all the time, tempting him with visions of vengeance that will ease his suffering. But he is stronger than the Pale Ones who have given in to Snakebrother and spend their lives trying to kill each other. He agrees to your terms of peace.”

  “We ask for no more,” the Reverend said, surprising Trib. She had expected him to at least try to attach more terms.

  He extended his hand and Okahoki took it, grasping his arm at the elbow.

  “God be with you,” the Reverend said.

  He and the chief released each other, and Okahoki signaled for his hunters to allow the Reverend’s men to pass.

  The Reverend gave Jongren a curt nod and said, “We will meet again. This agreement was with the primitives, not you.”

  “You trust them?” Trib asked when the Puritanics were gone.

  “Despite what you have been led to believe, my former brethren tend to keep their word. I pray to Manito that your meeting with Scathach goes half as well. When will you leave for the fort?”

  Trib’s stomach lurched at the thought of what she had to do next.

  “I can go with you,” Jongren offered. “You shouldn’t have to face Scathach alone.”

  For a moment Trib was tempted. Even though Jongren was a near stranger and a former enemy, it would be easier to face the Scath if she wasn’t alone.

  She shook her head. “No point in both of us getting killed if I’m caught,” she said, trying to sound casual.

  Jongren looked stricken. “You must return safely!” he said.

  He lifted a hand towards her but then dropped it and took a step back. “I…I have not had the chance to tell you more of your mother and sisters.”

  After an awkward silence Trib said, “I’ll do my best,” and then turned quickly away so that he wouldn’t see her face.

  Hours later Trib stood at the ferry landing across the river from the New Murian fort. It was almost midnight, and the first guard was about to change. After days and nights of keeping watch on the patterns and movements of the fort, Jongren had identified this as the best time to get in and out undetected. Trib had only moments to act, but she could not move. Fear was overwhelming her, rooting her to the spot.

  She heard something in the darkness behind her and yanked her sword from her back, afraid she had been discovered. She gasped when, by the light of the half moon, she recognized Kwineechka coming towards her. He stopped a few paces away, leaning on a walking stick. His side was still bandaged where he’d been wounded trying to protect her.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed, lowering her sword. “You shouldn’t have come all this way with your injury.”

  “Jongren told me you were coming here to speak to Bear Woman. I know what happened last time you saw her. You should not be alone when you do this,” he replied. “So I am here.”

  “Why should you care what happens to me?” she said, taken aback.

  “I care what happens to the People,” he replied.

  Trib started to turn away, to head for the ferry, but stopped. Heart pounding, she said, “Why did you save me before? When the Puritanic came after me. You should have let me die, after what I let Aoifa do to you.”

  Kwineechka was silent for a moment.

  “I know how Bear Woman made you feel,” he said, speaking haltingly, as if he was unsure of his own answer.

  “She took away all the stories you knew,” he said. “She made the world strange.”

  It was an odd way of saying things, but it was true. That was how Trib had felt when she learned that the Scath had killed her family and lied to her for as long as she could remember.

  “How do you know that?” Trib asked.

  “Crow Woman made me feel that way. She made me a stranger to my people, my world, and to myself.”

  Trib cringed, hating to hear how Aoifa had hurt him.

  “Please don’t let Bear Woman and Crow Woman do this to the People
,” Kwineechka continued. “I am here so you will not feel like a stranger, so you will not feel alone. So you will feel strong enough to make peace with Bear Woman and help the People.”

  Trib had thought she would never belong anywhere again, but as she looked at Kwineechka and took in his words, she suddenly felt as though it didn’t matter. He was here now and if he needed her to help the People, that was what she would do. Or die trying.

  She nodded once, then said, “Stay here. Aoifa can’t be allowed to find you again.”

  “I will wait for you,” he said.

  “Hide if anyone comes. If I’m not back in an hour, I’m not coming back.”

  Then she turned and without hesitation strode towards the ferry and her confrontation with the Scath.

  A short while later, Trib stood in the shadowed corner of a stuffy cabin, waiting for the Scath. The old warrior entered the cabin, went to the fireplace, and put a kettle on to boil. Then she sat down, pulled off her boots, and said, “Well? Ye gonna kill me or is there something else ye want?”

  Trib chided herself for thinking she could sneak up on the Scath. She came out of the corner with her sword pointed at the Scath’s neck.

  “You said you were going to kill me after I helped the Natives escape,” she said, relieved that her voice held steady. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Couldn’t do it,” the Scath replied matter-of-factly. “But I am willing to call for a guard and turn ye over to my sister.”

  “I’ll cut your throat before you can make a sound.”

  “With one of my own blades? Ye wouldn’t.”

  Trib pressed the tip of her sword into the Scath’s neck and closed her eyes briefly as the image of the Puritanic boy’s face flashed through her mind. Her eyes flicked open and she pressed the blade harder, drawing a thin red line of blood.

  “Care to wager on that?” she said, thinking of her family and knowing she could kill the Scath if she had to, whatever it may cost her later.

  “Besides,” she continued, “turning me over to Aoifa is the same as killing me, ain’t it? Or would you feel less guilty having her do the dirty work for you? Give her back some of the guilt she gave you when she had you kill my ma and sisters.”