The Rage

by Lassiter Williams

  “Thank you.”

  “Something is wrong with Kwineechka,” Jongren said, his gaze shifting over Trib’s shoulder.

  “What?” Trib turned and saw the storyteller on his knees, his face distorted with pain

  “Dess damn it,” she muttered, hurrying back to him. Her first thought was that his wound was bothering him, but as she drew close she saw him press his hands over his ears, as if the pain was in his head.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, automatically reaching out to touch his shoulder. Immediately she felt his whole body relax under her hand. But just then someone grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away from him.

  It was Kwineechka’s mother and she was yelling at Trib.

  “What in Dess’s Name..?” Trib said.

  Jongren, who had followed her, translated. “She is blaming you for the fact that Kwineechka can no longer tell stories.”

  Trib pulled away from the woman and turned back to Kwineechka, dropping to her knees in front of him. She took his face in her hands, once again feeling him relax under her touch.

  “Tell me what is happening to you,” she said.

  He slumped forward, exhausted. “I cannot hear her when you are touching me.”

  “Hear who?”

  “Crow Woman.”

  “Of course you can’t hear her,” Trib said, confused. “Aoifa’s nowhere near here. She can’t hurt you. Or speak to you.”

  “She is still singing to me. I can no longer hear the ancestors because of it.”

  “That’s what your ma is blaming me for?” Trib asked.

  “Please,” he said, clutching at her wrists. “Do not tell anyone what Crow Woman did, that she took the Story of the People from me…”

  The shame in his face caused tendrils of red to appear once more in Trib’s vision. The thought that Aoifa was continuing to cause the storyteller harm made her blood run hot.

  A cry rang out, cutting through her Rage like a slap to the face. Kwineechka was holding his head again.

  “She gets louder when your Rage comes,” he said.

  “This is crazy,” Trib said. “What in the hell is happening?”

  Kwineechka shook his head to say he didn’t know.

  Trib took a deep breath, clearing the Rage from her body. She was aware of Kwineechka’s mother, still trying to interfere. Many of the People had begun gathering around with worried or curious looks on their faces.

  “Enough,” she growled. “We’re getting you out of here.” She put her shoulder under the storyteller’s arm and pulled him to his feet.

  “Out of my way,” she said to his mother, and began to lead Kwineechka away from the press of people.

  Peyewik appeared and gestured for her to follow him. He led them to a tent and indicated that she and the storyteller should go inside.

  “He says he will bring his grandfather, and tell my mother I need to rest,” Kwineechka said.

  “Good. Then I reckon I best let you do that too.” She started to back out of the tent, but Kwineechka caught her by the arm.

  “Don’t go.”

  “I ain’t leaving the village yet. I’ll stay for a little while longer anyway.”

  “Don’t go now,” he clarified, the desperation in his voice startling her.

  “I…uh, reckon I could sit with you for a little while,” she said.

  She had been planning to go back outside and find out if Jongren had managed to speak to Okahoki. The faster the People could get away from Aoifa, the better, especially now that she knew the priestess’s magic still had a hold on Kwineechka. But as she looked down at storyteller, she realized she didn’t mind staying with him. Not at all.

  She settled herself close to him, wrapping her arms awkwardly around her knees. “Aoifa ain’t…bothering you right now, is she?” she asked tentatively.

  The storyteller shook his head.

  “Thank Dess I don’t need to have a hand on you at all times,” she said, laughing nervously. In truth she was a little disappointed not to have the excuse. She wondered again what was happening, why her presence seemed to counteract Aoifa’s spell. She wondered if the storyteller minded having her near, but there was no chance to ask him because he already fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  ake up! The People are fighting.”

  Kwineechka came awake at the sound of Peyewik’s voice. The boy was kneeling in the entrance to the tent. Another figure lay nearby, wrapped in a sleeping skin. The figure stirred and sat up.

  “What’s happening?” Trib mumbled sleepily.

  Kwineechka was surprised to see her, unable to remember how they had come to be sleeping in a tent together.

  “How long have I been asleep?” he asked Peyewik, hoping his disconcertion didn’t show. He wondered how many of the People knew they had been in the tent together.

  “Only a few hours,” Peyewik told him. “It is just past midday.”

  “Why are the People fighting?”

  “Come,” Peyewik said. “Your mother will explain.”

  He backed out of the tent. Kwineechka started to follow him, but stopped to look at Trib, who was still bleary-eyed and disoriented.

  “The People will not understand this,” he said.

  “What, that we slept together? We’ve slept together lots of times…”

  “That was different. We were travelling,” Kwineechka said, and gestured vaguely at the tent.

  “Except it ain’t,” Trib said, waking up more. “It doesn’t mean anything. You asked me to stay for awhile and I fell asleep. That’s all.”

  Kwineechka noticed that she was blushing and couldn’t look him in the eye.

  He sighed and crawled out of the tent, followed awkwardly by Trib. He knew she was right, that it didn’t mean anything. But the People loved to gossip. And he couldn’t tell them the truth—that he had asked Trib to stay with him because she quieted the voice of Crow Woman in his head. He cringed at the thought of what his mother was going to say.

  But Shikiwe’s attention wasn’t on her son’s sleeping habits. Kwineechka found her standing in the center of the village, surrounded by provisions. Chief Mikwin stood beside her, but it was clear that she was the one in charge. The Away People were losing no time in their preparations to depart.

  “Looks like trouble,” Trib said, nodding at a group of Original People approaching the chief.

  “We’ve come to ask for our share of the food stores you have gathered here,” one of them said.

  “No.” Shikiwe surprised everyone by speaking for the chief. “That food belongs to the People. If you choose Snakebrother’s path and stay to fight, you are no longer of the People.”

  “What are they saying?” Trib asked, but Kiwneechka didn’t have time to translate.

  “How can you say this of your own sister?” Kwineechka’s aunt, Nichan, stepped forward. She caught his eye and smiled at him before turning to her sister. Kwineechka had always liked his Auntie Nichan. She was a kind woman who had married a man of the Original People and had lived among them for many years. Her home had been destroyed by the Pure Men.

  “You will starve your own sister, your own nieces and nephews?” Nichan asked.

  Nothing could have prepared Kwineechka for his mother’s reply.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “Better they starve to death than give in to Snakebrother as their mother has.”

  Nichan looked as though she had been slapped. Kwineechka saw pain in Shikiwe’s eyes, but she didn’t waver.

  “Mother!” Kwineechka moved to stand beside her. “You don’t mean that.”

  Shikiwe whirled on him. “This is your fault!” she said. “This would not be happening if you would tell the right story so that the Original People would know what they are doing is wrong. Instead you turn your back on them and run off with this…demon.”

  She glared at Trib, who responded by yawning hugely and then giving his mother a benign smile.

  “What in Dess’s Name is wrong with your ma?” she asked,
looking at Shikiwe with mild curiosity. “Reckon she don’t like me much.”

  Kwineechka’s mother was known among the Away People as a woman to be reckoned with, but he realized that compared to Crow Woman and Bear Woman, Trib wasn’t likely to be intimidated by her. He, on the other hand, was shamed by her words and said nothing to defend himself.

  “You have no right to deny us,” a man of the Original People said angrily.

  “She does not, but I do,” Chief Mikwin spoke up at last.

  “You are not our chief,” the man replied, stepping forward aggressively.

  Kwineechka felt Trib nudge his shoulder, drawing his attention to a number of Away People gathering quietly behind Shikiwe and their chief.

  The Original People and the Away People were squaring off.

  Kwineechka heard the faint echo of Crow Woman’s song, though it didn’t grow any louder, presumably due to Trib’s proximity.

  “Stop this now!”

  Chief Okahoki forced his way through the angry crowd and went to stand beside Chief Mikwin.

  “My brother,” he said to Mikwin. “I am sorry.” He turned to the Original People. “If you wish to stay with me, then I am still your chief, and I say all the food supplies will be given to those who are leaving.”

  His voice was strong and decisive. The Original People looked dismayed, but no one argued with him.

  “This is more of Snakebrother’s work,” he continued. “The People cannot fight among themselves like this. I ask you again to go with the Away People. If you stay with me, we have no chance of winning against Crow Woman and her Fighting Women. We will die.”

  “We are ready to die with our chief, in the land of our fathers,” one of the Original People said, followed by sounds of agreement from the rest.

  “What if we had Flame Hair’s fighting magic?”

  Kwineechka was instantly sickened by the idea, and surprised when it was Kinteka who stepped forward to continue addressing the chief.

  “We would have a chance against the Fighting Women then, wouldn’t we?” she asked.

  “How can you ask this?” Shikiwe cried.

  Kinteka ignored Shikiwe but turned to Kwineechka. “Ask her,” she said. “Ask Flame Hair if she could teach us to fight as she does.”

  “Why is everyone looking at me?” Trib muttered.

  Kwineecha hesitated, feeling nauseous.

  “Tell me,” Trib said, so he did.

  Kwineechka realized his heart was pounding as he waited for her reply, as if it were suddenly the most important thing in the world. When Trib looked as sickened by the idea as he felt, he had a sudden urge to put his arms around her and kiss her.

  “No,” she said. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to, which I don’t. Only a priestess can do Rage initiations.”

  Kwineechka felt weak with relief. He saw his feelings echoed in Chief Okahoki’s face, quickly replaced by sadness when one of the Original People said, “We will stay anyway. We will not abandon our chief or the land of our fathers.”

  Okahoki nodded resignedly. “Very well,” he said. “But there will be no more talk of the Fighting Women’s magic. Now, we must leave the Away People in peace to continue preparing for their journey.”

  rib spent the rest of the day close to Kwineechka, keeping a wary eye on the tension between the Away People and the Original People, and enduring disapproving looks from everyone. Many had seen her disappearing into the tent with Kwineechka earlier in the day.

  “There’s one thing the Away People and the Original People still agree on,” she said when, at supper, an old woman refused to serve Trib from the communal pot. “You and me shouldn’t be together.”

  “We are not together,” Kwineechka said uncomfortably, handing her his bowl of stew. “They think I stay close to you because I want you, but they do not understand.”

  “Then explain it to them,” Trib said shortly, stung by his words. Some part of her still hoped that more than necessity kept him near her, even though she knew it could never be.

  “I cannot,” Kwineechka said, the look of shame on his face triggering a rush of guilt in Trib.

  “It ain’t your fault!” she said. “It’s Aoifa’s. She’s the one that should be ashamed, not you.”

  The storyteller didn’t reply.

  “Do you understand why she can’t bother you when I’m around?” Trib asked.

  The storyteller looked like he wanted to say something but then shook his head.

  “You know I can’t stay beside you all the time,” she pointed out. “Eventually you’re going to want to do things on your own. Like spend time with some of those women I see making eyes at you all the time.”

  She gave a rough laugh, but the storyteller didn’t smile. He looked at her nervously. “Maybe once we leave with the Away People, she will lose her hold over me,” he said. “The ancestors and the stories will come back to me, and I will not need you anymore. ”

  “By Dess, I hope so,” Trib muttered.

  “But you will stay with me until then?” he asked, his golden eyes anxious. “Until we are far away from her, and I am free?”

  Trib looked away without answering. She watched the People eating their last meal together. She saw the begrudging looks that passed between those who were leaving and those who would stay to fight, and felt oddly torn.

  “Yes,” she said at last. “I’ll stay with you. But we best sleep in the forest tonight. Reckon your ma will murder me in my sleep if she sees me going into your tent again.”

  Later, as they lay wrapped in their sleeping skins among the trees, Trib said. “It’s just like old times, except you and I ain’t trying to kill each other.”

  Kwineechka laughed, but the sound was cut short, as though he didn’t have the heart for it. Trib suddenly missed the days of their journey, before they had arrived at the fort, when his mocking laughter had driven her crazy.

  “We ain’t trying to kill each other,” she said softly as Kwineechka shifted uneasily nearby. “But everyone else is.”

  Eventually the storyteller fell into a restive sleep. Trib tried to follow suit, but she couldn’t slow the thoughts racing through her mind. After a time, she got up and headed back towards the village, skirting the perimeter until she arrived at the little house set near the edge where Kinteka lived. She hesitated at the doorflap, not wanting to wake anyone, but she saw the glow of firelight and heard voices and was about to push her way in when someone spoke her name out of the darkness.

  “Who’s there?” she said in a loud whisper, reaching for her sword.

  Jongren stepped towards her from the shadows.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously. He was the last person she wanted to see before doing what she was about to do.

  “I’m glad to find you here,” he said. “I need to speak to you about the storyteller.”

  “What about him?”

  “Your...” Jongren cleared his throat, “relationship with him.”

  “You remember what I said about not interfering?” Trib growled.

  “I do,” he replied. “I just want you to understand that the People have different customs when it comes to a man and a woman…”

  “It ain’t like that,” Trib interrupted impatiently.

  “Then what is it?” he asked.

  “It ain’t your business,” she said and turned to push her way into Kinteka’s house.

  Inside, she found Kinteka, Peyewik, and Morrigan all facing the door expectantly. Kinteka sat beside Morrigan on the sleeping platform, holding a bowl of broth. Peyewik sat on the floor nearby.

  “You’re awake,” Trib said, suddenly nervous.

  “We heard you and your father outside,” Morrigan said, her voice barely more than a whisper through her cracked and swollen lips.

  To Trib’s annoyance, she heard Jongren entering the house behind her.

  “I apologize if we disturbed you,” he said. “I wanted to look in on you and came across Trib doing the same
.”

  “How are you?” Trib asked, though she could see clearly that the priestess was a mess. She was alive but not well, and it was Trib’s fault.

  As if she had read her thoughts, Morrigan said, “It is not your fault, Tribulation. With Peywik and Kinteka’s help I will mend.”

  Trib turned her attention to Peyewik, who smiled up at her. In all the excitement she had seen very little of him since her return from seeing the Scath.

  “You’ve become fast friends,” she observed.

  Peyewik said something that made Morrigan smile, though with all the damage to her face it was more of a grimace. “He says we are kindred spirits,” she explained.

  “How is it that you understand the boy?” Jongren asked, a hint of wariness in his voice. Trib, who had gotten used to Peyewik’s uncanny ability to communicate and understand without words, hadn’t even noticed.

  “I can feel what other people are feeling,” Morrigan replied gently. “If they are close enough and open enough, I can understand what they are trying to say even if I don’t know the language.”

  “It is some priestess trick?” Jongren asked.

  “Aoifa tried to claim it was, just as she tried to claim the Rage was a gift from the Goddess that could only be used against our enemies. It was why she took me on as her apprentice in the first place. But the answer is no, it is not a trick. I was born with this ability.”

  Unsettled by this new information and the unexpected presence of Jongren, Trib found that she was having trouble focusing on the reason she had sought Morrigan out.

  “You have something to ask me,” Morrigan said, making the hair on the back of Trib’s neck stand up. “Or would you prefer to speak to Kinteka first?”

  “Aye,” Trib replied nervously. She glanced at Jongren but looked away again quickly. “Since you’re here,” she said to him, looking at the floor. “Ask Kinteka for me why she asked for the Rage earlier.”

  At first Jongren was silent, and Trib was afraid of what he might be thinking. But then he spoke in the Native language, and Kinteka answered.

  “The Puritanics killed her sister when they attacked the village of the Original People,” he translated. “She was there visiting an aunt.”