by Zoe Saadia
People held their breath, tense, afraid and expectant at the same time. Was one incident not enough? Would these two be reaching for their knives, two respectable, grown-up men this time?
The air hissed loudly, bursting through Two Rivers’ clenched teeth, the effort of holding onto his temper evident in the vein pulsating upon his forehead.
“My ways, indeed, are settled, but they are aimed at bettering our people’s circumstances, not at disrupting our ways. You should open your ears to my words, instead of shutting them so thoroughly, spending all your energy on doing this. I wish I could say I believe in making you and your kind listen, but, alas, I’m afraid I’m on the verge of despairing.”
“I hope you would despair already,” cried out Anue, eyes glowing in his turn. “It would make the life of our town so much more pleasant.”
The air thickened rapidly, but before any more words were uttered, the elders were upon them, and the crowds parted, clearing the way for the medicine man and his followers as Yeentso began groaning, coming around.
“Make room for him,” said the healer curtly, echoing Two Rivers’ earlier demand. “Don’t crowd around him like that. Move away.”
One of the elders knelt beside the wounded. “Better yet, go back, return to the town. The game will not be resumed.” He looked up, measuring Tekeni and his capturers with an impartial gaze. “What happened will be discussed between the Town and Clans’ Councils. Do nothing until then.” The man’s eyes narrowed, turning threatening. “And I mean - nothing! No one is to seek justice, or to try to solve the problem by his or her own means.” His gaze encircled the crowds, penetrating, making Tekeni shiver. “No one!”
Chapter 2
Rounding the corner of a longhouse, Two Rivers hesitated, pondering his possibilities. The darkness enveloped him, welcome in its thickness, protecting, making him feel alone. Craving the privacy it offered, he turned toward the dark mass of the palisade fence and the plots of tobacco scattered along the wide entrance.
What a rotten day, he thought, following the curves of the fence as it twisted tortuously, creating a corridor between two sets of poles. It took longer to get in and out of the town, but the double row of palisade made it more difficult for the invaders to get in, giving the defenders an advantage, and the benefit of time.
How could a pleasant, sunny day have turned into such a mess? he asked himself again and again, squinting against the wind as it pounced on him the moment he left the protection of the fence. It was already midsummer, but the wind was always there, trying to get in one’s way, never allowing a person to enjoy the summer to its fullest. The questionable location was at fault, he knew, with the settlement situated on the windiest bay in the whole land, never allowing one to enjoy the true summer’s warmth.
He shrugged. This was his town, his homeland, his people. Even if they were stubborn and could see no farther than the tips of their long, aquiline noses, adamant in their opposition to oh-so-very-necessary changes, they were his people, his family.
He sighed. Why were they so opposed to anything new or different, laws or ideas; or people? Like this boy from the other side of the Great Sparkling Water. What a wild thing! But a courageous one, a true wolf cub, baring his teeth, watching the world with his haunted eyes, afraid and daring at the same time.
Of course, the boy was right to hit Yeentso. He was provoked beyond reason. But a wiser person would control his temper better, would not grab the stick so readily. Not when one had no friends and no real protection from one’s family. The boy had spent enough time living in the town, but not nearly enough to become one of them. Not with such unwillingness to adapt, to make friends, or to take life in a lighter way.
He frowned, trying to imagine how he might have felt if captured and not killed but adopted into one of the other nations’ settlements. There were enough enemies to the east and the west, all those towns and villages spread along their side of the Great Lake. But what if he were captured by the terrible enemy from across the endless sparkling water, this boy’s people?
He shuddered, then dismissed this thought as an unlikely possibility. Not in the face of the escalating hatred. If captured, a warrior of his age and abilities would be executed, in a painful way, too, forced to run a gauntlet of striking clubs, on the carpet of glowing embers, maybe. Would he die bravely, showing no fear and no pain? And what if he had been found worthy of adoption, forced to live among his people’s fiercest enemies? Would he find it as difficult to adapt, surrounded by a fair amount of hatred and mistrust?
He shrugged. There were plenty of adopted people, but usually women and small children, kidnapped or captured, most of them seemingly with no difficulties fitting into their new lives, welcomed most readily, because no one was adopted unless a clan or a closer family unit needed to replace a dead, killed, or kidnapped member. This was the custom, and it had worked since the time immemorial. The enemies were everywhere, and every nation warred on each other.
But this is precisely what made Two Rivers’ skin prickle. Something was wrong with the whole situation, something cried for a radical change. The war was a part of their lives; killing always avenged by killing, blood for blood, and there were enough hotheads to make tempers fray.
Like this afternoon, with the arrogant, short-tempered Yeentso and the stupid foreign boy. If Yeentso died, his family would demand blood. Rightfully so. But the boy from across the Great Lake had no real family, so maybe his death would be the end of it. His adopted family was more likely to be relieved, rid of the perpetual nuisance the boy had turned out to be, not likely to try to defend him or to demand revenge in their turn. They had hoped for a better person when adopting the promising-looking youth two summers ago, so much was obvious.
Well, even if this particular feud would stop with the death of the boy, the rest of the cases were not like that, with nations, towns, and even clans having more and more things to argue about, more and more causes to seek revenge. And the war was a perpetual thing, not a part of life anymore, but life itself, the main drive of it. Everything was dedicated to this end, every aspect of the daily life committed to the defense of the town, and to the means of sending war parties, as many as the town could equip; and it didn’t matter where anymore. Just to raid anyone’s settlements, to avenge yet another attack, yet another kidnapping, yet another insult. The life was about war and nothing else, and while in and of itself, it was not such an unacceptable thing, its toll was becoming more and more obvious, with the fields producing less food, with the worsening diet and the spreading winter and summer diseases, with the gloomier mood and general state of mind.
Many people saw the problem, but no one knew what to do with it. They argued and argued, not listening to each other, yet united in their mutual dislike of Two Rivers and his radical ideas. What he said made no sense to anyone.
He cursed silently, then tensed. A silhouette upon the high bank clearly belonged to a woman, a slender form outlined by the faint moon. Leaning on her arms, she just sat there, facing the water not far below her feet, her back straight, head thrust forward, as though enjoying the touch of the cutting wind, or maybe pitting her strength against it.
He neared silently, but she heard him, all the same.
“I knew you’d be coming here.” She didn’t stir, didn’t move to make a place for him upon her perch on the high bank.
“Am I so predictable?”
“Oh, yes, you are. You never surprise anyone in this town. Who wouldn’t guess you’d be arguing, stirring trouble again? If you let the councils do their work uninterrupted you would surprise many people. But, of course, you did not.”
He kicked a stone and watched it rolling down the bank. “Well, you did surprise me, coming here tonight. It’s not safe to wander outside like this. One can never know if there are no enemies lurking around. Fancy being kidnapped?”
“And you?” Her voice tore the silence, openly hostile. “Fancy being killed? Or maybe kidnapped, eh? You might like it,
come to think about it. You seem to understand our enemies well.”
Turning abruptly, she faced him, her face barely visible in the faint moonlight, mainly the outline of the beautiful cheekbones, high and oh-so-well defined.
“What do you want?” he asked tiredly, squatting upon the cold sand.
“Me? Nothing! I want nothing from you.”
“Then why did you wait for me here?”
“I didn’t say I was waiting for you!” The fringes decorating her dress jumped angrily as her chest rose and fell. “I came to enjoy some peace and quiet. I was here first.”
He snorted. “Peace and quiet? You don’t look so peaceful. And you were waiting for me here, fuming and getting angrier with every heartbeat.”
The hiss of her breath tore the silence. “I just came to tell you that if you will go on defending the dirty whelp that tried to kill my brother, you will regret it dearly.”
He didn’t turn his head, not surprised. “Your brother is not dead yet. He may heal. And he was the one to attack this boy. I was there, I saw it all. He grabbed the boy by his throat, and he threatened to kill him, after he hit him in the middle of the game. It was quite a blow, and I’m surprised he didn’t break this youth’s arm. But maybe he did. It was all blue and swollen, but no one paid attention, of course. No one cared for the dirty foreigner. They were busy fussing around your brother, the impeccable Wyandot man.” He raised his hand as she tried to say something, glaring at her in his turn, truly angry now. “Well, I did not intend to defend the wild cub. He was certainly guilty of the charges against him. All I did was to tell the true story when I was called by the Town Council to testify. But now, after talking to you, I may very well do that, try to help that boy. He was treated badly enough, this afternoon, if not through his previous moons here. He was adopted formally, turned into one of us. But he is not treated as one of us now, is he?”
“If my brother dies, he’ll die,” she said stubbornly, turning away and peering at the dark mass of the water below her feet. “Adopted or not, one of us or not. And I’m warning you. Keep out of it. Many people are angry with you as it is. Your attitude is bad enough, without making matters so much worse by helping the dirty cub.” She paused, and he could imagine her lips pressing tightly, unpleasantly thin, an ugly sight, although she was a beautiful woman. “The boy is lost, anyway. If my brother recovers, he will not let this incident pass unavenged. He will kill the boy by his own hand.”
“He can’t take the law into his hands. We are no savages. We have councils to settle such matters.”
A shrug was his answer. He tried to keep his anger at bay.
“How is he now?” he asked instead.
She shrugged again. “He is vomiting, and he cannot see clearly. He is murmuring, coming around, and then going back into the worlds of the Spirits.”
“Not good.” He sighed and more felt than saw her doing the same. “But he still may heal. I’ve seen people recover from head injuries like that. It takes time.”
“I hope you are right.” Her voice stiffened again, turning freezing cold. “But if he doesn’t, this boy will wish he were never born.”
The hatred, he thought, feeling the familiar twisting in his stomach. Always hatred. So much of it. And it is ruling our lives, this ever present sense of being wronged, this persistent need of revenge, this hopeless urge to take our frustrations out on something or someone. And always anger, anger, lakes of anger, not a peaceful moment for anyone, harmful, destructive, corruptive, ruining people and nations. Can’t they truly see the wrong in it?
“What are you thinking now?” she asked accusingly, voice low.
“Nothing you would care to hear about.”
She acknowledged it with a nod. “Thought so.”
“Well, we had better go back and see how your brother is.”
But her palm shot forward, grabbing his arm as he began to get up. “Not yet.”
He hesitated, her touch sending unwelcome waves of excitement down his spine.
“He may have come back to his senses by now.”
“He has his wife and the women of her longhouse to care for him.”
“And you? Don’t you have to go back to your family?”
She measured him with a glance. “Since when are you concerned with me and my family?”
“I’m not.” He frowned, uneasy under her penetrating gaze. Even in the darkness, her eyes glimmered like polished flint, as bright and as dangerous. He pushed the memories away. “We should go back.”
“Not together, surely.” She tossed her head and sprang to her feet, light and pliant, a beautiful vision against the dark, shimmering sky.
For a heartbeat, they said nothing, staring at each other. He watched her breasts rising and falling, the fringes of her dress fluttering with the wind.
The darkness enveloped them, protecting, bringing back memories in force now, how her body felt against his, firm and soft at the same time, dangerous, challenging, even in the midst of the most intimate moments, never yielding, never entirely. But then, when was the last time he’d stepped away from danger?
His arms took hold of her shoulders, pulled her forcefully, his body fitting against hers, familiar, delighted in this touch. She did not resist, but her eyes were upon him, confronting, defying, daring him to proceed.
The wind tore at them, as though trying to push them away from the cliff. Neither noticed. Mesmerized, they stared at each other, but her eyes were still hostile, still daring, flickering darkly, and he knew he would have to take this woman now, no matter the consequences.
It made no sense, taking this risk. Besides being a danger in itself, she now belonged to a man, a prominent warrior. And he knew she blamed him for this, among other of his sins. He did not come to live with her in her longhouse while he had a chance. He was busy with his life, not willing to commit to a woman. Oh, how she hated him back then.
Her lips were soft, pleasantly dry, tasting of berries. They welcomed him readily, but he felt her anger seeping, even through the kiss, with the force that her lips pressed against his.
It didn’t matter. Dizzy with desire, he led her down the small trail, seeking the protection of the rocks against the tearing wind. And against curious eyes.
Doing their best to make themselves comfortable upon the small patch of sand, they clung to each other, exchanging their warmth, oblivious of anything but the touch of their limbs, the feel of their skin, the rays of pleasure running through their bodies, the danger of forbidden contact adding to the sensation.
Half lying, half sitting against the large rock, he took the most of her weight, as she rested in his arms, relaxed, satisfied, a smile upon her lips obvious, even if invisible in the darkness.
“I didn’t think you missed me so much,” she purred, not attempting to get up.
He said nothing, not willing to get into this sort of conversation. There was no need to hurt her feelings by pointing out that it was she who had sought this particular contact.
“Feeling quite stupid, aren’t you?” she went on, sitting up.
He shrugged. “We can’t change the past.”
“No, we can’t. But when one is busy changing the future, one might miss the present as well.”
He grinned against his will. “An interesting statement.”
“And a correct one when it concerns you. You are wasting your life in a spectacular fashion, busy with your strange, far-fetched ideas, noticing nothing else.” She leaned closer, as though trying to see his face through the darkness, as though attempting to read his thoughts. “Do you enjoy challenging our leaders? Do you really need this perpetual thrill of danger at playing with fire? You are ruining your life so thoroughly this way.”
He shrugged again, not wishing to talk about anything of the sort, not with her. His sense of well-being began to evaporate. It was a mistake; he should not have succumbed to this physical need. Why had she always had this effect on him? It couldn’t be her beauty. Beautiful women wer
e aplenty, as shapely, as smooth, as tall and imposing, most of them even-tempered and not as wild or as arrogant. What was so different about her? What was her allure?
She kept peering at him. “You should change your ways. It’s about time you took your life seriously.” There was an unusual ring of sincerity to her voice now. “You will make a good leader, either War Chief or the Town Council member. Think about it. Is it not what you want? Why ruin your life the way you do? Why challenge the elders of the town, or the other leaders of our settlements? Do you really enjoy doing this?”
He pressed his lips tight. “I’m not enjoying challenging anyone. And I’m not enjoying ruining my life. But I can’t stand by when they are busy ruining our future.”
“No one is ruining our future!” She straightened up sharply. “Our people are living by the way of our ancestors. They did so since the times immemorial, and they will continue to do so.”
“Then you are as blind as they are!” He had a hard time trying to restrain himself from jumping to his feet. “The old ways are not good anymore. Not all of them. We are warring and warring, against everyone. There are no peoples who are not our enemies. Not one single nation, think about it! So all we do now is war. We dedicate every resource, every means to this end, spending our energies on equipping yet another raiding party, on fortifying yet another patch of our fence against the attack that will come. This is the purpose of our lives now, and we pay attention to little else, choosing not to think about the crops becoming less plentiful and the winters harder to get through. Think about it!” He could feel her disapproval spreading like a cloud, and it served to make him angrier. “It is not how our fathers and their fathers lived. They raided an occasional town, I’m sure of that, but there was no perpetual war ruling their lives. Their ways were good for their lives, but they are not fitting our life now. We need to adjust; we need to change our ways.”