Two Rivers

by Zoe Saadia

  Against his will, he looked up, taking in the glowering sky, grayish and displeased. He should not have lost his temper this way. What he did was beneath the dignity of the man he thought himself to be. No better than the hotheaded cub from across the Great Sparkling Water.

  “Well, I take back what I said earlier.” Iraquas’ voice broke into his thoughts, light and trembling with amusement.

  “What?”

  “About you losing your temper. I’ve seen it now, and I don’t want to see it again. Not a pretty sight.”

  “Oh, shut up!”

  The young man laughed, unabashed. “Will you be pressing your knife at my throat if I don’t?” He shook his head. “What a sight! One moment you were walking away all dignity and pride. The next, you are slamming him against that tree, about to cut his throat. And no one saw you move, I swear. It was as though the Evil Twin gave you some of his power.” The large eyes stared at him, partly amused, partly wondering. “You were at least five, maybe six steps away from him, but no one saw you moving, let alone leaping, or snatching your knife. It was hair-raising, to watch this.”

  “Stop talking nonsense,” said Two Rivers, unsettled. He didn’t remember himself moving or pulling his knife out either. “You were busy fuming about the Councils and Mothers of the Clans. You didn’t watch.”

  “Of course, I was watching. When he said you should have been busy lying with that stupid boy instead of wandering around with decent people, I was angered as well. It was as though he was accusing you of lying around with me. As though I would let anyone do anything like that to me.”

  He felt his fists clenching again, going rigid, his nails sinking into the flesh of his palms. “The filthy lump of rotten meat! I should have killed him after all.”

  But Iraquas just shrugged, unperturbed. “You take insults too easily, brother. So what if he thinks you would lie with the boy. There are men who are doing these things. Nothing wrong about that.”

  “Well, it may be all right for those who like it, but I don’t appreciate being accused of such lovemaking. I don’t do this.”

  “I know you don’t, man! Calm down. What a hothead you are. Let us go to the stream and make ourselves clean for the ceremony.” The young man brought his palms up, beaming. “I can’t wait for the evening. Oh, I missed those battle preparations. It’s been too long since the last raid.”

  Chapter 7

  The drums beat evenly, rolling around the square, stern and soft at the same time. Calming. In the light of the flickering fires, the faces of the dancers looked strange, their paint still immaculate, their eyes firm, concentrated, their movements strong, in perfect accord with the drumming.

  Mesmerized against his will, Tekeni watched the singers beating their sticks, following the lead of the main drum. They were painted too, and their low voices filled the square with a strange tranquility. They were yet to work themselves and the dancers up.

  The memories of the War Dance of his people, the first War Dance in which he had been allowed to participate, swayed him, making his stomach heave. He had been one of the dancers back then, painted and clad in a loincloth only, holding an axe instead of a club. Oh, how thrilled he had been back then, how afraid to do something wrong, to shame himself in front of his people. To shame his father, the War Chief! He was too young to participate in a raid, too young to dance around the pole, but his father trusted him and thought him worthy, and he knew he would die if required to in an attempt not to disappoint the great leader.

  He clutched his palms until he could not feel them anymore, pushing the memories away. His biggest fear back then was to make a bad throw, to miss the pole, or to hurl his axe with not enough strength for it to stick into the hard wood. If he did it right, he knew, if his axe would cut into the pole and remain there, all would be well. He would not shame his father, and the raid he was to accompany would be a great success.

  Little did he know!

  He could feel the salty taste on his lips, where his teeth bit into his own flesh. His axe had stuck perfectly, and everyone was proud and satisfied; satisfied with him, the remaining son of the great warriors’ leader, the boy of the prophecy.

  He had never been told what the prophecy was, but he heard the rumors about it, rumors that implied that either he or his twin brother were to do something meaningful. Something great, maybe. People were always whispering, and looking at them strangely at times, stopping the conversations when they neared. The whole region, the surrounding towns and villages, were shocked when Tekeni’s brother died. It was not the part of the prophecy, that much was obvious. He could see it in their wondering eyes, in the devastated face of his father, but all he cared about back then was his private loss. A mother and a brother gone in one lousy, cold, hungry winter. It was impossible to grasp.

  The drums peaked along with the monotonous voices of the singers, and his senses clung to it, desperate to push the horrible memories away, his teeth clenched, palms clenched, muscles tight, trembling with the effort. Nothing went according to the stupid prophecy! Only a few moons later, his father was killed, and he was captured, the only surviving member of his immediate family, the insignificant fragment, important to no one, just a wild thing living among the enemies, destined to fulfill nothing. The prophecy was wrong!

  His eyes picked out the tall figure of Two Rivers among the dancers, the man’s bare chest well-muscled, although he was a relatively slender man. The axe he held looked simple, not a decorated affair many of the other warriors waved. Why?

  The dancers were beating the earth with their feet, stomping violently, tiring themselves, working up their spirits. Won’t they be too tired to throw their axes when their time comes? wondered Tekeni. By this point of the ceremony, his people were already required to demonstrate their skill.

  Regretting not having watched any of the other War Dances that were frequent enough in this town, he looked with curiosity, his heart beating fast. He had never come to watch before. He didn’t want to see these people, the enemies, demonstrating their strength and virility. He wished they would lose, battle after battle.

  But now it changed. Now he had a plan, a good plan he needed to start implementing; and so this evening, he forced himself to come, afraid that he might have not been allowed to do this. Was he not confined to his longhouse until the decision of the Town Council? Was Yeentso dead or alive?

  No mourning sounds came out of the Beaver Clan’s longhouse during the day, so the hated man must have still been alive. But battling the death, or recovering? The people he saw earlier did not look concerned, but, of course, no one bothered to inform him of the developments. If he had not been liked before, now he was openly hated.

  He shivered, listening to the drums, watching the warriors stomping their feet faster and faster, their faces glistening with sweat, their paint beginning to run. Two Rivers would be away for half a moon or more, and with Yeentso recovering, he, Tekeni, would need to watch his step. With no protection from the impressive man, he might be in grave danger because as clear as the sun in the cloudless sky, vengeful Yeentso would not linger with his wish to bring retribution. Unless it took him a long time to recover. Tekeni tried to suppress his fear.

  “They are invincible!” whispered people around him, enthralled, caught in the magic. He concentrated, sharing their feeling against his will, impressed by the magnificent show of strength and aggression. It didn’t matter if they were going to throw their axes or not. Their power was proclaimed regardless.

  The crowds pushed, and the chanting voices dimmed as the War Chief began addressing the warriors, half singing half speaking, retelling old battles and wars in a beautiful, monotonous voice.

  Listening intently, Tekeni jumped as a hand tugged at his arm, startling him. Heart pounding, he whirled around, his eyes finding it difficult to adjust to the darkness behind his back. Although being on the edge of the crowd, he still could not see at first who it was, with the people pushing all over, trying to see better.


  Then his stomach twisted, and the current of excitement rushed down his back, his senses telling him that the gentle palm belonged to her, the girl from the Beaver Clan, while his eyes took in the soft outline of her slender face, set in the frame of now-loose hair, one long, luxurious tendril fluttering across it, making her blink.

  “Come.” The motion of her head was unmistakable as she slipped away, the warmth upon his arm, where her hand had touched his, lingering.

  Heart beating fast, he made his way out of the crowd, following the decorated skirt, listening to the rustling of the colorful beads. People frowned but let them pass, until the square dissolved behind their backs and the shadows of the longhouses swallowed them, with only the drums following, and the sounds of the chanting.

  She went on briskly, her paces long and determined, full of purpose and, as the first wave of excitement faded, he began to feel unsettled. Where were they going?

  “I looked for you in the Wolf Clan longhouse, and you weren’t there,” she said, frowning, as they neared the tobacco plots beside the fence.

  He tried to make sense of it. “Why would I be there?”

  “You were confined to your longhouse until the decision of the Town Council,” she stated, halting abruptly and turning to face him, the frown not sitting well with her exquisite, gentle features. “You were not allowed to wander about.”

  “I wasn’t wandering,” he said, still puzzled. “I was at the War Dance. Everyone came to watch this, even the small children. There is not one single human being in the longhouses now.”

  She acknowledged it with the nod, not thrown out of her composure.

  “Yes, I know that. But I never saw you attending any of the ceremonies. So why now, all of a sudden?”

  “I don’t know. Why shouldn’t I? I want to be a warrior, like anybody else. I should start attending those.” He peered at her, encouraged by a sudden thought. “Why were you watching me?”

  She gasped, and her eyes sparkled furiously. “I did not watch you. I never did!”

  “Then how do you know I was not attending the other ceremonies?”

  Even in the darkness, he could see her cheeks taking a darker shade.

  “I didn’t watch you, and I couldn’t care less if you attended any of the ceremonies or not.” Breathing heavily, she looked as though about to stomp her foot, the fringes of her festive dress fluttering with the wind, as angry as she was. “Everyone knows you are not coming to our ceremonies. There is no need to watch you to know that.”

  He stared at her, taken aback. Her hair was fluttering too now, the wind challenging the wooden combs that held it in place. It made her look fiercer, but prettier, with her eyes of a doe and her graceful way of holding herself, like a long-legged forest creature. He searched for something to say, wishing he hadn’t spoken in the first place, his confidence gone.

  “Well, this is not what I wanted to talk to you about,” she said finally, frowning.

  He said nothing this time, not wishing to help her out. If she dragged him here to yell at him, she might have saved them both the futile encounter.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” Her eyebrows almost met each other across her high forehead as her frown deepened, the flicker of embarrassment passing through her eyes. “I wanted to help you out, but maybe I should not.”

  The urge to strangle her welled. “How?”

  “Yesterday, I promised to tell you if Yeentso would die or not. Don’t you remember even that? Are you simple in the head?”

  “I remember all of it!” he stated, his frustration with her overwhelming the sudden surge of panic.

  “Oh, good. At least you remember things.” She drew another breath, obviously trying to calm down. “Well, I always keep my promises. So I came to tell you that he is much better now, and it doesn’t look as though he will die. I saw him this morning, but I had no opportunity to come and tell you, because we had to work until it was almost dusk. And then, when I did have the opportunity to slip away, you were not in your longhouse but in the middle of the crowd. Half of the town must have seen us!”

  The warm wave was back, welling in his chest, unwelcome now. She remembered, and she did keep her promise.

  “Both halves of the town were busy watching the dance,” he muttered. “No one paid us any attention.”

  She shrugged. “Well, maybe. Let us hope you are right.” Her eyes sparkled again, but now there was an amusement in them, too obvious to miss. “It was because of you we had to work until the darkness.”

  He felt like laughing, but not in an amused way. “Me? How so?”

  “Well, because you wounded Yeentso, his wife and another woman of our longhouse stayed home, to take care of him. So there were less of us in the field. More work for everyone.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh. And I wish you would promise me not to lose your temper again, not in this way.” She shrugged. “Anyway, our Clan Mothers would not demand your death now. So it all worked out quite well.”

  “Will he get better soon?” he asked, ice piling in his stomach, despite the warmth her words brought.

  “Yes, I think so. He was eating this morning, then he slept through the whole day. So his wife and sister told us.” She hesitated. “He wasn’t able to go out and watch the War Dance yet, and he won’t join this impending raid, obviously. But he will not die, and this is what must concern you the most.”

  Her preaching tone made his anger overcome his uneasiness. “I’m not concerned with his well being. I was just curious.”

  She tossed her head high. “Well, you should have been concerned. If you are smart, that is.”

  “I’m smart enough to know that he will not forget what happened. He will seek revenge the moment he can walk straight. And then it will be back to either him or me hurt. With one of us killed, most probably.” He narrowed his eyes, pleased to see hers widening. “More chances it would be me this time, because he would not challenge me openly against the Town Council orders. He is a coward, so he would try to ambush me, instead, or make me attack him again, maybe.”

  She took a step back, aghast. “He wouldn’t do that. It would be against our laws. Your clan will pay our clan, and everything will go back to normal.”

  He let his eyebrows climb high, satisfied with her open dismay. “Who is not being smart now?”

  Her eyes flashed again. “Don’t you dare to talk to me like that! You were the one to start this trouble, not me. You were not smart enough to avoid this mess. Yes, I know he attacked you first,” she added when he began to protest. “But you could have controlled your temper better, instead of cracking his head open the moment you could.”

  They glared at each other, oblivious of the wind, the rolling of the drums reaching them, but barely, alone in the whole world as it seemed.

  What did she want? raged his mind, his anger more intense because of the way she stood there, so near he could almost feel the warmth of her body, his eyes taking in its gentle curves, the way the colorful belt tied her festive dress, enhancing her slender waist, the way the long fringes fell against the bulging of her breasts.

  He clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to run away, or maybe, to step closer.

  “So you looked for me to let me know about Yeentso,” he said, doing his best to sound calm. Speaking of controlling tempers. “I’m grateful for that.”

  She peered at him suspiciously. “You are? You didn’t act this way until now.”

  “Yes, of course, I am. You kept your promise.”

  “Yes.” Her smile was surprising, flashing out without warning, wonderfully warm. It made his heart race. “And I hope you will be more, err, tractable from now on. With me, and with other people. Even with this annoying bastard Yeentso.”

  He could not hide his shock. “Annoying bastard? Did I hear you saying that?”

  “Oh, well.” She shrugged, smiling smugly, happy with the effect. “Yeentso is not the best liked person in our longhouse. I wish our grandm
other had chosen another man for my cousin to take.” The frown and the smile were fighting each other across her face. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

  “I… I don’t know. I guess I was just surprised. I didn’t think…” Now it was his turn to shrug. Embarrassed, he looked away. “I didn’t think people did not like him, too. I thought everyone hated me and no one else.”

  The frown won. “No one hates you! Well, all right, some people may hate you, but certainly not everyone. You are just not very well liked.” She pursed her lips and looked like a person of knowledge preaching to a crowd. “You are a foreigner, and not a friendly foreigner at that. You are violent, and you have a shocking temper. Yes, yes, I know, you were provoked yesterday.” Her hands came up as though trying to stop him from interrupting her speech. “But it is not the first time you were involved in violence. In fact, you were more times in trouble than not. So people do have a hard time trying to sympathize with you. Were you as nice with them as you were with me last night, they would have liked you a great deal better. The other adopted people are getting along just fine.”

  “That’s what you think,” he said, annoyed by the way she was preaching to him. As though she had been his elder. But the opposite was true. She had hardly seen sixteen summers. Maybe even less. And she knew nothing about life. “People hate me because I came from across the Great Sparkling Water, the lands of the real enemy. You fight your neighbors from time to time, but you do so half-heartedly. You are playing war with your neighbors, just like this raid.” He gestured toward the rolling drums. “They are going to fight some people who attacked other people, but those other people are your enemies too, although at the time of the attack they were not. To me, it seems that they just got bored and could not get the permission to cross the Great Lake, to fight the real enemy. So they are going to relieve their boredom in a sort of a small war. To play at war and to enjoy themselves.”