Two Rivers

by Zoe Saadia

  The bear was coming, skipping lightly on its four paws. He could not get enough air. The bow was dancing in his hands, making it impossible to aim. There was no point in trying to pull at the tight string at all. He would only manage to get the arrow leap into the air.

  The stench was overwhelming now, something wet and rotten. He thought of the foul breath of the creature upon his face, when it would be busy sinking its teeth into him. It made him want to vomit.

  Like in a dream, he watched the drops flying off the bouncing fur, the dry patches of it jumping softly with every skip. The bear was so close now he could see the pointed nose, the round ears, the small eyes darting, strangely thoughtful. It went past his fence, hardly twenty paces away, paying it no attention. He tried to comprehend it. Why wasn’t the creature charging?

  And then it dawned upon him. The fence was there last night when the bear came to discover the dead deer. It was a familiar thing by now. Bears did not see well, said Two Rivers, and the man knew what he was talking about. He seemed to know everything.

  Don’t make any sharp movements and he may not notice you at all.

  The words rang in his ears, accumulating power as he watched the gigantic creature slowing its step, sniffing the air once again. The carcass, he realized. The bear was looking for its unfinished meal.

  A low growl, and the giant resumed his walk, hastening his step. Clenching his teeth against the trembling, Tekeni raised his hands, still painfully slow, but steadier now, his fingers beginning to feel again. It was as though someone else were doing all this, with him watching from the side, not knowing what this person would do next.

  The bowstring hissed beside his ear, exaggeratedly loud. How come the creature was not startled by it, too?

  He watched the arrow sticking into the wide side, burying deeply into the grizzled fur, and then the ethereal feeling was gone. The world came back to life with a deafening roar. It crushed down his stomach, freezing his insides with so much dread his heart came to a total halt.

  More roars came, thundering in his ears, intensifying, as the bear turned around, already on its back paws, enormous, a real giant, blocking the sky.

  For a heartbeat, it hesitated, wavering, its grunts making strange gurgling sounds. Another hiss of a bowstring interrupted this, before the bear charged, getting back on his four legs. Did he shoot again? He did not remember himself doing it at all, yet his quiver was lighter now, with only two arrows left.

  Darting aside, Tekeni felt his hands tearing the third arrow, before the quiver fell to the ground, impossible to reach again. It was the third arrow, but he did not remember himself shooting the second one. Yet, two sticks now protruded from the monstrous side. Another hiss and a new feathered shaft was fluttering in the beast’s eye.

  His own heart thundering in his ears, Tekeni jumped over the low fence, desperate to find some sort of protection. How stupid! A powerful paw swept the woven branches away as though it were a heap of leaves.

  With the foul breath upon him, mixed with the repulsive aroma of fresh blood and some other discharges, he half crawled, half rolled away, disregarding the tearing pain in his upper arm, where one set of claws brushed against it, clutching the knife in his sweaty palms – how did it get there in the first place? – seeing nothing but the mess of the wet fur and the giant limbs.

  The agility of the beast was frightening, but as it turned to charge again, blind with rage and bleeding, it wavered and fought to keep its balance, giving Tekeni a much needed heartbeat of respite.

  Scrambling to his feet, he darted out of the monster’s sight, the realization dawning, giving his limbs power. The beast was wounded, wounded badly. It was bleeding and wavering, still full of fighting spirit but weakening rapidly.

  He whooped with joy, forgetting his fear and the necessity to keep quiet. Bettering his grip on the knife, he leapt toward the wide back, plunging the sharpened flint in, not aiming anywhere in particular.

  The beast was dying! He was killing it, despite the plan going wrong, despite the fear, despite the misgivings. He was killing it all alone, with a few arrows and his knife. Ecstatic, oblivious of his safety anymore, he clung to his dagger, feeling it slipping away, stuck deeply in the mess of the wet pelt, reluctant to let go.

  It was a mistake. A desperate growl pierced his ears, and the foul breath was again upon him before the powerful paw sent him flying amidst a tearing pain. He crashed to the ground, but kept enough presence of mind to jump onto his feet despite the pain. The bear was charging again, but it did so slowly, shakily, and this time, he found no difficulty in dashing out of its path.

  Clutching to his arm, feeling it slippery, pulsating with pain, he watched the bear struggling to get back to its feet, still angry, still revengeful. The blood was flowing in between the bared fangs, making the gaping mouth look grotesque and evil, the sounds bursting through it strange, adding to the eerie sensation. Another eternity and the monstrous head flopped forward, crashing into the earth.

  It was a ridiculous sight. Head reeling, legs trembling, hardly able to support him, he found it impossible to stifle a giggle. It was really too funny, the way the powerful creature just lay there, hiding its face as though ashamed of the failure, having lost to an insignificant creature, a mere boy.

  The thought made the laughter burst out unrestrained. It made his stomach hurt, and he clutched onto it, trying not to lose his own balance. Still, soon he was on his knees, gasping for breath, the laughter impossible to control, making his eyes water. He hadn’t laughed so hard for summers, since that time when he and his brother were running away from the angry bees after an unsuccessful attempt to get to the honey.

  In the end, he just sat there panting, watching the fallen giant, unable to get up. The laughter did take the last of his strength away, but it made him feel better too, relaxed, purified, indifferent to the pain in his arm and the side of his chest where the monstrous claws left deep, gaping lines.

  He would have to take care of those, he knew, before the wounds began to rot. And he would have to skin the bear quickly, before it would begin to rot, too. If he sat here for days on end, unable to move, they would both rot. The thought brought the hysterical laughter back.

  “I have to do something about the both of us, eh, Elder Brother?” he said, addressing the bear, his breath coming in gasps, tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks. “We won’t stay here feeding coyotes and wolves, will we?”

  Yet, for the life of him, he could not get up, and it spoiled his mood, made him curse. But then he remembered Two Rivers.

  “Forget it,” he said to the bear. “Just forget it. Two Rivers will be here soon, and he will take care of the two of us.”

  Chapter 12

  The darkness was thickening rapidly as Two Rivers swam back toward the shore. Climbing the slippery path, he sighed, tired but perfectly satisfied, in peace with the world for a change.

  What a day, he thought, shaking the water off, wishing to have a dry cloth to wipe himself. With no friendly warmth of the sun, the wind was piercingly cold, cutting through his skin.

  He should have washed earlier, he knew, but skinning the bear was not an easy task. It had taken him the whole afternoon and the main part of the evening, with the boy being of no help at all.

  Ridiculously chatty, unable to concentrate, the cuts upon his chest bleeding and his hands trembling, the youth sliced the pelt itself twice, until Two Rivers told him to be off. There was no need to ruin the beautiful fur, and the boy’s wounds needed to be cleaned, some of them deep enough, inflamed already, glaring with its dirty, reddish mess.

  He had told the boy to go down the shore and soak in the river for all eternity, until he called him back. Then he resumed his work, anxious to scrape the fat lining the inside of the pelt as much as he could before the darkness fell.

  Even though immersed and in a hurry, he yet found it difficult to suppress his grin. So much bravery and fierceness in one young cub, he thought, shaking his head. To gat
her one’s senses and actually make the first shot took more courage than many men could muster. But to fight the beast, to shoot it again and again, to dart around it, and then actually attack it with one’s knife, why, this kind of a deed was as rare as a fresh ear of maize in the dead of winter.

  He shook his head again, remembering himself watching the fight with his own mouth gaping, the bowstring and the ready arrow forgotten in his frozen hands. It was incredible, a privilege to see, the fierce cub against the old giant, a rising life against the setting one, no hunting at all but the animal-like fight of two cornered, bloodthirsty creatures. It was as though one of the spirits has gotten into the boy, taking the traces of humanness out, filling him with a vicious, dangerous energy belonging to the forest. A breathtaking sight, told and retold by many storytellers, but nothing like the real thing, he knew now, nothing at all.

  It was already dark when he came back, still wet and frozen, the armload of firewood he had gathered on his way scratching his limbs. The boy was dozing off beside the stretched pelt, exhausted beyond words.

  Two Rivers sighed. As tired as he had been, he knew his duties were far from being over. A fire had to be made, to keep them warm and protected at night, and a meal organized. He was famished, and the boy obviously needed to maintain his living forces as well. Even if not seriously, the cub had been wounded, and the sprout of energy gushing inside his blood after facing such a violent encounter and coming out of it alive would be wearing off by now, leaving the boy empty and spent.

  Luckily, their bait was not far away, still in a fair condition. Slicing the delicate meat padding the deer’s ribs, Two Rivers grinned again. It was very considerate of the bear to eat only one half of the offering, not touching the other side of the carcass at all.

  As he had expected, the smell of the roasted meat brought the boy back to life. Paces unsteady, shoulders hunched guiltily, he neared the fire, the earlier frantic spark gone from the thinned, drawn face. Even in the poor illumination of their small fire, the youth’s paleness was as obvious as his exhaustion.

  “Help yourself,” said Two Rivers, motioning at the fire. “The meat is almost ready.”

  “I’m sorry that I was of no help,” muttered the boy, not moving toward the indicated place. “I was useless.”

  He didn’t try to conceal his laughter. “Oh, you were useful all right, wolf cub. This pelt is magnificent, the largest pelt I have ever seen. The holes you made in it notwithstanding.”

  “Oh, well, yes…” The boy shivered, hunching his shoulders against the new gust of wind. “I’m sorry I was so useless in skinning it.”

  “I didn’t mean these holes. I meant the holes made by your knife while the creature was still alive, still full of the fighting spirit.” He studied the piece of meat, frowning at its blackish crispiness. The lack of freshness demanded that the meat should be roasted this way. “Sit down and eat this,” he said, thrusting the stick into the boy’s hands. “Get busy and make yourself useful by talking less nonsense.”

  He picked another stick, taking his time to choose the best among the pieces of meat.

  “No one would expect you to be helpful after such a feat. I was surprised you managed to stay around at all. Believe me on that. Many old, seasoned hunters would not have been able to do half of what you’ve done, trying to help me skin your bear.” He met the dark eyes, peering at him anxiously, wide open and expectant. “Understand this. When we built our fence, we were counting on you shooting the beast, taking it down from a relatively safe distance. We were counting on you hunting it! But what you did was quite a different thing. You faced your adversary. You challenged it to a duel, a face-to-face battle. I haven’t seen it happening in my entire life. I saw people fighting predators, a bear or a mountain lion, but they did so when cornered, having no other choice. While you just stood up to it and fought it, having all opportunities to try to crawl away, or just to wait quietly, hoping it would finish its meal and go without noticing you. It could have happened, you know? You could have waited, but you chose not to.”

  He fought the temptation to sink his teeth into the new roasted piece, placing it upon a clean-looking leaf, instead.

  “It was quite a sight to watch from where I stood. I had a good vantage point, having switched our place for a better one. I was playing with an idea to help you, should you find yourself in a desperate situation, but, obviously, you needed no help from me.” He shook his head. “You could have shot your bear when it appeared, still at a respectable distance. I saw you standing up, clenching your bow. But you did not. You waited for it to come close, to face you. Why would you do that?”

  The boy’s smile was small, surprisingly shy. “I was too afraid to shoot earlier.”

  “Then what changed?”

  “I remembered you saying that they don’t see well. At some point, I realized it was hurrying toward the deer, not toward me. Then I knew I might have a chance.”

  “Everyone knows about brown bears and their inability to see well.”

  “Yes, of course. But I forgot.” The boy hesitated. “I was too afraid to remember.”

  “I see.”

  With the third piece of meat ready, he allowed himself to sit back and eat it, before returning to more cooking, resigned to the necessity to roast all the meat he had cut. The boy was evidently famished, and it was a good thing. He needed to restore his energy, in case his wounds were deeper, more dangerous than they assumed.

  “The sight of these claws upon your chest is a good thing,” he said, wishing more than anything to sit back and stuff his pipe with the ground tobacco he always made sure to bring along. “No one would be able to imply you shot your beast from a great distance or did so with my help.”

  The broad face darkened. “Would they try to do that?”

  “Of course. Those who have no courage of their own would always try to find the lack of it in others. Especially in people like you. You make them feel their cowardice more acutely, you know that?”

  “I wish we didn’t have to go back,” muttered the boy, eyes fixed upon the glowing embers.

  “No? And where would you have us go? Back to your people?”

  Amused, he watched the boy’s face closing abruptly, the large eyes dropping to study the damp earth.

  “No, of course not. I didn’t mean it that way.” The boy swallowed, frowning painfully. “I just wish people would stop looking at me, eager to find more evidence of me doing everything wrong.”

  He acknowledged it with a nod. “Like I told you before, it’ll take time to make them trust you. But you made a giant step toward your goal. Everyone will respect you for what you did. No one will dismiss you as a wild cub anymore. I predict you would be invited to join many hunting parties, and it won’t be long before our Warriors’ Chief decides to let you join the War Dance. He is an exceptional man, and his eyes are not clouded with prejudice.”

  In his mind, he could see the noble, wrinkled face of the old leader, the deeply set, narrow eyes, eyes that could blaze with rage and passion, or sometimes just mild amusement and calm patience, the penetrating eyes that seemed to be able to see through people. A perfect leader.

  He shivered, remembering the unsettling sensation on the night of the War Dance, when the man talked about their responsibilities and the impending raid, until his eyes suddenly clouded and he had said that maybe it was the time to clear the path for the younger leaders to follow.

  His worry mounting, he remembered the last conversation with the man, after the night of the War Dance, the day before the warriors were destined to leave. He was not required to explain his decision. The man just grinned lightly and told him to go with his heart. Just like that. No questions asked, no explanations required, no reproaches sounded. Nothing but the deep, penetrating gaze that seemed to look straight into his soul, accepting and even slightly amused by what he had seen there. Did the man understand any of it? he wondered, not sure he himself could understand his own decisions.

&n
bsp; Please, don’t let him die, he thought, suddenly cold, shivering, the bad feeling back, making his stomach turn. Oh, benevolent spirits, oh Right-Handed Twin, please keep him safe for as long as you can.

  “I wish I could tell you how grateful I am.” The boy’s low voice brought him back into the chilliness of the night on the other side of the Northern River. “You have done so much for me. I will never be able to repay. Never!”

  He fought his smile from showing, grateful too, because the boy’s words made the strange sensation go away.

  “Don’t think too much about any of it. I did nothing I didn’t want to do, and you repaid me already with this impressive battle not many would be privileged to see through their entire lives.”

  Chapter 13

  The War Chief was dead!

  Standing at the edge of the chanting crowd, murmuring the customary address of the condoling song, Seketa tried to concentrate on the words she had been repeating.

  Wipe away the tears,

  cleanse your throat so you may speak and hear,

  restore the heart to its right place,

  remove the clouds from the sun in the sky.

  The words made sense. There was a danger in the deep grief, danger of losing one’s mind. There was also a need to release the dead spirit, to placate it and to let it go, so it wouldn’t come back to harm the living. The ancient ceremony was wise.

  Still, the grief persisted, refusing to leave the distraught townsfolk. The War Chief was expected to see more seasons to come. Having survived many summers of warfare and daring deeds, the fearless leader was not expected to meet his end on a simple raid in the lands of the small neighboring nation. This did not make any sense.

  She remembered the man’s face, brown and wrinkled, looking at the world with the calm, reserved dignity, with not a drop of malice or pretense. The man was liked and admired greatly. Why did his time to depart to the Sky World come so soon?