by Alan Smale
Tahtay had not lied. Now he ran without a limp, although it was still visible when he walked.
“Do not think I am joining you on the river,” he said. “I would see my friends one more time before they return. My mother would talk with Chumanee. And my brothers would see the big canoe. We will go ahead and await you.”
“May I run with you?” Mahkah asked.
“Can you keep up?”
“We will see.”
And off they went, eleven Blackfoot braves in buckskin tunics, leggings, and sashes of red; one older woman dressed the same except for the sash, much shorter yet seemingly having no difficulty with the pace; and Mahkah, who fell behind them within a mile yet doggedly kept going in their wake.
Marcellinus looked questioningly at Sintikala, but neither of them had the energy to discuss it.
“Fire Hearts do not help carry,” Kimimela said dourly, and shouldered her load again.
They slogged on.
—
The Cahokians did not stop for long at the Hidatsa winter camp. Much of the meat they carried they left with the Hidatsa in thanks for being guided to the hunt, and in return they were gifted with the buffalo robes they had worn for the last weeks. The remainder of the meat they took to provide a feast for the crew of the Concordia. But by the time they arrived at the longship in the early evening, they found that Tahtay and his Blackfoot friends already had a fire going and were roasting haunches of buffalo, presumably acquired from the Hidatsa in passing. The party had begun without them and was cheerful to the point of being raucous.
Despite everything, Marcellinus found he had worked up quite an appetite. Even for buffalo.
Finally, Tahtay stood. “Ina. Hotah. Sintikala. Kimimela. Hurit. Come, I must talk with you.”
Kimimela looked past him and shook her head. “What, out into the grass? At night?” As on most nights on the high plains, they could all hear the distant howls of the wolves.
Tahtay’s eyes narrowed. “You would make me a chief in Cahokia yet you question everything I say?”
“No. Sorry.” Kimimela stood and walked to the edge of the camp.
Marcellinus remembered the grizzled bears and the gray wolves but said nothing. He stood.
Tahtay pointed. “Him, too.”
Aelfric looked alarmed. “Me? Leave me out. I don’t know anything about this.”
“That is why I want you. Come.”
Tahtay walked into the grass. Sintikala stood and extended a hand to Nipekala. Together they strode after Tahtay.
“God help me,” Aelfric said. “We all deserve to get eaten.”
“I’ll protect you,” said Marcellinus, deadpan.
“That’ll be the day.” They hurried after the Hesperians, who were already a hundred yards out into the prairie.
—
“All right. Here.”
Away from his new people, Tahtay had an edge of fear and nervousness to him. The Hunting Moon looked down on them. The winds waved the grass.
Tahtay looked at each of them in turn. “I swore I would kill them all. Avenaka, Wahchintonka, Matoshka, the men who killed my father and shamed me. Still I swear this. Is that what you want, Sintikala?”
“Wahchintonka…” Sintikala bowed her head and spoke more deferentially than Marcellinus had heard her talk to anyone but Tahtay’s father. “Wahchintonka may yet be valuable to Cahokia. He—”
“Wahchintonka betrayed my father.”
Sintikala looked around at the rest of them, but Marcellinus was not going to get sidetracked. He doubted the stalwart Wahchintonka had been a willing party to any plot against Great Sun Man, suspected that the Wolf Warrior lieutenant and many elders and clan chiefs had merely bent with the wind, willing to serve Cahokia just as Marcellinus had served Roma, under a broad range of rulers. “Go on, Tahtay.”
“I swore this. But I am not ready. I am not yet strong enough.”
Again everyone looked at Marcellinus. “And how long, Tahtay, before you are ready?”
“Three winters, I am thinking. And when I go, I will take my brothers of the Fire Hearts. Avenaka’s wolves will learn to fear the Blackfoot fire.”
Kimimela spoke up. “There will never be a better time than now, Tahtay, to become chief.”
“Chief in Cahokia?” Tahtay laughed. “Ridiculous. I speak only of vengeance. I will have my revenge, make Avenaka grovel in the dirt before I slay him, and then I will return here. Cahokia will not make a boy their war chief.”
“You are no longer a boy,” Marcellinus said.
“My father was only twenty winters when he became war chief in Cahokia,” said Sintikala.
“Yes, and twenty winters is not sixteen.”
“Nonetheless, you must do it now,” Kimimela said. “Later is too late. Do it now or stay here and hunt the stupid buffalo until one of them tramples you into the dirt like a dog.”
“Kimimela…” Marcellinus began, but Sintikala’s hand on his arm stilled him.
“You are going to fight me again, Kimi?” said Tahtay. “Try to break my balls? Here I know how the wind works. I know how to stalk, where the animals hide. I know many things I did not know when I was a child in the Great City.”
Kimimela met his eye. “Enopay says we need you. He says you are the hope of Cahokia.”
Tahtay’s mouth dropped open. “Truly? Enopay says those words?”
“He does,” Sintikala said.
“And you agree?”
“Yes. Avenaka will ruin our city and bring only war. You have friends in Cahokia. We must try this, Tahtay. Try to make you war chief.”
“Must?” said Tahtay, and to Marcellinus’s surprise, Sintikala lowered her eyes. “And what does Kimimela say?”
“Kimimela agrees with Enopay,” said Kimimela. “Now is the time for this.”
“Because that suits Kimimela. Not because it suits Tahtay.”
Kimimela stepped forward. “You are strong enough, Tahtay. You can do this. I would not say it if I did not believe it. I would not risk your life.”
“You will do what is in your own interests. Not mine.”
“And I will be with you, Tahtay. At your side, whatever happens. Even if—”
“You will stand by me? A girl of thirteen winters? And what will you do, badger Avenaka with insults till he begs for mercy?”
Marcellinus held his breath. He expected Kimimela to either fly in a rage and start battering Tahtay or storm away across the grass back to the camp. Kimimela did neither. She merely stared, upset.
“And what does Hurit say?”
Hurit wilted as he turned his gaze on her. Marcellinus had never seen the girl so afraid.
“Speak, Hurit,” Tahtay said more gently.
“I do not want you to die,” she said.
“And if I go to Cahokia, I will die?”
Hurit looked around. “Of all of you, Nipekala and I know Avenaka the best. Avenaka is a hard man. Harder than Great Sun Man, because he is more certain of himself. More cruel. If Avenaka decides you will die, then…” She stopped, swallowed, spoke again. “Avenaka says you are his enemy. If you walk into Cahokia, what do you think he will do?”
Tahtay nodded.
Hurit raised her chin. “But if you go, I will go and fight by your side, and if Avenaka kills you, then he will have to kill me as well.”
“You are all fools,” Nipekala said so quietly that it was almost inaudible.
Tahtay grinned and looked at his mother affectionately. “And that is what Ina says?”
“Yes. These people who say they are your friends? You think they will truly stand beside you when you pin your sash to the ground? No. They will stand behind you, far behind. And you? If they killed Mapiya, if they would have killed me, why will they not kill Tahtay?”
Sintikala said: “I will try not to let that happen.”
Nipekala snorted. “You will try? That is very comforting, warrior.”
“If Tahtay dies, I will die by his side. Not behind him. If they kil
l Tahtay, they kill me. This I swear.”
Sintikala raised her knife to her arm, but Nipekala reached out. “I will believe your words without blood, Hawk chief.”
“But I swear to myself as well as to you.” The blade went into her arm.
Marcellinus closed his eyes. Another vow. Now, to keep Sintikala alive, Marcellinus had to keep Tahtay alive as well.
“I, too, will stand with Tahtay,” he said. “I swear it.”
Tahtay regarded his mother. “And Ina, if I were to do as these people say and go to Cahokia, would you come with me and take your revenge on Huyana?”
“No,” Nipekala said. “Never again will I walk among the people who killed my husband. Never again.”
There was a long silence. Then Tahtay turned back to the Cahokians. “All this about standing by me, it is easy for you to say, for you are men and women with no tribe, no friends except your people on the big canoe. Outcasts. Your lives are already over.”
“My life is not over,” Sintikala said.
“But me, I have a tribe, and they have honor. I have a people, and it is not you.”
“You are still the son of Great Sun Man. You are still the many-greats-son of Ituha.”
“And what of that?” said Tahtay. “Am I not also my mother’s son?”
Another long, brittle silence descended. Marcellinus shook his head. This was hopeless.
“Hey, boy,” Aelfric said. “You’ve dragged me out here into the grass and bored me to death with your arrogance. I’m cold and I’m tired, and if you’re not going to ask me what I think, I’m off back to the fire.”
Everyone else grunted in shock, but Tahtay grinned. “Well said. What does Aelfric the Briton say?”
“I think you’re right,” Aelfric said. “You’re not ready. You’re too petty. Not mature enough. You may have that pretty red sash and all, but you’re not even half ready to be a man.”
Tahtay’s grin evaporated. “You say so?”
Aelfric nodded. “I do, sonny. And I mean no offense. I’m not your enemy. But you asked me out here to hear what I had to say. And me, I agree with you. You should stay here at least another two years, maybe three. Get strong. Grow up. And then raise some hell in Cahokia if you even care anymore.”
Silence.
Marcellinus looked at Aelfric, who shrugged. “Your turn, Wanageeska.”
“We don’t have two years,” Marcellinus said. “We don’t even have one. Tahtay, your strength is not just in your arms and legs. Enopay and Sintikala are right. In two more years your father’s memory will fade. Cahokia will forget you, perhaps even get comfortable under Avenaka.”
“Then if they are comfortable—”
“I am still speaking,” Marcellinus said.
After a pause, Tahtay nodded.
“I have two questions for you, Tahtay. Do you want to be the next Great Sun Man, paramount chief in Cahokia?”
“No,” Tahtay said contemptuously.
“Very well. And who would make a better Great Sun Man than you? Who could do a better job? Who understands what must be done?”
“My father.”
“Ah.” Marcellinus bowed his head respectfully. “So now I finally hear you say that perhaps he was a man of honor after all.”
Tahtay was silent.
Marcellinus went on. “Anyway, what I meant was, who among the living and breathing?”
Tahtay opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.
“One more question and then I am finished. If your father could speak to you now, what would he tell you to do?”
Nipekala looked at Marcellinus sharply. Marcellinus kept his stare fixed on Tahtay. “Did I say two questions? I meant three.”
Tahtay’s fists balled. He took a step forward.
“Breathe,” Kimimela said quietly to Tahtay.
Tahtay did not look at her but took a deep breath. “You think I do not know what my father wants of me?”
“I don’t think anything. I’m asking you.”
“And you think that I care what my father would say?”
“Yes, I do.”
Tahtay nodded abruptly. “Go back to your camp. All of you.”
Immediately Aelfric turned to walk away. “Come on, people. Tahtay has spoken.”
“Kimimela can stay,” Tahtay said. “The rest of you, go.”
“Me?” said Kimimela, and glanced uncertainly at Nipekala and then Hurit. “Me, stay?”
Tahtay looked exasperated. “Always you must question me? Every single time?”
Kimimela shook her head, mute.
Side by side, Marcellinus and Aelfric walked away through the grass. Nipekala marched ahead of them, her back stiff and straight, with Sintikala hurrying after her and Hurit not far behind.
“Well, that was tactless,” said Marcellinus.
Aelfric grinned. “Of Tahtay? A real man doesn’t ask his mother what to do. He might ask a friend, though.”
“I didn’t mean Tahtay. I meant you. Too petty? Not half ready?” Marcellinus glanced over his shoulder to where Tahtay and Kimimela still stood three feet apart, looking out over the plains. “Nicely done, Aelfric.”
Aelfric nodded. “Once, long ago, you asked me if I had daughters. You never asked if I had a son.”
—
An hour later, when Kimimela walked shivering back into the camp by the longship, Marcellinus was waiting for her. “Where is Tahtay?”
“Where he was before. In the grass.”
She made as if to walk by him, but Marcellinus touched her arm. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“What did he do, then?”
“Nothing.”
“All this time?”
“We just stood quietly after you left us, and in the end he asked me to go, and I left him there.”
Out on the high plains a wolf howled plaintively on the night air. Marcellinus shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s true.”
He examined her. “No, it isn’t, Kimi.”
“He…” Kimimela sighed. “Do you command me to tell you?”
Marcellinus thought about that. “No. I’m sorry. That’s between the two of you. Come on, let’s get you warmed up. The fire isn’t completely dead.”
He put his arm around her, but she did not move. “Wait.”
Marcellinus waited. She looked up at the bright stars. “Tahtay no longer blames his father for seeking peace. But it hurts him to admit this, for he thinks it is…wrong of him.”
“Well, he—”
Abruptly, Kimimela stepped away from him. “Wanageeska. We will not discuss it. I will tell you, but you will not speak.”
Marcellinus had practiced being silent. He nodded. For Kimimela to call him Wanageeska, she must be deadly serious.
“Tahtay thinks it is not manly to seek peace. A warrior should destroy his enemies. Like the Blackfoot do, like Cahokia used to do. Yet his father…” She took a deep breath. “And so, part of him thinks we all betrayed him. You. Me. Cahokia.”
Marcellinus nodded.
“And he wants to avenge his father. More than anything. For that, too, is what a warrior should do. But he is afraid.”
Afraid? Marcellinus signed. If anything, he had grudgingly admired Tahtay’s newfound strength and self-assurance.
“Yes. Tahtay is terrified.”
Of course, Marcellinus also understood fear, and the tightrope a warrior had to walk between war and peace.
Kimimela turned to him. “I think Tahtay may come with us, Father. Back to Cahokia. But first he must ask the wolves.”
“What?” Marcellinus could not stay silent.
“You will not understand. But Tahtay is also Mingan of the Blackfoot. Mingan means ‘wolf.’ On his walk north to the Blackfoot, many times the wolves stalked around his campfire in the night. Tahtay thought they would kill him. They did not. Instead, they talked to him. And when the Blackfoot first came to fetch Tahtay from the Hidatsa village, in their
first words they asked him why he was skulking around like a wolf. And so that is his name here, and if he is to leave here, the wolves must tell him so. Father?”
Marcellinus had walked to the edge of the firelight, looking out onto the cold prairie.
“Tonight he will stay out there in the grass.” She yawned hugely. “But me, I’m going to bed. Father? Leave Tahtay to the wolves.”
“All night, without even a buffalo robe?”
“Father, come. You cannot go to him. I have spoken.”
Marcellinus backed away from the wolves and the night, walked into the firelight, and reluctantly followed his daughter to the longship.
They did not march into Cahokia en masse. They ambled into the city in peace and from all directions in ones and twos.
They had spent long hours debating the best strategy, for the right answer was far from obvious. If they marched on Cahokia as a single large party, they would be intercepted and probably attacked before they even arrived at the outskirts of the city. The Wolf Warriors would be watching for threats, whether from Iroqua war parties or from the gigantic Roman legions to the east, and Avenaka’s spies surely would be abroad throughout the woodlands. But since the Night of Knives, Cahokia was also alert to the prospect of a hostile force creeping in in darkness. Arriving openly and individually in the early daylight seemed the best compromise, although Akecheta and Aelfric had worried that they would get picked off one by one and that few would survive to walk into the Great Plaza.
Aelfric was not coming, of course, and neither was Isleifur Bjarnason. This was not their fight, and the appearance of unknown non-Hesperian faces could only add a perhaps fatal complication to an already volatile situation. They would stay upriver, guarding the Concordia.
If Marcellinus had had his way, Kimimela and Chumanee would have stayed with them for safety, but after raising the idea once, he was so severely abraded by both that he held his tongue. It was their city and their decision, and he had to admit that the presence of obvious noncombatants would help them appear to be peaceful.
For above all else, they hoped that their invasion of Cahokia would be a peaceful one.
No one, least of all Sintikala or Marcellinus, expected this to happen. Tahtay and Marcellinus had been banished, and Sintikala had accepted banishment with them willingly. Their very presence in Cahokia would be a provocation that could not be ignored.