“What about the guards or sentries or whatever they call them? There’s always someone awake keeping an eye out for invaders.”
“I’ve been paying attention to their routine. I know where they usually sit; where they walk. We can do it. We have to do it. Don’t you want to go home, Hannah? Aren’t you homesick? Or have you become one of them?”
My face reddened. “Of course not. Don’t be stupid, Jonah. It’s just…well, it’s just…” My voice trailed off as I found it too difficult to put what I was feeling into words.
“It’s Gray Otter, isn’t it.” Not a question, more a statement—a fact.
I looked at my cousin and knew that my lips trembled. “Oh, Jonah…I’m so confused—so mixed up. I don’t know what to think or feel or…or anything anymore.”
I’d expected my cousin to lash out at me in anger and say something scathingly sarcastic, but he didn’t. Instead, he grabbed my hand and grinned. “Yeah, well, you’ve been through a whole lot. It’s not surprising that you’re all crazy in the head. And I’ll tell you something. I think Gray Otter’s pretty cool, myself. He’s quite a guy. And he’s fair. He’s treated me fairly and given me second chances. Man. Two days ago I thought Sand Eater was going to kill me, but Gray Otter intervened and told him in no uncertain terms to back off. Whoa. You should’ve seen the slob’s face. He was one mad dude.”
“Well, that explains one thing,” I muttered.
Jonah didn’t let that pass. “Huh? Explains what?”
I pursed my lips and debated whether I should tell him what had really happened the day I got sick. My need to unload won. “Okay…if I tell you something will you promise not to go off half-cocked? Promise me you won’t go ballistic and do something really incredibly stupid?” His eyes narrowed but he nodded. “Okay. Well, the truth is, that day they found me on the beach…Sand Eater had-had roughed me up a bit.”
“What? What do you mean ‘roughed you up a bit’? Spit it out, Hannah, damn it.”
I grimaced. “He-he followed me when I went on my walk and…well, he slapped me around and pulled my hair and kicked me. I thought-I thought he was going to…going to…you know…”
Jonah leapt to his feet and kicked at a basket, causing it to fly into the air. Its contents spilled out and rolled into the far corners. I hoped there had been nothing breakable or too valuable in there. I didn’t want Gray’s grandfather ticked off.
“Jonah, you promised.” I cried out in alarm. He looked mad enough to throttle Sand Eater right then and there.
He stopped his pacing and the angry waving of his arms and gave me the harshest look he’d ever given. “Hannah, I am so angry with you. So very angry.”
“With me? What did I do? I didn’t entice the creep to follow me, you know.”
He winced. “No. Of course not. I didn’t mean that, you idiot. But…why didn’t you tell anybody about this? Why were you keeping it to yourself? Why would you protect that cretin? Why?”
“I-I wasn’t trying to protect him, Jonah. I was trying to protect us. You and me. I didn’t know what he’d do if I tried to make trouble for him. And since…and since he didn’t…you know…do it…I thought it wiser to keep quiet. Jonah…I didn’t know what to do. Besides…I was too sick at first and couldn’t tell anyone anything.”
My cousin sighed and let his shoulders relax. “Yeah…okay…I can see it your way. But…well, we have to tell the chief…or somebody.”
“Then let’s tell Gray Otter and see how he reacts. I-I trust Gray Otter.”
As though on cue in a second-rate stage production, Gray Otter chose that moment to enter the building. He took one look at my flushed face and Jonah’s heightened color and put two and two together. Folding his arms across his chest, he grunted—giving a perfect imitation of the chief. “So. There have been words. What has made you so filled with anger for one another?”
Without looking at Jonah, I told Gray Otter what happened that day on the beach. To his credit, he didn’t interrupt or utter a sound—only kept his eyes locked on mine. When I finished, he grunted again. I couldn’t tell whether he believed a single word I’d said or not; his face remained an emotionless mask.
“Gray?” I whispered, my heart starting to accelerate. “Please, Gray…say something.”
Gray Otter looked at Jonah for a long moment. Jonah was wise enough not to put his two cents in and waited for the Indian youth to speak first. Finally, Gray Otter let out a prolonged sigh and shook his head. “I was afraid of this. Sand Eater’s mind is like a stick found on the sand—too dry and brittle to bend. He thinks only one way. His mind is not green and supple. He is a fool.”
Jonah decided to speak. “Yeah…so, what are we going to do about it? He hurt Hannah really bad. And he left her lying on the beach to die. At least, that’s the way I see it.”
Gray Otter looked down at me, his chiseled features softening. “Han-nah…all that you have said disturbs me. I am saddened and angered that someone whom I have called friend would do such a thing. I will speak of this to Sharp Knife.”
“Th-thank you, Gray.” Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I rubbed them away in embarrassment. Jonah cursed under his breath, but Gray Otter knelt beside my pallet and reached out to touch my face. That simple action flustered me, and I started shivering even though I wasn’t really cold.
“She-Who-Speaks-Many-Tongues,” he whispered. “I do not want to see your tears. I will take care of Sand Eater. Do not worry. He will not touch you again.”
With that promise hanging in the air, Gray Otter stood, nodded to Jonah and left the house. For several minutes, Jonah and I just stared at one another, not saying a word.
SEVENTEEN – THE OWL SPEAKS
The next day the shaman allowed me to leave the pallet and walk about. I had renewed energy and appetite. So hungry, in fact, that I ate everything given to me without hesitation. Even the soup with the fish heads floating it in didn’t bother me. I just closed my eyes and ate. And I found it surprisingly delicious. Joy was delighted to see such an appetite in me. Me, who had balked at eating much of anything since I’d arrived.
The day was cloudy—promising rain by evening—but I didn’t care. I’d a lot to think about. Tomorrow, Jonah and I were going to try and find our way back to Lake Crescent. Tomorrow, we returned to our own world. At least, we hoped so. As Jonah said, that beat not trying at all. I wrestled with so many conflicting emotions that it didn’t matter what I did today.
Joy and I headed into the forest, eager to get to the cleared area to pick berries before the rains came. We wasted no time as Joy worried that the first meadow had been picked clean by now, and we would have to venture even farther into the forest. Into that shadowy realm belonging to ancient giants who wore their capes of dripping moss and communicated with one another in sibilant whispers.
Joy knew of another cleared area, and we made our way across the first meadow, through the enveloping tangle of life that flaunted every shade of green known to man, into the second clearing. I thought about our escape and how happy I would be to get back to my world, and at the same time how sad I would be to say good-bye. Startling to think that in such a short time I’d begun to think of Joy and her family as my family. Unbelievable as it sounds, I was going to miss these people and their ways—their culture so different from my own…and yet, so remarkably the same. It had dawned on me that love was love—no matter where you lived or who you were. And I loved these people. I really did. So I was rather quiet as we walked through the cathedral-like forest.
Joy was intuitive enough not to ask questions or make small talk.
We walked through a part of the forest I’d yet to visit. Funny how it all looked the same and at the same time appeared so absolutely alien. “How much farther, Joy? This place is creepy,” I said, my voice a little strained.
Apparently, she was nervous, too, because her voice came out barely above a whisper. “Not far. See the patch of sky up there? That means open land. We should find lots of berr
ies there. I do not think any of the others have made it this far yet.”
She was right. The trees suddenly opened onto a wide, open area, which received plenty of sun. Berry bushes grew everywhere. I spied a running vine of wild blackberries and squealed my delight. “Wild blackberries. Yes! We’re so lucky. It’s supposed to be too late for blackberries. Right? What a find.”
We picked berries until our fingers and tongues were stained a deep wine-red. I think we ate as many as we plopped into our baskets. They tasted so delicious—tart with just a hint of sweetness. I chuckled inwardly as I thought of all those pies my aunt could’ve made—and all those cobblers and jars of jam.
Joy kept my spirits up with tales of her childhood. She told me about how she’d fallen out of a canoe when she was three and had nearly drowned. She talked about her little brothers and how they’d almost lost her mother when Chubby Cheeks was born. That brought up the subject of babies.
“Joy…you’re going to be a mother some day,” I said, trying to keep the awe from my voice. Being a mother at only fifteen was hard for me to comprehend. High school should be a time of football games and proms—and, of course, preparing for college and your life’s work. It wasn’t meant to be a time for diapers and toddlers getting into everything.
My Native American friend, however, thought otherwise. “Oh, yes. And I can hardly wait. I would like to have many children. Do you not want children, Han-nah?”
“Well, yeah…but not right now. Maybe in ten or fifteen years.”
“Ten or fifteen years. You will be an old woman by then.”
We laughed and changed the subject to all the handsome young men in her village—especially one in particular. Joy grinned. “And when will you admit to me that you are fond of Gray Otter, hmm?”
I blushed. “You already know, Joy, what I think of Gray Otter…”
I didn’t get to finish my sentence. Just then an owl hooted, one of those long, drawn-out screeches that sounds like a wailing ghost. I shuddered, about to quip something, when the bird swooped out from nowhere and flew over our heads. Joy moaned, fell to her knees, and covered her face with both hands. Her basket dropped to the ground, scattering half of her berries.
I’d been startled, but not that much. “Joy. What’s the matter? It was only an owl. Joy, it was only an owl.” I said as I knelt beside her.
She peered at me through splayed fingers. Her face appeared sickly pale and she shivered. “N-No, Han-nah…”
I interrupted. “Yes. Yes, it was. I promise. It was an owl.”
“Han-nah…owls sleep during the day…Our day is their darkness and our darkness is their day. They belong to the night people.”
“So? Maybe he has insomnia. Maybe he got hungry and just couldn’t sleep. Maybe we woke him with our stupid laughter and stuff. You don’t have to get so upset.”
Joy shuddered, her face a mask of agony. “No, Han-nah…my people consider the owl to be a messenger of calamity and death. When an owl flies over someone’s head, he is certain to come face to face with death.”
I almost screamed the word “nonsense” at her, but bit my tongue in time. Clearly she believed it, and my saying it wasn’t true wouldn’t convince her otherwise. I forced myself to be patient and tolerant. “Joy…I-I don’t think it was meant for you. Really. It was just one of those things. Animals are unpredictable. They don’t follow our same set of-of rules.”
She shook her head slowly. “No, Han-nah…I have told you this before…we are brothers and sisters. Animals are like people; they walk and talk, love and hate. The owl warns my people of death and misfortune. This is a sad omen…I have been chosen.”
“Oh, Joy…”
She got to her feet, picked up her basket, only glancing at the spilled berries, and walked toward the forest. I’d no alternative but to follow. A huge lump formed in my chest and I felt sick. I wanted to say something that would erase her abject misery, but nothing came to me. She’d heard an owl. She was convinced it was her time to die.
Then a thought struck me. “Joy. What if that owl was meant for me? Maybe it’s me who’s going to die, not you.”
“We both heard it. It flew over both our heads. Perhaps it is both of us who will join the spirit world. Perhaps both of us are going to die.”
I shook my head but didn’t offer any more objections. The happiness of the day, the anticipation of my escape tomorrow—everything positive—snuffed out like the tiny flame on a match. Depressed, we headed for home.
Lead Woman was surprised to see us back so soon but didn’t ask questions. I gave her my basket’s worth of berries and she seemed very pleased. Joy carried her almost empty basket to her own house and set it just inside the door. Then she turned to me. “The tide is out. Let us gather mussels. He-Sees-Far likes them.”
“Aren’t you going to tell anybody what happened?”
She smiled briefly. “No. It makes no difference. When it is my time, it is my time. Let them mourn when it is time, not beforehand.”
I nodded and let her take the lead. Little Feather, Blanket Girl, and other children latched onto us like burs. Joy glanced over at me and smiled. Taking that as a good sign, I grinned back. It was impossible to be down with a dozen giggling, chattering kids all around you.
This time, we went up the beach in the direction I’d come from on that first, fateful day. An arm of jagged rocks jutted out into the water, and we had to scramble carefully over boulders, piles of driftwood, and through pools to get around it. The rocky shore was an obstacle course and made traveling difficult, but it also had an abundance of the dark purple-black mussels, which covered every inch of most of the rocks in sight.
We hacked off mussel after mussel and tossed them, one by one, into our baskets. The children scampered everywhere, shouting out to one another and laughing. The oppressive feeling of doom lifted, and I felt light-hearted again. I called over to Joy. “I almost have a full basket. Is that enough? I felt the first drop of rain a second ago. It’s going to pour.”
“Yes, we have enough. We will call the chil—”
A shrill scream cut her mid-sentence. Both our heads snapped to attention and our eyes riveted to the little girl who had pierced the gray afternoon with her wail. The children—every last one of them—stared like frozen gargoyles at the sea behind us. In unison, we turned to see what had captured their attention and had them locked in a paralysis of fear.
Canoes. War canoes. Three very long, brightly painted boats skimmed silently across the water toward us. Slicing through the gauzy curtain of precipitation, the war canoes filled with eager warriors from one the fiercest tribes to the north, descended upon us like hawks on a field of mice.
Joy yelled at the children to run. I was so dazed by the scene unfolding before me that I couldn’t move. Joy saw my predicament and lunged for me. “Han-nah. Han-nah, run. Run. You, of all people, would be a prize. Run.”
Like a slap in the face, her words snapped me out of my immobility. I threw my basket to the ground, flew over the knee-high rocks, and ran with every last ounce of gumption in me. Joy ran right on my heels. Heading for the embankment, I crawled on hands and knees, and clawed my way up the steep bank, thinking Joy stayed right behind me. Once up, I turned to see what was happening back on the beach.
To my horror, Joy had fallen and struggled to get up. She must have twisted her ankle because she seemed unable to put her weight on it or walk more than two steps without falling again. I started back for her when she screamed at me. “No, Han-nah. No. Run. Run. One of us has to escape. This is your chance. Go. Go. Run, Han-nah.”
“No. I’m coming, Joy. Hang on. I’m coming.”
The warriors had beached their canoes and leaped out like spirited gazelles. I had to get to Joy. With my heart in my throat, I ran to her and tried to lift her up.
Joy screamed at me again. “No. No, Han-nah. Go. Run. Please.”
“No. I won’t leave you. Hurry. Grab onto me. We can do it.”
But we cou
ldn’t do it. One of the men had already reached us and took her arm, yanking her to her feet. Before I had a chance to fight him, another man had me in a tight embrace. Joy’s captor, seeing that she couldn’t stand on one ankle, hoisted her up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Mine, however, dragged me along with him. My bare feet made two long furrows in the wet sand. Nothing I could do to free myself from his iron grip.
EIGHTEEN – JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS
Huddled at the bottom of the boat, wrapped in a blanket that smelled of urine, sweat, and dead fish, I stared at a piece of broken clamshell that lay ignominiously by my left foot. I stared at it with all the attention I could summon from my fractured wits. I knew that if I lost my focus on that tiny fragment of shell, I would go insane. I couldn’t afford to. I needed my sanity. I needed it to plan our escape. Because if we didn’t try to escape soon, anything Sand Eater had wanted to do to me would pale in comparison. I knew this as well as I knew the back of my hand.
My hand. Slowly…in stupefaction…as though I’d never seen it before…I withdrew my hand from under the filthy blanket and raised it to eye-level. I stared at the hand that was not my hand and marveled at its delicate shape. It seemed too small, too slender, too pale. The nails were chipped. I usually kept my nails nicely rounded and buffed. I had started buffing my nails freshman year. My friend, Nancy Wang, had shown me how. Her nails had been pearly-pink and shiny. I had admired them one afternoon while we were in study hall. I had buffed mine once a week ever since. Better than polish…buffing your nails…left them smooth and pretty…nails should be clean and…
A moan beside me broke the dream-like state I’d allowed as my sanctuary. Looking up, I saw Joy lying in a small heap—a large blanket, as decrepit as mine, draped over her. I leaned over and touched her. She flinched like she’d been shot.
“Joy…it’s me…Hannah…”
She raised her disheveled head and stared at me with eyes wide and dilated. She looked drugged. But I knew the drug was nothing more than acute hysteria. I wondered how I looked to her. Probably just as bad.
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