Those Who Came Before

by J. H. Moncrieff

  “Stop. You’re only making it worse.”

  “What am I supposed to do? I can’t leave it.”

  “Wait a minute. Stay right there.” Ben disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Maria with her hands hopelessly tangled. She didn’t have long to wonder what he was doing, for he soon returned with a pair of kitchen scissors.

  “You’re not going to cut my hair?” She hated the whine in her voice.

  “Nope.” Before she could protest further, Ben stepped behind her. She heard a snipping sound. She also felt a huge release, as if she’d been carrying a ten-pound weight around her neck all day and he’d just taken it from her. Her husband yanked at something in her hair, which hurt, but nowhere near as much as the tearing she’d been doing. At last the severed rawhide cord came loose, and with it the arrowhead, which clattered on the floor.

  Ben handed her the ruined cord, but she didn’t want to touch it. Instead she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you so much. You’re a genius. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Probably because you didn’t want to ruin your necklace. Sorry about that, babe. I’ll replace it. I think our art teacher has some of this cord. I’ll see if I can buy a bit off her.”

  Maria rubbed her neck, surprised and not surprised that her hair felt smooth again. The nasty snarl she’d struggled with seconds ago was gone. She hoped her husband wouldn’t notice. “Actually, I’m glad to have it off. Don’t worry about the cord. I don’t want to wear it.”

  “Won’t the chief be offended?”

  “He’ll get over it. I don’t know when I’ll see him again, anyway.”

  “Okay.” He bent to retrieve the arrowhead, and she almost screamed for him to leave it, but nothing happened. Ben held it out to her, and she was relieved to see it was an old arrowhead again, like thousands of others. “Are you sure this isn’t the one you found at the campsite? It looks really old.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving.” When he tried to give it to her, she gently pushed his arm away. “Would you mind throwing it out for me? Not in the house.” Taking him by the shoulders, she turned him to face the door. “Can you throw it in one of the cans on the curb? Please?”

  He stared at her as if she were someone he didn’t quite recognize, someone who could very well have lost her mind, and she couldn’t blame him. “Why?”

  “I don’t like it. This may sound silly, but I don’t want it in the house.”

  Maybe it was the cut on his chest, or the drama of freeing the cord from her hair, but Ben appeared to understand. “I don’t like it either.” He took the cord too.

  After she’d enjoyed a boiling-hot shower and filled her stomach with the pasta and marinara sauce Ben had made for dinner, Maria felt a lot better. Once they’d resumed their usual positions on the couch, she was strong enough to tell her husband about Reese’s arrest, and how betrayed she’d been when she’d gotten the DNA results.

  “This isn’t my field of expertise, but why does finding his DNA make him guilty? He admitted he was fucking her, didn’t he?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Nice. You definitely have a way with words. He did admit it, but said they hadn’t been active for several days before she died. She suffered a violent sexual assault, and all the lab could find was his sperm.”

  “Couldn’t it be old sperm?”

  Wiggling her feet so he’d remember he was supposed to be giving her a massage, she considered his question. It was strange – she’d been convinced Reese was guilty earlier that day, but now she wasn’t so sure. She thought of how terrified he’d looked in the cell. Christ, he was more of a kid than a man. “The coroner didn’t think so, but maybe it’s worth looking into. It’s not my area of expertise either.”

  Ben grinned. “I’ll say,” he said, caressing her feet. “It’s been a while since either of us practiced our expertise.”

  “Sorry. Working a case like this doesn’t exactly put me in the mood.”

  “I get that.” The atmosphere in the room grew heavy as they thought about what had happened to the three young victims. “But your instincts are good, honey. I’ve never seen you wrong before. You were convinced the kid was telling the truth. What made you change your mind?”

  “I don’t know. But I think I’ve changed it back.”

  * * *

  The woman staggered into camp with a bundle in her arms. Her garments, which had always been much too light for the climate, were torn and tattered. As the people watched in horror, she began to fall. They heard a thin cry, the cry of a child. Little Dove ran to catch the woman. The bundle of rags was an infant, skinny and starved, and the chief’s wife sucked in her breath when she beheld his tiny face. He was as pale as Death.

  Little Dove looked up to see the woman staring at her, and she recognized the desperation in the stranger’s eyes. Before she could move away, the woman seized her hand.

  “Please help us.” Her teeth chattered so violently she could barely speak. “We are starving. My baby needs food or he will die. Please help him.”

  Before Little Dove could protest, the infant was thrust into her arms. She cradled him to her, this child who was not hers. She couldn’t very well let him fall to the ground. In his weakened condition, such a fall might kill him.

  She had a new child of her own, snuggled securely on her back. She knew she could easily give this woman’s baby what it needed, but would the stranger agree to it? Little Dove put a hand on the woman’s arm, feeling the bones that nearly protruded through her skin. It was as if the woman and her child were already dead. The thought made her shiver.

  The stranger’s eyes were red and crusted with old tears. Little Dove gestured to her chest, and the woman nodded, an expression of gratitude softening her face. That was all Little Dove needed. She rearranged her hides and furs in order to bring the starving child to her breast.

  “What are you thinking, Little Dove?”

  The chief’s wife spun around to see Red Sky Dancer glaring at her. The rest of the women clustered behind, banding together for courage. It wasn’t working. Little Dove could smell their fear.

  “I will not let this child starve.” As Little Dove tucked the infant under her furs, Red Sky Dancer moved forward to grab her wrist, twisting it.

  “Did you not hear what Lone Wolf said? We weren’t to speak to these strangers anymore. And now you’re feeding them.”

  Little Dove moved away from the other woman, clutching the cold child to her warm skin. She’d been afraid the infant was already too far gone to suckle, but she was a natural mother. She soon felt the baby latch on and smiled. The child would be fine now. Her milk was strong.

  Red Sky Dancer didn’t have a family of her own. That was why she was so angry, Little Dove thought.

  With the infant safe against her breast, its tiny fingers clutching her skin, Little Dove felt a rush of sympathy for its mother. She surveyed the women from her community with disgust. “Have you no soul? Help her.”

  Red Sky Dancer blocked their path. “Are you willing to send us to our deaths? This pathetic creature is not our sister.”

  Soaring Hawk pushed her way forward. Most of the people called her Grey Mother, as she was the matriarch of the nation. In spite of her extended age, she remained tall and proud. If anything, the years had strengthened rather than diminished her. Her kind face was tight with anger. “Have you no heart, Red Sky Dancer? The woman and her child are dying. We cannot leave them to the elements.”

  The lovely woman scoffed, and as she did so she greatly resembled her brother, Lone Wolf. “And why not? They are not our kin. They would abandon us without hesitation.”

  The stranger was too weak to protest. She lay on the snow, but at Grey Mother’s signal, the other women scooped her up, wrapping her in their furs.

  “Take them inside and warm them. Running Deer, Waning Moon – get some food together. En
ough to see her people through to the next cycle.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “You are dooming us, old woman,” Red Sky Dancer said as the women scurried around her, careful to stay out of striking range. Like her brother, Red Sky had a reputation for cruelty.

  “It is a shame your great beauty is only on the outside. You have a hideous soul, and that can never be cured. Not even by a man as skilled as your brother.”

  Red Sky Dancer’s eyes narrowed as she looked down at the older woman. “You believe I care what you think of me? I do not. You are all fools, and you will learn the wisdom of my brother’s warning soon enough.”

  “I would rather be a fool than a vessel of emptiness,” Grey Mother said, and turned her back on the female warrior to show she had no fear. Holding her head high, she hastened to the lodge, grateful that the winter wind carried Red Sky Dancer’s curses safely away from her ears.

  The women clicked their tongues as they stripped away the stranger’s garments. They rubbed her poor, stiff body to warm it, making sure she was close enough to the fire to get her blood flowing. Grey Mother shook her head when she saw the woman’s feet. She hoped it wasn’t too late to save them. The woman might lose some fingers as well.

  The woman was unconscious, but Grey Mother could see some color returning to her cheeks. Once she awoke, she would be in terrible pain. The matriarch ordered Running Deer to mix a drink of willow bark and other sacred herbs. Otherwise, the stranger’s hands and feet, so cruelly treated by the harsh winter, would feel like they were on fire.

  “Look!” The woman’s threadbare hood had slipped aside, revealing an astonishing amount of yellow hair. “She has hair of gold. I wonder if it’s valuable?” Waning Moon bounced the curls in her hand with a childish grin.

  “Stop that foolishness,” Grey Mother said. “She is a mother, and she is worthy of our respect. She is not a plaything for you to toy with.”

  Ashamed, Waning Moon released the curls and slunk into the shadows. Her sisters dared not say a word.

  “How is the child?” The matriarch waited while Little Dove withdrew the infant from her robes. The baby had finished feeding, and was now asleep. Like his mother, he had new color in his cheeks.

  “He is fine. He is a strong one.” Little Dove smiled at the child, who – weakened from near-starvation – was half the size of her own son.

  “Then throw him into the fire now, before it is too late.”

  The women gasped to see Lone Wolf at the door. But not Grey Mother, who rose to meet him, chin raised.

  “Shame on you. This is the women’s lodge. How dare you think yourself welcome?”

  “I have not entered, Grey Mother, merely darkened your doorstep. My sister warned me of your foolishness, but so assured was I of your wisdom I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it.” He sneered at the child, and at the women who hastened to hide the stranger’s exposed skin from view. “Already I have seen enough to discourage me from ever tarrying with you again.”

  The group around the fire protested, but Grey Mother held up a hand, silencing their cries. “It is of no consequence. My skills with medicine are a match for yours, Lone Wolf. We have no need for such a shaman, a man of ‘healing’ cowardly enough to fear a half-dead woman and her babe.” She turned away, leaving no mystery as to what she thought of the medicine man, whose expression grew dark.

  Little Dove tugged at Grey Mother’s skirt, urging her to sit down, to end the conflict with Lone Wolf before it grew into a battle. But the older woman waved her off. “We do not need him, child,” she said, the resolve in her voice strong.

  “It is not the woman and child I fear, but what they represent,” the shaman said through gritted teeth. “You are at the end of your life, Old Woman, while I am at the peak of mine. Who will help your daughters when you are gone? Who will attend to their suffering? Do you care for the strangers enough to sacrifice your own people?”

  “I will have more strength on my deathbed than you will demonstrate during your finest day as a warrior.”

  The man’s face darkened further, and for a moment, the frightened women who clustered around the fire feared he would commit a terrible act of violence. Instead, he lowered his head in acquiescence. “With those words you seal your fate, Old Woman. I pray you do not live long enough to realize your mistake.”

  As he disappeared into the growing storm, the women started a flurry of whispered conversations. Grey Mother sagged onto the furs near the fire as if she had aged ten moons.

  Little Dove brewed her some healing tea, and as the older woman sipped, she lifted a hand to touch the girl’s smooth cheek. “You have the heart of a warrior, my dear. More importantly, your actions are always sweet and true.”

  “I do not mean to question you, Grey Mother, but was sending Lone Wolf away the best thing to do? Many of the sisters rely on him.” The soft-spoken woman’s voice broke, but she swallowed her tears. Before the medicine man had gained his powers, several of their women had died in childbirth, screaming their torment at the stars. Both men and women had perished in battle, and the slightest bite of tainted meat had brought death on swift heels. She dreaded returning to those treacherous days. As unyielding as Lone Wolf was, he had brought the power of the Creator with him, and now she feared he had taken it away again.

  “Bah! Only because they did not care to trouble me. Perhaps they felt I am too old.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry. There is no method of healing that is beyond me. I will attend to our women myself.”

  “And what if…” Little Dove hesitated, not wishing to offend.

  “What if I myself grow ill? What if my own moon is waning, as Lone Wolf oh-so-subtly implied?” Grey Mother caressed Little Dove’s face once more. “Then you will take my place, cherished daughter.”

  Little Dove’s eyes widened. “Me? I am no healer.”

  “Ah, but you are, sweet girl. Trust me, and I will show you that you’ve been a healer since the day you were born.”

  * * *

  Maria’s eyes flew open. She stared at the ceiling, expecting to see thick smoke billowing towards a hole in the fabric. She could still smell it, cloying but sweet, and feel the soft fur enveloping her in a warm embrace.

  The mattress beneath her was as foreign as it would have been to Little Dove. Maria didn’t know the woman, but she knew Little Dove was as real as the husband who snored beside her. In some ways, Maria was closer to the delicate-featured woman with the braids, because she had experienced Little Dove’s terror as if it were her own. Her heart had pounded in rhythm with the woman’s.

  Who is she, and why do I keep dreaming of her?

  It was the memory of the smoke that made her jump out of bed, convinced her own child’s life was in jeopardy. But as soon as her bare feet touched the freezing hardwood, she realized the truth. The blaze, however real it seemed, had been a figment of her imagination.

  She checked on Heidi anyway, scooping her daughter’s favorite teddy bear from the floor and tucking it in bed with her. Maria had never understood why her child loved that ugly thing, and understood even less why she’d named it Edgar, but whatever made her happy. Brushing Heidi’s fine hair back from her face, Maria kissed her forehead. Her daughter’s skin was cool against her lips, and the child murmured in her sleep, tugging the blanket up to her chin.

  “Good night, sweet girl,” Maria whispered, and padded to the bathroom for a glass of water. Her T-shirt and shorts were damp with sweat, and her neck ached as if she’d strained it. The scent of hickory smoke clung to her nostrils, and she wondered if the neighbors were having a bonfire. If so, she hoped they were obeying regulations this time. She hated having to play the heavy.

  Leaning her head against the wall, she held her fingers under the tap, waiting for the water to reach a desirable frostiness. Finally it was cold enough to drink, and as she gulped it down, she caught a glimpse of
herself in the mirror.

  The glass fell from her hands and shattered in the sink.

  Around her neck, pulsing like a blood-filled tick, was the arrowhead.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “What are you in for?”

  The old man leered at me, showing off the grim results of a life without proper dental care. His words were no longer slurred, but he had a thick accent that made him difficult to understand.

  Flipping over on my cot so he faced my back, I hoped he would get the hint.

  He didn’t.

  “Come on, the hours are long in this place without someone to talk to. What are you in for?”

  Sighing, I decided to give up on the prospect of sleeping. I wasn’t tired anyway, and the mattress was as comfortable as concrete. “What are you in for?”

  “Public drunkenness,” the man said, as if it were a source of pride.

  “You don’t say.” I rolled my eyes, feeling innately superior to this poor slob.

  “Hey, at least I’m not in for murder.”

  I bolted upright and the old cot creaked in warning. “How did you know?”

  The old man shrugged. I could swear he was smirking at me. “Hey, I’m a regular,” he said, displaying his palms in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture. “A guy hears things after a while.”

  “Not that I have to defend myself to you, but I’m innocent.” The ‘unlike you’ hung in the air between us, unspoken but clearly heard.

  “Yeah, that’s what they all say.” The man grunted, scratching his greasy hair, hair that looked like it had never met a comb. “Not me, though. I have a little drinking problem. No sense saying different.”

  “Why don’t you get help, then?” I didn’t bother to keep the disgust out of my voice. Maybe if he got mad at me, he’d quit talking. Then again, he could have a shiv he’d draw across my throat while I slept, but at this point, that might be a blessing. A single day in this cell had lasted a million years. I couldn’t imagine surviving a lifetime.

  He chuckled. “And who’s gonna help a guy like me? Rehab is for fancy white boys like yourself, who can afford feather beds and pretty nurses who hand you ’pensive pills in a paper cup. For me, that would be like going to heaven. Ain’t no one gonna pay to send me there.”