Two Rivers (2 page)

The large eyes glowed now with a strange, unsettling fire,
making Tekeni shiver, unwilling to hear more. This man, indeed, was renowned
for his far-fetched suggestions, contradicting some of the old ways. And, while
he was not afraid to sound them aloud, his passion was what made people frown
and move away. He was a strange person.

“Our laws and customs are sensible, logical, the ones to make
perfect sense,” cried out Anue, stepping forward, his cheeks coloring a darker
shade. “Not the strange changes you are suggesting. Those make no sense at all,
contradicting our good old ways. Maybe you are right, maybe this boy is to be
treated fairly, even though he behaves like the worst of the savages from
across the Great Sparkling Water. Maybe he can be turned into one of us one
day, if we are patient. I don’t doubt the action of the Wolf Clan’s Council,
but I do wish they had chosen more wisely while selecting new members to
replace the mourned ones.” The man’s eyes glimmered unpleasantly. “Well, maybe
they will succeed in the end, and this boy will add to the glory of our people.
He is still very young. But you? You are proving to be the real problem, Two
Rivers, stirring nothing but trouble, bringing nothing but discord to our
settlements and our people, making such tremendous efforts to disrupt our way
of life. So, while having no serious concerns about this youth, I do have my
doubts about you, a man who has seen more than thirty summers, a man whose ways
are settled on disrupting our way of life.”

People held their breath, tense, afraid and expectant at the
same time. Was one incident not enough? Would these two be reaching for their
knives, two respectable, grown-up men this time?

The air hissed loudly, bursting through Two Rivers’ clenched
teeth, the effort of holding onto his temper evident in the vein pulsating upon
his forehead.

“My ways, indeed, are settled, but they are aimed at bettering
our people’s circumstances, not at disrupting our ways. You should open your
ears to my words, instead of shutting them so thoroughly, spending all your
energy on doing this. I wish I could say I believe in making you and your kind
listen, but, alas, I’m afraid I’m on the verge of despairing.”

“I hope you would despair already,” cried out Anue, eyes
glowing in his turn. “It would make the life of our town so much more
pleasant.”

The air thickened rapidly, but before any more words were
uttered, the elders were upon them, and the crowds parted, clearing the way for
the medicine man and his followers as Yeentso began groaning, coming around.

“Make room for him,” said the healer curtly, echoing Two Rivers’
earlier demand. “Don’t crowd around him like that. Move away.”

One of the elders knelt beside the wounded. “Better yet, go
back, return to the town. The game will not be resumed.” He looked up,
measuring Tekeni and his capturers with an impartial gaze. “What happened will
be discussed between the Town and Clans’ Councils. Do nothing until then.” The
man’s eyes narrowed, turning threatening. “And I mean - nothing! No one is to
seek justice, or to try to solve the problem by his or her own means.” His gaze
encircled the crowds, penetrating, making Tekeni shiver. “No one!”

Chapter 2

Rounding the corner of a longhouse, Two Rivers hesitated,
pondering his possibilities. The darkness enveloped him, welcome in its
thickness, protecting, making him feel alone. Craving the privacy it offered,
he turned toward the dark mass of the palisade fence and the plots of tobacco
scattered along the wide entrance.

What a rotten day, he thought, following the curves of the
fence as it twisted tortuously, creating a corridor between two sets of poles.
It took longer to get in and out of the town, but the double row of palisade
made it more difficult for the invaders to get in, giving the defenders an
advantage, and the benefit of time.

How could a pleasant, sunny day have turned into such a mess?
he asked himself again and again, squinting against the wind as it pounced on
him the moment he left the protection of the fence. It was already midsummer,
but the wind was always there, trying to get in one’s way, never allowing a
person to enjoy the summer to its fullest. The questionable location was at
fault, he knew, with the settlement situated on the windiest bay in the whole
land, never allowing one to enjoy the true summer’s warmth.

He shrugged. This was his town, his homeland, his people. Even
if they were stubborn and could see no farther than the tips of their long,
aquiline noses, adamant in their opposition to oh-so-very-necessary changes,
they were his people, his family.

He sighed. Why were they so opposed to anything new or
different, laws or ideas; or people? Like this boy from the other side of the
Great Sparkling Water. What a wild thing! But a courageous one, a true wolf
cub, baring his teeth, watching the world with his haunted eyes, afraid and
daring at the same time.

Of course, the boy was right to hit Yeentso. He was provoked
beyond reason. But a wiser person would control his temper better, would not
grab the stick so readily. Not when one had no friends and no real protection
from one’s family. The boy had spent enough time living in the town, but not
nearly enough to become one of them. Not with such unwillingness to adapt, to
make friends, or to take life in a lighter way.

He frowned, trying to imagine how he might have felt if
captured and not killed but adopted into one of the other nations’ settlements.
There were enough enemies to the east and the west, all those towns and
villages spread along their side of the Great Lake. But what if he were
captured by the terrible enemy from across the endless sparkling water, this
boy’s people?

He shuddered, then dismissed this thought as an unlikely
possibility. Not in the face of the escalating hatred. If captured, a warrior
of his age and abilities would be executed, in a painful way, too, forced to
run a gauntlet of striking clubs, on the carpet of glowing embers, maybe. Would
he die bravely, showing no fear and no pain? And what if he had been found
worthy of adoption, forced to live among his people’s fiercest enemies? Would
he find it as difficult to adapt, surrounded by a fair amount of hatred and
mistrust?

He shrugged. There were plenty of adopted people, but usually
women and small children, kidnapped or captured, most of them seemingly with no
difficulties fitting into their new lives, welcomed most readily, because no
one was adopted unless a clan or a closer family unit needed to replace a dead,
killed, or kidnapped member. This was the custom, and it had worked since the
time immemorial. The enemies were everywhere, and every nation warred on each other.

But this is precisely what made Two Rivers’ skin prickle.
Something was wrong with the whole situation, something cried for a radical
change. The war was a part of their lives; killing always avenged by killing,
blood for blood, and there were enough hotheads to make tempers fray.

Like this afternoon, with the arrogant, short-tempered Yeentso
and the stupid foreign boy. If Yeentso died, his family would demand blood.
Rightfully so. But the boy from across the Great Lake had no real family, so
maybe his death would be the end of it. His adopted family was more likely to
be relieved, rid of the perpetual nuisance the boy had turned out to be, not
likely to try to defend him or to demand revenge in their turn. They had hoped
for a better person when adopting the promising-looking youth two summers ago,
so much was obvious.

Well, even if this particular feud would stop with the death of
the boy, the rest of the cases were not like that, with nations, towns, and
even clans having more and more things to argue about, more and more causes to
seek revenge. And the war was a perpetual thing, not a part of life anymore,
but life itself, the main drive of it. Everything was dedicated to this end,
every aspect of the daily life committed to the defense of the town, and to the
means of sending war parties, as many as the town could equip; and it didn’t
matter where anymore. Just to raid anyone’s settlements, to avenge yet another
attack, yet another kidnapping, yet another insult. The life was about war and
nothing else, and while in and of itself, it was not such an unacceptable
thing, its toll was becoming more and more obvious, with the fields producing
less food, with the worsening diet and the spreading winter and summer
diseases, with the gloomier mood and general state of mind.

Many people saw the problem, but no one knew what to do with
it. They argued and argued, not listening to each other, yet united in their
mutual dislike of Two Rivers and his radical ideas. What he said made no sense
to anyone.

He cursed silently, then tensed. A silhouette upon the high
bank clearly belonged to a woman, a slender form outlined by the faint moon.
Leaning on her arms, she just sat there, facing the water not far below her
feet, her back straight, head thrust forward, as though enjoying the touch of
the cutting wind, or maybe pitting her strength against it.

He neared silently, but she heard him, all the same.

“I knew you’d be coming here.”  She didn’t stir, didn’t move to
make a place for him upon her perch on the high bank.

“Am I so predictable?”

“Oh, yes, you are. You never surprise anyone in this town. Who
wouldn’t guess you’d be arguing, stirring trouble again? If you let the
councils do their work uninterrupted you would surprise many people. But, of
course, you did not.”

He kicked a stone and watched it rolling down the bank. “Well,
you did surprise me, coming here tonight. It’s not safe to wander outside like
this. One can never know if there are no enemies lurking around. Fancy being
kidnapped?”

“And you?” Her voice tore the silence, openly hostile. “Fancy
being killed? Or maybe kidnapped, eh? You might like it, come to think about
it. You seem to understand our enemies well.”

Turning abruptly, she faced him, her face barely visible in the
faint moonlight, mainly the outline of the beautiful cheekbones, high and
oh-so-well defined.

“What do you want?” he asked tiredly, squatting upon the cold
sand.

“Me? Nothing! I want nothing from you.”

“Then why did you wait for me here?”

“I didn’t say I was waiting for you!” The fringes decorating
her dress jumped angrily as her chest rose and fell. “I came to enjoy some
peace and quiet. I was here first.”

He snorted. “Peace and quiet? You don’t look so peaceful. And
you
were
waiting for me here, fuming and getting angrier with every heartbeat.”

The hiss of her breath tore the silence. “I just came to tell
you that if you will go on defending the dirty whelp that tried to kill my
brother, you will regret it dearly.”

He didn’t turn his head, not surprised. “Your brother is not
dead yet. He may heal. And he was the one to attack this boy. I was there, I
saw it all. He grabbed the boy by his throat, and he threatened to kill him,
after he hit him in the middle of the game. It was quite a blow, and I’m
surprised he didn’t break this youth’s arm. But maybe he did. It was all blue
and swollen, but no one paid attention, of course. No one cared for the dirty
foreigner. They were busy fussing around your brother, the impeccable Wyandot
man.” He raised his hand as she tried to say something, glaring at her in his
turn, truly angry now. “Well, I did not intend to defend the wild cub. He was
certainly guilty of the charges against him. All I did was to tell the true
story when I was called by the Town Council to testify. But now, after talking
to you, I may very well do that, try to help that boy. He was treated badly
enough, this afternoon, if not through his previous moons here. He was adopted
formally, turned into one of us. But he is not treated as one of us now, is
he?”

“If my brother dies, he’ll die,” she said stubbornly, turning
away and peering at the dark mass of the water below her feet. “Adopted or not,
one of us or not. And I’m warning you. Keep out of it. Many people are angry
with you as it is. Your attitude is bad enough, without making matters so much
worse by helping the dirty cub.” She paused, and he could imagine her lips
pressing tightly, unpleasantly thin, an ugly sight, although she was a
beautiful woman. “The boy is lost, anyway. If my brother recovers, he will not
let this incident pass unavenged. He will kill the boy by his own hand.”

“He can’t take the law into his hands. We are no savages. We
have councils to settle such matters.”

A shrug was his answer. He tried to keep his anger at bay.

“How is he now?” he asked instead.

She shrugged again. “He is vomiting, and he cannot see clearly.
He is murmuring, coming around, and then going back into the worlds of the
Spirits.”

“Not good.” He sighed and more felt than saw her doing the
same. “But he still may heal. I’ve seen people recover from head injuries like
that. It takes time.”

“I hope you are right.” Her voice stiffened again, turning
freezing cold. “But if he doesn’t, this boy will wish he were never born.”

The hatred, he thought, feeling the familiar twisting in his
stomach. Always hatred. So much of it. And it is ruling our lives, this ever
present sense of being wronged, this persistent need of revenge, this hopeless
urge to take our frustrations out on something or someone. And always anger,
anger, lakes of anger, not a peaceful moment for anyone, harmful, destructive,
corruptive, ruining people and nations. Can’t they truly see the wrong in it?

 “What are you thinking now?” she asked accusingly, voice low.

“Nothing you would care to hear about.”

She acknowledged it with a nod. “Thought so.”

“Well, we had better go back and see how your brother is.”

But her palm shot forward, grabbing his arm as he began to get
up. “Not yet.”

He hesitated, her touch sending unwelcome waves of excitement
down his spine.

“He may have come back to his senses by now.”

“He has his wife and the women of her longhouse to care for
him.”

“And you? Don’t you have to go back to your family?”

She measured him with a glance. “Since when are you concerned
with me and my family?”

“I’m not.” He frowned, uneasy under her penetrating gaze. Even
in the darkness, her eyes glimmered like polished flint, as bright and as
dangerous. He pushed the memories away. “We should go back.”

“Not together, surely.” She tossed her head and sprang to her
feet, light and pliant, a beautiful vision against the dark, shimmering sky.

For a heartbeat, they said nothing, staring at each other. He
watched her breasts rising and falling, the fringes of her dress fluttering
with the wind.

The darkness enveloped them, protecting, bringing back memories
in force now, how her body felt against his, firm and soft at the same time,
dangerous, challenging, even in the midst of the most intimate moments, never
yielding, never entirely. But then, when was the last time he’d stepped away
from danger?

His arms took hold of her shoulders, pulled her forcefully, his
body fitting against hers, familiar, delighted in this touch. She did not
resist, but her eyes were upon him, confronting, defying, daring him to
proceed.

The wind tore at them, as though trying to push them away from
the cliff. Neither noticed. Mesmerized, they stared at each other, but her eyes
were still hostile, still daring, flickering darkly, and he knew he would have
to take this woman now, no matter the consequences.

It made no sense, taking this risk. Besides being a danger in
itself, she now belonged to a man, a prominent warrior. And he knew she blamed
him for this, among other of his sins. He did not come to live with her in her
longhouse while he had a chance. He was busy with his life, not willing to
commit to a woman. Oh, how she hated him back then.

Her lips were soft, pleasantly dry, tasting of berries. They
welcomed him readily, but he felt her anger seeping, even through the kiss,
with the force that her lips pressed against his.

It didn’t matter. Dizzy with desire, he led her down the small
trail, seeking the protection of the rocks against the tearing wind. And
against curious eyes.

Doing their best to make themselves comfortable upon the small
patch of sand, they clung to each other, exchanging their warmth, oblivious of
anything but the touch of their limbs, the feel of their skin, the rays of
pleasure running through their bodies, the danger of forbidden contact adding
to the sensation.

Half lying, half sitting against the large rock, he took the
most of her weight, as she rested in his arms, relaxed, satisfied, a smile upon
her lips obvious, even if invisible in the darkness.

“I didn’t think you missed me so much,” she purred, not
attempting to get up.

He said nothing, not willing to get into this sort of
conversation. There was no need to hurt her feelings by pointing out that it
was she who had sought this particular contact.

“Feeling quite stupid, aren’t you?” she went on, sitting up.