Two Rivers (3 page)

He shrugged. “We can’t change the past.”

“No, we can’t. But when one is busy changing the future, one
might miss the present as well.”

He grinned against his will. “An interesting statement.”

“And a correct one when it concerns you. You are wasting your
life in a spectacular fashion, busy with your strange, far-fetched ideas,
noticing nothing else.” She leaned closer, as though trying to see his face
through the darkness, as though attempting to read his thoughts. “Do you enjoy
challenging our leaders? Do you really need this perpetual thrill of danger at
playing with fire? You are ruining your life so thoroughly this way.”

He shrugged again, not wishing to talk about anything of the
sort, not with her. His sense of well-being began to evaporate. It was a
mistake; he should not have succumbed to this physical need. Why had she always
had this effect on him? It couldn’t be her beauty. Beautiful women were
aplenty, as shapely, as smooth, as tall and imposing, most of them
even-tempered and not as wild or as arrogant. What was so different about her?
What was her allure?

She kept peering at him. “You should change your ways. It’s
about time you took your life seriously.” There was an unusual ring of
sincerity to her voice now. “You will make a good leader, either War Chief or
the Town Council member. Think about it. Is it not what you want? Why ruin your
life the way you do? Why challenge the elders of the town, or the other leaders
of our settlements? Do you really enjoy doing this?”

He pressed his lips tight. “I’m not enjoying challenging
anyone. And I’m not enjoying ruining my life. But I can’t stand by when they
are busy ruining our future.”

“No one is ruining our future!” She straightened up sharply.
“Our people are living by the way of our ancestors. They did so since the times
immemorial, and they will continue to do so.”

“Then you are as blind as they are!” He had a hard time trying
to restrain himself from jumping to his feet. “The old ways are not good
anymore. Not all of them. We are warring and warring, against everyone. There
are no peoples who are not our enemies. Not one single nation, think about it!
So all we do now is war. We dedicate every resource, every means to this end,
spending our energies on equipping yet another raiding party, on fortifying yet
another patch of our fence against the attack that will come. This is the
purpose of our lives now, and we pay attention to little else, choosing not to
think about the crops becoming less plentiful and the winters harder to get
through. Think about it!” He could feel her disapproval spreading like a cloud,
and it served to make him angrier. “It is not how our fathers and their fathers
lived. They raided an occasional town, I’m sure of that, but there was no
perpetual war ruling their lives. Their ways were good for their lives, but
they are not fitting our life now. We need to adjust; we need to change our
ways.”

“Oh, what a harbinger of gloom you are,” she said, shrugging,
not impressed. “You are drawing a horrible picture, but it is not like that at
all. Our enemy got stronger with the passing of summers. That is all the
change. We need to strike them harder now, and it requires sacrifice. Some of
the coziness and the pleasures of daily life are not available now, but this
sacrifice is worthy, because we will be successful. We will be.” She rose to
her feet and began smoothing the wrinkles upon her dress. “Stop doubting your
leaders, people of your clan, your town, your nation, your elders, and your
betters. Think about your life and how you can help your community to strike
the enemy, instead. To strike them, Two Rivers, and not to try to understand
them.”

Busy retying his loincloth, he made sure to wipe the crispy
sand off his limbs.

“What was I thinking?” he muttered. “Expecting you to open your
mind, if even for a heartbeat, expecting you to understand. What a thought!”

She glared at him, as he picked up one of her moccasins that
had rolled down the slope, its fall stopped by a protruding rock.

“We should go back before they start looking for you,” he said
curtly, not returning her glare. There was no sense in trying to confront her,
to explain or expect her to understand. She wouldn’t listen, even though she
might have understood had she only been prepared to open her mind. She was a
smart woman, even if spiteful and wild-tempered.

The silence was heavy, pregnant with meaning.

“You used me once again,” she said finally, her voice growling
like a distant thunder. “You used me like the last of the captive females, to
satisfy your needs and to wipe your feet on after you were done.”

He stood her glare. “You wanted it. You were the one to
initiate it. Don’t try to make me take the blame. It’s an old accusation, and
we’ve been through it.”

She snatched her moccasin, scratching his arm in the process.
“You are the filthiest lowlife that has ever been born. You should have died
summers ago, on your first war expedition. I wish our enemies would capture
you, making you die slowly, shaming yourself, screaming and begging for mercy.
I will pray to the Mighty Spirits for this to happen yet. Even to the Evil Twin
and his underworld minions. I will live to see it happening.” She hesitated for
another heartbeat, her eyes glowing eerily, sending shafts of alarm down his
stomach. “I will dedicate my life to ridding our town of your filthy presence.
Our people will be better off without you and the perpetual nuisance you are.
This nation will prosper following its old ways, with you dead, and I promise
to you, I will not rest until it happens. Then I will be able to start living
my life.”

She was gone, evaporating into the darkness, her soft-soled
moccasins making no sound, as though she had never been there at all.

Heart pounding, he stared at the suddenly empty space, his skin
prickling, sensing the evil of her presence still lingering, wishing him dead
oh-so-very-badly. Could such a wish come true, hastened by the sheer power of
her will? He didn’t know, but the thought made him turn his head, look behind
his back, the darkness suddenly hostile and not safe anymore.

Pressing his lips, he began climbing the slope back toward his
favorite spot upon the cliff, knowing that now it would be vacant, his and his
alone. 

Chapter 3

“Stop staring and make yourself useful, girl!”

Startled, Seketa looked up, meeting a direful frown. One of the
older women picked up a bowl full of foul-smelling contents, holding it up, at
arm's length.

“Take it out and empty it.”

“I… Yes, of course.”

Taking the bowl and trying not to wince, Seketa glanced again
at the groaning man that was spread upon the lower bunk. After the retching
that seemed to last forever, Yeentso actually looked better, some color
creeping into his lifeless face, smoothing the distorted features.

“Empty the bowl away from the longhouses,” instructed the
woman, eyeing Seketa sternly. “Wash it thoroughly, then fill it with fresh
water. On your way back, ask the medicine man of the Wolf Clan to accompany
you.” The frown was back. “And don’t linger. Be quick about it.”

“Yes, Aunt,” said Seketa, trying to sound nice.

Why her? she thought resentfully, running down the corridor,
careful to bypass the fires dotting the long stretch, glowing at the center of
each compartment, where people were sprawling on the lower bunks, or sitting
beside the fires, resting, talking, playing throwing games. Why was it always
her who had to be around, demanded to help, to fetch things, to clean? There
were enough girls in their longhouse to spread the chores evenly.

She scowled, knowing the answer. The other girls were clever;
she was not. They kept away, out of the elder women’s reach, while she had been
silly, hanging around, her curiosity getting the better of her, ending up
running down the corridor with a bowl full of vomit, getting reproachful
glances as she went. How frustrating!

The night breeze greeted her, cold and unpleasant, but welcome
nevertheless, taking away the stench. She shivered, then rushed on, determined.
Just to empty the stinking bowl, wash it, fill it with water, fetch the
medicine man, and then, then she’d be smart enough to sneak away and look for
something better to do.

Like what?

She thought about the other girls, probably huddled behind the
tobacco plots, near the gates, or on the ceremonial ground, now abandoned. She
didn’t want to spend her time in this way too, gossiping and laughing and
talking about boys and men. And although today was different, and they would
be, probably, talking about what happened at the game, she still didn’t feel
like joining this sort of gathering. She needed to think it over, all by
herself. That’s why she went to see how the wounded was doing. She wanted to
know if he was going to die or not.

Why? she asked herself uneasily. Why should she care?

Yeentso was her cousin’s husband, not even a person of her
clan. And her cousin was much older, a nice woman, but not a friend. So why
should she care? If Yeentso died, the wild boy who hit him would die too, and
then it would end, and her cousin would find another husband after the
appropriate mourning period. The end of the story.

Washing the bowl in the shallow spring that ran along the
elevated part of the town, she frowned, remembering the foreign boy. What a
wild thing! To try to kill someone in the middle of the sacred ball game? It
was inconceivable. Only a savage mind from across the Great Sparkling Water
would think of something like this. But the boy was adopted to become one of
them. More than two summers he'd lived in their town, treated fairly. Or was
he?

She shook her head. Of course he was! He could have been
executed along with his people that were caught raiding this side of the Great
Lake, but he was not. Instead, he was given food and shelter, and a family to
adopt. He was offered everything, wasn’t he? Who would expect him to revert to
the ways of the savages?

Carrying the heavy bowl, she turned toward the Wolf Clan’s
longhouse, wondering. He might be there now, huddled in his family compartment.
He would surely not be allowed to wander free until the councils decided his
fate. Her stomach twisted with anticipation.

“What are you doing here?”

Tindee and another girl sprang from the sheltered
façade, laughing.

“Nothing,” said Seketa, uncomfortable, as though caught doing
something wrong. “They sent me to call for the medicine man. Where are you
going?”

“Just walking around, nothing special.” Tindee’s giggle was
accompanied by conspiratorial glances exchanged with her friend. “Come with
us.”

Seketa hesitated. “I need to bring this bowl back, along with
the medicine man.” She frowned. “It will not take me long to do that. Wait for
me.”

 “Find us behind the tobacco plots.” Tindee stifled another
giggle. “But hurry, or you’ll miss it all.”

Clutching onto a small leather bag and another suspicious
looking package, both girls scampered away, still laughing. Shrugging, Seketa
went in. She knew what they were up to, no one better. Smoking the old,
cracked, badly clogged pipe of Tindee’s father was entertaining from time to
time, even if it made them dizzy, coughing and choking. Tindee’s brother’s
tobacco was strong, of the best quality. He had grown it himself, lovingly at
that.

The Wolf Clan’s longhouse greeted her coldly, its corridor
almost deserted, with some fires not flickering at all. She looked around,
puzzled. Where did everyone go? Passing through the compartments, she saw a few
sleeping figures, and a young woman stirring a pot above one of the fires.

“Greetings,” she said, knowing the woman well. The Wolf Clan’s
field was right next to the field of her clan.

The woman smiled. “They are all at the council meeting,” she
related, not looking up from her stew. A delicious aroma came out of the pot,
and Seketa’s stomach twisted again, this time with hunger.

“Ah, oh, well,” she muttered. “I suppose I should go back,
then.” She frowned. “I was sent to fetch the Honorable Healer.”

A flicker of an interest passed through the woman’s eyes. “How
is Yeentso?”

“He is… well, he is not dead. Not yet.”

The woman nodded, pressing her lips. “I hope he survives. It
would be a horrible loss for our town.”

“Yes. And your longhouse will also not lose its dweller this
way.”

“My longhouse can do without the annoying boy,” said the woman,
losing her composure all of a sudden. “But Yeentso will be missed dearly.”

Seketa hesitated, surprised by her own agitation. “But this
boy, he doesn’t seem so bad. I don’t think he did what he did on purpose. It was
very confusing. We didn’t see what happened, except that they collided and the
ball went out of the field.”   

“I don’t know.” The woman was back, stirring the contents of
her pot, quiet again. “I wish none of it happened. It was such a good day, with
the game coming right after the ceremony. We were so expectant.” She shrugged,
shaking her head. “Too bad it all happened.”

“Well, I’ll be going,” said Seketa politely, hiding her
anxiousness to escape the pointless conversation.

“Go out of the other entrance. It’ll save you some walking
toward the council meeting. The Honorable Healer is there, too.”

Nodding, Seketa rushed on, passing through the last compartment
and diving into the darkness of the storage space to find out that the screen
covering the entrance was pulled closed, blocking her way.

Why would someone bother to close the stupid screen? she asked
herself furiously, struggling to keep the water from spilling, pushing the
screen with her free hand. It screeched and refused to move.

She cursed softly, and was about to place her bowl upon the
floor, when a figure moved out of the shadows, soundless, like a forest beast.
Stifling a cry, her heart pounding, she peered at him as he moved the screen,
allowing some of the faint moon to slip in.

“What in the name of the Great Spirits are you doing here?” she
cried out, her voice still trembling. “You scared me!”

He said nothing, his eyes dark and haunted, peering at her, the
intensity of his gaze unsettling. She contemplated just running out and being
gone.

“What are you doing here?” she repeated, tossing her head high.
If she ran, he might think she was afraid of him, and that would be paying too
much honor to the wild boy. He must be feeling too good with himself for
getting the upper hand with the warrior of Yeentso’s caliber.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice low, strangled somehow.

“Are you hiding from someone?”

“No.”

She peered at him more closely, but in the faint light of the
moon, all she could see was the mere outline of his face, the hint of the pressed
lips, the blankness of his eyes.

“No one will hurt you until the Councils decide your fate,” she
said. “You don’t have to hide.”

“I’m not hiding.” An agitated tone crept into his voice, making
it sound almost challenging. “I’m not afraid of them!”

“Them? Who are ‘them’?”

He shrugged. “Anyone. I don’t care.”

“You almost killed Yeentso. If he dies, you’ll die too. You
should care about that.”

“Well, I don't.”

She raised her eyebrows, trying to make him see her contempt,
although the gesture seemed to be lost in the semidarkness. “What do you care
about, then?”

He shrugged again and said nothing.

“Well, Yeentso is not dead yet. He is groaning and vomiting,
but he is not wandering the other worlds anymore, so he may live.”

“I hope he dies!”

She shook her head. “You are strange, really strange. And you
are wild, too. How do you expect people to think good things about you when you
behave this way?”

“I don’t expect anything from your people. They hate me,
anyway. They wouldn’t care if I behaved nicely or not. They hate me for being
the foreigner, the enemy. They were only too glad to see the proof of it.”

“No, they are not!” Finding his words impossible to comprehend,
she fought for breath. “My people are not like that. Your people are the
savages, not mine. You were adopted, and you are one of us now. This is the
law. Maybe your people have no laws, but mine have.” She glared at him, truly
enraged. “We have plenty of adopted people who became one of us. Every
longhouse has them. And they all feel good, at home. All of them but you!”

For a moment, they stood motionless, facing each other,
breathless with rage. Then he shrugged, breaking the tension. As soundless and
as lithe as before, he slipped back toward the cupboards and piles of weapons
and dried food.

“Will you sit here through the whole night?” she asked,
reluctant to leave for some reason.

“Maybe.”

She hesitated again. “They’ll be back soon, your family and the
other people of your longhouse. You should go to your compartment. They’ll be
looking for you. What will they think if you are not there?”

“They’ll think I ran away and swam across the Great Sparkling
Water.”

She found it difficult to stifle a giggle. “They might think
that, yes.”

The darkness was less oppressive, more comfortable now.

“It would be hilarious if you made it.”

“Even more hilarious if I made it through the enemy lands until
I found my people.”

“To what people did you belong before?”

“The People of the Flint.”

She frowned. “I never heard of those. Are they at war with the
other savages from across the Great Lake?”

“People from across the Great Lake are no savages,” he said
sharply. “Well, not all of them, anyway.”

“Oh, yes? That’s not what I heard about them. They kill people,
and they eat them, that’s what I heard. They cook their captives as though
those were hunted deer, and their leaders have living snakes in their hair.”

She heard him gasping in anger.

“It’s not true!” he cried out, springing back to his feet.
“Where did you hear such stupid, rotten nonsense? None of it is true, not a word!”

She held her head high, unafraid. “I heard it more than once.
Some of it must be true.”

His heavy breathing tore the darkness and, although unable to
see, she knew his fists would be clenched now. “Nothing of it is true!”

“You cannot know,” she insisted. “Even if your people didn’t
cook captured enemy, you wouldn’t know if the other people, those who you said
were also your enemies, didn’t do it.”

“They did not. None of them eat people, and none have living
snakes for hair.”

She shook her head. “You are so stubborn. No wonder they say
you are wild. Or is that not true, too?”

His shrug was familiar by now. “I don’t know.”

“What happened today at the game? Why did you hit Yeentso?”

He sank back into his corner, huddled behind the wooden
cupboard. With her eyes now accustomed to the darkness, she could see it was
full of tools belonging to the field workers.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t see well. I just saw you two
colliding with each other, and then there were people surrounding you all, and
we couldn’t see until someone began screaming.”

“We did not collide.” His voice came out of the corner,
strained. “He jumped on me, and he hit my arm with his stick, so I would miss
the ball.” He swallowed loudly. “I was sure to catch it. It was coming straight
into my net.”

The twisting in her stomach made her angry.
Why should she
pity him?

“Still, you had no right to try to kill him. Those things
happen. It could have been an accident.”

“It was not,” he said in a firmer voice. “He did it on
purpose.”

“Even so, you can’t kill people for such deeds.”

“I didn’t try to kill him. I just told him it was no accident,
and then…” He swallowed and said nothing for a heartbeat.

“And then?” She held her breath.

“And then… then he said things about savages, about enemies,
and… and I said things, too. And then, well, he grabbed my throat, and I… I
don’t truly remember. He was on the ground, and they were all screaming, and
breaking my arms.” His voice shook. “I don’t really understand what happened,
but at some point, Two Rivers was there, and he was arguing, defending me for
some reason. I don’t know why he did this. It was all very strange.”