Two Rivers (8 page)

He could not hide his shock. “Annoying bastard? Did I hear you
saying that?”

“Oh, well.” She shrugged, smiling smugly, happy with the
effect. “Yeentso is not the best liked person in our longhouse. I wish our
grandmother had chosen another man for my cousin to take.” The frown and the
smile were fighting each other across her face. “What? Why are you staring at
me?”

“I… I don’t know. I guess I was just surprised. I didn’t
think…” Now it was his turn to shrug. Embarrassed, he looked away. “I didn’t
think people did not like him, too. I thought everyone hated me and no one
else.”

The frown won. “No one hates you! Well, all right, some people
may hate you, but certainly not everyone. You are just not very well liked.”
She pursed her lips and looked like a person of knowledge preaching to a crowd.
“You are a foreigner, and not a friendly foreigner at that. You are violent,
and you have a shocking temper. Yes, yes, I know, you were provoked yesterday.”
Her hands came up as though trying to stop him from interrupting her speech.
“But it is not the first time you were involved in violence. In fact, you were
more times in trouble than not. So people do have a hard time trying to
sympathize with you. Were you as nice with them as you were with me last night,
they would have liked you a great deal better. The other adopted people are
getting along just fine.”

“That’s what you think,” he said, annoyed by the way she was
preaching to him. As though she had been his elder. But the opposite was true.
She had hardly seen sixteen summers. Maybe even less. And she knew nothing
about life. “People hate me because I came from across the Great Sparkling
Water, the lands of the real enemy. You fight your neighbors from time to time,
but you do so half-heartedly. You are playing war with your neighbors, just
like this raid.” He gestured toward the rolling drums. “They are going to fight
some people who attacked other people, but those other people are your enemies
too, although at the time of the attack they were not. To me, it seems that
they just got bored and could not get the permission to cross the Great Lake,
to fight the real enemy. So they are going to relieve their boredom in a sort
of a small war. To play at war and to enjoy themselves.”

She peered at him wide-eyed, all sorts of expressions chasing
each other across her face.

“It is not so,” she said with none of her usual self-assurance.

“Then how is it?”

“Oh, well, the Deer People were not always our enemies. They
were our allies until, well, until this incident last summer. You see, those
two young men of the Turtle Clan, they were found dead, and all signs pointed
that the Deer People did this. You should remember this. You were already here
by the last summer.” She flopped her hands in the air. “Oh, why do I bother?
You are not listening, because you think you know it all!”

He could not hold his laughter anymore. “I’m not listening
because I heard all that and more. Yes, I was here the last summer. I know the
story, and to me, it makes no sense. You and the Deer People are the same.”

“No, we are not!”

“Of course you are. Same tongue, same customs, same lack of
carvings upon your longhouses.” He hesitated, remembering his conversation with
Two Rivers. “Same amount of clans even. Same everything,” he ended
triumphantly, her uncertainty making him happier than he had been in summers.

She glared at him, her nostrils widening with every breath.
“And the people from across the Great Lake? How are they different, if it is
so?”

“Oh, no, my people are different. Across the Great Sparkling
Water it is nothing like here. We speak different tongues, and we have
different customs. Everything over there is not like here at all.”

“They are not your people anymore, remember?” Her eyebrows
climbed high, making her look again unpleasantly preachy.

“Yes, I remember that.” The familiar dull pain in his chest was
back, and he took his gaze away, peering into the darkness.

“There is another reason I was looking for you,” she said
softly.

“What reason?” He kept staring into the blackness of the night,
but his stomach twisted with anticipation.

“I wanted to warn you.”

“To warn me? About what?”

His disappointment welled, and it angered him. Why should he expect
something else from her? She was so pretty and upright, such a perfect member
of their society, and what was he if not a wild foreigner, good for nothing but
making trouble?

“Well, you see, even though Yeentso will live, your clan would
have to compensate my clan for the injury, and the way it made some of our
people not go to work, while taking care of him. But the thing is…” She
hesitated, and he watched her long fingers toying with the fringes of her
dress. “Well, your clan members are angry with you, and they may want you to
find the means to pay up all by yourself, with no help or cooperation of theirs
at all.” Leaning closer, she looked up at him, eyes troubled, glittering in the
darkness, taking his breath away. “My friend overheard them talking about it
this morning, and then I overheard them, too, later on.”

He felt his stomach sinking, her troubled gaze sending shivers
down his spine. “What will I be required to pay?”

“They were talking about a certain amount of hides.” She
dropped her eyes. “Five hides, maybe. Cleaned and tanned, and ready for use.”

“Five hides?” He heard the air bursting out of his own lungs
loudly, desperately. “It will take me more than a whole span of season of
coming to every hunting expedition, when I’m not even invited to join every one
of them. And, anyway, I will get no chance to shoot anything. They used us,
youths, to carry things, mainly. To row and to pitch camps, and to make fires
and cook, while the older hunters did the hunting. How can they expect me to
get those five hides? And to prepare them too!”

“Yes, I know!”

She brought her palms up in a helpless gesture, but it made him
feel infinitely better. She was as frustrated, as disappointed. She knew he had
no chance, but she did feel bad about it.

“I will help you to prepare them. I can do that.” She went on,
frowning. “You have no mother or sister to do that for you, so I’m sure they
won’t object. You just need to find someone, maybe. Someone that may be willing
to go with you, to help you hunt. Five hides is not a terrible amount. It’s
five shot deer. Not an impossible feat. They were talking about ten initially,
so I hear. But your clan’s council brought it down to five.”

He could barely hear her, the thundering of his heart
distracting, interrupting his ability to listen. She said she would work his
hides if he would get them. But what did this mean? He didn’t dare to think
about it.

“Would you believe this?” She grinned, apparently oblivious of
his agitation. “Ten hides would pay for a new canoe full of weapons and
what-not. Your Clan Mothers almost had a fit, so I hear. Their faces were the
color of my festive dress, they say.” She pointed at her girdle, adorned by a
strip of purplish shells. “Of that color exactly.”

Against his will, he laughed. “The Grandmother of our longhouse
is a tough old hag. They were lucky she didn’t turn the color of the storm
cloud.”

“Oh, well, our Grandmother is not a soft girl either.” She
beamed at him, eyes sparkling. Another long tendril escaped the hold of the
carved wooden comb, fluttering across her face, making her blink. She tossed
her head to make it go back, but the silky thread insisted, dancing against her
cheek, enhancing the softness of its angle.

He reached for it without thinking. All he wanted was to help
her remove the obstacle, but the touch of her skin upon his fingertips made him
shudder, sending rays of warmth down his spine. The feeling was so intense, it
made his stomach shrink, as though he were sick, his heart coming to a halt.

One heartbeat, then another. She stared at him, evidently as
startled, and the look in her eyes did not help, enhancing the sensation
instead of making it go.
He had to do something
.

With an effort, he pulled his hand back, the unruly tendril
still there, still fluttering, annoying in its insistence.

“Your hair… it’s in your face…” he mumbled, finding it
difficult to utter even those words.

“Oh, well, yes.”

She pushed it away with both hands, impatient and so obviously
embarrassed he wanted to laugh. A nervous laughter. The strange sensation
persisted. It was as though they had done something, something that changed
everything between them.
But what?

“I think we should go back to the ceremony,” she said, taking
her gaze away.

It broke the spell. He clenched his teeth against his welling
disappointment.

“Yes, we should.”

In the silvery darkness, he could see her profile as she
turned, the high forehead, the soft lines of the oval chin, the darker shade of
the full lips. In the daylight one could see all of it and more, he thought,
remembering watching her through the last span of seasons, the girl of the
Beaver Clan, the pretty, confident, unapproachable thing. Her aloofness was
renowned all over the town. Many boys, and even men, were watching her, but
none dared to offer her a stroll by the river. They knew better than to hurt
their pride in this way. Even through the social dances of the great
ceremonies, she didn’t bother to be nice while dancing. Moving with the
breathtaking grace, she would dance for the sake of the movement, oblivious of
the wistful stares.

He pressed his palms tight, the urge to touch her face, to run
his fingers along the lines of the exquisite profile, this most beautiful
creation of the Right-Handed Twin, overwhelming.

“I thank you for being so kind to me,” he said gruffly. “I will
never forget. One day, I will repay you your kindness.”

She beamed at him, her smile again wide and free of shadows.
“I’m glad I could be of help, even if only a little. I wish I could help you
more. You are not what they say you are.”

It was impossible to control his limbs once again. He needed to
touch her, just one more time, only this once, only for a heartbeat. He felt
his nails sinking into his palms, the pain refreshing him, putting his senses
back in order.

“Come, let us go back,” he heard her saying, the beads of her
skirt murmuring with the sways of the tanned leather.

Without the magic of her eyes, and no unruly hair fluttering
against the exquisite face, it was easier to follow her lead, his heart
returning to beat in a reasonable manner.

Chapter 8

Stifling a sigh of relief, Two Rivers leaned against the nearby
rock, too tired to try to make himself more comfortable. The sleepless nights
were taking their toll, making his head dizzy, his body stiff and crying for a well-deserved
rest.

He watched the other warriors squatting all around, smoking the
pipe when it was their turn to take the revered, beautifully carved object. 

“We will leave in two dawns,” the War Chief was saying. “A
party of twenty men. Good, seasoned warriors; no youths this time.”

The men listened in silence, their faces sealed, impartial, as
though carved out of wood, glittering in the light of a small fire, elated by
the dance, yet as exhausted, their energies drained. The clatter of the rattles
and the drumming poured in, with the square still full of activity, the town’s
dwellers refusing to disperse, dancing on, social dances now.

He took the offered pipe, pleased to see his hand firm, not
trembling. After the War Dance it was always difficult to control one’s limbs.

“Only clubs and bows. Ten light canoes,” the deep voice went
on, ringing eerily in the surrounding darkness. “The Clans' Council will give
us food for ten days' journey, but we will be eating sparingly, to ensure our
well being should the journey take us longer to complete.”

Inhaling, Two Rivers watched the old leader, marveling at the
composure and the calm dignity the noble face radiated. The man had been almost
a legend, having fought for more summers than anyone could remember, the war
trophies mounting in the compartment of his longhouse, the tales of his deeds
going ahead of him. Earlier, in the middle of the ceremony, it had taken the
old leader a long time to recount his battles. The custom dictated that the
most veteran warrior would tell about his wars and victories in between the
dances, and this particular tale was taking the longest.

Not that anyone complained. The man’s ability to relate the old
stories was wonderful, inspiring, breathtakingly real, taking his listeners to
the places and times they had never seen.

“Who will be chosen to join, Honorable Leader?” asked one of
the men quietly.

“You will know with sunrise.” The War Chief took the offered
pipe, inhaling deeply, savoring its contents. “Now go back, or go to rest. I
will need most of you present here, full of power and in the highest of spirits
in two dawns from now.” The stern eyes softened, encircling his audience,
traveling from face to face. “I will be proud to lead the warriors of your
quality once again, before it will be my time to clear the path for the younger
leaders to take.”

Unsettled, Two Rivers watched the meditative eyes clouding,
wandering unknown distances. He saw a quick spasm crossing the old face,
lingering for only a heartbeat.

He held his breath. Had the old leader seen a glimpse of the
future? Had he seen something discouraging there?

Forcing his eyes off the saddening face, wishing to allow the
man privacy one deserved at such a moment, he got to his feet along with the
rest of the warriors, eager to go back to the festivities all of a sudden. The
tiredness was still there, but his spirit now craved the merry clamor and the
loud commotion of the joyful townsfolk.

He frowned. The ability to see the future was unsettling, every
time he had witnessed it. It happened to people on occasions, with no pattern
or logic, no special foods eaten and no special beverages consumed. And no
matter how reluctant one might feel, what conscious efforts one might have made
to avoid this happening, it would pounce on you without noticing, filling your
mind's eye with all sort of visions of undecipherable meaning. There were
nights he preferred not to sleep at all.

The clamor of the square burst upon him, welcome in its
colorful confusion, in its jumble of smells and sounds. He drifted toward the
largest fire, hungry and not bothering to conceal it. There was not much
solemnity about the social part of the ceremonies.

“Let us grab some food,” cried out one of the warriors. “One
can’t be expected to dive into this mess on an empty stomach.”

“No, and we can’t look at those with our bellies growling.”
Indicating the circle of the dancers, Two Rivers grinned, eyes lingering on the
prancing girls. “All those swirling skirts.”

The warriors laughed.

“You can look around all you like, still living in your clan’s
longhouse. When you move to this or that swirling skirt’s compartment, you’ll
be more careful with your eyes.”

“And the other parts, too.”

“Oh, yes.”

Receiving bowls of hot stew, with pieces of meat floating near
the surface, they squatted upon the ground, inhaling the delicious aroma.

“But you are not in a hurry to move to another longhouse,
brother, eh?” said the first warrior, gulping his meal.

“No, I’m not.” Eating heartily, Two Rivers watched the tall
girl from the Porcupine Clan laughing, her hair long and luxurious, bouncing
prettily as she tossed her head, well aware of the gazes she drew.

“He will be enjoying his freedom until he grows very old. Then
he will start looking in a hurry, if his most precious of weapons would be
still strong enough by then.”

“I won’t live to be that old.”

The girl’s eyes brushed past him, lingering for a heartbeat. It
made him wish to finish his meal.

“Aren’t you afraid to talk like that, brother?” asked one of
the younger warriors. “It is not wise to tempt the bad spirits of the Evil
Twin.”

“You are talking to Two Rivers,” said someone. “He is not
afraid of the spirits. He’ll argue with them until they’ll leave him alone,
defeated.” The man shrugged, his face sobering. “He has a prophecy to fulfill.”

“Oh, please!” Suppressing a sudden wave of irritation, Two
Rivers took his eyes off the dancers, meeting the gazes of his peers. “There is
no prophecy, and there never was. Why would anyone pay attention to the
nonsense dreams of a troubled young woman that happened more than thirty
summers ago?”

“Dreams are not to be taken lightly, brother.” One of the older
warriors gazed at him sternly, reprimanding. “The woman who gave you your life
was visited by strange dreams before she conceived. She knew no man, but she
grew you in her belly, nevertheless. Her mother had testified to that matter.”

He remembered his grandmother, her large, brown hands, always
busy, pounding corn, or working the flour into beautifully smooth dough. She
had had a booming voice, and she would scold the children of her longhouse and
make them work, still, all the boys and the girls loved to play in her
vicinity. It was calming to know she was around.

She never talked to him about the prophecy, but as he grew up
he had heard more than he wanted to, having noticed that there was no father in
his life, while in the lives of his playmates there usually had been such a
person. All he had was a silent, haunted woman for a mother, a woman who had
not really been there, sitting in her corner, sewing all day long. Other women
went into the fields, cooked and gossiped, laughing with each other,
complaining about their men, dancing through the ceremonies. But his mother had
hardly talked at all, seldom leaving their compartment, looking at him with
those clouded eyes, opening her mouth only occasionally, to tell him how he
would do great things – save his people – when he grew up.

He pushed the memories away, desperate to suppress the familiar
frustration.

“I won’t presume to judge people’s interpretation of their
visions,” he said, shrugging. “But I have my doubts as to this particular
dream. There might be a simpler explanation.”

Like a girl lying with a man, then losing her sanity when he
would not take the responsibility, he thought, clenching his teeth. His father
must have been a terrible man.

“You are not young anymore, Two Rivers,” said one of the
elders, shaking his head. “You were reluctant to take your destined path for
too long, going against our ways and traditions instead. The people were
patient with you, but it’s time you correct your ways and start walking the
straight path.”

The others were peering into their bowls, uncomfortable with
such an open reprimand. Two Rivers was not a youth of no significance to be
scolded so openly, and in front of many of his peers.

He tried to appear as calm as he could. “I appreciate your
advice, Honorable Elder. I will try to follow it, of course, but I do not think
I’ve been presumptuous or obtrusive. I appreciate our old ways, our customs and
traditions, as much as anyone, more than some.”

He watched Iraquas and the other young men diving into the
melee, their faces shining, glittering with sweat, the exhaustion brought
earlier by the War Dance forgotten. Why didn’t he have enough sense to join
them from the beginning?

“You were heard saying that this impending raid on the Rock
People’s villages is futile,” pressed the elder, eyes squinting.

Two Rivers cursed inwardly, glancing at the surrounding faces,
surprised, caught unprepared by the sudden interrogation.

“Yes, I do not think we should war on these people. They were
not our enemies until the beginning of the cold moons.” He shrugged, angered by
their stony gazes. “We have enough enemies to war against.”

“You doubt the decision of your War Chief and the leaders of
the town, yet you participated in the War Dance.”

“I will never attempt to avoid my duty, even if I doubt the
advisability of the mission.”

The elder man shook his head. “You are arrogant, son, and your
self-assurance knows no bounds. In small amounts, such confidence is good in a
warrior and a future leader. One should always listen to one’s heart. Yet, in
your case, it’s a trouble because you hear nothing but your own words. You
respect neither your elders nor your peers’ opinions. You put your own opinions
before anyone else’s.” The man’s frown deepened. “It will bring no good,
neither to you nor to our community.”

He fought the familiar frustration, making tremendous efforts
to stay calm. There was nothing new in this lecture. He had heard it too often,
coming from all sorts of sources.

“I do appreciate your advice,” he repeated politely, anxious to
escape. “I will try to correct my ways.”

Or to avoid your company
, he thought, enraged. He may
have been guilty of listening to no one but himself, but so were many of the
leaders, this particular elder, the member of the Town Council, included. No
wonder the councils could never reach an agreement without verbal fights, or
worse, he thought, standing the heavy gaze, trying to appear as humble as he
could. One was not to argue with the elders, but to receive their reprimands
with humility and gratitude.

Luckily, more people approached them, leaving the emptying pot
of stew, and the angry elder’s attention was taken away. Avoiding their gazes,
Two Rivers got to his feet, as though intending to fill his plate, changing his
direction and sneaking toward the dancing circle the moment his intention was
not too obvious.

The annoying man, he thought, seething. To scold him in public
and in such a manner, as though he had been a stubborn, petulant child. He
stifled a curse. One thing was good about this impending raid. He would have an
opportunity to leave the town and its confusing affairs. Half a moon with no
preaching elders and disappointed leaders, what an alluring prospect!

“So, the old warriors managed to gather some of their strength
back.” Iraquas’ round face beamed at him, glittering with sweat and the smeared
paint. “I thought you were going to sit there and talk for the whole night,
oh-honorable-elderly man.”

“Thought you, the youngsters, might need some backing up.”
Still upset, Two Rivers forced a smile, but refused to join the outer circle.
“In a little while,” he said, waving his friend away.

The observers such as himself were more numerous than the
dancers at this stage of the night, but the girl from the Porcupine Clan was
still dancing, her eyes flickering, resting on him, beckoning him in.

He watched her thoughtfully, enjoying the sight of her swaying
hips, the polished shells of her colorful girdle reflecting the light of the
nearby fire. She had been widowed for some moons; although, he remembered
catching her glances before it had happened, too.
Could be a good way to
spend the night
.

Beside her, a cluster of Beaver Clan girls was giggling,
gossiping as they danced, with only one of them dancing for real. Seketa, the
prettiest girl, Iraquas’ cousin, a serious little thing, with much aspirations
and no silliness.

Yet now, the girl’s large, doe-like eyes were not concentrated
on the dance like one would have expected. Instead, they rested on none other
than the foreign boy, who didn’t dare to join the dancers, but who had enough
courage to stand on the edge of the crowd, devouring the girl with his gaze in
his turn.

Two Rivers hid his grin. The young cub had to have guts to
mingle among the townsfolk after what happened on the previous day. Not
everyone would dare to do that, risking getting into trouble with the incensed
Beaver Clan people, with the rest of the town disliking him more than ever.

He was about to grin at the youth, wishing to encourage him
with at least one friendly face, but then he remembered his own violent
encounter this afternoon, and it made him turn away without a greeting. Curse
that damn Seeta into the realm of the Evil Twin and his minions, he thought.

“Don’t you have enough strength to dance through the whole
night?” The voice of the Porcupine girl tore him from his reverie, making his
heartbeat accelerate.

“Maybe,” he said, eyeing her flushed, heart-shaped face. Her
lips were as dark as her cheeks, full and well-defined. “With you, I will dance
for the whole night. In the inner or outer circle, or anywhere else.”