Two Rivers (19 page)

Unable to breathe, but aware of the vastness of her relief,
Seketa stared at the long, haggard face, set and as though carved out of
lifeless wood, with no color applied to it, just a mask with empty eyes.

“Do you listen to yourself?” he said, addressing no one and not
looking at anyone in particular. “So much nonsense in just a few phrases. How
does it not make your heads ache?” He encircled them with his gaze, and now
there was a flicker of emotion in the empty depths. “But what do you do? You
are listening to it with nothing to say. Did you all lose your sense of right
and wrong?”

They stared at him in silence, and she tried to sneak closer,
to see what their faces held. Why didn’t anyone say something? The man was
talking a plain good sense.

“Because if this
Porcupine Clan man
,” a light
inclination of the head indicated the place where Yeentso still stood, as taken
aback as the others, “seems to be chosen the spokesman of the grieving Beaver
Clan people, then I suppose all of us, those who do not belong to this family,
should leave. Is this the desire of the Beaver Clan? To grieve alone? Is this
foreign
to the Beaver Clan man
speaking your minds?”

A murmur went through the crowd, and Seketa breathed with
relief. They were going to listen to reason. They did not lose their sense of
right and wrong.

Then the trembling voice tore the silence, making her heart
skip a beat.

“Yes, I want you to leave. You, of all people. A person who is
responsible for my son’s death should not mar the solemnity of his rites with
his guilty, unholy presence.”

Iraquas’ mother did not push her way into the circle of people,
but they all knew who had spoken.

Her chest squeezing with compassion, Seketa watched Two Rivers
take an involuntary step back, stifling a gasp as though he had just been
punched in his stomach, his face turning yet paler, although it was anything
but colored with life before.

“I may be responsible for his death,” he said quietly, licking
his lips. “But I do have a right to be the part of his rites, to make my
contribution in an effort to lighten the journey ahead of him. I am allowed to
do my duty to him.” 

Yeentso came back to life all at once. “No, you don’t, you
foreigners’ lover. You forfeited your rights on the day you preferred to go
away with the pretty boy instead of doing your duty by joining our warriors.
They died because of you, our War Chief and the young man who called himself
your friend. They died because you preferred to enjoy the favors of the foreign
cub, away from this town, so no one would notice or interfere with your
perverted activities, you coward!”

The air escaped loudly, coming out of many chests at once. Two
Rivers seemed to freeze for a heartbeat, while the boy’s eyes grew to enormous
proportion, dominating his face completely now, their glow so dark it cast the
deep red of his wide cheekbones into a complete insignificance.

His right palm gripping the knife tightened until its knuckles
went white, but it was his left arm that made a move. A bowl with the stew went
flying, making its way in a perfect arch, to crush into Yeentso’s head and send
him reeling, crying out, the hot, ticklish liquid running down his face, to
soak into the decorated pureness of his shirt.

Still unsteady, but evidently blind with rage, Yeentso leaped
toward his offender, who seemed to be ready, evading the initial attack, his
knife out, limbs firm. Women were screaming now, and the men rushed toward the
fighters, but Two Rivers was between them first, his hand grabbing Yeentso by
the throat, its muscles tightening, lifting the large man off his feet with no
visible effort, as though he had been just a child.

“Don’t you ever call me that again,” he growled, his voice
unnatural, sending shivers down everyone’s spine. Oblivious of the kicks and
the punches of the assaulted man, he squeezed harder, now with both hands,
making his victim gurgle and drool.

Numb and feeling as though in a dream -
no dream but a
nightmare!
– Seketa stared at the purpling face of her cousin by marriage,
terrified. It seemed to be swelling, twisted horribly, with its eyes rolling
and its lips letting out the swollen tongue, a terrible sight.

People rushed toward them, but it was the boy who reacted,
grabbing Two Rivers’ hand and pulling hard, making it waver, ruining the
balance. In a heartbeat, Yeentso was on the ground, squirming and gulping the
air, but Two Rivers paid him no attention, staring now at the boy, terrifying
in his fury.

“How dare you?” he roared, but the youth did not retreat.

“Please, listen to me,” he said hurriedly, peering into the
man’s eyes as though trying to find the remnants of the sanity in there, as
though trying to bring it back by the sheer power of his will. “You can’t do
it. You should not. They want you to harm someone, to fight or to kill. They
need you to do it, to try you in the councils!”

Her heart coming to a halt, she watched them, unable to
breathe. For a moment, it seemed that Two Rivers would strike the youth, with
his knife maybe, killing him instead of Yeentso. Then the sanity flowed back
into the anguished eyes.

“What… what are you saying?” he muttered, voice hardly audible
now, but heard perfectly well in yet another heavy silence that fell.

The youth swallowed. “They want you to harm someone, to be able
to try you in the councils.” He swallowed again, obviously struggling not to
drop his gaze. “I overheard them yesterday, talking behind the tobacco plots. I
went out to warn you, but…” The intense gaze dropped eventually. “But I didn’t…
didn’t find you.”

“Who were they?” Two Rivers’ voice was louder now, back in
control, his eyes narrow, encircling the surrounding people, gaze heavy,
pregnant with meaning.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see them well.”

Yeentso was groaning on the ground, and women rushed to his
side, sprinkling his face with water and trying to make him drink. The elders
were next to them now, and the Clan Mothers.

“Say no more,” said the Head of the Town Council, a stocky,
middle-aged man with a wide scar crossing his face from cheek to cheek. “This
is neither the time nor the place. I want you to leave, both of you. Go to your
longhouses and wait for the Town Council to summon you for the questioning. Do
not come here unless permitted by the Mothers of the Beaver Clan. Do you
understand me?”

Shorter in stature and much less imposing, the stocky man
possessed enough personal power to stare the taller Two Rivers down. It was not
about the status, reflected Seketa, numb and unable to breathe properly. It was
about the inner power. The Head of the Town Council had much of it, no less
than formidable Two Rivers. As for the boy…

She glanced at his broad, handsome face, her stomach turning
violently. His eyes were glued to the tall man, wary, apprehensive, but
expectant too. He didn’t bother to look at the surrounding people, the elders,
or the head of the council. Even his rival, still groaning upon the ground, did
not draw his attention. Eyes wide, he watched Two Rivers, waiting for the man’s
reaction. If the older man had decided to fight for his rights, she realized
suddenly, to challenge the whole town, he would follow with no questions asked.
What did he and Iraquas see in this man that the others did not?

She bit her lips, feeling the tears so very close now,
desperate not to let them flow. He was not allowed anywhere near her people’s
clan, not until the Town Council decided their fate. Oh, Mighty Spirits!

Clenching her palms tight, she watched Two Rivers nodding
solemnly, talking at length, saying something, probably words full of dignity
and pride.

She didn’t listen, could not, even if she wanted to, her
struggle against the tears and the pounding of her heart making her ears deaf.
He would not be here, and just when she needed him most. Also, again, he was in
trouble. Oh, Mighty Spirits!

Chapter 16

The sun was lingering, stuck high above the distant trees. From
his favorite cliff he could see it towering angrily, glaring its disapproval.

Defeated, he lowered his gaze, to stare at the whitish foam the
wind was creating upon the surface of the lake. They were all angry, the sun
and the wind, and the deceptively bright sky with its pure, puffy clouds. Angry
with whom? He knew the answer to that.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the mists of the
eastern side of the lake, where the sky met the water and no land could be
spotted. The vastness of the endless blue beckoned. What was to stop him from
taking his canoe and sailing, just sailing, with no direction and no concern as
to his destination? To drift with the wind and the current.

But not here. This lake was too small, too close to home, not
like the Great Sparkling Water, only two days' sail away, holding the mystery.
He had crossed it several times, always a part of raiding parties, always at
the crossing point, to row for the entire day, switching places with his fellow
warriors, wary and on guard, careful of surprises, never an enjoyable affair.

Oh, but what if he just sailed on, at the unfamiliar parts of
the endless vastness, drifting toward the unknown? To his death, probably, but
what did it matter? His life was worth not much more than a broken piece of
pottery, anyway. Directionless, colorless, fruitless, a mere existence, and now
with no friends and no peers. The War Chief was dead, Iraquas was dead, both
ending their lives untimely, because of him, because he thought about no one
but himself. Himself and his strange, unacceptable ideas, seeing nothing but
the general picture and so missing the wonderful details, like the trust of his
friends.

He clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt, but the pain in his
chest would not go away. How had it come to this? Just half a moon ago he had
had it all, the status of a good hunter and a respected warrior, a man with
memorable deeds to recall, enjoying the estimation of his townsfolk, the
estimation colored by misgivings and wondering, but full of respect,
nevertheless. How had it come to him turning into almost an outlaw, thrown away
from his friend’s funeral rites by the Head of the Town Council?

He looked up, seeking the answer in the clearness of the
clouded sky, seeing nothing. Yes, he did not join the raid, choosing to
accompany the boy on the bear hunting mission. At the time, it seemed like a
good decision. The War Chief approved. They had talked about this and the other
things deep into the night.

The pain was turning unbearable again. Why, why did this wise,
outstanding man have to die? Him, of all people! Killed on a small, meaningless
raid. Him and Iraquas, two great men, friends and sympathizers, taken away
before their time, to leave him with nothing but agony and pain; and the open
enmity of the town. No more friends, no more people to respect and admire, no
one to talk to.

No one but the boy, the wild cub from across the Great
Sparkling Water. He grinned grimly. What a spirit, matched by good instincts
and a temper worthy of a fierce forest creature. Oh, this cub was worthy of
watching. Guided properly, the boy would make a great warrior, a leader
perhaps. Quick, observant, with an admirable ability to learn; yes, an
interesting type, if he survived to full adulthood. A great “if.”

Killing the bear had given the boy a serious edge, like he, Two
Rivers, had predicted. Still, today they had shown that it was yet not enough, not
with Yeentso lurking, seeking the opportunities to avenge himself.

Yeentso! He felt his rage coming back, crawling up his spine,
making his stomach turn. Filthy, disgusting piece of excrement. How dared he
accuse him of cowardice; and of filthy things. He should have killed the
bastard. But the boy was right, too. People wanted him to do something stupid.
They needed him to do so in order to get rid of him.

Recognizing the footsteps, he did not turn his head, but moved
a little, making a room for the youth to sit. The silence prevailed,
interrupted by the shrieking of the wind.  

“I’m sorry you got in trouble on my account,” said the boy
finally, eyes firm upon the distant trees.

Two Rivers shrugged. “It has nothing to do with you. You give
too much importance to yourself.”

“No, I don’t.” The youth’s voice held a grin now. “It was about
me. At least in the beginning.” Hands restless, fidgety, he pushed a stone down
the cliff and watched it rolling, raising clouds of dust. “You could have just
watched, saying nothing, like they all did.”

“He was talking nonsense.”

“But no one said a thing!”

Two Rivers sighed. “Yes. They were at a loss, or distraught, or
afraid, or not caring enough.” He watched the white foam upon the water,
thinking of the spirits who must be living there, in the heart of this lake.
“You do have a long way to go yet. It’ll take you time to gain their trust, yet
you are going into a right direction. But for Yeentso, you would be now
somewhat further up the path.”

“I will never manage to walk this path with Yeentso there,
ready to stir trouble every time he sees me. He wants me dead. He won’t settle
for anything else.” The youth’s eyes clouded, staring into the misty distance.
“So it’ll be either him or me seeking the Sky Paths to take not long from now.
And whichever way it goes, the results would bode no good for me, anyway.”  

 Glancing at the closed up, handsome face, Two Rivers shook his
head. Oh, the cub had grown up through this past half a moon. Either that or he
was wiser than he cared to display.

“You should have let me kill him.” He shrugged lightly,
returning his gaze toward the bluish mass beneath their feet, not wishing to
get into serious issues. “Who were those people you overheard last night?”

The youth tensed visibly. “There were three of them, but by the
way they talked, it seems that there more sympathizers with this plot. I
couldn’t see them. It was dark, and I had to hide behind the tobacco plots so
they wouldn’t see me.” A frown twisted the fine features. “I think one of the
men was from your clan, maybe even your longhouse. He has a deep voice and he
talked strangely, swallowing words, difficult to understand.”

“Anue, who else?” muttered Two Rivers, a tiny splash of anger
coming back, then dying away.
What did it matter?

“They said that many believe it to be your fault that this raid
was a failure.” The youth’s voice dropped as though uncomfortable repeating the
accusation. “But that it would not be enough to accuse you of something before
the councils. So they said you needed to be provoked. Into a fight, or better
yet – a killing.”

He stared at the water, his head empty, devoid of thoughts.
“Not a bad plan. Easily achieved, too.”

“Yes, that’s what they said.”

“Well, they got that. A fight. If not the killing.” He shook his
head, trying to make the strange sensation of indifference go away. “So maybe
now they can get what they wanted.”

He could feel the youth’s gaze leaping at him, consumed with
curiosity. “What do they want?”

“I don’t know. I think they would love to see me dead, but
maybe a simple fight would not be enough to demand that.” He grinned, meeting
the wary gaze. “I should thank you, you know. You did the right thing by
stopping me. I’m grateful.”

The high cheekbones of his younger companion darkened. “I
should have found you last night,” he muttered. “I should have warned you in
time.”

He wanted to laugh. “Why didn’t you?”

“I… I was looking for you, and then… then something happened.”
The boy looked as though about to shrink into himself, hunching his shoulders,
eyes glued to the step on the cliff they sat upon. “I couldn’t go on looking
for you. And then it was dawn already.”

Now it was really difficult to suppress his laughter. “I hope
she was worthy of your time. The Beaver Clan beauty?”

The youth peered at him, aghast. “How did you know?”

“What else would keep a boy of your age that busy at night?”

“It was not like that at all!”

“No?”

“No, it was not. She is not that kind of a girl!”

“No, of course not. I remember her well. She was one of
Iraquas’ close cousins, the favorite one. Very prim, very upright, but he liked
her all the same. She’ll end up being one of the Clan Mothers, remember my
words.” He grinned. “The fact that she found you interesting says something about
her. Not a narrow-minded woman, that one.”

“No, she is not,” muttered the boy, frowning. “But she
promised. She’ll talk to the Grandmother of her longhouse and the Mothers of
her Clan when it’s time.”

Oh, the naivety of the youth. “They won’t give you their
permission, you know that, right?”

Now the boy turned as tense as an overstretched bowstring. “Not
now, but maybe later. When I have proved my worth.”

He felt the wave of compassion, not a very familiar feeling.
“Yes, why not? With the passing of time, you will prove your worth. Of that I
have no doubt.”

He put his face into the wind, thinking of these two youths. So
they were in love, craving each other's company, or maybe just lusting it. What
was it like, to be in love at that age? He did not remember. Did he love a
woman, ever? He could not answer that either. There were infatuations, brief
cravings, strong desires, but a love in a sense of a wish to share one’s life
with a particular woman? He shrugged. Turea held his attention for longer than
anyone, but she had been a challenge, an untamed beast, not a partner to live
with.

“There was a legend.” The boy’s voice broke into his thoughts,
lacking in emotion. “Back home, in Little Falls. They say there were two
lovers. A warrior and a girl. She was to be given to another, so they decided
to run away together. But he died in battle, so she took her small canoe and
paddled toward the current and into the tallest of the falls, where the water
gushes most strongly. They say her death song can still be heard on the nights
when the moon is round and shining and the wind is right.” The youth shrugged,
and there was an obvious grin in his voice now. “It’s silly. Why would she do
this? And anyway, the falls are thundering like Heno when he is at his fiercest
mood, so even if there was a song no one would hear it. No one but silly girls
who were running there on every full moon, trying to listen. Stupid, isn’t it?”

“Yes, stupid,” he muttered without thinking, his mind going
blank, registering the only words that mattered. “The thundering falls? Were
there waterfalls near your people’s town?”

“Yes, of course.” The youth glanced at him, puzzled. “Our town
is called Little Falls, but those falls are not little at all. They are not as
high as some others, but they are wide and very, very powerful! You don’t want
to jump into those falls, believe me on that.”

“Jump into the falls?” he repeated, ice filling his stomach,
gripping it in its stony fist.

The dream! The same dreadful, recurring dream, always full of
people talking a foreign-sounding tongue, expecting him to jump into the
thundering falls in order to prove… what?

He tried to get a grip of his senses, fearing the vision, lest
it gather power and take him now, even though he was wide awake and not alone.

“Are you all right?” The youth was staring at him, perplexed.

“Yes, yes!” He clenched his fists until he could not feel them
anymore, his nails sinking into his flesh. The pain refreshed him. “Tell me
about your town.” It came out curtly, like an order. He was hardly able to
recognize his voice.

“Tell you what about it?” His companion’s eyes were so wide
opened they looked rounded.

“Tell me something in your tongue. I need to hear the sound of
it.”

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

“
She:kon. Skennenko:wa ken
?” It came out quietly,
hesitantly.

“More. A longer phrase.”

Now the youth seemed as though about to jump to his feet and
run away. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does. I’ll explain it all later. But now I need you to tell
me something longer. I need to hear the sound of it.”

The next phrase was, indeed, long enough to feel the sound of
the foreign tongue, to catch the words he thought he recognized.
The tongue
from the dream
.

“You said something about filthy foreigners.”

The youth blushed so profoundly he felt like chuckling for a
moment.

“I thought your people did not understand our tongue at all.”

“Not much. It sounds foreign. But
okwe'ôwe
is the
same everywhere.” He grinned. “Well, all right, enough of your people’s tongue,
but tell me more about your town. How large it is? Does it have councils like
us?”

“Well, yes, of course, it has councils.” The youth shifted
uneasily, frowning at the water below his feet. “The Town Council, and the
Clans Councils. Like anywhere else.” He glanced up from under his brow. “Why do
you ask?”

“How large it is? Like our town?”

“No, it’s larger. We have ten longhouses and those are longer.
More than ten families each.”

“An important town?”

“Yes, of course. My father was the War Chief of the whole area.
Other villages and small towns were under Little Falls’ protection.”

The stony fist kept squeezing his stomach. It all fit, every
little detail. But why? For what reason? Those people were his enemies. The
most avowed enemies.

“Listen,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I need to be alone
now. I need to think. To think things over. I have to arrive at a decision.” He
met the troubled gaze and held it, forcing his impatience down. “But whatever
it is, I promise to let you know before I do something about it. I’ll explain
it all to you, I promise.”

For a heartbeat, the youth just stared, then the large eyes
filled with comprehension.