Two Rivers (4 page)

“Oh, Two Rivers is always arguing against something,” she said
uneasily, trying to comprehend what she'd just heard. If he said the truth,
then it was not like he tried to kill a person for colliding with him. He was
not that bad.
If he was telling the truth
. “The Councils are probably
listening to the people who were there and saw it, even now, as we speak. If it
was like you are saying, then they may decide not to punish you.”

“Unless Yeentso dies,” he said quietly.

“Yes, unless he dies.”

She took a deep breath, trying to disregard the knot in her
stomach. Sharing the same longhouse with her cousin’s husband, she knew the man
well. If Yeentso didn’t die, he would hunt down and kill this boy the moment he
felt better. A seventeen summers old youth was no match for the weathered
warrior like Yeentso.

“Well, it all may turn out to be nothing but a bad memory,” she
said, trying to sound light. “But you should control your temper better next
time.”

Hesitating, she looked out, into the moonlit patch of the
ground before the shadow of the next longhouse made it dark again.

“I should be going. They will be angry with me for taking so
long to bring the water.”

His nod was imperceptible in the darkness, but she felt it all
the same, the desolate gesture.

“I will go back now, but I will try to let you know, the moment
it is certain, if he dies or not,” she said helplessly.

What would it help? He wouldn’t be able to do anything with
this knowledge.

“Thank you.” His whisper was so quiet, she wasn’t sure she did
not imagine it. “You are as kind as you are beautiful.”

Chapter 4

The wind pounced on him, unrestrained, as though angry with
him, too. Oh, this place truly hated him!

Turning his face away, Tekeni pressed his lips. But, of course.
The Great Spirits watching over the colder side of the Great Sparkling Water
were not the same as the Great Spirits of his homeland. Or were they?

He frowned, pushing his way up the trail, anxious to reach the
cliffs adorning the shore. This lake was tiny compared to the Great Sparkling
Lake, but it was one more obstacle, one more thing to separate him from home,
to make the dream of running away impossible.

Had he only been able to steal a canoe and try to find his way
back. How many times he had wondered about it, thinking and re-thinking all
sorts of plans. Too many times to forget. But the conclusion was always the
same. He would never make it, never. He could not battle the odds, a boy who
had seen barely fifteen, and then sixteen and seventeen summers.

Even with no warriors lurking everywhere, eager for blood and
revenge, he could not navigate his way along the wild currents, lakes, and
rivers, all the way to the fiercest obstacle of them all – the mighty sparkling
monster. In order to cross it, the warriors would row for a whole day, at the
place where the great water basin was narrower according to the estimation of
the veterans who had made this journey over and over for summers. Still, some
would miscalculate, and the whole groups of people would disappear in the
endless mass of dark blue, never to return.

But those who had made it would sail two, three men in each
canoe, switching places when one would get out of breath. Strong,
battle-hardened warriors. No children, no youths. And never alone.

And even if he had made it with the help of the spirits and the
Right-Handed Twin himself, he would still not have completed his journey. He
tried to remember the lands of Onondaga People, the People of the Hills, the
favorite landing place. Another fierce enemy. He had traveled there only once,
on this disastrous raiding party, with Father and his warriors, when he still
had a family; a fascinated boy, thrilled by the honor of being allowed to join.

Oh, but Father should not have taken him along, he knew. He had
been too young. The people of Little Falls, his town, argued, and the Clan
Councils were furious. Still, his father prevailed. He was a great leader,
great orator. Not many tried to go against his wishes, and less succeeded in
it. The War Chief decided to bring his only surviving son, and so it was. And
the people shrugged and shook their heads, knowing that the fierce warrior had,
probably, found it difficult to cope with the deaths of his wife and his other
son, victims of winter disease.

Tekeni shivered, having not thought about his mother and his
twin brother for moons, the memories going no further than this bright, sunny
day, only two dawns after the crossing, when the arrows came out of nowhere,
along with the blood-freezing cries, and the warriors wearing long-sleeved
shirts, their faces painted in bright, unfamiliar patterns, their eyes blazing
murder. And then Father, blood gushing out of his mouth, his nose, his ears
even, gurgling sounds coming from between his lips, fingers tearing at the
feathered shaft, unsuccessful, eyes pleading.

He remembered the paralyzing fear sweeping him, overwhelming
his whole being, not because of the attacking enemy, but because he knew what
Father wanted. He knew it too clearly. The man needed his son to pull the arrow
out, to stop the agony, to hasten the blissful oblivion with no pain. He needed
his son to save his dignity, to spare the humiliation of pain. A simple,
reasonable wish, but Tekeni’s limbs were paralyzed, out of control, as he
watched his father wriggling in the sand, and it had been another warrior who
had done this for the War Chief, stopping the fighting briefly to mutter a quick
prayer, to send his leader into the new beginning.

The wind tore at him with renewed strength, bringing him back
to the present and the top of the cliff overlooking the bay. The cold was
penetrating, matching the chill gripping his soul.

Why did they build a town on such a windy bay? he wondered,
desperate to take his thoughts off the terrible memory. Most of the towns of
his new country-folk were situated inland, sheltered by woods, protected from
perpetual chill. The winters in these lands were bad enough, long and freezing,
but to take away the pleasures of the midsummer was the peak of strangeness, in
his estimation. Were there defensive advantages to this location?

Deep in thought, he didn’t notice the sitting man until the
dark silhouette was right in front of him, watching him, silent. Heart
pounding, Tekeni stopped dead in his tracks, afraid to breathe, frozen, fear
rolling down his stomach, filling it with ice.

“It’s a long way to wander the night, boy,” said the familiar
voice, as calm as back at the game, but filled with a sort of amusement now.
“Or were you trying to run away?”

“I… I just… I was just...” He heard his own voice vibrating,
high-pitched and strident, and it shamed him, brought him back to his senses.
“I was just walking around. I didn’t try to run away.”

“Didn’t you?” The grin in the man’s voice was obvious. “Yes, I
suppose you are not that stupid.” Shifting slightly, he moved, making a space
for Tekeni to squat. “Here, have a seat. I wish the moon were more generous
tonight. I love the view of the lake from up here. Makes it worth the climb.”

Confused by the chatty friendliness of the man, Tekeni
hesitated. Like any of the older warriors and other important people of the
town, Two Rivers never seemed to notice his very existence before.

“I don’t feel like sleeping tonight, but I suppose you must be
even more troubled than that.” The man turned back toward the wind, peering at
the dark mess of the lake far below his feet. “I can understand your lack of
sleep.” More silence. “I wonder if your adversary is still alive.”

“He is alive,” said Tekeni, nearing but unable to gather his
courage to sit beside the strange man. “Well, he was until recently.”

“How would you know?”

“I know.”

The man shrugged, amused once again. “So you have your spies in
the Beaver Clan’s longhouse? Good for you. I thought you were sort of an
outcast, with no friends and no companions. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?” He
shrugged again. “Sit, boy.”

This time it was an order. Carefully, Tekeni slipped down,
squatting upon the cold earth.

“So, what are you going to do? Your options are few to my
estimation, your chances of survival even less so.”

“I don’t know. I will do whatever the Councils decide.”

“If Yeentso lives, he will make sure to kill you, taking a
great pleasure in doing this.”

“The Councils will not let him do this,” gasped Tekeni,
controlling his voice with an effort. He hadn’t thought of this possibility,
concerned with councils and their decision in case Yeentso would die.

But, of course! He imagined the broad shoulders and the massive
hands of his rival, the narrow, hate-filled face, the squinted eyes. Oh, yes,
this man would not let his humiliation go unpunished. He would hunt his
offender down, the filthy savage, the uncouth foreigner, the hated enemy, and
he would make a show out of the killing.

“Do you think he will listen to the Councils in this matter?”
The calm voice brought him back from the pictures his imagination painted too
vividly.

“No.”

“Me neither.”

The silence was strangely comfortable this time, not
threatening anymore, but Tekeni’s limbs were heavy with desperation, his head
empty of thoughts.

“I was thinking of ways to protect you, but they are dismally
few.” The man was still peering at the water, his voice ringing quietly,
impartially. “Whichever way I look, it seems you are a dead man. If he dies his
Clan would demand your blood, which would be their privilege and their right
according to our laws. If he lives, he will not let you live, even if to kill you
would be unlawful and against the custom. Unless he decides to challenge you
formally, and in this case, you have not much chance either. Maybe in a few
summers, but not now.” He felt the thoughtful glance brushing against his side.
“You are a promising youth, with enough strength and courage, good instincts
and a quick thinking. You don’t control your temper well, but you are not
panicking either. I saw it this afternoon. Your deed was worthy of a warrior,
considering the circumstances. Your reactions were good, your aim admirable.”

“Do you think I was right in hitting him?” asked Tekeni,
finding it hard to believe his ears.

“No, of course not. You lost your temper in the way
inappropriate in a good, respectable man. You didn’t stop to think. When you
called him a coward, you cornered him into harming you. You pushed him into
intimidating you, into making a show out of it. You left him with no choice.”

“But he called me names, he accused me of all sorts of things I
didn’t do. He was the one to hit me, to break the rule of the game. Everyone
saw it, and I heard Ogtaeh accusing him of the foul move.”

“You should have let Ogtaeh and the others sort out this
argument. Or better yet, wait for the leaders’ decision. There were enough
witnesses to decide in favor of your team, to disqualify the whole move. With
the ball out of the field, the game would not have proceeded uninterrupted,
anyway.”

He felt the despondency coming back. He knew all about what he
should
not
have done – many, many things. It was an old argument.
Through the last two summers of his life, he had done mainly things he should
not, never doing anything right.

“You should have swallowed your pride and let the others solve
this problem.”

His stomach tightened painfully. “Would you do this? Would you
swallow your pride and let people insult you, beat you, make you feel like
filth?” He listened to the swishing of the wind, afraid he had taken it too
far, but not caring anymore. “I don’t think you would follow your own advice in
this.”

“Well, no, I suppose not.” The man’s voice shook with
amusement. “Yeentso is the man of my status, so, no, I would not have taken an
insult from him. But maybe I would have followed my own advice if it were the Head
of the Town Council, or maybe the War Chief, the one snatching my ball and then
bringing up my dubious origins.”

“You are arguing with these people, too,” muttered Tekeni.

Now the man laughed out right. “Oh, you do have guts, wolf cub.
And lots of insolence into the bargain. I wonder where those came from. Do all
the people from across the Great Sparkling Water resemble you, the fierce
savages as they are?”

Somehow, the last question did not offend him as it should
have. Tekeni shifted to make himself more comfortable upon the cold sand. “They
are no savages. But yes, they are fierce.”

“Do they eat people like it’s said they do?”

“No, of course not!”

A soft chuckle floated in the darkness. “Thought so.”

“And they have no living snakes for hair.” He remembered Seketa
and the way she stood near the doorway, slender, wonderfully pliant, outlined
most clearly against the night sky, her long fingers clutching the heavy bowl.
So graceful and pretty. So out of reach.

“Oh, I heard that one, too.” His companion shifted, leaning his
back against the nearest rock. “So, no snakes, and no deliciously cooked human
flesh. What else? How different are your people from us?”

The large eyes rested upon Tekeni, and even in the darkness, he
could feel the strength they radiated. And the intensity. This was not a
question originated in an idle curiosity. He banished beautiful Seketa from his
thoughts.

“Well, our longhouses are longer, sometimes. And we have
symbols of the clans carved beside the entrances.” He frowned. “We have not as
many clans as you have. My people have three clans – the Turtle Clan, the Bear Clan,
and the Wolf Clan. But Onondaga, the People of the Hills, have as many clans as
you. Or almost as many.” Kicking a stone that was jutting against his thigh, he
frowned, trying to remember. “Some food is different. And the rules of the bowl
game.”

The man was peering at him, wide-eyed. “Only three clans? How
so? Are you such a small nation?”

“No, we are not. We have a lot of towns.” He kicked another
stone. “But yes, we are divided into three clans, and we are the most numerous
people that live on our side of the Great Lake. And the fiercest, too.”

“Three clans? It sounds like a very strange arrangement to me.”

For some time they sat in silence, watching the patches of the
dim moonlight running across the dark water.

“So, actually, what you are saying is that there is not much of
a difference between us and our most hated enemy.” The man’s voice was low,
floating in the darkness.

Tekeni frowned. “Well, I don’t know. Probably there is enough
difference to make us fight.”

“Like the amount of the clans or the way you carve their
symbols upon your entrances?”

“No, but there must be a reason for the war. It has been going
on for too long to have no reason.”

He shifted uneasily, almost regretting leaving his longhouse
tonight.
What did this man want? What was he after?
Back in the town he
was challenged often, but not with difficult questions.

“This seems to be the best of their arguments, too. The old
ways. If our fathers did it, then why shouldn’t we?” The man turned his head,
measuring his company with a glance full of derisive challenge, of that Tekeni
was sure. “So, you seem like a youth who can think, although you don’t act like
that. And I assume you agree with this claim, ready to follow the footsteps of
your forefathers. Which can be a good way of living, I’ll give you that. But in
everything? Give me one good reason why your people and mine should war with
each other. One good reason and I may change my mind. Well, maybe not that
readily, but I promise to listen, with my ears opened. Tell me why should I join
the next raid across the Great Sparkling Water, to lay waste to your former
settlements if we are lucky to run into any?”