Captive Spirit (3 page)

Then she stepped back for a final look. She looked across at Chenoa for confirmation and they both shook their heads. “Yes.” Gaho exhaled. I already had my hand on the door. “You can go, but remember…”

I stopped at the open doorway and pivoted, stiff as a tree branch. The cheers from the ball court had grown louder. I was ready to leap through the door.

“Your best behavior today. Nothing less.”

A knot tightened inside my chest again. “I’ll try,” I said, but my weak response only widened Gaho’s eyes. “I will,” I added quickly and watched the corners of her eyes soften. And then, without another word, I darted through the door.

I didn’t stop running until my sandals reached the grassy edges of the ball court. The players from both Clans were already assembled on the field.

I found a vacant spot in the crowd between Onawa and Ituha. They sat near the middle. Ituha brightened when he saw me, presumably pleased that I wore Gaho’s best deerskin. His eyes traveled to the necklace. I pretended not to notice but I felt my cheeks flush. It was easier wearing worn deerskin and braids. But wearing my mother’s clothes, it was as if I was expected to become somebody else, someone I didn’t want to be. How could I be expected to behave like a woman when I still felt like a girl?

I whispered, “Who’s winning?” as my eyes scanned the spectators around me. Villagers from both the White and the Red Ant Clans, mostly men too young or too old to play, lined the grassy perimeter. I was the only girl.

“No one.
Yet
,” Ituha said. His tone indicated that was about to change. He returned his attention to the field and I rubbed my hands together, excited for the game to resume.

I loved everything about ball court: the fresh smell of the grassy field, the clacking sound of the sticks, the sweat that would build across a boy’s brow, the roar from the spectators. But mostly I admired the sheer determination in the players’ eyes. In a way, I knew how they felt—to want something so much you’re willing to battle for it. Hard.

There were twelve players on each team. Honovi held center position for the White Ant Clan. He faced Pakuna in the middle of the field for the ball drop. Sweat glistened over their bare chests and faces, even though the morning sky was still mostly grey.

Honovi looked sideways at me just before the ball dropped. I nodded at him and smiled but his head turned abruptly toward Pakuna, as if he hadn’t seen me at all. Nearly the same height, their foreheads almost touched as they stared down at the ball between their sticks. A moment later, I blinked and their sticks pulled back.

Crack!

The crowd winced collectively when their sticks crashed against the ball, a deerskin stitched and stuffed with river sand so that it was lumpy and round like a pumpkin. Honovi’s stick cracked against the side before grazing Pakuna’s leg, drawing a new line of bright red blood across his calf to match another fresh one on his other leg. The crowed stood for a moment and roared its approval.

Ituha muttered close to my ear as we both leaned forward. “Should be an interesting game.”

Interesting?
I wanted to scream. That was an understatement. Ball court competitions between the White Ant and Red Ant Clans were always more than interesting. Winning meant everything. The losing team would choose death over losing if given the choice.

Pakuna threw his shoulder into Honovi’s chest, knocking him to the ground. The crowd that swelled around me sucked back a giant breath. But Honovi sprinted to his feet quick as a fox and chased after Pakuna and his teammates as they raced toward the White Ant goal line. Sinopa and his brothers guarded the goal line like an impenetrable wall, standing shoulder to sweaty shoulder.

Honovi ran towards them, his black hair pulled back by a thin band around the middle of his forehead, but not before knocking Pakuna to the ground with a hard push from his shoulder. He kicked the ball sideways between Pakuna’s legs to Sinopa, who then stopped it with his bare foot before kicking it back toward the center of the field.

Pakuna jumped back to his feet and glared after the White Ant players as they charged toward the opposite end of the field. Spectators from the Red Ant Clan began screaming. “Get up! Get up!” even though Pakuna was on the ground for less than a heartbeat. The Red Ant Clan goal line was unprotected, save for one stocky boy who stood near the middle, his elbows jutted sideways and his square chin lowered, waiting like a bobcat studying his prey.

Ituha, Onawa and I stood, along with the rest of the White Ant Clan, waving our arms and shaking our fists. “Run, run,” we chanted together. “Faster!” My temples pounded with the thunder of their footsteps.

But Pakuna was too fast. He sprinted toward the ball and before anyone could blink, he ran shoulder to shoulder with Honovi behind the ball.

“Go! Honovi!” we yelled louder. “You can make it!” A few more long strides and he’d reach the goal line with the ball.

Honovi’s foot found the ball. He dribbled it a few steps between his feet as Pakuna reached between them with his stick. He poked and jabbed at it to no avail because this time Honovi was too fast. This time he was ready.

I pressed my hands to my chest as Honovi kicked the ball with the inside of his foot. He kicked it left when everyone, even the players, thought he’d kick it right. The ball sailed easily across the Red Ant Clan goal line. There was no way anyone could have stopped it.

Everyone from the White Ant Clan screamed in jubilation and my chest swelled with pride. We rose again to our feet, our arms waving and fists pumping into the air. I hugged Ituha while the White Ant players circled Honovi and slapped his back appreciatively. Through their sweaty arms and above their shoulders, I found Honovi’s face. He stared up at me and pulled his shoulders back. He smiled, a real one. There was no mistaking the pride behind his eyes.

I smiled back but it quickly faded when Pakuna burst through the circle of arms and shoved Honovi to the ground with his palm. Honovi fell so hard that a cloud of dust lifted around him. The earlier sparkle in his eyes had changed to surprise. And then anger.

Honovi snapped quickly to his feet and then lunged at Pakuna like he wanted to rip open his chest. They both crashed to the ground, fists flying, clinging to each other in a spinning ball of shiny sweat and dirt.

Predictably, the men cheered as Honovi and Pakuna rolled across the grass. I sucked back a breath and watched, reluctantly. Fights among the players, especially the best ones, were half the fun of watching ball court.

But not for me. That’s the part I hated.

I didn’t enjoy seeing anyone get hurt, more than the usual cuts and scrapes that were typically worn with honor for many suns following a game. I preferred to simply watch the game, to observe the strategies and skills.

But then, when none of the players were paying attention, Miakoda strode onto the ball court toward them. He raised his walking stick into the air and the crowd fell into an uncomfortable silence. The boys standing around the circle parted to allow him inside their circle. He stood over Honovi and Pakuna, shaking his stick. But they didn’t stop. They continued thrashing in the grass, punching and grabbing, as if they expected to fight until the next Season of Longer Days.

Miakoda grunted, loudly. He slammed the round edge of his stick against the ground near their heads, twice. They finally pulled apart and everybody flinched, believing that his thick stick had landed across someone’s back. Mercifully, it hadn’t.

Dizzy from rage, Honovi and Pakuna rose from the ground. They stood next to each other, reluctantly, their chests and arms covered with fresh streaks of green and black. Pakuna dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and smeared more blood and dirt across his face. Honovi’s right cheekbone was puffy and a new line of blood ran down his shoulder. They glared at each other, breathing heavy, till Miakoda stood between them and placed his hands on their shoulders. He said something to them that only the players could hear.

Then Honovi and Pakuna looked at each other, begrudgingly. Honovi placed his hand on Pakuna’s shoulder first and Pakuna reciprocated, although I could tell from the way Pakuna’s eyes narrowed that their truce was only a beginning and not an end. Anybody could see that. Couldn’t they?

After Miakoda strode away from the circle, the game resumed from the center of the field and the spectators began to talk and cheer again. Hunab Ku must have looked fondly upon us because the boys from the White Ant Clan beat the Red Ant Clan three hard-fought goals to one. Honovi scored two of the goals and was carried off the field on the shoulders of the White Ant Clan players at the end of the game, dirty and bloodied, but grinning with pride.

My eyes filled with joyful tears as he passed Ituha, Onawa and me. He waved the deerskin ball over his head at the cheering crowd even though half the sand emptied to the ground where the seam finally burst from too many kicks and pokes. The players from the Red Ant Clan watched the celebration dejectedly, especially Pakuna. Only a dark shadow filled his eyes.

As Honovi crossed the field on the shoulders of his friends, Pakuna’s fists clenched as tight and round as the worn end of his father’s stick, and I wondered if anyone else noticed but me.

I waited for Honovi to return to the courtyard after ball court.

I wanted to congratulate him before the Rain Ceremony but everybody returned to the pit houses with their bloody arms and bruised legs except him. I also thought I should warn him about Pakuna. I assumed they had been friends.

“Where’s Honovi?” I asked Sinopa between hurried trips from our pit house and the Great House with my arms loaded with red clay stew pots, vegetables, dried meats and wine. The Great House was in the middle of our village, surrounded by a central courtyard wide enough to accommodate at least fifty families. It’s where the White and Red Ant clans congregated for all of its ceremonies.

Sinopa grinned widely, despite a swollen lower lip and bruises on both cheeks. Sweat beaded at his hairline and pooled above his lips. Like all of the other White Ant boys, he still glowed from the win. “I think he went to the river.”

I nodded, my arms heavy with another jar of cactus berry wine. I should have known. A swim in the river, away from the bustle of the ceremony preparations, sounded wonderful. And impossible. I envied Honovi. What I wouldn’t have given to switch places with him for one sun.

My deerskin clung to my skin from all of the trips from our house to the Great House, and the sun still hung low in the sky. “Would you tell him I wanted to talk to him? When you see him? It’s important.”

Sinopa’s eyebrow arched. “Important?”

My shoulders shrugged as I feigned nonchalance. “Yes, you know. I wanted to talk to him about the game.”

Sinopa chuckled then shook his head like he still couldn’t believe how much I loved the game. “Sure, little sister,” he said. “I’ll tell him.” And then Sinopa ducked his head under the dark opening of his family’s pit house and disappeared.

Ever since the announcement of Sinopa’s marriage to Chenoa, Sinopa began calling me
sister
. I didn’t mind it, especially since he was as anxious to marry Chenoa as she to marry him. As far as I was concerned, they deserved each other. I’d never known two people who babbled so incessantly about marriage.

Alone in the courtyard, my eyes darted between the houses. All of the women were busy cooking outside the Great House, even Chenoa. Their nervous chatter filled the air. None of the men were in the fields, especially on a Rain Ceremony day. Most still congregated at ball court, especially the men from the White Ant Clan.

With all of the commotion, I decided that it was the perfect time to slip away and take a break. It was too tempting. And I’d return before anyone noticed.

Quietly, I hid the wine jar inside the doorway to our pit house. My breathing quickened as I started along the sandy shortcut to the river. I continued to glance over my shoulder until I reached the palo verde and cottonwood trees that hid me from any prying eyes. Underneath the trees, I removed the leather straps from my sandals and carried them in my hands.

My shoulders loosened the further I walked from the village and if Hunab Ku would have blessed me with wings, I’m certain that I could have flown to the river. I inhaled greedy gulps of the warm air as I ran, smiling when the air turned cooler the closer I got to the river.

When I reached the first jagged red boulder that lined the river, the slow and steady gurgle from the water drowned out all of the voices from the village. I spotted Honovi’s sandals lying in the sand near the river’s edge and a grin immediately stretched across my face. His deerskins would be close by.

Perfect
.

I crept low along the sage brush that lined the top of the river, blending against the green and grey leaves, till I could touch Honovi’s sandals. The leather straps were still knotted, as if he couldn’t rip them off his feet fast enough before diving from the boulder into the cool water. And who would blame him. But where was he?

Squinting against the sun, I peeked over the sage for a better look. The water was smooth as a rabbit’s tail, barely a ripple. Honovi was known to be able to hold his breath for extraordinary long periods. He could be underwater. But if he was swimming below the surface, surely there would be bubbles and I would find him easily.

Not a single bubble interrupted the water’s surface.

My jaw tightened and I instinctively straightened. The river was too calm.

I walked around the sage brush and proceeded down to the edge, my eyes darting up and down the river. “Honovi?” I said. The water rumbled louder closer to the edge and my feet sank into the wet sand, pushing up mushy globs between my toes. “Honovi?” I yelled, my eyes focused on the water. “Where are you?” The trees towering over the river’s banks didn’t move. Not even the doves fluttered.

Strange.

“Honovi!” I yelled again, louder.

And then warm fingers curled over my right shoulder.

“Miss me?” said a voice.

I spun around, eyes wide, and almost fell backwards. “Honovi!” I screamed at him. “You scared me!” I slapped his hand away as his grin reached for his ears.

“That was the point.” His eyes sparkled against the reflection of the river. “Gotcha again. How many is it this time? My three to your one?”

I smirked at him, my heart still beating fast from my run. Or was it from the fear of not finding him?

“Here to swim?” he said. He studied my dress doubtfully.

I blinked. “No,” I snapped, still pretending to be mad. “I’m here to see you.”

Water droplets from his hair dropped onto his bare chest. “Me?” His chin pulled back with mock flattery.

But that’s the thing about Honovi. It’s impossible to stay angry at him, especially when his eyes tease mine or the way his right cheek dimples whenever he smiles, even when it’s covered with purple bruises.

“I wanted to congratulate you on the win. At ball court,” I added, stupidly, as if he didn’t already know what I was talking about. “You, you all played…” I paused, searching for the right word. “Magnificently,” I said with an exhale.

“Ah, yes,” he said, shaking his head. “Your future husband was not pleased with us.” His beautiful smile twisted into something I didn’t recognize.

“Please don’t say that,” I said, feeling my bright mood fade. I lifted my chin when his expression didn’t change and then, abruptly, I turned away. I couldn’t stand to talk with Honovi about such idle things as husbands and weddings, not when I depended on his friendship for so much more.

But Honovi reached for my shoulder when I began to walk away. “Wait, Aiyana. I didn’t mean it.”

I stopped then looked at him over my shoulder. “Mean what?”

He didn’t answer right away, as if he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he swallowed and let his arm drop to his side. Finally, he simply said, “Nothing.”

I turned again and started back on the path that would take me to the village.

“Wait,” Honovi said but I kept walking, faster. “I’ll walk with you,” he said.

As fast as it took me to blink, Honovi had reached for his sandals and began walking alongside me on the narrow sandy path. He slowed his pace to match mine. I could feel his eyes staring at me, studying me again, even thought I pretended to look straight ahead.

Finally, he said, “You look pretty today, Aiyana.”

My brow furrowed as I turned to him. Honovi never commented on my clothes or my hair. Not that it ever bothered me; that’s why I loved him so. He treated me like a friend, not a girl.

Thoroughly confused, I shook my head and said, “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” His chin pulled back, hurt. “I can’t tell you that you look nice?”

I stopped and then rested my hands on my hips. Honovi stopped, too. We faced each other, inches apart. “I look
nice
?” I said, stupefied. His face still glistened from the water. “Since when do you care how I look?”

He blinked. “Forget it. Just making conversation.”

“Making conversation?” My cheeks turned warmer. “You’re not making sense,” I mumbled.

Honovi was my dearest, oldest friend. I wanted to remind him that you don’t make conversation with your best friend. Conversation between friends just happens. That’s the beauty. It flows freely and easily, like the river alongside us.

Finally, he sighed. “I guess I’m just worried about something.”

“About what?”

“Pakuna,” he blurted as his eyes darkened. Or maybe it was from standing underneath the shade of a palo verde branch. “I don’t like him. I don’t think he’s good enough. For you, I mean.”

My stomach tightened and my arms instinctively wrapped across my chest. I said nothing. That’s because I tried not to think about Pakuna too much. I tried not to think about becoming his wife because when I did, it only made it more real. Better to stuff that thought somewhere in the back of my mind. Besides, the ceremony wouldn’t happen, if it happened at all, at least until the next Season of Longer Days. I’d already decided to worry about it then.

“But I thought he was your friend?” I said, more so to talk about anything besides a wedding. “You’ve known each other as long as I’ve known you. Is that why he got so angry at you today? Is it because he’s a Red Ant?”

Honovi shook his head, surprising me. “It has nothing to do with being a Red Ant. But, Pakuna is no friend. He’s a brother, I’ll admit that. But he’s no friend.”

“Since when?” Even though we were from different Clans, we always treated each other as sisters and brothers. Like family.

Honovi didn’t answer. Instead, he lowered his forehead closer to mine. He put his hands on my shoulders. “Aiyana, are you happy about it?” he whispered, even though there was no need. “Is this what you want?” We were completely alone, if you didn’t count the jack rabbits and doves.

A nervous giggle rumbled inside my chest. “Happy?” My lips pressed together as I broke from his gaze and stared past his shoulder at the river through the trees. The surface of the water twinkled from the sun. I lifted my face to his. My voice turned flat. “It doesn’t much matter what I want. We both know that.”

Honovi’s gaze softened. He squeezed my shoulders. He started to open his mouth but then shut it because what could he say? The marriage was already arranged and the less we spoke of it, the better. That was how things were done in our village, especially if a Tribal Leader deemed it so. No one would dare deny Miakoda or his son, least of all a girl who’d rather compete in ball court than prepare stews or weave baskets.

And I was considered a woman, even though I didn’t feel like one. That only made it worse. Women got married and hoped for sons, as many as Hunab Ku would allow. That was our way. And there was nothing anyone could do to change that, least of all Honovi and me.

We walked back to the village in silence.

***

I left Honovi in the courtyard between our pit houses, tied my sandals and then ran to the Great House in the center of our village as fast as I could. Even from our house, I could see the tips of the flames from the fire pit in front of the Great House. And the smells from the roasting deer and rabbit made me dizzy. My stomach couldn’t decide whether to growl or turn queasy.

I didn’t like the way I left Honovi. We didn’t discuss the intricacies of the ball court win like I’d hoped, and the silence between us during our walk separated us still. He barely mumbled goodbye before he ducked under the doorway to his pit house. I wasn’t used to Honovi behaving like he wanted to be rid of me. Usually it was the opposite.

“Aiyana,” Gaho exhaled tiredly when she saw me approach the fire pit in the village. Her face beaded with sweat and she shook her head as her eyes scanned me from my tangled hair to the bottoms of my dusty sandals. And I recognized that pinched look about her mouth and eyes. It said that I was about to disappoint her. Or I already had. I shifted nervously from one foot to the other, waiting for her verdict.

“Did you bring more wine?” she said. Her tone was doubtful.

I froze.

Wine
.

And then my eyes closed briefly as I remembered the jar tucked inside the doorway to our pit house. How could I have forgotten? It was just a single jar!

“Where’ve you been all this time? I’ve been waiting for you. You’re needed here.”

“I’ll run back and get it—” I blurted, but Gaho lifted a single finger, stopping me.

“No. There’s no time. We’ll get it later. The ceremony is about to begin.” And in the next breath, her face softened. “The Tribal Leaders told us that there will also be a Dance to Womanhood before the Rain Ceremony.” Her voice lowered with a nervous mixture of excitement and warning. “You’ve been invited to participate.”

I moaned inwardly, probably because I was the only girl in our entire village who didn’t go to bed each night dreaming about the Dance to Womanhood. Before Chenoa participated during the last ceremony, she talked about it nonstop for two harvests prior. Her chatter was exhausting, especially because Chenoa was the kind of girl who went from baby to adult, skipping all of the fun parts in between. And the Dance to Womanhood certainly wasn’t an invitation that could be refused. It would be like refusing good fortune from Hunab Ku.

“But, my dress,” I whispered, a half-hearted attempt at an excuse. My eyes traveled down to my knees. Certainly Gaho had noticed that the tassels turned wrinkled and dusty.

“Nonsense,” she said. “You look beautiful.” She placed a firm hand on my shoulder. Her other hand fingered my necklace. Then both of her hands moved to cup my face. “My beautiful Aiyana,” she whispered, brushing her soft, warm nose against mine.

There and then I fought the urge to cling to her like a child. I wanted to cry heavy tears against her chest and beg her to let me go home and hide in the corner of our pit house. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t want to become a woman, never would. Besides, it was too soon and I wasn’t ready. Couldn’t she see the fear in my eyes? Couldn’t she tell? But instead of using words, my lower lip only quivered.

“Come,” Gaho said. “Drink some wine. A few sips will settle you. And you look thirsty.”

Gaho led me by the elbow to a spot away from the fire pit where Chenoa rested on her knees, ladling wine into clay cups. She offered them to the men as they passed, along with one of her smiles. This was her favorite task at every ceremony. She always volunteered to ladle out wine. I didn’t understand why. It seemed boring and silly. Couldn’t a man ladle his own wine?