Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 (37 page)

 
          
 
When I see freeborn animals, through a natural
abhorrence of captivity, dash their brains out against the bars of their
prison; when I see multitudes of naked savages despise European pleasures and
brave hunger, fire, and sword, and death itself to preserve their independence,
I feel that it is not for slaves to argue about liberty.

 
          
 
—-Jean Jacques Rousseau, Discourse on the Origin
and Foundation of Inequality Among Mankind

 
          
 
Shivers ran down Packrat's back as he watched
the horses charging in his direction. He and
Willow
had pulled up just inside the grove of
cottonwoods that covered the floodplain of the
Platte
.

 
          
 
"Make a fort?"
Willow
signed. "Pile up logs?"

 
          
 
Packrat gave her a dull stare. "Why
fight? Dirtied by your woman's blood, I can't win. My Power is gone!"

 
          
 
She said something in her language, and
watched him with expressionless eyes.

 
          
 
Weasel eat her guts for the trouble she was,
he had other problems.

 
          
 
You are going to die now, Packrat. These
warriors will kill you. How will you face the Spirit World? What will happen to
you when your soul arrives in a profane state?

 
          
 
He ground his teeth. Loneliness and fear, old
companions that they were, had never filled him with such hopelessness. The
warm place deep inside, between his heart and backbone, had turned cold and
empty.

 
          
 
My soul is dying.

 
          
 
Packrat glanced unsurely at
Willow
, met her mocking eyes, and slumped. His arm
might have been stone as he reached out, took up her halter, and kicked his
horse forward, back toward the nearing riders.

 
          
 
"Come, woman. Together, you and I will
die. You have destroyed me. I shall die in shame. My soul will be hounded
forever. And you? I hope these are Sioux riding down on top of us. I hope they
kill you slowly, maybe pour hot coals into that cunning vagina of yours. Make
you suffer until you howl as I will... for all of eternity."

 
          
 
No change of expression crossed her maddening
eyes. Packrat tightened his grip on his war club, his thumb rubbing the
familiar grain of the wood. He should kill her now, achieve that small
satisfaction before death swallowed him.

 
          
 
As jumpy as a woodrat in a snake's lair, he
tensed to strike, and glanced again at the closing horsemen.

 
          
 
As determined as he was to encounter bad luck,
it took a moment for Packrat to recognize that style of dress. These were not
Sioux, not bloodthirsty, howling enemies, but Skidi hunters!

 
          
 
Packrat's soul slipped from resigned defeat
into weary acceptance.
Willow
had noticed the change in his demeanor, read it correctly, and now
turned her hard gaze to the riders who thundered over the last of the grassy
rises. Their horses' hooves chopped through a patch of prickly pear, dust and
bits of cactus flying up behind.

 
          
 
"Screams At His Enemies and Blue Bull
Robe," Packrat identified the hunters. But what were they doing out here?

 
          
 
"Packrat!" Screams At His Enemies
waved, whooping and shrieking.

 
          
 
The two yipped and slapped their sweating
horses, cutting circles around Packrat and
Willow
in a mad display of horsemanship. Through
it all, Packrat sat quietly and considered his options.

 
          
 
Screams At His Enemies was the first to notice
his reticence. "Hey, Packrat!" He pulled up on his horse, trotting
closer. "You look as if you haven't slept for days! This woman you have
captured, she's that much of a wild one, eh?"

 
          
 
"By the stars," Blue Bull Robe
muttered, "she's beautiful. I'll trade a couple of horses for the likes of
her!"

 
          
 
Screams At His Enemies nodded. "Good
catch, Packrat.

 
          
 
When you steal a woman, you take the most
comely, don't you? No wonder you look tired! If I had her in my robes at night,
I wouldn't sleep either!"

 
          
 
"What's the matter, Packrat?" Blue
Bull Robe shouted. "Have you pumped her so full of your seed that there's
nothing left inside you?"

 
          
 
Packrat chose his course of action. He would
preserve as much of his honor as possible. He raised his hands, imploring,
"Come no closer!"

 
          
 
Blue Bull Robe cocked his head, but reined in
his horse. Screams At His Enemies slowed his animal and trotted it over beside
Blue Bull Robe's.

 
          
 
"This woman!" Packrat cried.
"She is bad luck—she breaks a man's Power. Since I captured her, my
friends, I have dreamed, seen her consorting with Weasel, Mole, and Owl. Keep
your distance!"

 
          
 
Screams At His Enemies slumped forward, arms
crossed on his horse's neck, a quizzical look on his face. "So, if she's
so bad, what are you doing with her? Why not whack her in the head, take your
coup, and be done with her?"

 
          
 
"I have started this thing. If I kill
her, she will win. I think it's a matter of Power, something that I don't
really understand yet. No, I must finish this the way I started."

 
          
 
"But if she's evil," Blue Bull Robe
noted, "why stay close to her?"

 
          
 
"A man must trust the voices within him.
Mine tell me that the only way I can survive this is by finishing what I have
started. You know the stories, about the way the Spirit World tests a man. I
must succeed or fail. Power will judge me.

 
          
 
"Ah!" Blue Bull Robe nodded.
"You have caught the bobcat by the ears. Now, you must find a way to let
loose without getting scratched and bitten. But I don't understand. If she's
dangerous, where are you taking her? A smart young man like you wouldn't bring
a sorcerer into our village."

 
          
 
Packrat chewed his lip. When a polluted young
man brought a Snake woman who might be a sorcerer into the Skidi village, no
matter what happened, all the bad luck, illness, and death would be blamed on
him. Of course he'd be guilty. People would know he was paying the Doctors for
healing and soul cleansing.

 
          
 
Packrat rubbed his face as he thought. That
bobcat analogy fit better than a new pair of stitched buffalo-calf britches.
"She is a gift, my friends. For Half Man. A tribute from his son, if you
will."

 
          
 
Screams At His Enemies tilted his head.
"Give a woman to Half Man? After what he did to your mother? Of all the
worthless ..." A sudden glimmer of understanding lit in his eyes. "By
Morning Star! You wouldn't!"

 
          
 
"Yes, he would!" Blue Bull Robe
cried, catching on. "What a way to pay the old weasel back! Oh, Packrat,
you will shame him. People will nod knowingly, and laugh at Half Man behind
their blankets. How clever and cunning you are! Worthy of Evening Star's
grace!"

 
          
 
Packrat watched woodenly. "But first, I
must be cleansed, my friends. She has polluted me with her woman's blood. Do
you understand?"

 
          
 
Blue Bull Robe backed his horse away.

 
          
 
Screams At His Enemies inspected
Willow
with interest. "She is a Snake woman,
what do you expect? Don't look so wounded, Packrat. The same thing happened to
my cousin, Takes Things. You know him, don't you? Lives over with the Loups.
You just have to go to the Doctors. It will cost you everything you own, but
they will cleanse you."

 
          
 
"It could be worse," Blue Bull Robe
called from his greater distance. "At least you can be cleansed . . . and
then you can call your Power back."

 
          
 
"What are you doing out here?"
Packrat asked, more than ready to change the subject.

 
          
 
"What does anyone do out here? The keeper
of the Skull Bundle sent us. He saw a strange formation in the stars and
thought someone should go and scout before the Chiefs don their costumes to
become Heaven in the opening ceremonies for the hunt. We're looking for
buffalo, checking the grass to see how it is growing and where it will take the
summer herds."

 
          
 
"The grass isn't as good as it could
be." Packrat pointed back to the west. "Not as much rain this spring.
We've seen buffalo all the way from the Snake lands, mostly scattered in small
herds."

 
          
 
To Packrat's annoyance, Screams At His Enemies
kept staring at
Willow
with open admiration. "Hunting will be easier. The buffalo will be
close to water."

 
          
 
"The rains could always come," Blue
Bull Robe noted. "Maybe that's what the keeper of the Skull Bundle saw in
the stars."

 
          
 
The summer hunt was one of Packrat's favorite
times of year. Unless he could be ritually cleansed, he'd miss it this year.
During the hunt a young man could prove his prowess to his peers, and, of
course, the young women would be watching. But in his current state, the Hunt
Chiefs would never let him close to the animals, for his pollution would offend
the buffalo, and enrage the spirit helpers.

 
          
 
"It is good to see you, friends,"
Packrat told them. "I, however, must hurry on. The sooner I get to the
Skidi and give this woman to Half Man, the sooner I can be cleansed and take my
place with real people again."

 
          
 
Screams At His Enemies grinned sardonically.
"Your luck is truly gone, Packrat. After the Breaking-Ground ceremonies,
Half Man left for the La-chi-kuts fort on the great river. He's going to trade
for their medicine water, maybe stop and grovel with his 'other' people."
Screams At His Enemies wouldn't even deign to speak the name of the
Omaha
.