Spirited (15 page)

She hesitated. In polite society, he would be asking after her health. She took a breath and answered,
“Wunneet. Wneeweh.”

His smile brightened up the tent. He handed her one of the bowls and said,
“Kschittau.”

Now she was at a loss; she had no idea what he had said. She pointed to the bowl and said, “Porridge?
Kschittau?”
for it appeared to be something made out of cornmeal.

The dainty female scurried down his arm and gestured for Isabella to lower her bowl. She did so, and the tiny maid began to vigorously blow on the porridge.

“Hot!” Isabella cried.

“Kschittau,”
the little maid said, clapping her hands. She danced in a circle and blew on the porridge some more.

“Wneeweh,”
Isabella said to her.

“Mahwah,” Wusamequin cut in, “learn the
People’s language. Makiawisug help Mahwah.”

“You are to be my tutors,” Isabella said to the little maid. The creature turned to Wusamequin, who spoke to her. She turned back to Isabella and clapped her hands.

“Nia ktachwahnen,”
the female chirped. The three tiny men fell into laughter. Isabella looked from them to Wusamequin, who was shaking his head. The maid gestured to the medicine man and repeated the phrase. The men were still laughing, and Isabella was abashed.

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” she told her. “But I know that you’re playing a trick on me.”

Her voice set the four into gales of laughter, the female enjoying herself so thoroughly that she collapsed on the bed of grass and rolled from side to side.

Wusamequin spoke to her again, a trifle more sharply this time, and the female lay on the grass giggling. Then she galloped over to Isabella and made a show of straightening the hem of Isabella’s dress. She called over her companions, and together they retied the lacings of her mocassins. Then the little maid turned to Wusamequin, asking him a question.

He answered her, and she darted out of the tent, calling to one of the three fellows to accompany her. Isabella frowned quizzically; Wusamequin leaned back on one arm and sipped his porridge. He seemed quite content, the lord of the manor, taking his ease.

Don’t forget he is a savage
, she reminded herself.
He has never been inside a real home.

She sipped delicately at her own bowl of porridge, reminding herself that she was a lady and she must continue to behave as one. Perhaps she would be able to set an example for him, show him how to comport himself so that one day, he might be presentable in society ….

And on what occasion would he be presented?
a voice inside her mind asked mockingly.
What possible reason would this primitive have to mingle with his betters?

Petulantly, she set down her porridge and said, “Please, may I have some water? I’m terribly thirsty”

He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Menachk?”

“Oh, I don’t remember how you say it. Are you telling me to say ‘please’? Is that the word for ‘water?”’ She ran her fingers through her hair, finding mats and tangles, and no evidence anywhere of a comb—further proof that she was living among savages. “I should like water,” she said imperiously. “Wa-ter.”

“Wusamequin speaks Yangees, Mahwah,” he reminded her. His brows were knit. She could see he was confused by her iciness.
What do you expect?
she wanted to demand of him.
Do you think it pleases me to be your prisoner?

A silence fell between them. He shrugged and went back to sipping his porridge.

“You are impertinent,” she shot at him. “I cannot get my own drink, and yet you deny me a simple drink of water, when at home I should have cream if I wish. I am a lady, sir.”

“You are a slave,” he replied flatly.

Then he rose and stomped out of the tent, nearly stepping on the four Makiawisug as they carried in a pumpkin-colored gourd sloshing with water. They cried out in one voice as his moccasin nearly crushed them; Wusamequin stepped around them and left the tent.

“Good riddance to bad company,” Isabella hissed. She reached for the water gourd and took a good, hefty swallow, allowing it to run down her chin in a way that was not at all proper or civilized. She didn’t care. She drank some more, draining the gourd, and then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

The little female climbed up onto her lap. She took both her hands and trailed them down Isabella’s hand and began to sing to her. Her strange little voice took on a lilting, soft melody, almost like a lullaby.

“You’re very kind,” she said. “Not like him at all.”

But that wasn’t true. He had been kind to her. More than kind. He had saved her life.

“He is a savage,” she said aloud.

And she had no idea why that made her feel so miserable.

Chapter Eleven

I had a clear and detailed spirit dream, Wusamequin thought happily. As my father did before me. I have begun to grow as a medicine man!

Mahwah brought me luck.

With Great Bear guiding him, as he had guided Wusamequin into the forest, Wusamequin had dreamed of a magical, safe place for the People of the River. It had shimmered with rainbows, and gleamed with purity.

This is your refuge
, the enormous bear had assured his human nephew.

Perhaps clairvoyance, then, was Wusamequin’s special gift. Shamans such as he sought their talents, and it was a fine day when they learned what they were. He could command light and dark, after a fashion. He suspected he had some control of the weather, but he was not yet certain of that. He had already known he was a good healer—look at Mahwah—and the manner in which he healed, by fighting the demons within one’s sick spirit, was clairvoyance of a sort.

Whatever the case, he was bursting with pride when he conferred with Oneko and told him of the
dream. The sachem was well pleased; and the second day of flight brought the People to the waterfall of his dream. Strong waters roared over a cliff and rushed in a wide, burbling river toward lakes and streams far distant. The water was strikingly blue. It was clean and sweet. Perhaps this water had never tasted the lips of a white skin on its surface.

Fortunate waterfall.

Oneko and Sasious stood with Wusamequin, where they had a good view of the land around the falls. Wusamequin said, “In my dream, there were caves behind the falls. Great Bear said we should live there, concealed from the eyes of the Yangees, until the danger is past. The falling water will eat the smoke of our cooking fires. We will be safe.”

Oneko pursed his lips and raised his brows, clearly impressed. “You dreamed this very place?”

Wusamequin nodded. “Great Bear guided me here.”

Sasious shifted his weight and gripped his tomahawk. Wusamequin doubted that the war chief was unaware of the signals he was sending: apprehension, distrust. He liked Wusamequin less than he had the day before, or the day before that. Being set apart by strong feelings was a common situation for a medicine man; he walked with spirits and he possessed powers, both of which frightened most people. But his relationship with Sasious was more complex.

One thing Wusamequin could not do was control other people; and so he concentrated on what
his sachem had to say, and ignored what Sasious was trying to say.

“Did Great Bear tell you that the People will stay here long?”

Wusamequin shook his head. “He didn’t know. That remains for us to decide.”

Oneko nodded. The feathers in his hair ruffled in the breeze. He had lived a long time, and he counted coup with pride. Wusamequin revered and honored him.

“How is the wound of the hostage?” Oneko asked. “Is her spirit still troubled?”

“Yes” Wusamequin replied. “I battled in the spirit world on her behalf, but it’ll take a while for her to heal.”

Oneko and Sasious drew back slightly, a common reaction when Wusamequin discussed invisible matters. “Did you prevail?”

“I prevailed.”

“Her presence is upsetting the People,” Oneko went, his gaze shifting from Wusamequin’s face to Sasious’s and back again. “I’m beginning to rethink my decision to keep her with us. Perhaps it would be better to sell her to
les français.
Then the Yangees may forget about us.”

Wusamequin shook his head. “If her father lives and makes it back to the Yangees, he’ll tell them that we killed the soldiers. They’ll want revenge.”

Sasious spit into the water, which deeply
offended Wusamequin. The waters were to be kept clean for the next seven generations. The People had the obligation to conduct themselves as guardians, not despoilers, as the white skins did. He concealed his reaction as the war chief continued, “Let them come. We’ll scalp them all, warriors, women, and children.”

“Wusamequin shares your hatred,” Oneko reminded him. “In this, the sons of our People are brothers. But this girl poses a dilemma that goes beyond satisfying our hatred. If she draws the Yangees to us, that’s bad. But if she is our only shield against their wrath …”

“She only serves as a shield as long as she remains with us,” Sasious contended. “If we hand her over either to
les Français
or to the Yangees, the Yangees will war on us because they won’t fear that harm will come to her.”

“If we keep her too long, they’ll attempt to rescue her,” Oneko countered.

“But only if they find us,” Wusamequin reminded them both. “I’ll work to create strong medicine to hide the People from the Yangees.”

“Do you have such medicine now?” Oneko asked, impressed.

“No,” Wusamequin admitted. “But I’ll put my entire spirit to work on it.”

Oneko smiled grimly. “I have faith in you, my young shaman. See that you do that.” He cocked his
head. “If protecting the white skin maiden is a burden to you—”

Sasious brightened, and Wusamequin said quickly, “It’s not.”

“Her presence in his wigwam concerns me,” Sasious said, his voice lilting with concern as he frowned anxiously at Wusamequin. His eyes were wide with “worry,” and the scar across his mouth angled like a broken arrow as he pursed his lips. “‘The spirit warrior needs to walk alone; he shouldn’t have any distractions. Besides, if she sees him performing his spells, she may steal his medicine and use it against us.”

Oneko looked thoughtful. “Those are good points.” He put his hand on Sasious’s shoulder. “Well said, my war chief” The wind ruffled the feathers in his hair as he looked at Wusamequin. “What do you say, my medicine warrior?”

“I wish her to remain in my wigwam,” Wusamequin replied. “I ask this of Oneko.” He lowered his head in his leader’s direction to indicate that he would accept the sachem’s decision, whatever it might be.

The roar of the falls was the only sound for three or four heartbeats. Wusamequin kept his gaze averted; but it was a politeness. His obedience to the ways of his people kept him in check. Sasious was stronger than Oneko, and Wusamequin was magically more powerful. But both of them owed Oneko their respect, and their allegiance. Unless the sachem
had the full support of both his lieutenants, he couldn’t effectively govern.

But if Oneko orders her from my protection, what shall I do?
He thought of her bad behavior with a mixture of anger and pity
Mahwah’s foolish to put herself away from me. I am the only friend she has in this place, and many wish her dead.

I should wish her dead as well. I have no understanding why my heart is not hard against her. Perhaps she
is
a witch, and has enchanted me. I should discuss this with Great Bear.

The waters roared. Above their heads, a scattering of passenger pigeons flapped through the blue. During Mahwah’s healing ceremony, Wusamequin had painted his face blue with black dots, to remind Mahwah’s spirit of freedom. The demon on her chest had sought to imprison her in sorrow and despair by entrapping her in memories of the past.

He knew that prison well.

Sasious subtly shifted his weight, as if to remind Oneko that the sachem was taking a long time to render his decision. It was rude, but a war chief had more leeway than a spirit warrior to behave aggressively. His heart was about battles and winning. Wusamequin’s was also, but against very different enemies.