Two Rivers (15 page)

***

Two Rivers wiped the sweat off his forehead, feeling it
trickling down his back, soaking his shirt, unpleasantly sticky.

Nauseated by the smell, he forced himself to lean closer,
holding the burning hand of his friend, trying to give it strength. The smell
was heavy, revolting, the distinct smell of corruption and decay, not softened
by the pleasant aroma of burning tobacco.

“What do you see, Brother?” he asked, seeing the eyes of the
wounded clouding, his life forces evidently weakening, beginning to wander,
maybe already seeing one of the Sky Paths studded with stars.

The feverish gaze came back, concentrating. “Nothing,” groaned
Iraquas. “Nothing but pain.”

He felt the knot in his throat tightening. “Forget the pain. It
is meaningless now, nothing but the shadow of the earthly life. Concentrate.
Watch for signs. Prepare for the journey.” He pressed the dry, burning palm.
“I’m here, keeping a watch. My strength is yours, if you need it.”

The anguished gaze bore into him, burning his skin. “I try. I
see nothing.”

It took him a heartbeat to compose himself, to make sure his
own voice was firm, not trembling. The effort made the sweat break anew, the
pain in his head merciless, pounding like a heavily weighted war club, his
stomach twisting violently, fighting the nausea, his throat constricting.

He swallowed hard. It was not the time to let the grief out.
His friend needed his strength, all of it. The dying man should be surrounded
by tranquility, by nothing but dignified calm. He should accept his fate and
prepare for his journey toward the Sky World with proper serenity and peace of
mind; otherwise, his traveling would be long and difficult, fraught with
ordeals. Restless souls could get stuck half way, taking a whole span of
seasons to reach the Sky.

“Think of the Sky World,” he said, when able to talk. “Don’t
let the earthly thoughts overtake you. Call for your ancestors. Nothing will
interrupt you now. I’m here and watching.”

He caressed the feverish palm, feeling it shriveled, unpleasant
to touch, already bony and thin, the life seeping out rapidly, as though in a
hurry now. He remembered these arms, strong and masculine, swift, wielding an
axe, or a war club, or a spear, their instincts good, their strength natural. A
perfect warrior, now to go away from his clan and his people.

It should have been me
, he thought, clenching his teeth
until they screeched.
It should have been me leaving, not him
. If only
there were a way…

“I will be here, to make you strong, to help you prepare…” He
looked up helplessly, seeking the faith-keeper of the Beaver Clan among the
surrounding faces, blurred in the dim, smoke-filled air. The faith-keepers and
the medicine men knew better how to prepare a person, how to make him accept
his fate, to depart with appropriate calm and dignity.

People squatted around the fire, crowding the corridor,
muttering prayers, staring at him, their gazes stony, unreadable, disapproving
somehow. He didn’t dwell on this. He knew what he'd done wrong this time.

Pretty Seketa, Iraquas’ cousin, caught his eyes before he
turned back, a beautifully painted bowl trembling in the girl’s gentle hands,
threatening to splash the water it held. He motioned her with his head, and she
rushed to hand the bowl over, her face stark and grayish, eyes overly
concentrated, lips pressed tight. It wouldn’t be long before this one would
flee into the freshness of the night, he reflected. 

The head of the Beaver Clan came closer, accompanied by a faith-keeper
of another clan and some women. Two Rivers moved to make a place for them, but
the grip on his arm tightened.

“Stay.” The hoarse voice of the dying man was impossible to
recognize. Did it belong to Iraquas, to the strong, cheerful, vital youth full
of jokes and mischief? “You… you make me ready… You see me off. Not them. Only
you.” The feverish eyes clung to him now, huge and glittering.

“Yes, I will see you off, Brother.” He leaned closer, taking
hold of the burning shoulders. “You will reach the Sky World soon, with your
journey light and pleasurable. Grandmother Moon will take some of your hair,
and she will weave it into her mantle. She is watching us now, smiling, proud
of you.” He saw the anxiousness receding, making the glittering gaze soften,
clouding, like that of a child about to go to sleep. It was difficult to form
the words now. “And then
Gadowaas
will admit you through his gate. He
will reach for one of the stars, the brightest star of them all, and he will
take it and add it to his belt, for you to have a proper guidance while
traveling across the sky.” He swallowed. “The South Wind will be your aid, and
your journey will be wonderful, an endless tranquility and comfort. The Sky
Path that awaits you is wide and easy because your life had been worthy.” The
air stood still, suffocating. He paused again, to clear his throat. “And one
day, we will meet again. You will wait for me in the Sky World.” He suppressed
a humorless grin, so utterly inappropriate here. “Something is telling me you
will not have to wait too long.”

The half closed eyes did not open, but the grip upon his arm
tightened again.

“One day, yes… but not soon. It will not be soon. I know this.”
The pull on his arm was hardly tangible, yet the effort left the dying man
exhausted, covered with sweat. Clenching his teeth against his desperation, Two
Rivers leaned closer, suddenly anxious to hear. “You are destined to do great
things… I know you are. I always knew… I waited for you to start. I wanted to
be a part of it.” The dry breath burned his face, coming in gasps. “I knew you
would leave one day, and I wanted to come with you. But maybe I could still
follow… follow as a spirit. I can postpone this journey… for ten dawns every
spirit can, can’t it?” The sweat-soaked face twisted, losing its calmness once
again. “You have to leave. You are not safe here… not anymore. I heard people…
on the raid… the War Chief was worried. And when we came back… people talking…”
The burning eyes bore into him, desperate. “Promise you will leave. After the
rites for me are over. Promise!”

He could not get enough air. Fighting for breath, he stared at
the agitated eyes, aware of his own welling dread, of the eminent, looming
disaster, knowing that he was failing in his duty to help his friend calm.
Why
were they talking about him now? Why would he have to leave? And where?

“Promise!” The feverish gaze gleamed in the smoky darkness,
unnaturally bright now, sending waves of panic down his spine.

“Yes, I promise. I will leave, but not before you are safely on
your way. Not before I fast and smoke the sacred pipe and dance the sacred
dances to help you find the right path.” At all costs he needed to channel his
friend’s thoughts back into the proper direction. If he died restless, he might
not manage to find the proper way.

“People are angry with you now… I heard them talking… They
blame you for this failure.” The eyes were clouding, the effort of talking
taking the last of the dying man’s strength.

“They can’t do me harm.” He pressed the already-shriveled
shoulders, wishing he could have given them his strength. “I wish I could go
instead of you. You are a better warrior. A better man. But that’s why the
Great Spirits want you, maybe. Because of your kindness. Who knows? The
Right-Handed Twin might have something in store for you. Something wonderful,
something that will make the lives of our clans, our towns, better.” He watched
Iraquas’ face calming again, the anguished features smoothing under his gaze.
Heart peaking, he went on. “Yes, I know it now. This is why he has summoned
you. And so we have to make sure you reach the Sky World soon, not forcing the
Right-Handed Twin to wait. He has a wonderful work for you, now I know this.
And while you are doing it from the world of the Great Spirits, I’ll try to do
something here, and so we will work together. Like you wanted. Like we always
did. We have always fought together, haven’t we?”

The knot in his throat was again too tight to continue. No, not
always. This time he had abandoned his friend and his people, taking a
pleasurable journey, preferring to guide a boy of no significance, enjoying a
magnificent show of a bear hunt, while his friend fought and got killed.

None of it would have happened if he had come.

The knowledge tore at his chest like the claws of a ferocious
beast. None of it! The War Chief would still be alive, and Iraquas would be
cracking his jokes around the fire at these very moments and not fighting for
breath, going away in an agonizing pain. It was all his fault. People who said
so were right. He did participate in the War Dance. But by refusing to join the
raid on the next day, he might have attracted the bad spirits belonging to the
Evil Twin. He had made them interested and involved.

“Do you think so?” The whisper reached him but barely, the eyes
peering at him half closed, their eyelids grayish and heavy. “A work up there?
To help… to help you along…?”

“Yes, I know it now. You will do wonderful things to make our
peoples' lives better.” He had to control his voice, had to make it sound firm.
Again, he thought about no one but himself and his sense of guilt. What sort of
a person was he! “You will work with the Right-Handed Twin side by side. You will
be one of his most trusted aides. Not
uki
, but one of the Sky Spirits.
And I will look for you every night, among the brightest stars. Every time I
need help, and also when I’m just lonely and have stopped believing in myself.”

The colorless lips were smiling now. Just a hint of a smile,
but he could see it, and it made him feel better. He watched the chest rising
and falling, slowing its motion, not laboring for breath anymore.

“You will always be there, in the sky and among the trees,
watching and helping every now and then. I know it now. And I’m not afraid
anymore.”

The chanting behind his back intensified. He felt the clouds of
smoke reaching, overcoming the stench of the rotting flesh.

The palm around his arm lost its strength, still, he clutched
it, feeling it growing stiffer, not burning his skin anymore. Or was it just
his imagination? The face upon the folded blanket was calm, set now, a face of
a stranger.

He watched it for a heartbeat, then another. The light was
gone. What made this man alive, what made his friend himself, disappeared,
taken by the Grandmother Moon, responsible for giving and taking life.

He straightened up with an effort, his limbs numb from
crouching for so long. Trying not to sway, he rose to his feet. The people were
chanting, passing the pipe, inhaling the sacred smoke, murmuring prayers.

“He began his traveling,” he said hoarsely, finding it
difficult to recognize his own voice. “May his spirit have a restful journey.”

People nodded, while others came down the corridor, prepared to
support the mourners. The women were wailing, more than a few, and others tried
to comfort them. The men were singing more loudly, as though crying in their
own way.

He could not join their singing, his mind numb, tired, wishing
to be alone. The vision of his favorite cliff beckoned, and he turned around
without thinking, blinking against the smoke.

“Here.” Someone thrust a pipe into his hand. “Sit.”

“I… I need to go out… for a short while,” he murmured, studying
the long, elaborately carved pipe as though he had never seen it before.

“Not now,” said one of the men. “Sit here.”

He stared at them, trying to slam his mind into working.

“Let him go!” It was quite a scream, coming from his right. “I
want him to leave and never come back.”

The woman sprang into his view, a middle-aged, good-looking
woman.
Iraquas’ mother
. He felt like taking a step back.

“Go away. Leave this longhouse and never come back.” She
advanced toward him, her fists clenched. “It’s your fault! Yours and no one
else’s. Your fault my son died, and the War Chief, too. You made it happen.”

He stared at her, the suffocating sensation back, making his
thoughts run in panicked circles.

“You bring nothing but trouble to this town, these people.” She
stood before him, hardly reaching his shoulder but fierce and frightening in
her mindless rage. “You are a harbinger of disaster, and now you killed my
son.”

“Stop it, woman,” said one of the men stonily. “You are crazed
with grief, and you don’t know what you are talking about.”

The woman whirled at her accuser, her hair long and loose,
jumping fiercely.

“Oh no, I know what I’m talking about. I’m not the only one
thinking that. Don’t pretend you didn’t hear any of it before.” Her voice
peaked, then broke. “My son should be alive now, healthy and well. He is dead
because of this man. He brought the wrath of the Evil Twin upon our warriors by
not joining the raiding party after dancing the sacred War Dance. He is
responsible.”

The silence lasted for a heartbeat, then another.

“Stop talking nonsense,” said another man quietly. “Let your
son’s spirit depart peacefully. He is still with us, and your screaming will
disturb him, will make his journey difficult.” He sighed. “Bring your
suspicions or accusations before the councils if you must, but let it rest for
now. Don’t make it harder for your son.”   

The woman’s face crumbled, breaking before his eyes. He watched
the others coming closer, pulling her gently, supporting her as she swayed. He
still could not get enough air. Picking his way carefully upon the crowded
floor, he began easing down the corridor, his whole being dedicated to the
effort of getting out.

No one said a word, no one tried to stop him. The silence
behind his back was deafening, thick, pregnant with feelings, as heavy as a
rocky mountain.