Two Rivers (22 page)

“It is not of your filthy interest!” she cried out, clenching
her fists. “And if you will not let us go now, you will be in trouble because
I’ll tell our Clan Mothers everything that happened here, everything down to
the last tiny detail. I’ll tell them how you tracked him down, looking for him
in the woods in order to kill him. I will tell it all, and I will be believed.
You know I will be. They know me, and they know you. And they will believe me
because you are a filthy liar and murderer and a lazy troublemaker, too. They
don’t need people like you in our clan. They will throw you out like the dirty
piece of excrement you are!”

Fists clenched, she advanced toward Yeentso, trembling with
rage, magnificent in her fury. The silence prevailed, interrupted by the
growling of the nearing thunder.

His breath caught, Tekeni watched her, along with the rest of
them, but when Yeentso took an involuntary step back, his full attention on the
girl, he scanned the ground with a glance, spotting a pile of stones not far
away from where he stood.

Counting on the eyes of the others to be upon the furious girl,
he took a small step toward his discovery, then another, his heart beating
fast.  

“If you don’t let us go right now,” she screamed, shaking her
fists. “I swear I will make you sorry, sorry that you had ever been born. Even
if takes me my entire life to do that.”

“Stop your blabbering, you dirty forest rat,” roared Yeentso at
last.

Leaping forward, he grabbed her by her shoulder, but she
squirmed out of his grip, slapping his hand, sinking her nails into it in the
process. He cried out and caught her again, more successfully this time.

“Don’t you dare to touch me,” she screamed, squirming and
kicking wildly, but now, having her in a firmer hold, the man relaxed enough to
enjoy the situation.

“Not so haughty anymore, are we?”

She kicked again, and as his palm clapped her face, trying to
turn her head toward him, she sank her teeth into it, and the man howled,
releasing his grip, if only partly.

Seeing his chance, Tekeni darted toward the pile of stones,
picking one without looking, throwing it with not much of an aim, more careful
not to hit her than to hurt him. Too small to do a real damage, the stone
nevertheless brushed against the tall man’s forehead, making him reel.

“Run,” he screamed wildly, seeing her free for a moment,
stumbling but holding on. “Run for the cliff.”

He didn’t dare to shout any more directions, as not to give
them the idea of her possible destination, but he hoped she would understand.
Two Rivers was not far away, certain to be still there, upon his favorite
cliff. Barefoot, she had not much chances of reaching the town before they
would catch her, but reaching Two Rivers might help. And also maybe, just
maybe…

He had no time pondering his possibilities. Snatching another,
heavier and better stone, he darted aside in time to avoid a smashing blow from
behind.

A club swished beside his ear, and it made him shudder, his
senses panicking, his fear sudden and paralyzing, the horrible memories of the
only battle he had been a part of two summers ago surfacing all of a sudden,
terribly vivid.

Turning around, he watched the man nearing, wielding his club
again, but it was Yeentso’s scream that brought him back to his senses.

“Yeandawa, get her, you stupid lump of meat. Don’t let her get
away.”

The sounds and the smells came back in force, making his heart
leap, his instincts deciding for him. From such a short distance his stone
could not miss, crushing into his attacker’s face heavily, making a smacking
sound.

The man collapsed at once, like a cut down tree, to lie on the
ground in a heap of limbs. Elated, Tekeni rushed to retrieve his fallen rival’s
club, forgetting about the rest of the attackers, until a blow from behind sent
him head first into the sprawling man.

Disoriented for a moment, he still had enough presence of mind
to roll away in time to avoid a vicious kick. His eyes caught the sight of
Yeentso and another man towering above, and his knife lying in a tempting
proximity.

He calculated frantically, scrambling to his feet, knowing that
he had no chance, not with the two warriors’ full attention upon him. Indeed,
another blow sent him back onto the ground, gasping amidst a wild outburst of
pain.

“Not so fast, wild boy,” Yeentso was growling, his weight now
upon him, pressing, interrupting his ability to breathe. He felt his head
yanked backwards, then pushed into the mess of roots and stones, making the
breathing into a yet more difficult affair.

The pain exploded prettily, like a colorful ball. He choked and
fought to break free from the sticky earth, desperate to gulp the air for which
the supply had been cut off so suddenly. The world swayed and the sounds
receded, still he struggled on, terrified, absorbing kicks but caring only for
the opportunity to breathe again.

Finally, the pressure lessened and he had been jerked around,
to feel the clearness of the breeze and the rain in it, still not falling but
already present in the air. It made him feel better.

Blinking to clear his vision, the taste of blood and fresh
earth filling his mouth, making him gag, he felt a sharpness of a small stone
against his palm, inviting, giving hope. His fingers locked around it as his
ribs absorbed more kicks, his instincts urging him to strike out, but his mind
whispering to wait for a better opportunity, to get the maximum effect of this
last effort to do
something
.

He felt a drop of rain splashing, then another, and they paused
too.

“Finish him before the rain begins,” said the other man
thoughtfully. “We have to check on Yaree. The dirty whelp cracked his head
quite open.”

“He’ll be all right, and the rain won’t begin for some time,”
said Yeentso. “The girl worries me, though. If Yeandawa lets her slip away, we
are in trouble. She may be believed, although I doubt that. Not after my story
will be heard.”

“What will you tell?”

“That the dirty foreigner forced her, abused her for the whole
afternoon, and now she is crazed with grief and doesn’t know what she is
talking about.”

The chuckle of the other man was loud and surprisingly light.
“A good one.”

“But if Yeandawa kills her it’ll be safer.”

He wished he could rub the mud off his eyes, but to do so was to
let them know he was still conscious, the effort of keeping still stretching
his nerves, testing his willpower to its limits.

“Is the cub dead?” 

The shadow fell across as the silhouette of one of them neared,
leaning forward, studying him, probably. He heard the man’s breathing, felt the
hand grabbing his throat, pressing lightly, checking his heartbeat. Not
Yeentso’s hand. He suppressed his disappointment. But for a chance to hit the
hated man before he died!

He took a deep breath, disregarding the pain in his ribs,
putting the remnants of his energy into bringing his arm up, crushing the stone
it held into the man’s face, feeling the sharp edges of his improvised weapon
tearing the skin - such a pleasant feeling. The man gasped and disappeared out
of his view, to clear the sight of the grayish sky once again.

“The filthy rat!” he screamed as Tekeni tried to make the best
of it by rolling away before they came back to their senses.

It might have worked, had he been as agile as before, but with
the obviously cracked ribs and the mud and blood blurring his vision, he was
not fast enough. A vicious kick brought him back to his previous position, then
he was jerked onto his feet.

“Hold his hands. Don’t let him move!” yelled Yeentso. “The
dirty cub is crazy, plain crazy.”

He fought the grip that locked his elbows behind his back,
kicking wildly, indeed, crazed with desperation. Oh, yes, he was crazy! Crazy
to lose his guard in this way, to let himself get caught here in the woods, so
stupidly, so carelessly, so foolishly unprepared. For this, he deserved to die.
If only there was a way to make sure she had made it back to the town safely.

Chapter 18

The sun was about to disappear behind the trees of the opposite
shore, and the growling of the thunder drew nearer, growing in frequency. There
would be a storm soon, reflected Two Rivers, watching the rapidly graying sky.
Nothing serious, just another pleasantly warm summer thunderstorm. Heno the
Thunderer was a benevolent deity.

Still, to sit there, soaking in rain, was not the best of the
prospects. He would have to return to the town soon, despite his resolution not
to do so before reaching a decision.

To leave or not to leave?

The question kept circling in his head, examining all the
possible angles, arriving at a dead end, always. To stay was fruitless, to
leave was insane. The town of his childhood offered nothing but frustration,
boredom, emptiness. But so did any settlement of his people. His reputation
would go with him wherever he went. They all knew about the prophecy and about
the strangeness and unacceptability of his ideas.

To leave it all behind by crossing the Great Lake, on the other
hand, was tempting but plain insane. He had nothing to seek among the enemies
of his people, nothing to ask, nothing to offer. Nothing but a spectacular
death that they would be sure to inflict upon him. That might give them an
interesting diversion for a day, but he would gain nothing but a painful end.

Even taking the boy along might not solve the problem. The promising
youth was nothing but a child when he had left his people, with no influence
and no weight. A son of a War Chief, admittedly, but still just a child. No one
would probably remember him at all.

No. The attempt to cross the Great Lake was the worst idea of
them all. And yet…

The scattered drops of rain sprinkled his face, waking him from
his reverie. Time to go back, back to suspicious glances, hatred, and mistrust.
He shrugged. The hatred was new, all the rest – not so much. 

Hesitating upon the top of the trail, he watched the woods to
his left, his instincts alerting him for no apparent reason. He scanned the
open patch of the land, all the way to the clusters of trees that began not far
away from his vantage point. As though unwilling to disappoint him, a figure
sprang from behind them, progressing in a funny gait, seeming like running upon
an uneven surface.

Puzzled, he watched her for another heartbeat, then rushed down
the cliff, his heart beating fast. Something was amiss. Even from this distance,
he could see that it was a woman and that she had been in some sort of a
trouble, with her hair flowing wildly and her dress askew, but mostly because
of the desperate way she ran. Were enemy warriors spotted in the proximity of
their woods?

He hastened his step, but the girl must have been running
really fast, as she was close by the time he reached the flat ground. Close
enough to recognize her. The Beaver Clan beauty! His heart missed a beat.

“What happened?” he cried out, his incredulous gaze taking in
the mess of her hair, the muddied, scratched face, the torn dress. Her feet
were bare and bleeding.
Why would anyone run around the woods barefoot?

“Please!” she gasped, swaying as though about to fall. “Please.
You have to help him. You have to hurry. Please!”

He needed no explanation. “Where?”

“There, in the woods. The small clearing, right next to the
cliffs.”

“Stay here!” he tossed, snatching his knife as he burst into a
mad run in the direction she came from. She needed help, that much was obvious,
but whatever happened back there in the woods, he knew the boy needed help more
urgently.

Heart pounding, he thought about his club and his bow back in
his longhouse. The knife would not be enough, so much he knew. But how many
were they? And how far?

The man sprang into his view, bursting from behind the trees
maybe ten, twenty paces away. Breathing heavily and not noticing Two Rivers at
first, he scanned the cliffs, searching for the girl, probably.

He knew that one well, the stocky member of the Porcupine Clan,
a quiet, unobtrusive type but not a very pleasant company either, with
something shadowy lurking behind the smallness of his eyes.

His jaw dropping, the man stared at him for a heartbeat,
appalled.

“Drop the damn bow,” shouted Two Rivers, his rage bubbling,
threatening to get out of control. The filthy bastard was, indeed, chasing that
girl. Did those people have no shame at all?

The man came back to life, bringing the bow up in one movement,
shooting with not a heartbeat of hesitation. Astounded, Two Rivers ducked, more
out of an instinct than as a thoughtful reaction, and the arrow swished by,
scratching his ear, leaving a stinging sensation.

Heart pounding insanely, he covered the distance with two
powerful leaps, throwing himself at the man, careless of losing his own balance
as long as there would be no range between him and the stretched bowstring. His
knife made a fast work out of it, leaving the man gurgling, squirming on the
muddy sand.

Breathing heavily, he sprang back to his feet, tearing the bow
from the bleeding hands, snatching another arrow out of the fallen off quiver.
There was no time to see if the man was dying or not. Back in the woods, the
situation might have been bad. He might be too late already, still, he dashed
into the dusk enveloping the trees, his ears pricked, trying to catch the
sounds. There were too many clearings, small or large, to know which one he had
been looking for.

Luckily, the voices reached him, carrying clearly, not very far
away. Someone was talking, then came a muffled gasp, then more talking. He
rushed on, more careful now of the noise he made. They might have been many,
but the bow gave him a clear advantage.

By the time he reached the clearing, he already knew that there
must have been no more than two, three people there, although only one voice
was talking. Yeentso’s. But, of course!

Stifling a curse, his blood boiling, screaming for a kill, he
covered the rest of the distance in a few leaps, careless of the noise now,
bursting into the clearing, finding it difficult to see the silhouettes with
the trees blocking the last of the light.

The kneeling figure caught his eyes, held behind by another
man, struggling to break free. Good! The boy must have been still in high
spirits, although covered with a mixture of mud and blood.

Eyes wide, they stared at him, all three of them, Yeentso’
knife hesitating in the air, glittering darkly. He didn’t waste his time on
talking. As the man brought his arm up, whether to throw the knife at the
intruder or to try to tell him something, Two Rivers shot, hardly aiming at
all. From such a short distance he could not miss.

Not sparing another glance to the arrow fluttering in the wide
chest, and the way it pushed its victim back with an admirable power, slamming
the already sagging body against the tree, he leaped toward the other man,
smashing his fist into the broad, astounded face, seeing it wavering but not
falling, not disappearing from his view.

The man’s knife was out in a heartbeat, as he released the
boy's arms, but Two Rivers was faster, his other fist already sinking into the
man’s stomach, his own knife twisting, widening the wound to the maximum
effect.

He didn’t check on either of his victims again, but rushed
toward the boy, who was still kneeling, now leaning on both of his arms,
breathing heavily, evidently gathering his strength to get up.

“Don’t!” he said, stopping the youth with his hands from
getting any further. “Lie down. Let me see your wounds first.”

“But we can’t,” mumbled the boy, struggling against the gentle
push, his words muffled, unclear, coming with difficulty through the swollen,
cut lips. One of his eyes was swollen too, badly at that, and the rest of his
face was covered with so much mud and blood it turned unrecognizable.

Cursing, Two Rivers studied the cuts running down the high
cheekbones and across them. He shouldn’t have killed Yeentso that fast!

“Stop squirming like a worm,” he tossed, annoyed. “Lie still,
and let me see if you can be allowed to get up at all.” The cuts looked
superficial and not especially dangerous if washed and maybe stitched.

“Seketa.. she needs help…” insisted the boy, resisting his
touch as he leaned closer to study the bloodied chest and stomach.

“She is all right. I saw her, and I talked to her, and she will
probably be here shortly. Knowing this young lady, I bet she was running right
after me, although I told her not to.”

The cuts crossing the youth’s chest did not seem deep as well,
cutting the skin and some muscle, intended to inflict more pain than damage.

What a filthy, stinking piece of excrement! He cursed, the
desire to go and kick Yeentso’s body overwhelming. A disgusting, loathsome,
abominable beast. Even the captured warriors facing their difficult death were
not tortured for the sake of inflicting pain. It was an old tradition, testing
the man’s strength and inner power, running the gauntlet but getting struck
only once by each person. While this man had obviously enjoyed the process,
hurting, but making sure his victim would not die fast, with his slimy friend
helping readily. The dirty pieces of rotten meat!

“Well, it seems that you will live,” he said curtly, still too
angry to talk, but needing the distraction. His rage was again difficult to
contain. “But we need to get you down to the lake shore, to wash all those
cuts. So now go ahead, get up at long last, and see if you can walk.”

Catching the youth across his shoulder, he helped him up,
knowing that with all this desire to go and look for his girl in trouble, the
young cub would probably not run around just yet. The bluish mess of the
youth’s ribs held his expectations in check as to the ability of his patient to
get up at all.

“Thank you,” muttered the boy, suppressing a groan, wavering
and clutching to his supporter’s arm. He turned his head, trying to face his
rescuer through his unharmed eye. “I’m grateful. So very grateful. I will repay
your kindness. As long as I live—”

“Later, wolf cub, later.” He grinned, warmed by the boy’s
artless gratitude in spite of himself. “First, let us make sure you live long
enough to be that grateful.” Propelling the youth toward the path, he frowned.
“We want to reach the shore before it gets dark, so lean on me and make your
best to hurry.”

The girl burst upon them as they negotiated their way out of
the clearing, progressing more noisily than a hungry bear. Clumsy, still
barefoot and limping, she rushed toward them, her face dirty, awash with fresh
tears.

“Oh Mighty Spirits, I don’t… I can’t… I…” she sobbed, stumbling
and almost falling on them.

The boy, who needed all of his concentration to walk, almost
lost his balance trying to look at her and maybe to say something.

Taking more of the youth’s weight, Two Rivers ground his teeth.

“Stop it,” he told her curtly. “Stop making this stupid noise.
Come around and support him from the other side. Make yourself useful!”

It came out too sharply, but he didn’t care. They needed to
reach the lake before darkness, and it was difficult enough without her
interception.

The girl pulled herself together with a surprising swiftness.

“Yes, yes,” she breathed, placing her shoulder under the boy’s
other arm and falling into their step quite naturally. One moment a sobbing
mess, the other – an efficient female, the prim, upright girl that she was.

He tried to suppress his grin.

“Get your moccasins first. It’ll make our progress easier.”

Without a word she was gone, to be back in no more than a few
heartbeats.

“So, tell me what happened?” he asked, mainly to pass the time.
Their progress was painfully slow, and he worried he would have no light to
inspect the boy’s wounds after the washing. The cub might need to see the
healer, although he sincerely hoped they would be able to do without it. They
were not going back to the town. Not if he could help it. The dilemma was over,
and the solution was not of his choosing anymore, but surprisingly, it made him
feel better, glad, relieved, even hopeful.

“We were in the woods,” said the girl quietly. “Talking. And
then they appeared.”

“How many?”

“Four of them.”

“Oh,” he nodded. “So none got away.”

She swallowed loudly and said nothing.

“And then what happened?”

Her hesitation was obvious. “Yeentso wanted to kill him, and he
told us he would do this.”

“Why didn’t they let you go? I would think Yeentso was seeking
no trouble with your clan. He should have let you go, then inform our boy of
his plans.”

Again, she said nothing, so obviously uncomfortable he felt
like chuckling. For a simple talk, she would not need to take off her shoes and
her girdle, nor would her hair be now full of grass and small leaves. Those two
were loving each other there on the clearing, that much was obvious. Were they
caught in the middle of the lovemaking? What a pleasure for the dirty Yeentso.
That would make the bastard feel safe to try to harm the girl as well. The
despicable piece of rotten meat must have been pleasantly surprised.

He shook his head.

“So you managed to kill one of the four, wolf cub,” he said,
wishing to change the subject. There was no need to embarrass them any further.
“Not bad, I say.”

“I would have… have killed more… if I had my knife or my bow,”
muttered the boy hotly, his words muffled but loud enough.

“I can understand the lack of your bow, but where was your
knife?”

“They made him throw it away,” cried out the girl. “They were
afraid to get close to him while he was armed. Such cowardly, filthy lowlifes!”

“I see.” As they came out of the woods, their progress became
easier, not hindered by the uneven, slippery ground and the jumble of roots.
“Let us hurry. I want to take care of his wounds before the last of the light
is gone.” He glanced at the girl. “So how did you get away?”