Two Rivers (7 page)

He didn’t struggle, when they pulled him off. He didn’t press
the knife, either. But as their arms drew him back, he made himself ready,
seeing the eyes of his rival filling with life, a whole gamut of emotions
chasing each other across the incredulous gaze – shock, fear, hatred, fury.

As the man threw himself forward, he ducked, pulling away from
the clutching arms, avoiding the punch. His own fist shot forward, colliding
with the man’s belly. The groan of his opponent was music to his ears, but the
powerful kick of the decorated moccasin surprised him, connecting with his
side, sending rays of pain up his own stomach.

Fighting to catch his balance, he saw the formidable fist
nearing his temple and tilted his head in time to avoid the worst of the blow,
feeling the man’s knuckles sliding along his cheekbone, instead. It made his
head reel, but he paid it no attention, clenching his teeth and hurdling
himself onto his rival, oblivious of reason, his senses screaming danger.

His fingers claws, he grabbed the man’s throat as they wavered
and lost their balance, collapsing onto the ground. Struggling against the
hands that were pulling him off, he pressed hard, anxious to render his rival
unconscious, afraid of the danger he presented, now more than before, because
of the insult. The kicks of the man were vicious, but they grew fainter as the
gurgling sounds filled his ears, until he could not resist the others’ strength
any longer, pulled to his feet by the force that was not his.

Breathing heavily, he stared at the man upon the ground,
watching him squirming, coughing, his mouth wide open, gulping the fresh air.
He tried to shake the hands off, but their grip tightened, digging painfully
into his flesh.

“Let me go,” he growled. “I won’t attack him again.” He could
feel their hesitation enveloping him like a heavy cloud. “I promise!”

They moved away, one by one, and he shook his head, trying to
make it work. It was full of hazy mist, the wild pounding of his heart not
making the thinking process easier. Two of his companions were kneeling,
helping the assaulted man up.

He took his gaze away, then bent to pick up his knife. They
tensed, and he hurried to put it back into its sheath, his hands numb and
trembling.

“Let us forget this event,” he heard one of the men saying.
“There were words that should not have been uttered, and deeds that should not
have been done. Yet, no one was seriously hurt, therefore, I propose to forget
what happened.”

He could feel Iraquas nearing, standing by his side, ready to
help. It reassured him.

“I’m prepared to forget this,” he said, surprised to hear his
own voice firm. His heart was still pumping, and his limbs trembled badly.

Seeta rose to his feet, reeling, trying not to lean on his
friends’ arms.

“I’m not sure I’ll forget this that easily,” he said, coughing
again to clear his throat. “But I will try.” The dark glance he shot at Two
Rivers said he would not be forgetting any of this. “Let us go and do our
duty.”

The silence returned as their steps drew away, dying gradually,
swallowed by the deepening dusk. He listened to the wind, feeling it blowing
strongly, rustling in the treetops.

Against his will, he looked up, taking in the glowering sky,
grayish and displeased. He should not have lost his temper this way. What he
did was beneath the dignity of the man he thought himself to be. No better than
the hotheaded cub from across the Great Sparkling Water.

“Well, I take back what I said earlier.” Iraquas’ voice broke
into his thoughts, light and trembling with amusement.

“What?”

“About you losing your temper. I’ve seen it now, and I don’t
want to see it again. Not a pretty sight.”

“Oh, shut up!”

The young man laughed, unabashed. “Will you be pressing your
knife at my throat if I don’t?” He shook his head. “What a sight! One moment
you were walking away all dignity and pride. The next, you are slamming him
against that tree, about to cut his throat. And no one saw you move, I swear.
It was as though the Evil Twin gave you some of his power.” The large eyes
stared at him, partly amused, partly wondering. “You were at least five, maybe
six steps away from him, but no one saw you moving, let alone leaping, or
snatching your knife. It was hair-raising, to watch this.”

“Stop talking nonsense,” said Two Rivers, unsettled. He didn’t
remember himself moving or pulling his knife out either. “You were busy fuming
about the Councils and Mothers of the Clans. You didn’t watch.”

“Of course, I was watching. When he said you should have been
busy lying with that stupid boy instead of wandering around with
decent
people, I was angered as well. It was as though he was accusing you of lying
around with me. As though I would let anyone do anything like that to me.”

He felt his fists clenching again, going rigid, his nails
sinking into the flesh of his palms. “The filthy lump of rotten meat! I should
have killed him after all.”

But Iraquas just shrugged, unperturbed. “You take insults too
easily, brother. So what if he thinks you would lie with the boy. There are men
who are doing these things. Nothing wrong about that.”

“Well, it may be all right for those who like it, but I don’t
appreciate being accused of such lovemaking. I don’t do this.”

“I know you don’t, man! Calm down. What a hothead you are. Let
us go to the stream and make ourselves clean for the ceremony.” The young man
brought his palms up, beaming. “I can’t wait for the evening. Oh, I missed
those battle preparations. It’s been too long since the last raid.”

Chapter 7

The drums beat evenly, rolling around the square, stern and
soft at the same time.
Calming
. In the light of the flickering fires,
the faces of the dancers looked strange, their paint still immaculate, their
eyes firm, concentrated, their movements strong, in perfect accord with the
drumming.

Mesmerized against his will, Tekeni watched the singers beating
their sticks, following the lead of the main drum. They were painted too, and
their low voices filled the square with a strange tranquility. They were yet to
work themselves and the dancers up.

The memories of the War Dance of his people, the first War
Dance in which he had been allowed to participate, swayed him, making his
stomach heave. He had been one of the dancers back then, painted and clad in a
loincloth only, holding an axe instead of a club. Oh, how thrilled he had been
back then, how afraid to do something wrong, to shame himself in front of his
people. To shame his father, the War Chief! He was too young to participate in
a raid, too young to dance around the pole, but his father trusted him and
thought him worthy, and he knew he would die if required to in an attempt not
to disappoint the great leader.

He clutched his palms until he could not feel them anymore,
pushing the memories away. His biggest fear back then was to make a bad throw,
to miss the pole, or to hurl his axe with not enough strength for it to stick
into the hard wood. If he did it right, he knew, if his axe would cut into the
pole and remain there, all would be well. He would not shame his father, and
the raid he was to accompany would be a great success.

Little did he know!

He could feel the salty taste on his lips, where his teeth bit
into his own flesh. His axe had stuck perfectly, and everyone was proud and
satisfied; satisfied with him, the remaining son of the great warriors’ leader,
the boy of the prophecy.

He had never been told what the prophecy was, but he heard the
rumors about it, rumors that implied that either he or his twin brother were to
do something meaningful. Something great, maybe. People were always whispering,
and looking at them strangely at times, stopping the conversations when they
neared. The whole region, the surrounding towns and villages, were shocked when
Tekeni’s brother died. It was not the part of the prophecy, that much was
obvious. He could see it in their wondering eyes, in the devastated face of his
father, but all he cared about back then was his private loss. A mother and a
brother gone in one lousy, cold, hungry winter. It was impossible to grasp.

The drums peaked along with the monotonous voices of the
singers, and his senses clung to it, desperate to push the horrible memories
away, his teeth clenched, palms clenched, muscles tight, trembling with the
effort. Nothing went according to the stupid prophecy! Only a few moons later,
his father was killed, and he was captured, the only surviving member of his
immediate family, the insignificant fragment, important to no one, just a wild
thing living among the enemies, destined to fulfill nothing. The prophecy was
wrong!

His eyes picked out the tall figure of Two Rivers among the
dancers, the man’s bare chest well-muscled, although he was a relatively
slender man. The axe he held looked simple, not a decorated affair many of the
other warriors waved. Why?

The dancers were beating the earth with their feet, stomping
violently, tiring themselves, working up their spirits. Won’t they be too tired
to throw their axes when their time comes? wondered Tekeni. By this point of
the ceremony, his people were already required to demonstrate their skill.

Regretting not having watched any of the other War Dances that
were frequent enough in this town, he looked with curiosity, his heart beating
fast. He had never come to watch before. He didn’t want to see these people,
the
enemies
, demonstrating their strength and virility. He wished they would
lose, battle after battle.

But now it changed. Now he had a plan, a good plan he needed to
start implementing; and so this evening, he forced himself to come, afraid that
he might have not been allowed to do this. Was he not confined to his longhouse
until the decision of the Town Council? Was Yeentso dead or alive?

No mourning sounds came out of the Beaver Clan’s longhouse
during the day, so the hated man must have still been alive. But battling the
death, or recovering? The people he saw earlier did not look concerned, but, of
course, no one bothered to inform him of the developments. If he had not been
liked before, now he was openly hated.

He shivered, listening to the drums, watching the warriors
stomping their feet faster and faster, their faces glistening with sweat, their
paint beginning to run. Two Rivers would be away for half a moon or more, and
with Yeentso recovering, he, Tekeni, would need to watch his step. With no
protection from the impressive man, he might be in grave danger because as
clear as the sun in the cloudless sky, vengeful Yeentso would not linger with
his wish to bring retribution. Unless it took him a long time to recover.
Tekeni tried to suppress his fear.

“They are invincible!” whispered people around him, enthralled,
caught in the magic. He concentrated, sharing their feeling against his will,
impressed by the magnificent show of strength and aggression. It didn’t matter
if they were going to throw their axes or not. Their power was proclaimed
regardless.

The crowds pushed, and the chanting voices dimmed as the War
Chief began addressing the warriors, half singing half speaking, retelling old
battles and wars in a beautiful, monotonous voice.

Listening intently, Tekeni jumped as a hand tugged at his arm,
startling him. Heart pounding, he whirled around, his eyes finding it difficult
to adjust to the darkness behind his back. Although being on the edge of the
crowd, he still could not see at first who it was, with the people pushing all
over, trying to see better.

Then his stomach twisted, and the current of excitement rushed
down his back, his senses telling him that the gentle palm belonged to
her
,
the girl from the Beaver Clan, while his eyes took in the soft outline of her
slender face, set in the frame of now-loose hair, one long, luxurious tendril
fluttering across it, making her blink.

“Come.” The motion of her head was unmistakable as she slipped
away, the warmth upon his arm, where her hand had touched his, lingering.

Heart beating fast, he made his way out of the crowd, following
the decorated skirt, listening to the rustling of the colorful beads. People
frowned but let them pass, until the square dissolved behind their backs and
the shadows of the longhouses swallowed them, with only the drums following,
and the sounds of the chanting.

She went on briskly, her paces long and determined, full of
purpose and, as the first wave of excitement faded, he began to feel unsettled.
Where were they going?

“I looked for you in the Wolf Clan longhouse, and you weren’t
there,” she said, frowning, as they neared the tobacco plots beside the fence.

He tried to make sense of it. “Why would I be there?”

“You were confined to your longhouse until the decision of the
Town Council,” she stated, halting abruptly and turning to face him, the frown
not sitting well with her exquisite, gentle features. “You were not allowed to
wander about.”

“I wasn’t wandering,” he said, still puzzled. “I was at the War
Dance. Everyone came to watch this, even the small children. There is not one
single human being in the longhouses now.”

She acknowledged it with the nod, not thrown out of her
composure.

“Yes, I know that. But I never saw you attending any of the
ceremonies. So why now, all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know. Why shouldn’t I? I want to be a warrior, like
anybody else. I should start attending those.” He peered at her, encouraged by
a sudden thought. “Why were you watching me?”

She gasped, and her eyes sparkled furiously. “I did not watch
you. I never did!”

“Then how do you know I was not attending the other
ceremonies?”

Even in the darkness, he could see her cheeks taking a darker
shade.

“I didn’t watch you, and I couldn’t care less if you attended
any of the ceremonies or not.” Breathing heavily, she looked as though about to
stomp her foot, the fringes of her festive dress fluttering with the wind, as
angry as she was. “Everyone knows you are not coming to our ceremonies. There
is no need to watch you to know that.”

He stared at her, taken aback. Her hair was fluttering too now,
the wind challenging the wooden combs that held it in place. It made her look
fiercer, but prettier, with her eyes of a doe and her graceful way of holding
herself, like a long-legged forest creature. He searched for something to say,
wishing he hadn’t spoken in the first place, his confidence gone.

“Well, this is not what I wanted to talk to you about,” she
said finally, frowning.

He said nothing this time, not wishing to help her out. If she
dragged him here to yell at him, she might have saved them both the futile
encounter.

 “Why are you staring at me like that?” Her eyebrows almost met
each other across her high forehead as her frown deepened, the flicker of
embarrassment passing through her eyes. “I wanted to help you out, but maybe I
should not.”

The urge to strangle her welled. “How?”

“Yesterday, I promised to tell you if Yeentso would die or not.
Don’t you remember even that? Are you simple in the head?”

“I remember all of it!” he stated, his frustration with her
overwhelming the sudden surge of panic.

“Oh, good. At least you remember things.” She drew another
breath, obviously trying to calm down. “Well, I always keep my promises. So I
came to tell you that he is much better now, and it doesn’t look as though he
will die. I saw him this morning, but I had no opportunity to come and tell
you, because we had to work until it was almost dusk. And then, when I did have
the opportunity to slip away, you were not in your longhouse but in the middle
of the crowd. Half of the town must have seen us!”

The warm wave was back, welling in his chest, unwelcome now.
She remembered, and she did keep her promise.

“Both halves of the town were busy watching the dance,” he
muttered. “No one paid us any attention.”

She shrugged. “Well, maybe. Let us hope you are right.” Her
eyes sparkled again, but now there was an amusement in them, too obvious to
miss. “It was because of you we had to work until the darkness.”

He felt like laughing, but not in an amused way. “Me? How so?”

“Well, because you wounded Yeentso, his wife and another woman
of our longhouse stayed home, to take care of him. So there were less of us in
the field. More work for everyone.”

“Oh.”

 “Yes, oh. And I wish you would promise me not to lose your
temper again, not in this way.” She shrugged. “Anyway, our Clan Mothers would
not demand your death now. So it all worked out quite well.”

“Will he get better soon?” he asked, ice piling in his stomach,
despite the warmth her words brought.

“Yes, I think so. He was eating this morning, then he slept
through the whole day. So his wife and sister told us.” She hesitated. “He
wasn’t able to go out and watch the War Dance yet, and he won’t join this
impending raid, obviously. But he will not die, and this is what must concern
you the most.”

Her preaching tone made his anger overcome his uneasiness. “I’m
not concerned with his well being. I was just curious.”

She tossed her head high. “Well, you should have been concerned.
If you are smart, that is.”

“I’m smart enough to know that he will not forget what
happened. He will seek revenge the moment he can walk straight. And then it
will be back to either him or me hurt. With one of us killed, most probably.”
He narrowed his eyes, pleased to see hers widening. “More chances it would be
me this time, because he would not challenge me openly against the Town Council
orders. He is a coward, so he would try to ambush me, instead, or make me
attack him again, maybe.”

She took a step back, aghast. “He wouldn’t do that. It would be
against our laws. Your clan will pay our clan, and everything will go back to
normal.”

He let his eyebrows climb high, satisfied with her open dismay.
“Who is not being smart now?”

Her eyes flashed again. “Don’t you dare to talk to me like
that! You were the one to start this trouble, not me. You were not
smart
enough to avoid this mess. Yes, I know he attacked you first,” she added when
he began to protest. “But you could have controlled your temper better, instead
of cracking his head open the moment you could.”

They glared at each other, oblivious of the wind, the rolling
of the drums reaching them, but barely, alone in the whole world as it seemed.

What did she want? raged his mind, his anger more intense
because of the way she stood there, so near he could almost feel the warmth of
her body, his eyes taking in its gentle curves, the way the colorful belt tied
her festive dress, enhancing her slender waist, the way the long fringes fell
against the bulging of her breasts.

He clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to run away, or maybe,
to step closer.

“So you looked for me to let me know about Yeentso,” he said,
doing his best to sound calm.
Speaking of controlling tempers
. “I’m
grateful for that.”

She peered at him suspiciously. “You are? You didn’t act this
way until now.”

“Yes, of course, I am. You kept your promise.”

“Yes.” Her smile was surprising, flashing out without warning,
wonderfully warm. It made his heart race. “And I hope you will be more, err,
tractable from now on. With me, and with other people. Even with this annoying
bastard Yeentso.”