Beyond the Great River (People of the Longhouse Book 1) by Zoe Saadia
It was so strangely quiet. The warriors crouching next to the fence were talking in whispers, and he wished he could understand what they said. Should he just leave now? Sneak away and go look for his companions? If they wanted to connect with the people inside, they may welcome the knowledge of yet another place to slip in, in case they didn’t know about it already.
A cracking branch behind his back made him nearly jump, as the men he was watching straightened up abruptly, leaping to their feet together, like one person.
His heart stopped. The sounds receded, disappeared. Like in a dream, he watched one of them pouncing forward, his club long and heavy, its tip rounded, huge, polished to perfection.
The footsteps behind his back were frantic, rife with panic. From the corner of his eye, he saw a silhouette darting aside, slipping on the uneven ground. Another two emerged from behind the trees, yet before they could do anything, one of the invaders was upon them, with the first of the newcomers still on the ground, rolling away from the crushing touch of the heavy weapon, making it bounce off the moss-covered stone his body was resting against just a heartbeat earlier.
Not pausing, the clubman attacked again, this time more successfully, the sound of the hard wood colliding with live flesh making a dull, revoltingly wet sound, almost tangible in the deepening dusk. The gasp of the victim echoed, followed by a strangled scream. As if in a dream, Migisso watched the man he had shared a canoe with upon this last journey writhing in the grass, beyond the ability to scream.
Breathless, he watched the victorious enemy turning to face Achtohu, whose club was swung high, looking weightless in the young man’s hands. In a heartbeat, the enemy warrior was upon the ground too, twitching beside his victim.
Something made Migisso look up, as the other enemy warrior broke into an urgent run. And then the bow was alive in his hands, not rough or slick, but perfectly fitting, the arrow already there, firm, unwavering. It was easy to take a quick aim, to release the bowstring. It felt natural, like on a hunt.
Outside himself, he heard his arrow hissing, watched it making its way in the air, strangely slow, reaching the bare, glittering, sweat-covered back, entering it smoothly, as though belonging there. The man stumbled, flailing his hands in a funny way before going sprawling into the bushes. It was over in a matter of heartbeats.
Blinking, he watched the others rushing on, turning the shot man over, checking him briefly.
“Good work.” The patting arm upon his back made him jump, his heart tumbling down his stomach. Achtohu’s round face beamed at him. “This one might have spoiled our surprise.”
“Yes, he might.” Migisso cleared his throat, pleased to hear his own voice steady, matter-of-fact, calm. His heart was pounding unevenly, threatening to explode inside his chest. “Did you contact our people in there?”
“No.” The young man shrugged, unconcerned. “There is no way to do that. There are too many warriors congregating around the entrance and some other places that may offer an easy climb.” Another shrug. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll surprise them, anyway. They are less than twenty now, a truly small force. Not that much more than us.”
“We are only seven now.”
Scowling eyebrows were his answer. “Like I said, we are less, but not that much less.”
“A cooperation of our people in there might be of a great help, might make our mission easier, possible to achieve.”
“And how would you proceed delivering them our invitation to join?” The openly mocking tone made Migisso angry.
“In a smart way, obviously. Not while storming the entrance against all odds, or while going around, complaining.” He stood the direful glare. More than a few now, as the others joined them as they talked. “There are ways to sneak inside and come out undetected.”
“Do you know of one such?”
“Yes, I do. Maybe.” The impatience of their gazes made him lose a little of the confidence he had gained. “Over there, behind those bushes. There are loose poles there. There is a gap. It leads to the ceremonial grounds.”
They stared at him as though he spoke a different tongue.
“Over there?”
He shifted his grip on the bow, his palms again clammy with sweat. “Yes.”
They exchanged glances. “Show.”
As he turned around in the direction of the indicated trees, he blessed his wild sister again for showing him plenty of such openings. Oh, she would be surprised to see him returning this way.
Holding his breath, Okwaho watched the shadows darting between the bushes and alongside the dark mass of the fence.
Crouching in the most uncomfortable of positions, half-standing and half-squatting, the way he was caught when seeing them first, he tried to calm the thumping of his heart. It was thundering too loudly, threatening to give his presence away. It interfered with his ability to think, too. He needed to consider it all lucidly, to analyze the situation. Instead, the thoughts rushed about his aching head, pounding it mercilessly, like clubs, hurting it.
Enough that the pain still pulsated behind his ear, which was all swollen and caked with dried blood from the blow it had received when he dropped into the river, pushed by the accursed arrow; enough that the cut that the same damn arrow left on his shoulder was still hurting; enough that he was so tired that he could barely see, with only his inner powers pushing him on, with Akweks still down there, wounded and weakened, waiting for him to reach their people and come back with reinforcements, attended by none other than some wild enemy fox that could not be trusted, not even a little bit. All these aside, to run into more of the filthy enemy, who were obviously planning something nasty under the cover of the night, was just too much. Why weren’t his people alert, keeping an eye on their prey, or better yet, killing the wandering rats one by one? Where were they? Taking a nap under the fence of the attacked settlement, sleeping snugly, as though in the vicinity of their own town?
He narrowed his eyes, desperate to see better. The moon was generous, and if before, while climbing the hill, keeping close to the path but avoiding taking it just in case, he wished the benevolent night spirit would disappear behind a thick cluster of clouds, now he thanked the shiny deity for illuminating the enemy so well. Their silhouettes were like a drawing on a rock, so very clear, darting in and out, busy like ants. What were they up to?
He shifted carefully, unable to keep his weight on one leg anymore. What to do? To stay and see what this nightly activity was all about seemed to be the most sensible thing. And yet, he needed to reach his people, and fast. Akweks could not be left out there, wounded and alone, with the enemy girl knowing all about their situation, probably running back to her village as fast as she could. He should have found something to tie her with. His silly threats and promises were surely not enough when dealing with such a fierce fox.
Where did she come from? he wondered, watching a cluster of silhouettes sneaking out of the grove this time, hesitating, their heads turned back, staring into the darkness of the fence. And for what purpose? Why would a girl run all over the countryside while her village was being attacked by the enemy? It made no sense, and yet, there she was, sniffing around their stolen boats, trying to shoot him, fighting like a mountain lioness, heedless of danger. Not pretty, not womanly, speaking like a man, with no restraint and no shyness, and yet, still nothing but a girl. Vulnerable, unprotected. It still felt wrong, the fact that he had to hit her back there near the boats. He should have found some other way to render her harmless. No woman deserved such treatment, however armed and aggressive and desperate to harm.
The shadows near the bushes were talking in whispers, disturbing none of the night’s tranquility. He tried to listen, knowing that he would not understand one single word, wishing for the girl’s ability to speak both of their tongues. How had the wild thing come to learn their words, and so coherently at that? Was she a captive who had been adopted when a young child? Or had she a captured Longhouse person for a parent, mother or father? It
The silhouettes whispered for a few more heartbeats, then fell silent. Almost against his will, he listened to the night taking over again, the murmuring of the wind, the buzzing of mosquitoes, the cracking branches in the distance. Their people’s footsteps? He hoped they were.
The moment the shadows disappeared, dissolving into the night, he hesitated no more. It might have been wise to try and follow them, but he was not up to this task. He was too spent, too tired to move in absolute silence while scouting such unfamiliar terrain, and his people needed to be told too many things, the enemy’s nightly enterprise included. Although the boats and Akweks were the first priority. The very first one. Had the girl run away already? Had she reached her people and told them what she knew?
He eyed the dark mass of the fence. Had she used the same invisible opening he witnessed others using? That might explain her ability to sneak away undetected by his own people. The fighting clearly went on everywhere but here. Such a canny fox. He should have made her talk, no matter what it took.
Treading carefully upon the moss-covered ground, he slipped away, heading in the direction opposite to the scheming locals. His people must have been congregating near the other side, the one facing the opening in the fence and all sorts of flammable targets, houses and such. Even though spending his afternoon elsewhere, he knew that many fire arrows had been used, many wooden objects put to fire. The heavy stench enveloping the entire top of the hill told him that, the peculiar odor of oil that was not usually present in forest fires.
The intensifying smell let him know that wasn’t far from his destination. As did the growing noises, voices and rustling. His people didn’t bother to conceal their presence. But of course. What could the pitiful village do but fortify their walls and try to do their best against the invader? And yet…
He frowned. And yet, some determined, fast-moving locals were sneaking from the unwatched side of the settlement, behaving as though they knew exactly what they were doing. Who knew what devilment they had planned? Nothing good, that much was obvious. But whatever it was, Kayeri, their temporary leader, should not have succumbed to the temptation of feeling safe and secure. They were barely twenty people, now that his scouting group was lost or wounded and of no use.
He shivered. Would he be blamed for this failure? He was the one to suggest checking the terrain and the movement he had observed. Wasn’t he the one expected to return with the people he had been entrusted with, unharmed?
The desperation was back, mixed with a now-familiar sense of angered frustration. From the moment he had sensed that local watching them, from the moment he insisted on checking the footprints, it had all gone wrong, so terribly wrong. Had he kept his observations to himself, none of these things would have happened. They would have sailed on, to the larger settlement they intended to raid in the first place, their warriors’ force united and not split. Akweks would not have been wounded, and the other three would not have been killed. He himself would have been in better shape now. Oh, it was his fault, curse them all into the underworld of the Evil Twin.
Clenching his teeth against the red wave of rage, he tread on, toward the voices, and now a faint flickering as well. Oh, but his people were sure of themselves, to light a fire, and in such an open manner. He fought his uneasiness down. The leader of their expedition was a hardened warrior. He surely knew what he has been doing, putting Kayeri in charge of this particular raid.
“It’s me, Okwaho,” he called as soon as he was within hearing distance. There was no need to tempt his fellow warriors into a night shooting. Good illumination or not, it would be easy to mistake him for a spy, or maybe just a wandering local.
As though answering his misgivings, a shadow darted from behind the trees.
“It’s me,” he repeated. “Don’t attack.”
The man came closer, followed by another. In the silvery light, he recognized them easily. “Where is the leader?”
Two pairs of eyes still peered at him, as though he were a ghost, an uninvited spirit of the local woods.
“You are alive?” The question lingered, filling the darkness.
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
They shrugged in unison, their frowns deep. “And the others?”
“Akweks is alive too, but wounded. I left him by the river. I need help to carry him back here.”
“How badly?”
“Not too badly, but he can’t walk.”
“Come.” A curt gesture invited him to follow.
As though he needed their permission to approach their temporary leader, he thought, seething, the clubs pounding inside his skull redoubling their efforts. Oh, but he needed to sit down, even for just a little while.
The strip of clear land was narrow and dark, barely lit by a small fire, hosting less than ten people around it. The others must have been wandering, reflected Okwaho, following his guide, fighting the urge to bypass him, if for no other reason than to make a point.
Their stares made him uncomfortable.
“Where have you been all this time?” Kayeri looked him up and down, not bothering to get up or invite his unexpected guest to squat beside the fire.
“Down there by the river.” Taking a deep breath, Okwaho tried to suppress his uneasiness, the open hostility unsettling, setting his nerves on edge. He had done nothing wrong. Had he?
“Tell me what happened.”
He swallowed hard. “We were surprised by a group of hunters. A large group, about ten people in all.” Another deep breath seemed like a necessity. Nothing shameful about it. Or was there? “We killed them all, but Akweks was wounded. He got an arrow in his leg. Ronkwe took it out, but the wound needed to be washed. So I took him down the trail, in order to reach the river.” He swallowed again. “Ronkwe said they would come back here in the meanwhile to get help. And… Well, then more enemy came. I don’t know how many. They shot at us, and we fell off the cliff, me and Akweks. And it took time…” He heard his own voice trailing off, and it served to discourage him even further. “We were in no shape to rush back here—”
“Quite a story.” Kayeri cut him off with no additional thought, paying no attention to his own rudeness. “However, now that you are here, we are sure to succeed.” The raised eyebrows and thin half-grin bestowed on Okwaho related barely concealed contempt. “You see, while you were jumping cliffs, we’ve been busy fighting our way into this village. The locals seem to be a high-spirited people, but tomorrow, when the sun is at its highest, we will be loading our boats with the best of their food and ware.”
In the dim light of the fire, the man’s face looked as though chiseled out of stone, calm, thoughtful, unperturbed. Confident. Okwaho fought the urge to take a deep breath.
“The boats...” He hesitated; clearing his throat helped but only a little. His voice rang strangely, higher than usual. “They were taken. They are not at the shore we left them at.”
“What?”
The astounded gaze leaped at him, puzzled and full of accusation once again. It was as though the man suspected him of taking a part in the theft of the vessels.
“They are at another shore. Not far away from where we left them. But not all of them.”
“How did they get there?”
“I don’t know. I think the locals took them.”
“They could not. They were busy fighting.” The burning eyes did not leave his face, piercing. “There was no time for them to run around the river, looking for our boats.”
“Well, the boats are not where we left them.” He pressed his lips tight, refusing to drop his gaze. The man had no right to get angry with him over the stolen boats. He wasn’t the one to lose them. He was the one to find them.
The frown of his interrogator deepened. “How did you locate them?”
“We searched the shores.” There was no harm in embellishing the truth, he decided, still seething over the mounting misunderstanding. Who knew if they happened on that shore by
“All the boats are there? Nothing is missing?”
“No. I already told you that some of the canoes are missing.” Again, he hid his uneasiness. How many boats were missing? He didn’t even know. He should have counted and checked, and maybe he would have, but for the girl’s sudden appearance. The damn fox.
“Is Akweks guarding them now?”
“Well, yes, but…” He paused again, trying to clear his thoughts in order to formulate the best answer. “He is in no condition to fight. And he can’t walk. I came to get help.” His throat was so dry, he felt its sides sticking to each other, hampering his ability to talk coherently. “I need someone to come with me, to help bring Akweks here.”
“Now? At night?” The pointy eyebrows climbed high, showing even more disdain. “You are not thinking clearly, warrior. Akweks will stay where he is, guarding our boats until we come back, ready to leave. Now,” a hand came up, cutting off anything Okwaho might have said in a protest, “go and rest. Later, make yourself useful. I expect you to distinguish yourself in tomorrow’s battle. No more disappearing at just the right time, no more being conveniently away.”
“I did not—”
A dismissive wave of a hand stopped his words once again. “You were not in the battle today. That is all that matters. Do not disappoint us tomorrow.”
The interview was clearly over. Okwaho tried to contain the trembling. His entire body shook with rage. How dared this man? How dared he accuse him of trying to avoid the battle, or even worse? Oh, Mighty Spirits, but he would show the arrogant piece of excrement. He would show him what he, Okwaho, was worth, and he would rub this man’s ugly face in it, and wipe away all remnants of the haughtiness. He could feel his teeth almost screeching, so tightly they were pressed against each other. Then he remembered.
“There is enemy activity on the other side of this village.”
Again, the piercing gaze; again, the open accusation. “What are you talking about?”