“Call me what you like,” he said, his voice flat, indifferent.
He motioned to the bed of furs. I hesitated. How could I sleep with this Tore warrior watching me? How could I trust I’d be safe? I hesitated.
“Where will you sleep?” I asked.
He ignored my question and readied the pot on a grate over the fire. I stood still, unsure of what to do, where I was, and who this person was. Questions swirled through my thoughts like the mist in the forest, pressing ever closer but without any tangible answers.
“Get some sleep,” he said, “you need it.” He glanced at my legs and then back to the fire. I took a slight breath and walked to the furs stacked at the back of the tent. I lay my bow to one side and sat down. My legs continued to tremble, but I tried to quell the shivering tendons, so he wouldn’t see my fatigue or my weakened state. My fingers lightly trailed over the short bear fur and I wondered how many he had killed. I glanced up just as he stole a quick glance at my legs. I hoped he couldn’t see the spasms through my jeans. I looked away wondering what I should do. Birch sent me here. I trusted Birch, but what was the letter, and why send me on a weeks’ journey here when I could have helped at home?
I pulled my knit cap from my head, and my braid fell behind me. The fire warmed the tent quickly, and though I fought to keep my eyes open, they fought back. My strength drained, my will not as strong as I’d hoped. I lay down on the bear skins and slipped a rose quartz stone from my pocket, a reminder of home, and clutched it tight. I’d go home. I promised myself. I’d go home soon.
Somewhere in the night, between deep sleep and vivid dreams of shadows in the mist, a heavy blanket draped over me. The weight brought comfort and more sleep.
Chapter 2
My eyes opened to the sound of whoops and whistles, and I sat up reaching for my bow. The morning light pushed through the white canvas and footsteps ran past, shadows following them. Three Scars was gone, a silent rustling and wind rushing swept passed the tipi. I slipped my knit cap over my head, my braid half undone, and hooked my bow over my shoulder, the smooth wood more familiar than ever. Live coals still burned in the fire ring, and a biscuit lay over a small grate above it. My tin of honey beside it.
I swung my pack over my shoulders and stepped forward. Three Scars pushed the canvas flap open and I jumped back. “We go now,” he said and grabbed my arm. “Trackers. Looking for you.” He tugged me from the tent and the rest of the Tore people rushed about, sweeping up areas, a fire stoked in the center of the camp, children played nearby. I ran after him, glancing back once to see two Tore women entering the tent, probably trying to erase any trace of my scent from camp.
“Who’s tracking me?” I asked and ran to keep up.
No answer.
We reached the river and he came to a halt. Prepared to swim I ran to the waters edge. His wide hand wrapped over my shoulder, stopping me. “You have to remove the scent. They have dogs tracking you.” He looked down at my jeans and fox fur cape. He pulled his long sleeve shirt over his head and handed it to me. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right.
“I’m not running through the forest in just a shirt.”
“Change. Get rid of anything you can spare. You’ll be warm soon.”
I glanced at the teeming river. I had no choice. I spotted a group of young trees and snapped the shirt from his hand, and jogged over to change with a little privacy. I pulled the cape over my head, unbuttoned my flannel, and slipped his shirt over me, removed my cap, and stuffed everything in my bag. I refused to let go of anything. His shirt smelled of pine and earth, of smoke and something else… Something familiar. The shirt draped almost to my knees, so I knotted the side and hitched it up to allow me to run freely. I stepped out from the trees.
Three Scars stood at the edge of the water looking across, staring out at the vast forest before us. His back was straight, rigid, scarred in several areas. Maybe from those bears whose hides I’d slept on last night.
He must have seen movement in his peripheral vision because he turned quick and took five steps toward me. “Sling your pack,” he ordered. “We’re losing as much scent as possible. Get on my back,” he half-said half-growled.
“I can run fast and long,” I said, stepping back.
“I doubt that,” he countered. “Your legs were about to give out on you before we even reached camp last night.” He swiftly took hold of me, swinging me around to his back, and grabbed my legs at each side of him. He took off at fast run, and barreled into the water, forced us through the current, and stepped out onto the other side.
“Why are you helping me?” I asked.
“Because Running Bear was too weak to do the job and not get distracted. He has much to learn.”
“Why are Tore Warriors helping a dweller?” I clarified, but thought of last night when the younger warrior with the darkest eyes left the fire ring in anger.
He said nothing but kept running at a steady, even pace. I wondered if maybe he wasn’t helping me, but rather getting rid of me. After all, I crossed their land uninvited and brought a government tracker after me.
“What’s your name?” I tried again.
“I told you.”
“No, you didn’t. You only said whatever I wanted to call you.” He didn’t say a word and that troubled me. I thought it best to keep quiet about his name and not anger him.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
No answer.
After a few miles, a distance I could not have accomplished without resting several times, he came to a stop in front of a granite cave. I’d seen these carved out areas before. In the past, during the gold rush and even after, gold miners staked claims and mined all throughout these mountains. Boulders, rocks, quartz, and rubble lay scattered around half hidden by erosion, and rain. I jumped from his back and looked around. I guessed our elevation at maybe 7,000 feet. A creek ran next to the cave, and above it, tall cedars reached to the sky.
“You’re out of their range now,” he said and went inside the cave. I went to the creek and bent down, scooping handfuls of water to my mouth. I looked over my shoulder and watched as he lit a fire. “I said you’d be warm soon.” His eyes flicked to mine and then away. I pulled my cape from my bag and slipped it over my head. He glanced up, and then focused on the fire. “Your kill?” he asked of the cape.
“Yeah, 8 of them.”
He viewed the cape a little closer. “Nice seems.”
“Thanks.”
“What do you call me?” he asked and leaned back away from the fire, his eyes held something hidden.
I waited, not sure what to say.
He bored those dark eyes right at me.
I let out a slight breath and said, “Three Scars.”
I worried I insulted him.
“Thank you. It’s a good name. Honorable.” He stoked the fire.
“From those bears I slept on last night?” I asked.
“Not exactly, but good guess.”
He stood and his bare chest revealed even more scars. Deep scars. Many scars. “What happened?” I asked and stepped closer. My eyes narrowed and I tried to decipher what could do such harm, and still let a man live to tell about it. Most were faded, old, blending in with his muscles, but a few were newer, fresher wounds. I stepped closer, certain I could figure it out. He stood tall, his eyes searching me. “You’re a strange girl to care how I got these wounds.”
“How’d you survive them? That’s the question.” I looked up in his eyes and realized I was too close, and my questions were too personal. “I’m sorry. I have a habit of wanting to know too much, wanting to learn as much as possible, so…”
“So, it doesn’t happen to you?” he smirked. “Trust me, this won’t happen to you.”
“You don’t know me. You don’t know …”
“Maybe I know more than you think. Maybe we watch from a distance and know your skills and your ways.”
“I’ve never seen your tracks, so I doubt that,” I counte
red.
“Maybe…” he left that open and I stepped away and looked out of the cave.
“You never answered my question,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “Why would Tore help me? You don’t know me, and you owe me nothing. It doesn’t make sense. And it doesn’t resemble anything I’ve heard of you before.”
“What have you heard?” his voice was guarded.
I let out a quick breath. Had he no idea of the rumors, or the legends? Fierce warriors, feared and dreaded, showing no mercy and leaving no trace? I lowered my head. Time to be quiet. Much can be conveyed in silence.
“You’re wrong about one thing,” he said.
I turned to face him.
“You brought us news of high importance, at great risk to yourself. Those two acts are honored among Tore.”
I looked down, contemplating. Was it enough for them not to take my life? Was it enough for them to offer aid? He seemed honest, no trace of deceit in his eyes, but still I was unsure.
“Want your shirt back?” I offered, not knowing what else to say.
He didn’t respond but turned his attention to the fire. I walked to the mouth of the cave and sat down. I closed my eyes for a brief moment trying to retrace our path here and memorize the signs that stood out to me.
“Why are they tracking you?” he asked, his voice lower now, laced with gravity.
I closed my eyes and saw Birch. My heart pounded. “Go, Cree! Give this to them and go!” I shook my head slightly. I hoped Birch made it... I stood up and stepped beyond the mouth of the cave, thoughts of home filling my mind. Was it still there? Memories of yellow daffodils in spring, tomatoes in the garden, fresh eggs from my chickens, a dirt path leading to my cabin, sap dripping from the pines in warm weather…
“Cree?”
“Hmm?” I said and turned, momentarily forgetting where I was and where I was not. His dark eyes appraised me but softened slightly. Still hard as flint, but a little less of an edge to them.
“The trackers?” he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders, unwilling to reveal too much, and unable to understand fully why they wanted me. I slowly sank to the ground, the weight of everything feeling as heavy as the granite boulders peppering the ground around the cave. I stared into the small fire and scooted a little closer. We sat in silence. He kindled the fire, and I looked up to see the clouds gather, cluster together, then float beyond us. White and grey followed by heavy dark accumulations promising rain. I glanced over at him and studied his face. His intent stare into the forest just beyond us gave me an extra second to see past his harsh exterior, hard eyes, and scarred body. His jaw was sharp and refined, his face smooth, and the shape of his eyes hinted at sadness. I wondered who he was on the inside. I cleared my throat, catching myself, and stood to my feet. His eyes darted to me and then to the trees, and he stood up and stepped forward quickly, searching. I didn’t move but listened intently for whatever he saw. A wind coming from the south, branches snapping from trees, pinecones falling and hitting the ground with a thud, squirrels and birds silent.
Something was coming.
I stood up and stepped forward but he put his arm out blocking me. Deep in the trees a massive dark figure approached at a dead run. His steps pounding the ground, a slight vibration simmering under my feet. Running Bear burst through the trees appearing smaller than the figure, his hair trailing behind him, his eyes locked on Three Scars. I stepped back, not sure if he was going to stop in time or run right into him. Three Scars stepped in front of me, blocking my view and blocking the younger warrior’s path.
Running Bear came to a sudden and swift halt, and I caught my breath. All that forward momentum just stopped. His hair fell over his shoulders, a slight sheen across his forehead. Three Scars slowly lowered his arm, and Running Bear scanned his bare chest, then glanced at me, his eyes lingering on the hem of the borrowed shirt. The younger warrior locked eyes on Three Scars, contempt in his eyes, his jaw set on edge. “The elders say to come. Trackers have gone west.” He looked over Three Scars’ shoulders at me. “Bring the woman. They want to see her now.” The way he looked at me reminded me of the legends…
“We will come,” Three Scars said. “You go on ahead of us. A person traveling alone is much quicker than two traveling together.”
“I will travel with you, brother. No need for father to wait on me and then on you.”
The two stared into each other’s eyes. No words were spoken, but it seemed like a battle waged between them. I wanted no part of this conflict. I had enough to contend with. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I hooked my bow to one side, and walked around their silent war and into the fading sunlight.
I didn’t look back but felt their combined presence behind me. A thick presence, heavy almost. Whether from the conflict between them, or from the coming meeting with their father, the elder, a sense of foreboding preceded my every step. The sun dipped below the trees, and the air cooled. No longer in the mid 40’s, the temperature dropped into the 30’s. Not yet freezing but getting closer with each step. My cape kept me warm, but my face felt the sting. Still, I walked into the trees and didn’t wait for them.
“We should run,” Running Bear said. Three Scars tapped my shoulder and stepped up next to me. He pointed over his shoulder. “I can run,” I said and took off at a sprint. “You’re slow, Little Foot, this’ll take hours,” Running Bear said and in one quick move he slipped his hands around my waist and tossed me onto Three Scars’ back. I gasped and held on tight. He took off at a fast run and Three Scars instantly moved forward with remarkable speed. I crouched lower, pressing my face to his back. It was closer than I felt comfortable with, but my face stung in the night air, and his broad back blocked the wind in front of us. His muscles tensed and I thought of the scars I couldn’t see even though I was leaning against them. What could cause such wounds? How did he survive? Tore Warriors must be as fierce as the legends after all. I would tell Birch once I saw him again. If I saw him again…
The sun faded and night reigned. His steps were sure, his stride never breaking. They knew these woods by memory, and their ease in the dark revealed that.
The Tore camp came into view, lit through the trees by the fire in the center. Shadows passed in front and around and flickered strange sights as we approached. Three Scars slowed his pace and came to a stop. His grip on me loosened and I jumped from his back. Running Bear ran ahead of us. Just a few yards and we would be in the midst of his people.
“Thank you,” I said, and took my pack off. Its weight drew my shoulders down and they ached and burned holding it up while he held me up. I lifted my hand to rub my neck and glanced at his face. His gaze lingered on my hand for a second and he looked down at my pack. Picking it up with one hand he walked into the clearing, into the light.
I stepped into the open and walked behind Three Scars. Quick glances from some of the women made me uncomfortable, so I lifted my head and drew up a little closer to him. Running Bear talked with a few other warriors across the clearing, near a wall tent with a large stone in front. Looked like they used it for arm wrestling, because two of the men just finished a match. One walked away yelling something I couldn’t understand. The other one tried drawing Running Bear into a match. Through the flames Running Bear looked over at me, his eyes narrowing, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.
I followed Three Scars to his tipi. He bent to open the flap allowing me inside first. He stepped in behind me and the flapped dropped, pushing a gush of cool air inside. He placed my pack next to the pile of bear skins and reached for a lantern. I kneeled by the fire pit and layered the paper bark, the twigs, and two thicker branches over the top. Reaching for my pack I pulled some matches and struck the fire, making sure the kindling lit well enough to catch. It reminded me of my fireplace, my wood, my home. I hoped it was still there, still waiting for me. I hoped whatever reason Birch sent me here, or what he tried protecting me from wasn’t a permanent barrier to my return. I wanted to go home
. I reached inside my pack again and pulled out a clean shirt, dry socks, and dried feverfew flowers to brew into a tea for my sore muscles. The twigs cracked and popped, the sap lighting up. I turned back and sat facing the fire. Three Scars pulled a can from a wood box and handed it to me. He nodded for me to take it.
“What is it?”
“Good for aches and pains.”
He reached for a tin mug and poured water in it, placed a grate over the fire and put the mug on top. He motioned for me to add the tea.
“You must be tired,” I said.
“You must be hungry,” he countered.
I nodded. We’d been gone all day and hadn’t eaten a thing. I noticed some clever and dandelions popping up here and there as we went up to the cave, but they weren’t quite ready to eat. At this early stage of growth in spring, they’re more bitter than filling. I stuffed the dried tea leaves and stems in the cup and reached for the messy braid behind my back, pulling it over my shoulder and freeing the tangled mess. I held my hands to the fire and contemplated my next question. I had so many but knew I should measure them. He was good at avoiding answers, so I needed to be careful and hope I could get at least some answers.
“So, why do you live here in this camp?”
“You ask too many questions,” he said and pulled some jerky from a pouch, handing me a chunk. The tea boiled and I scooped it from the fire before it got too hot. I sat it down quickly, letting it cool, wondering why he was so evasive. I stole a quick glance at him. His eyes were guarded, his expression more like the one I saw on the path yesterday.
He stood up and pushed away the tipi flap. “I’ll be back.”
I exhaled and lay back, wondering what I should do. The smoke from the fire swirled up through the small opening in the canvas and part of me wished to escape with it. I changed my shirt, put on clean socks, slipped my boots back on, and pulled a brush from my pack and let my hair hang loose. The tipi flap opened and he motioned for me to follow. I stepped out in the cool air and witnessed the complete silence of the camp.
My Name Is Cree Page 2
