Chapter 15
An Aboriginal Encounter
Sarah trudged along beside Matt as they walked into the forest to look for the First Nations boy. They weren’t trackers, so they had no idea where the boy had gone. Their loud rustling progress through the bush startled rabbits and squirrels, who scampered away. Thousands of birds twittered and sang, replacing the silence of the cave. Sarah jumped every time a chipmunk dashed out of a pile of leaves. This place teemed with wildlife, so different from the steel, concrete, and human-packed streets of Toronto.
“Please tell me there’ll be no more bears,” she pleaded.
“Roarrr,” said Matt.
“Not funny.”
“Look, Sarah. You have to admit this is pretty amazing. I mean we get to see the world before they had skyscrapers and combustion engines. We get to hike through the forest before they cut down acres of it. We even get to see the first people who lived here. I mean, I’m no aboriginal person, but deep down, I’ve always had this secret longing to be one.”
Sarah looked at him, dumbfounded. Then she tripped on a tree root and fell flat on her face. She sat up and swatted leaves out of her hair.
“The adventure of a lifetime,” she muttered. “What a great opportunity. Let’s hike through the forest, get eaten by bears and, if we’re lucky, run into the sharp point of an arrow.”
Matt held out his hand to help her up, but she brushed it aside.
“You’re a pessimist,” he said.
“You need a reality check.”
“I’m just making the best of a—”
“Bad situation,” she completed. “I know.” She stood and wiped the dirt and leaves from her jeans. “I’m just sort of scared, you know.”
Matt nodded. “That makes two of us.”
“If we had only—”
“Shh,” said Matt. His eyes swivelled to the side.
“You’re not helping any,” she said.
Matt growled and clamped his hand over her mouth. His eyes darted left and right, but nothing moved or rustled nearby, nothing happened except for birds flitting from tree to tree.
“Someone’s watching us,” he whispered in her ear.
Matt pulled his hand away and tiptoed forward. He crept around a massive pine trunk fringed with ghost lilies and edged near a tire-sized hole in an oak tree. As he tipped his head to peer around the tree, a fox leaped from the hollow, grazed his cheek and dashed away. Matt fell on his backside as the red fur streaked through the woods.
Sarah burst out laughing. “That was the scary watcher?”
Matt’s face flushed. His jaw hardened. “That’s the thanks I get for trying to save your life.” He cast her a murderous glance.
Sarah kept giggling. “I don’t think he was dangerous.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to laugh.”
“I was just trying to make the best—”
“Of a bad situation. I know. Darn it, don’t throw my words right back in my face.”
“It’s better than—”
“Shh,” said Matt.
“Not again.” She fell silent as his eyes locked with hers, transmitting a stern warning. At the same instant, thick clouds scudded across the sun, deepening the shadows among the trees. A hoot in the woods sent a current down her spine.
“Matt?” she whispered. “Owls don’t come out during the day, do they?”
“Don’t think so.”
Matt got quietly to his feet. The two stood back to back and searched the woods. The friendly forest full of harmless creatures turned ominous. A sudden breeze stirred the leaves and boughs of the trees. Every shadow was a possible hiding place for a lurking enemy.
Matt tugged Sarah forward cautiously, clutching her hand. She didn’t want to keep going, but what choice did they have? They tiptoed around bushes and stepped over deadfall, cringing every time the branches snapped or leaves crackled. Another hoot rang out.
“Maybe we should go the other way,” whispered Sarah.
“I’d rather face an arrow head-on than take one in the back.”
“Seriously?” she said. “Fine. Let’s head right on into the hurricane.”
She boldly marched forward—although her every fiber screamed this was madness—and tripped and fell onto a pile of leaves. The leaves exploded, flying outward and scattering like a volcanic eruption. An extremely disturbed black and white animal scuttled out of the pile. He snarled and hissed, then whipped around and raised his tail.
“Oh no,” said Sarah.
“Oh yes,” said Matt, backing away from the disgruntled skunk.
Before Sarah could scramble away, it spewed noxious mist all over her. She screamed. She covered her face, choking and sputtering as the cloud enveloped her. Matt hacked, too, a few steps away. But all the noise they made couldn’t drown out the sound of laughter coming from a nearby maple tree.
The laughter grew louder and wilder until the black-braided boy fell from his leafy camouflage on a quivering branch, and rolled over and over on the ground. Tears streamed down his face. He held his belly in a fit of giggling.
Sarah met Matt’s eyes. They were both still choking and coughing, but eventually they caught the laughter bug. Their screams turned to chuckles. Their chuckles became hoots. They rolled on the ground beside the boy, and let all their fear and frustration explode into giggles.
They laughed until there was no laughter left. Then all three sat up and wiped away their tears. The First Nations boy nodded. They nodded in return. The boy’s eyes travelled over them, now wary again. Sarah copied his perusal. Abruptly, he stood and tapped his chest.
“Chogan,” he said.
“Choke on,” Sarah and Matt repeated, smiling.
The boy glanced at the sky and shook his head. “Chogan,” he repeated. He pointed at the maple tree, where an intrigued blackbird tilted its head at them from a branch.
Sarah brushed herself off and jumped up. “Got it. Chogan. I think it means ‘Blackbird.’”
The boy grinned.
Matt clambered upright and pointed to himself. “Matt,” he said. “Sarah.” He jabbed her arm.
“Tu n’est pas français.” The boy stated the obvious fact that they weren’t French.
They shook their heads. Matt’s eyes grew wide.
“Hollandais?” asked the boy. Dutch?
“Non,” said Matt, elbowing Sarah in the ribs.
“Ouch. What did you do that for?” she whispered.
“He’ll think we’re Dutch or British.”
“I know,” she said. That wouldn’t be good. If this boy was Algonquin—with Mr. Fletcher’s lessons and Annawan’s reference to this region, it only made sense that he was—then the Iroquois and by association the Dutch and British were their enemies. Or were they?
“I’m no idiot,” said Sarah. “But who do we say we are?”
“Suede,” said Matt to the boy. Swedish.
The boy chuckled. He was no idiot either.
Matt shuffled from one foot to the other, chewing on his lip. The boy approached him. Matt stepped back. Chogan shook his head, pressing a finger to his lips.
“I think he’ll keep our secret,” said Sarah.
“Or he’ll turn us in as spies.”
Sarah held out her ragged shirt and raised her stockinged foot. “Do we look like spies?”
Chogan giggled. He shrugged a deerskin bag from his shoulder and pulled out a dry pair of moccasins. He offered them to Sarah. “Makasin,” he said.
Sarah gaped at the moccasins. How extraordinarily generous. She accepted them, bowing her head in thanks.
“Merci.”
The boy nodded.
Sarah slipped the soft-soled shoes onto her feet and stashed her other boot in her backpack. She looked down at the moccasins Chogan was wearing. They were muddy, worn, scuffed, and torn in patches. He’d offered her a new pair.
“Wow,” said Matt. “That was nice of him.”
Sarah murmured her agreement and brushed awa
y a tear. For the first time since they’d landed here, she didn’t feel cold.
“You know if I had another pair of shoes I’d give them to you.”
“Of course, you would,” said Sarah, unable to take her eyes off Chogan.
He gestured north, somewhere deeper in the woods, and started off in that direction.
Matt watched him go, his eyebrows perched high on his forehead, but he didn’t move. “Should we follow? I mean he probably thinks we’re British. What if he takes us to Champlain?”
“We can trust him,” said Sarah, traipsing assuredly after Chogan.
“I hope so,” Matt said, matching her strides.
“What choice do we have? You wanted to follow him after he shot the bear.”
“That was before I knew he spoke French, and before he knew we were English. He could be leading us into a trap.”
“Or he could be saving our lives.” Now she remembered. Matt had it all wrong. It had to do with dates. “Look, Matt. Nadine sent us to the year 1615. The British hadn’t even arrived here yet. You should know that if you read that book on the First Nations.”
Matt opened his mouth to answer, but Sarah cut him off.
“Think about it. Captain John Smith had just landed and established Jamestown in Virginia in 1607. You know, the Pocahontas story. The Iroquois haven’t even met the British yet. And the Dutch are just settling in Albany, New York. That’s probably why Chogan mentioned the Dutch. Besides, he already saved us from the bear. And he just gave me his best shoes to protect my feet. I say we’ve made a friend.”
As Sarah closed the distance to Chogan, the boy turned around and smiled. When she drew alongside him, he pinched his nose and edged away.
“Cigag,” he said.
“I thinks he’s talking about the skunk,” said Matt.
“I got that,” said Sarah.
As he passed an evergreen tree, Chogan popped a nodule from the bark. It released a trickle of sap, along with a potent, refreshing pine scent. He took Sarah’s hand and smoothed the sap over her skin, motioning for her to coat herself with it. Sarah confidently followed his instructions, although the sap was very sticky. Soon the repugnant skunk smell abated, and they could all breathe easier.
After that, they walked in silence for almost two hours. Sarah should have been wilting from exhaustion after such a long hike, but the moccasins trod like air on the forest floor. She hadn’t even realized the sun was going down until shadows crept around the trees. Chogan didn’t stop. When they began to trip over exposed branches, he held out his hand. Sarah grasped it, and clutched Matt’s fingers with her other hand, forming a chain. They trudged onward until they came upon a steep slope, where gurgles and splashes promised a river and rapids down below. The canopy of the forest peeled back, allowing the setting sun to break through and bathe the travellers in a waxy light.
Chogan tapped his lips with his forefinger and motioned for Sarah and Matt to stay behind the wall of trees. He strode down the slope towards murmuring voices. Sarah clutched Matt’s hand in a tight squeeze. He grinned, reassuring her, but he didn’t obey Chogan’s instructions. He pulled his hand free and crept towards the edge of the pitch.
“Matt,” she whispered. “Matt!”
But he wasn’t listening.
Time Meddlers Page 18
