The Ghostfaces

by John A. Flanagan

  “And I think we’re done,” he said quietly.

  chapter twenty-eight

  Remarkably, Orvik’s prediction proved to be correct. Once the fight was over, the Mawagansett people regarded Stig with a mixture of awe and respect. The speed and power with which he’d finished the fight, which had lasted barely ten seconds, was discussed at length, and in admiring tones, around the cooking fires.

  Simsinnet was a champion fighter and an expert warrior. Most of the tribe had expected him to win the fight, although not all had been happy about the prospect. The Skandians had won the friendship of the tribe. They were popular and good-natured.

  And, of course, they had saved the two children from the bear and removed the bear itself as a threat to the community.

  Simsinnet, on the other hand, although he was well liked, was seen as something of a hothead. And many of the tribe’s women resented his high-handed assumption that Tecumsa was his property. Mawagansett women were independent and enjoyed equal status with their menfolk. And they made their own decisions about whom they might marry. As a result, many felt that Simsinnet had got no more than he had been asking for.

  To his credit, Simsinnet seemed to learn by his experience. He still wasn’t sure how Stig had defeated him. The whole thing had happened so quickly that he never clearly saw the straight right fist that Stig shot out. All he remembered was a devastating blow to the jaw, then blackness that lasted for several minutes. When he came to, he gazed around and found he was lying on a pallet in one of the huts. Mohegas and the tribe’s healer were bending over him and there was a throbbing pain in his jaw.

  “What happened?” he asked blearily.

  “You lost,” Mohegas told him. “The stranger Stig hit you with a massive blow. You’re lucky your head didn’t come off.”

  Simsinnet rubbed his jaw, moving it from side to side to ease the stiffness that was already setting in. “I’ll fight him again . . . ,” he began impulsively, although in truth he didn’t want to go through this a second time. But as he tried to rise, Mohegas put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down on the pallet.

  “You won’t,” he said firmly. “You challenged. You fought. He won. You know that is an end to this matter.”

  Simsinnet sank back glumly. Mohegas was right. Once a challenge had been taken up and the fight had been settled, that was it. There was no continuance of the bad blood that had existed between the two combatants; it was required of the loser that he make peace with his former opponent and set the feud aside. The Mawags were a small, tight-knit community and had no room for ongoing enmity.

  “Once your head has cleared a little, you will seek him out and make peace with him,” Mohegas ordered.

  Simsinnet nodded. The instant pain in his jaw and head made him wish that he hadn’t.

  “He must be a mighty warrior,” he said, feeling his jaw again. Hothead that he was, he had been involved in several fights before and he had never lost.

  “He is,” Mohegas told him. “It’s no shame to be defeated by him.”

  “Did Tecumsa see me defeated?” Simsinnet asked plaintively.

  Mohegas held his gaze for several seconds until the younger man looked away. “You offended her,” he said gently. “Of course she saw the fight. But she was concerned that you might have been seriously hurt.”

  Simsinnet’s face brightened at the news. “She was? She was worried about me?”

  Mohegas shook his head slightly. “Don’t get your hopes up. Of course she was concerned. She likes you. But I think she loves the stranger.”

  “Oh.” Simsinnet turned his face away. He could feel tears threatening to force their way out and he wasn’t having that. “I’ll make my peace with him after I’ve rested for a while,” he said, and closed his eyes before the tears could appear.

  Mohegas patted his hand gently. “Don’t leave it too long,” he said.

  • • • • •

  The Mawags kept a dozen canoes drawn up on the bank of the stream that ran behind the village. Hal borrowed one and, accompanied by Orvik, paddled down the creek to the bay, then across to the northern headland. As they passed the middle head, Orvik pointed north to the wide river mouth they had sighted when they first entered the bay.

  “That river runs inland and swings north. It’s the Mawags’ main thoroughfare if they want to trade with other tribes.”

  “Are there many other tribes on the river?” Hal asked. The recent mention of the Ghostfaces had him a little anxious about the prospect of meeting other tribes in this unfamiliar land. Orvik pursed his lips as he considered the question.

  “Maybe five or six,” he said. “They’re small groups, like the Mawags. Probably all came from the same basic tribe in the beginning. Their languages are very similar and they can all make themselves understood.”

  “So they’re friendly?” Hal asked.

  Orvik grinned, guessing what he was getting at. “All except the Ghostfaces,” he said. “They’re from a lot farther north. When they’ve raided in the past, they’ve used the river to attack the other villages. They’ll come down in a fleet of twenty or thirty canoes. They arrive by night and attack. We’re at the end of the chain, so at least we get some warning that they’re coming. In the past we’ve managed to take whatever we could and hide in the forest.”

  “But you say they haven’t raided in, what, eight years?” Hal asked.

  Orvik nodded. “They used to come every two or three years, according to the Mawags. Maybe they’ve found other people to prey on,” he added hopefully.

  Hal pursed his lips thoughtfully. If the Ghostfaces hadn’t been seen in eight years, there was little reason to suspect they might reappear now.

  “That’d be all I need,” he muttered to himself. Then, as they drew level with the inside of the northern headland, he steered the canoe into its lee and ran it up on a narrow strip of sand. Together, he and Orvik walked around the headland to the seaward side, where he studied the prevailing wind.

  “Still out of the northeast,” he said grimly. “The worst possible direction for us.”

  To head home, of course, they would have to sail northeast, straight into the teeth of the wind.

  “I thought you said you could sail upwind,” Orvik said.

  Hal shrugged, tossing a small piece of dry seaweed into the air and watching it blow back behind him.

  “Not dead into the eye of the wind,” he explained. “We have to zigzag across it, and that takes a lot longer. With the distance we have to go to reach home, we’d run out of food and water before we were halfway.”

  Orvik shaded his eyes and peered directly into the wind, feeling the spray from the waves spattering against his face. The salt air and the spray evoked memories in him, of a life he had led years ago.

  “Well, the elders say the wind is due to change soon,” he said. “It always does around this time of year. It backs into the southwest.”

  “That’ll be ideal for us,” Hal said. “We can sail on a reach across it, and our leeway will take us to the north. If only they could tell us when it’s going to change.”

  “Mohegas says at the time of the next new moon,” Orvik told him. “And he’s usually right about these things.”

  “Can’t come too soon for me,” Hal said. The new moon was two weeks away. “We’d better get back and see what new disasters have happened while I’ve been away.”

  • • • • •

  He was pleasantly surprised to find that no trouble had occurred while he’d been on the headland. He had begun to feel as if every time he left the camp, something happened that required his urgent attention.

  But things were absolutely normal when he returned. Mindful of Mohegas’s prediction, he singled out Edvin and Lydia.

  “We’re going to have to start laying food aside for the return trip,” he said. “That means I’ll need you
to bring in more meat, Lydia, and you can start smoking it or salting it, Edvin.”

  They both nodded. “I think smoking will be best,” Edvin said. “We don’t have enough salt to preserve a lot of meat—and we’ll need a lot.”

  Hal gestured to the bay. “Couldn’t we boil it out of seawater?” he asked.

  Edvin looked doubtful. “It’d take a lot of seawater and a lot of boiling to get enough. I’ll get the lads started building smoking racks.” He looked at Lydia. “Deer meat will be best. And more of those big birds.”

  Lydia nodded. She glanced toward the tree line and slowly stood up. “Hullo. What’s he want?”

  Hal followed the line of her gaze and also stood, a sense of wariness flooding through him. At the entrance ladder, Simsinnet stood, talking to Ulf, who was on duty there. As he watched, he saw Stig emerge from the sleeping hut and begin to walk to the fence line. Hal hurriedly followed, arriving in time to hear Ulf’s explanation.

  “He says he wants to talk to you, Stig,” the twin said. “He appears to be unarmed.”

  As he heard the last statement, Simsinnet held out his hands, palms outward. There were no weapons visible. Hal noticed that he wasn’t even wearing a knife.

  “We don’t want trouble,” he said to the Mawag. Ulf and Stig looked around at him as he spoke. Neither of them had heard his approach.

  Simsinnet smiled and shook his head. “No trouble. I come as friend.”

  Stig glanced at his skirl. “Let him in, Hal. If he acts up, I can always knock his block off again.”

  Simsinnet’s smile broadened. He seemed amused by the phrase. “Yes. Knock my block off,” he repeated, touching his bruised jaw gingerly.

  Hal gestured for Ulf to allow the Mawag to enter. Ulf, who had been blocking access to the ladder, stepped down and moved aside. Simsinnet climbed the outer ladder and descended the inner one. He stepped toward Stig, who took half a pace back. Simsinnet held out his right hand.

  “You are a great warrior,” he said. “You fought me and beat me. It was my honor to fight you. It will be my honor now to call you friend.”

  Stig hesitated. “I knock him out and he wants to be my friend?”

  Hal shrugged. “Seems like a good enough reason to me,” he said. “The way you whacked him, he’d be crazy to want to keep you as an enemy.”

  “I have no claim upon Tecumsa,” Simsinnet continued. His sincerity was obvious. “I will stand aside for you. And I will be your friend, if you will have me.”

  Seeing Stig was still doubtful, Hal interrupted quietly. “Orvik said this is their way. Once a challenge has been issued and taken up, the two opponents either become friends, or the loser leaves the tribe and goes away.”

  Stig twisted his lips. Admittedly, this sort of thing wasn’t unknown among the Skandians. He’d seen a lot of friendships forged after a fight—friendships that lasted for years.

  “Shake his hand, Stig,” Hal urged. He’d been thinking along similar lines.

  Stig suddenly grinned and stepped forward, seizing Simsinnet’s forearm in a spontaneous gesture. “Honored to have you as my friend, Simsinnet,” he said.

  The Mawag grinned. “Feathertop,” he corrected, gesturing to the two feathers in his headband.

  Stig held up his hands in agreement. “Feathertop,” he repeated.

  chapter twenty-nine

  In addition to his daily cooking chores, Edvin was now kept busy preparing and preserving meat for the journey home. Stefan, Jesper and Ingvar had constructed a smoking chamber for him, consisting of a wood framework covered by dampened birch bark. At the base was a fire pit that he kept filled with charcoal. A water tray was placed above that and the upper three layers were wooden racks where he arranged the meat to smoke. The smell was delicious and he was hard put to stop his shipmates sampling the smoked meat as it came out of the chamber.

  “If you keep ‘sampling,’ we’ll have no food left for the journey,” he told them angrily. They grinned unapologetically and tried to “sample” some more. Edvin had a long pair of wooden tongs and he found them amazingly useful for cracking knuckles. The sampling soon stopped.

  Lydia, of course, spent most of her waking hours in the forest, tracking game and bringing it in to be smoked. As each day passed, and the birds and animals grew more wary of the silent figure slipping through the trees, she had to go farther afield. But the forest teemed with game and she continued to provide for their daily needs, as well as providing for the trip home.

  Thorn, Hal and Stig went over the ship with a fine-toothed comb, looking for any sections of rigging that might have frayed or rotted, checking seams for leaks and, where they found them, re-caulking them.

  The standing rigging—the heavy cables that supported the mast and yardarms—was in good condition. It had been well tarred before they left home and the thick black coating had protected it against rotting. The running rigging was a different matter. The halyards and sheets that controlled the twin sails were, by nature of their function, subjected to constant friction and strain as they were hauled in and out, running through wooden pulleys. The continual rubbing against pulleys and deadeyes chafed the rope, removing the protective tar coating and causing weak spots. These were scrupulously located and replaced.

  As a final precaution, Hal had the ship towed round to the beach and ran her up onto the sand at the peak of high tide. As the water receded, Heron was left high and dry, canted over to one side on her keel. The crew scraped off the barnacles and weeds that had accumulated on the hull below the waterline, and caulked and sealed the seams of the planks to make them watertight.

  Now that they had made contact with the local inhabitants and knew they had nothing to fear from them, Hal was content to beach the ship to carry out this work. Previously, the concept of having his precious Heron stranded and helpless on the beach when the forest might well conceal enemies had been an anathema to him.

  In his spare time, Stig spent many hours in the company of Tecumsa. The two were often seen strolling hand in hand through the forest or along the beach. From time to time they took a canoe out onto the broad expanse of the bay. In addition, Stig often ate with her family, sitting round the cook fire outside their hut and laughing and joking with her parents. They had instantly accepted the tall blond stranger into their family circle, and treated him like an old friend. Tecumsa’s younger brother, who was aged twelve, looked up to Stig both figuratively and literally. He hero-worshipped the muscular young man. For Stig, whose early life growing up in Hallasholm had been one of rejection and shame, this was a novel and thoroughly delightful experience. He warmed to the family atmosphere that surrounded and embraced him.

  And of course, there was Tecumsa herself—beautiful, affectionate, independent and high spirited. She was the ideal companion and their relationship deepened rapidly.

  “What’s he going to do when it’s time to leave?” Hal asked Thorn, as they watched the young couple sitting close together in the Herons’ compound, laughing over something Tecumsa had said.

  The grizzled old warrior said nothing. He studied the two happy young people and shook his head slowly.

  Because now the concept of leaving, of going home, which had once seemed less than a remote possibility, was becoming more definite every day. As the stocks of provisions mounted and extra water jars were filled and stowed aboard ship, an air of expectation began to seize the Herons. Once the prevailing wind changed, it would be possible for them to set sail for their distant homeland. They had no doubt that they would reach it safely. Their faith in Hal’s skill to find the way back across half the world was rock solid.

  Orvik had sensed the expectation among his young countrymen. He had made himself useful as they prepared the ship, and taught Edvin the art of making pemmican—a mixture of dried meat, berries and fat that would keep for weeks and provide emergency rations if their smoked meat supplies were exhausted. As t
he Herons became more and more eager to be on their way, Orvik became increasingly silent, until one day he approached Hal.

  “Would there be room for me on board?” he asked, nodding to the ship where it lay moored just off the beach. With no apparent threat in the vicinity, Hal had elected to move the ship permanently from concealment in the inlet. Having it close to hand made it easier to load food and water aboard.

  “Well, of course!” Hal said immediately. “We’d be delighted to have you with us!”

  Surprisingly, his statement seemed to cause the old Skandian further perplexity. He had grown used to his new home among the Mawags. He had made many friends among the tribe members, particularly Mohegas, and now the prospect of leaving them for good weighed down on him nearly as much as the prospect of being stranded among them permanently had done.

  He wandered away from the beach, troubled in mind. When there had been no chance of returning to Skandia, he had longed for the familiar sights and sounds of his home country. But now he was loath to leave his friends among the Mawags. From his conversations with the crew of the Heron, he sensed that many things had changed back in Hallasholm. Wolfships no longer raided countries to the west and south. Instead, Erak had set up the Skandian fleet as a kind of international naval defense force, fighting pirates and escorting unarmed trading vessels from other countries through areas where they might be attacked by freebooters.

  In addition, it seemed that many of the people he had known were gone—either dead or moved away. He had asked Thorn about several of his old acquaintances and the one-armed sea wolf had responded with a negative shake of the head. Of course, his closest friends, the members of his own brotherband, had all perished when Wolf Foot had gone down.

  The more he thought about it, the more he began to think that perhaps his rightful place was here among the Mawagansett.