Crown of Vengeance fie-1

by Stephen Zimmer

  Among the last of the villagers to arrive to the throng around Logan’s group were some of the most intriguing individuals of all.

  A few older women, of particularly stately bearings, methodically came up join the gathering. Several younger members of the tribe escorted these women with obvious reverence. The crowd parted wide to allow the elderly women access to the forefront of the assemblage, many conceding their prime locations in deference to the women.

  One of the elderly women caught Logan’s attention in particular, as she came to stand almost directly before him. She was wearing a full-length, black-dyed buckskin dress, richly ornamented with dyed quill-work. A distinctive image was visible on the front of her tunic-dress, surrounded by a bevy of swirls and floral representations. It featured a large, semicircular shape, which arched over a pair of parallel lines, whose width spanned to the ends of the semicircle.

  The old woman gazed upon Logan with an impassive expression resting upon her heavily creased face. The look in her dark eyes was alert and penetrating, and he wished that he could read her thoughts.

  Another distinctive individual caught Logan’s attention in a similar way, an older man whose approach was also accompanied by gestures of respect and deference among the other villagers. Like the elderly woman, he came to stand close to Logan.

  He was wearing a headdress fashioned from the thick-furred skin of a brown bear. The bear’s upper jaws crowned the old man’s head, lending his stern, eagle-like visage even more strength as he stared fixedly towards the foreigners.

  Logan held the man’s eyes for only a moment, before his attention was taken in again by the swirl of faces all around. The tribal people were still cheering and lauding the warriors, but it was becoming abundantly clear that burning questions were on the tips of all their tongues. Murmurs ran abundantly through the crowd, coming from lips set underneath eyes that were intently scrutinizing Logan’s group.

  Before the tension at the unanswered inquiries became too uncomfortably palpable, Ayenwatha stepped forward from the war band and swept his gaze over all of them. A hush fell upon the crowd at his movement, as a host of expectant eyes turned to regard him.

  “My brothers and sisters of the Onan, of the village of the Place of Far Seeing, the war party has returned… and with very good tidings. We have not lost even one of our brothers, while gaining a victory over the enemies that would seek to do us harm,” Ayenwatha announced, his tone resonant, and unmistakably proud as it carried over all the gathering.

  As if to emphasize the triumphant result of the excursion, the women bearing the scalps waved the poles back and forward again in a salutatory fashion. The gesture elicited a chorus of whoops, cries, and cheers that pierced the air.

  Logan could both see and feel the ecstatic surge of delight at the news of the full survival of the war party. The exuberance was especially reflected within the faces of many women that had begun to step forward to greet individual warriors in the band. All of these women wore their hair with a single, long braid down their backs.

  Logan did not have to ask anyone regarding the identity of the women stepping forward. Their faces emanated the lightness of sheer relief, along with the radiance of unrestrained joy and affection towards their returned husbands.

  The scalp-poles were then given over to some of these women. The particular woman that received the pole displaying multiple scalps had a sparkling expression as she accepted it from the female bearer. She gazed back proudly at the warrior that she had just been embracing, raising the pole high and letting out an energetic, victorious whoop, flashing a dazzling smile at him. The other women receiving scalp-poles had similarly beaming expressions and reactions as they turned to regard their husbands, who, Logan fathomed, were undoubtedly the ones responsible for the war trophies. Following the handing over of the scalp-poles, it took a few more moments for the renewed adulation to settle down again.

  The crowd then became subdued once more, as Ayenwatha resumed his address, turning to look upon the seven foreigners as he spoke. To Logan, it felt as if the air immediately thickened with the multitude of inquisitive stares that fell in mass upon him and his fellow exiles. The pervasive stillness held the acute, weighty sensation of the enveloping throng collectively holding their breaths.

  “As you can see with your own eyes, we have seven with us who are not of the tribes… and who are not of these lands. They were not taken as prisoners by our war party, and do not appear to be of the enemy. Their stay among us is still to be decided,” Ayenwatha stated firmly. “But know that they carried no sign of the dark magic. The crystals speak truly, and it is certain that they do not practice the dark ways.

  “For now, they are to be my guests. They are to be treated as guests of the Onan, while their fate among our people will be decided by our village council.”

  Logan could read a wide range of responses within the faces and eyes oriented towards the seven strangers. Mistrust, apprehension, hostility, and even some smatterings of welcome were displayed in the variety of expressions in view around him.

  The diverse reactions left him in a more uncertain state, after having just gained a little more confidence while traveling along with the war party. Though Ayenwatha had treated Logan and the others politely enough, it was now very clear that the seven were still facing a very unpredictable situation.

  “Prepare now for the welcome, with meat and the sweetness of the maple,” Ayenwatha then announced, his words bringing a little of the former levity back to the atmosphere. Though many of the tribal people continued to stare at Logan and the other newcomers, Ayenwatha’s words were greeted with considerable enthusiasm.

  Logan looked to the sachem for some indication as to what was to come next. Ayenwatha’s eyes roved across the faces of the crowd, and looked well beyond the gathering, as if searching for someone in particular.

  Ayenwatha then turned and conferred in private with some of the warriors that had initially come out of the village to greet them. All that Logan was able to gather were some passing references to a person named Deganawida. From what he could glean from snippets of their conversation, the desired individual was not currently within the village.

  Ayenwatha looked visibly displeased at the news of the person’s absence, and Logan found himself wondering who the sought individual might be.

  The sachem then turned his attention back to the seven exiles. He gestured for them to follow, as he stepped forward and guided Logan and the others onward, heading deeper into the village. The crowd dutifully parted aside to allow all of them a channel to pass through, and Logan could feel the heavy stares that lingered to his sides and back as they proceeded through the congested assemblage.

  Ayenwatha, a few escorting warriors, and the seven foreigners passed deep into the midst of the elongated structures. They finally drew near to the cluster of greater longhouses that Logan had espied earlier, in the village’s center.

  The sachem led them straight towards the end of one of the extensive longhouses. Ayenwatha did not break stride as he pushed aside a hide flap spanning the sheltered opening and proceeded inside. As he passed just beneath the bark panel suspended over the entryway, Logan carefully eyed the symbol depicted upon it.

  The symbol was that of a very unusual, six-legged beast, sharp of fang with decidedly cat-like features. He hoped that such an unusual creature was just a mythical depiction, a construct of tribal imagination, and not any actual representation of what lay out in the surrounding forest; the forest which Logan and the others had just been walking through.

  Passing under the sheltered porch-entrance, the group filed through the hide-draped opening into a sort of vestibule. It held within it a number of barrels fashioned out of bark sheaths, as well as a quantity of corn-husk baskets and pottery containers. The object of greatest abundance stored within the space was firewood, the sections of which had been collected and piled into many sizeable stacks.

  The group did not linger within the storage area
as they headed straight through another opening a few paces immediately ahead, similar to the entryway behind them. Once through it, they found themselves within the first interior chamber of an inhabited longhouse.

  Ayenwatha drew to a halt within the chamber, as if to indulge the visitors’ curiosities. Logan was grateful for the pause, as he gazed around at a fully finished living chamber. It was a segment of the same type that he had just seen in the process of being crafted outside, the extension to the mid-sized longhouse near the village entrance.

  To each side of Logan’s group were raised, bark-covered platforms, set at about a sitting level for an average adult. Upon the platforms were long corn-husk mats and several animal skins, both of which Logan figured were used for sleeping at night.

  Over their heads, running along each side of the chamber, and also constructed of thick sheets of bark, were shelves being used for the storage of foodstuffs, tools, weapons, hides, and other various items. Some of the implements in view were very interesting in appearance, catching Logan’s attention momentarily. One of these items looked like a racquet of some type, perhaps giving a hint as to the kind of sport engaged in by the tribes. Nearby was a pair of matching objects that featured latticed, broad bodies, looking distinctly like a set of snow shoes.

  Logan could see the edges of shallow pits that had been dug out directly beneath the lower sleeping platforms. The pits also appeared to be for storage, as he could see the dark shapes of objects contained within them, though their specific forms were shrouded in deep shadow.

  A few feet of open space extended along the side walls from each end of the lower platforms, the small areas holding more bark barrels, as well as a few stacks of firewood. A bark-panel wall, pierced by a narrow opening, divided the living chamber from the next compartment in the longhouse sequence.

  While the upper and lower platforms arranged on each half of the chamber, as well as the storage spaces, inherently mirrored their opposite sides, not everything within the section was duplicated. Set into the middle of the compartment was a singular fire pit, which was presumably shared in common by the occupants of the two analogous living spaces.

  Farther above Logan, hanging from the elm-pole rafters of the ceiling, were what appeared to several braided bunches of corn, as well as long strips of some type of dried meat or fish. There was also a small hole in the ceiling that was positioned directly over the fire pit, presumably for the escape of smoke.

  Despite the smoke hole, Logan could quickly see that ventilation in the chamber was very limited, and that any fire burning in the hearth pit would quickly render the room congested and hazy. Even without an active fire burning the air was thicker to the lungs, and heavily laced with strong, musky scents. Logan surmised that it would not take very much to make the interior conditions unbearable to his own senses.

  “There are two families to each chamber, one living on each side,” Ayenwatha explained, as Logan and the others continued to gaze around. “For now, you will be staying in this longhouse, which is of my own Firaken Clan, for I am responsible for your presence in the village. Now, come forward with me, and I will take you to your quarters.”

  Ayenwatha led them onward, across the chamber, passing through the next opening and continuing through the midst of several more similar dwelling spaces until they finally came to one that had very few signs of habitation. If anything, it appeared to be wholly abandoned.

  The chamber’s upper shelves, rafters, hearth pit, and open spaces were largely barren, save for a few mats, hides, a couple stacks of firewood, and a few other elements.

  Ayenwatha drew to a stop in the chamber, and turned to face the group as they gathered around him. “This chamber is where you may rest amongst yourselves for now. It is not being occupied at the moment. A terrible sickness claimed many from the village a few seasons ago, and not all chambers in the great longhouses have been reoccupied. I must go now, to tell the others of everything that has happened, and of you. I will return for you when I am finished.”

  Ayenwatha then walked through the middle of the group and made his way out of the chamber, heading back the way they had come, leaving the seven exiles all by themselves for the first time since they had been surrounded. A few moments after Ayenwatha had left, the group began to quietly spread out within their assigned living quarters.

  Logan walked away from the others, heading towards the lower platform that was set to the right side of the opening through which they had entered the chamber. Antonio followed after him a few moments later, and the two friends sat down side by side upon the platform’s edge. Feeling the rough, uneven surface beneath him, Logan knew that it would take some time getting used to the furnishings.

  Logan glanced over to his right, towards Antonio. In that moment, Logan realized that the two of them, so used to confiding closely in each other over recent years, had not spoken much at all together since they had joined up with Erika and Mershad in the forest.

  “So much change, so fast,” Logan muttered, low enough that his words were delivered in relative privacy.

  Antonio replied in an equally subdued voice, “Everything is moving fast. Makes me feel kind of helpless. I don’t think we have real freedom anymore. None at all. Any way you look at it. And I mean… any way.”

  He pointedly glanced over at the opening that Ayenwatha had just departed through. Logan followed his friend’s gaze and saw that there were a few of Ayenwatha’s warriors lingering quietly within the adjacent chamber. Seeing their presence, Logan had little doubt that if he, or any of his companions, were to walk through the next opening into the other abutting chamber, they would likely encounter another warrior or two.

  For the time being, it was abundantly clear that the seven were not going to be allowed to exit the longhouse of their own accord. Their hosts were treating them with a cordial respect, perhaps even generously given the circumstances, but it was still one that had its precautions and firm parameters.

  “We will work with whatever we’ve got,” Logan finally replied, staring at the forms of the warriors for a moment longer before returning his gaze back to Antonio. “Really, it’s just like every day back in our own world. We didn’t control those circumstances either. We did whatever we had to do… in response to whatever we had before us.”

  Logan paused, and then gave Antonio a rueful grin. “Though I admit the things facing us back home were a whole lot more familiar to us.”

  “But where is this all headed to?” Antonio asked with a forlorn expression. Logan could see the fear glistening in his friend’s eyes. “If it wasn’t for the fact that we’re going through it hour by hour together, it would be hard for me to believe any of this is even real. But I know it is no dream…”

  Logan shook his head, “I don’t know. The best thing that’s happened is that we haven’t panicked too much. I know that we’re all scared. I would be a fool and a liar to say otherwise. But we can’t lose control now, and we can’t start panicking. Things would get much worse, very quickly. We have to keep our wits about ourselves, even if it all looks like murk and storms ahead.”

  Antonio nodded with a pensive expression at Logan’s advice. Logan knew that his friend would likely heed the sentiments that he had voiced, even if Antonio was none too happy about their current state of affairs; prisoners in a foreign land that had a blackening cloud of war spreading over it.

  Logan looked over at the rest of the group. Two were milling about the opening to the chamber on his left, while a couple more were occupying the surface of the platform opposite to him.

  Kent, clearly restless, was working to climb up to the overhead platform on the other side of the chamber. Logan watched him idly, somewhat curious as to what Kent was up to.

  “So what do you think of the others? Do you think that everyone else can hold themselves together for long?” Antonio asked Logan.

  Logan, continuing to watch Kent’s upward progress, nodded affirmatively. “I think so. I think they all can. Especi
ally Derek. He’s probably our best fighter, if things come down to something that needed that, and he’s got a military background. We talked about it during our turn together on the night’s watch. And I really think Erika and Janus are very capable individuals too. She’s a strong one, with a lot of willpower. Janus is one of those quiet, tenacious types. He’s not one that would easily let us down.

  “As for Kent, it is a little questionable, but he seems to be managing okay for the moment. And Mershad… I don’t know enough about him yet, but my gut tells me he’s good. But I honestly think all of them will be fine. I really do.”

  “Well, let’s make the best of it then, like you say. Everyone in this room is kind of like our family now, in a way,” Antonio observed. His grin, likely meant to be encouraging, was laced with nervousness. “I…”

  “No weapons! Put that down! And come down here, right now!”

  Antonio flinched as their conversation was curtly interrupted, a stern, authoritative voice coming from the opening that they had entered the chamber through.

  Kent had succeeded in climbing up to the overhead platform, and had been marveling at one of the ball-ended, carved timber war clubs that he had found lying up there. His expression in the wake of the admonishment was not far from that of a naughty child caught red-handed.

  Kent set the club down slowly, and carefully climbed back down to the ground level. His face was flush as he turned around to face the others.

  “Sorry, sorry, I just was curious about what was up there, that’s all,” Kent said gently to the strong-looking warrior that was now standing in the entryway, glowering at him. Kent held his hands up, palms open, in a placating gesture.

  The plainly irritated warrior moved quickly past Kent, climbing up swiftly to the upper platform and retrieving the weapon. He took a few moments to search about the platform before coming back down. Crossing the chamber, he climbed and checked the other higher platform.