The Rage

by Lassiter Williams

  Muhkrentharne nodded slowly, taking everything in. “The Away People and their chief, Mikwin, are preparing a Prayer Ceremony. It will be the first time in many years that the Original People and the Away People have come together to ask Manito and the spirits for guidance. We will ask them what to do about Crow Woman and Snakebrother.”

  This felt right to Peyewik. “A Prayer Ceremony will be good,” he said.

  Muhkrentharne began stitching Kwineechka’s wound closed. Trib made a small sound of discomfort, and Peyewik looked up to see her watching the operation, her face slightly green. After a moment she stood up and went outside.

  “Jongren told us Flame Hair helped you escape from the Fighting Women,” Muhkrentharne said when she was gone.

  “Yes. The Fighting Women lied to her, and she no longer belongs among them. I have decided she is my friend because her heart is good, but there is still much anger in her. I do not know what choice she will make.”

  “What choice do you speak of?” Muhkrentharne asked. He finished his stitching and prepared a fresh bandage.

  “Love or fear,” Peyewik replied. “The same choice we must all make.”

  Muhkrentharne smiled. “I see you have made your choice. You are no longer the boy who was too afraid to sleep in the same house with the fire-haired demon. You are confident in the wisdom the spirits grant you, and you are no longer fearful.”

  “I have received my true Blessing,” Peyewik said happily. “I journeyed to the spirit world and received it from Manito himself.”

  Muhkrentharne’s eyes filled with tears. “It is as I knew it would be. I am very proud of you, my grandson.”

  Peyewik felt his heart warm with the praise, and then realized that there was no feeling of coldness or tightness in his chest. There hadn’t been since his journey to the spirit world. The angry spirit of Sky Eyes was gone for good.

  rib walked beside Kwineechka’s litter with her sword drawn. She had intended to go her own way when the Natives left the cave, but Jongren had asked her to accompany them for protection in case they met any New Murians or Puritanics. The journey would take a day, and she would set off on her own as soon as Peyewik and Kwineechka were safely in the village. She didn’t know where she would go, but it didn’t matter so long as she went far away from the Natives.

  In the meantime, she kept a close eye on the former Puritanic. Mid-way through the morning he stepped away from the litter-bearing party and disappeared into the trees. She followed stealthily, certain he was up to no good, but all he did was make his way around the litter in a wide circle, pausing every now and then to watch and listen. Trib noticed that he moved through the forest as silently as Peyewik or Kwineechka. Near the end of his circumnavigation he stopped and looked back at the tree behind which Trib had thought herself concealed.

  “There is no need to spy on me,” he said. “I am only making sure we are not being watched or followed.”

  Trib stepped out from behind the tree, scowling. “So you say,” she said.

  He smiled unexpectedly. “I am glad to know you take protection of the Natives as seriously as I do.”

  “You see any of your Puritanic friends out there?” Trib goaded him.

  “Puritanics are no friends of mine, and I will need to go farther afield to be certain no one is hunting us.”

  Trib eyed him, still convinced of treachery.

  “I will not go if you do not trust me,” he said. “One of the hunters can scout instead.”

  “Aye, send a hunter,” Trib said, moving back towards the others. “You stay where I can see you.”

  Jongren fell in step beside her. “Please believe that my main concern is the safety and well-being of my friends,” he said.

  “If you’re such good friends with Kwineechka’s father, how come he ain’t mentioned you before?”

  “I do not suppose he had a reason to,” Jongren said. “He has known me his whole life and was never given a reason to connect me with either the Puritanics or the New Murians.”

  “Except you look like a Puritanic, talk like one, and act like one.”

  Jongren gave her a direct look and smiled again. “Surely you have noticed that I do not act like a Puritanic? Though I look more like one than usual today,” he gestured at his linen shirt. “Kwineechka has only ever seen me in Native attire, browned by the sun, and living in the wild.”

  Trib was unwilling to accept his explanations. “Why ain’t you a Puritanic anymore?”

  Jongren looked off into the trees, his smile fading. “My wife.”

  Trib was surprised into silence.

  After a pause he continued, “Puritanic tenets hold that women are too weak to know God directly. They can only achieve blessedness by serving their more spiritually capable husbands. I believed this until I met my wife. She was the strongest, wisest, most blessed person I had ever known, male or female. Thus my belief faltered.”

  Trib had never heard anyone say anything like this, least of all a man about his wife. There was so much emotion in his face and voice that it made her uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and looked at the ground.

  “Forgive me if I speak too freely,” Jongren said. “I loved my wife very much.”

  “So you ain’t seen hide nor tail of a Puritanic in twenty years?”

  Jongren made a visible effort to pull his thoughts back to the present. “Actually, I was among them not a month past. Perhaps it will ease your mind to know they were preparing to hang me for a traitor at the time.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was captured after leading them on a fool’s chase that deprived them of some young quarry.”

  They had rejoined the litter bearers, and he looked over at Peyewik, who was chatting happily with his grandfather.

  “I was sorry to learn that the Puritanics found the village anyway, and the very same boy I was trying to help was killed.”

  Trib stared at the former Puritanic. She had the strangest feeling that she knew him, or had seen him somewhere before. In a sudden flash of memory she recognized him.

  “You were in the forest near Peyewik’s village!” she exclaimed. “When I was chasing the Puritanics that ambushed my expedition.”

  Jongren cocked his head and gave her a wry smile. “Strange to think we had a similar goal. I was tracking the same Puritanics, ever since they arrived in the south, hoping they wouldn’t find the Native villages.”

  Trib didn’t return the smile. “You were tracking them when they ambushed my expedition in the marsh? You let them attack without warning?”

  “No. I did not know about the attack until later. I am sorry if you lost friends that day.”

  “I did,” Trib said, surprised that a former Puritanic would express sorrow over the deaths of New Murians. She thought briefly of Cuss, wondering what her friend would think of everything that had happened since the ambush.

  “I found Peyewik right after I saw you,” she told Jongren. “A Puritanic was trying to drown him in the river.”

  “As overzealous as my former brethren can be, and contrary to the rumors Aoifa spreads, they are not child-killers,” Jongren said. “It is more likely that you rescued Peyewik from a forced baptism and kidnapping.”

  “You think it ain’t so bad to take him from his family and all he knows?” Trib said defiantly. “What about all those kids who disappear from the settlement, the ones the Puritanics kidnap? You think they’re happy being forced to live in the forest like animals with people who abuse them?”

  “Some are kidnapped, it is true, but never with intent to harm. The Puritanics believe they are saving the children. But salvation is not the only reason they take children. Many Puritanics had to leave their children behind when Aoifa expelled them from the settlement and forced them to live, as you say, like animals in the forest. I have known men to steal their own children from New Murias simply because they could not bear to be without them.”

  Trib didn’t understand this. “Why? They use them for
servants or something, the way Aoifa uses captured Puritanics?”

  Jongren looked at her sadly. “Because fathers love their children as naturally as mothers do,” he said, reminding Trib that Kwineechka had said the same thing. “Some New Murian mothers willingly send their sons out to be with their fathers.”

  This was more than Trib could stand. “Lies like that could bring a Rage down on you,” she warned him.

  “Yet you do not summon one. Perhaps you have recognized what Aoifa does to young men of a certain age?” He looked over at the storyteller on his litter. “Many mothers would spare their sons the siren song and a life of servitude.”

  Trib followed his gaze but had to look away when her stomach flipped over at the sight of Kwineechka’s sleeping face. She understood wanting to spare a loved one from Aoifa’s manipulations. She tried to hide her feelings by asking another question.

  “Where were you when Peyewik’s village was attacked?”

  “Tied up in the forest where the Puritanics left me. They were coming back for me after the raid on the village. As I told you, they planned to hang me as a traitor. I escaped while they were gone.”

  “You told them where Peyewik’s village was,” Trib accused, still looking for a reason to condemn him.

  “No,” Jongren said. “The first I learned that New Murians had arrived in the south was overhearing my captors talk about the ambush in the marsh and trying to find the New Murian who helped the Native child escape. The Puritanics found Peyewik’s village while searching for you.”

  Trib’s heart sank at this confirmation that the attack had been her fault, though there had been no accusation in Jongren’s voice.

  “What did you do after escaping?” she demanded.

  “I was making my way back to warn Kwineechka’s village when I found Peyewik and brought him to you.”

  “Why didn’t you make yourself known?”

  “You would have killed me on the spot.”

  “Aye, I would have,” Trib agreed. “Also would’ve killed you on sight this morning, if I’d had my sword.”

  “Which is precisely the reason Peyewik and I hid it from you.”

  Trib frowned and said nothing. As much as she hated to admit it, there was a chance Jongren had not deserved to die on the spot.

  “Something is troubling you,” Jongren observed.

  The kindness of his tone must have thrown her off guard, because before she could stop herself, she was telling him.

  “What if you really are just trying to help the Natives?” she said slowly, working her thoughts out as she spoke them. “You’re the only one who is. And what if I’d killed you this morning like I wanted to?”

  Jongren remained silent, waiting for her to finish.

  “Aoifa and the Scath trained me to think and act a certain way,” she continued. “I used to think it was the right way and the only way. I don’t know anymore if it was the right way, but I also don’t know if I can do any differently.”

  “You can,” Jongren said without hesitation.

  “Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” she snapped.

  “You will recall what I said earlier about how I lost my Puritanic beliefs? I never would have believed it possible before I met my wife. If I could change so drastically, you can as well.”

  Trib shook her head, not wanting to parallel her former beliefs with that of a Puritanic.

  “You care about Peyewik and Kwineechka,” Jongren said.

  Trib didn’t answer.

  “Perhaps there is a place for you with them, as there was for me,” he suggested quietly. “You might stay and continue to protect those you care about.”

  “The People were right to send me away the first time,” Trib said. “I’ve done nothing but bring them trouble.”

  Jongren sighed. “Trouble has been looking for the People since we first came over from the Old World,” he said regretfully. “It would have found them whether you were here or not.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” she demanded. “What do you care what I do or what happens to me?”

  Jongren looked startled, almost frightened by this question. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. After a long pause he said finally, “I have faith that you can heal and change for the better.”

  “Dess damn your faith,” Trib muttered.

  After that, they walked without speaking for a time, until Jongren said, “The day wears on. I will ask Nishingi to scout the movements of the Puritanics and New Murians.”

  He started to approach one of the tall, young hunters carrying Kwineechka’s litter, but Trib stopped him.

  “You go,” she said. “The hunters are busy. I don’t think you’ll betray us, at least not this time.”

  Jongren paused before leaving. “Do not set off on your own before I return,” he said, then turned and disappeared silently into the forest.

  wineechka’s litter made for very slow going, but Peyewik didn’t mind. It was the first time he had been outside since his journey to the spirit world. It was a warm, clear day, and everything felt clean and new, as if the world had been reborn while he was in the cave. It was as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and a veil from his eyes. His fears and worries were still there—what would happen at the Prayer Ceremony, what the People would decide to do in the face of such uncertainty and threat—but they did not rule him or dictate the shape of his reality. He walked beside his grandfather and listened to the birds, smelled the loam underfoot, tasted the breeze, and felt the sun soak into his skin. He was at home in the world, vibrating with life and full of joy. He told Muhkrentharne everything that had happened to him since he fled the village after Chingwe’s death, and the old man listened with wonder.

  “I’ve known there would be great and terrible things in your life since before you were born,” Muhkrentharne said after Peyewik told him of his journey underground with Panther. “And I know it has been hard for you to be singled out this way.”

  “Yes, but it is also a gift,” Peyewik gave his grandfather a reassuring smile. “I have seen amazing things, and they are helping me understand others who are different and the changes they will bring to the People.”

  He looked over at Trib, who was talking with Jongren. She was clearly wary of the man, but there was something about the two of them together that made sense to him.

  “Grandfather, how will Trib be received when she arrives in the village of the Away People?”

  “They will not be glad to see her, but Jongren says she plans to leave as soon as we get there. The People will not have time to get upset.”

  Peyewik was surprised to hear that Trib was leaving. He remembered Old Woman Menukan saying once that Trib had become part of the story of the People. Peyewik did not think her part was finished yet. Besides, he knew she had nowhere else to go.

  Not long after, Jongren left the group to go find out what the Fighting Women and Pure Men were doing. Flame Hair continued walking beside the litter, stealing glances at the storyteller when she thought no one was looking. When Kwineechka woke up around midday, she quickly stepped out of his line of sight.

  As soon as the brothers Nishingi and Nikismus realized their passenger was awake, they started teasing him.

  “Flame Hair follows you like a wife,” Nishingi goaded him. “Did you marry without telling us?”

  Kwineechka grimaced and did not return their jests. Peyewik sensed that he was troubled. Whether it was about Trib or something else, he could not tell.

  They arrived in the village of the Away People late in the afternoon. Everything was in chaos as Kwineechka was welcomed home, and the Away People continued to make room for the displaced Original People. Peyewik tried to keep track of Trib, afraid that she would leave without saying goodbye, but he lost sight of her as the Original People swept him up. Just as Muhkrentharne had said, they were overjoyed to have him back. Chingwe’s mother wept and embraced him.

  “It was not your fault
the Pure Men came,” she said. “I should not have blamed you. Chingwe loved you like a brother, and you are like a son to me. The People need you now. We will listen to all you have to say.”

  Peyewik cried with her when they talked of Chingwe and of Old Woman Menukan and the others who had been killed in the second attack on the village. Then she walked with him through the village, showing him where everything was, and introducing him to new people. The village was both strange and familiar to Peyewik. It was larger than the village of the Original People and surrounded by a cedar forest. The Away People were kind and welcoming, but he saw the anxiety in their faces and wished he could reassure them with some of the peace he’d found in the spirit world.

  Towards sunset, Muhkrentharne came to find Peyewik for supper. The women of the village were cooking huge pots of stew in honor of their guests and the Prayer Ceremony that would happen the next day, and the delicious smell was making Peyewik’s stomach rumble. On his way to the cooking fire he saw a disheveled figure lurking behind some huts. It was Flame Hair, uncomfortable and trying to stay out of sight.

  “Have supper with us,” he said to her, pantomiming eating so she would understand.

  “That is not a good idea,” Muhkrentharne tried to stop him.

  “She has to eat,” Peyewik insisted. He held out his hand to her, but she shook her head.

  He went to her, took her hand, and pulled her towards the cooking fires. He saw Kwineechka surrounded by friends and family and started to walk to him. The storyteller smiled at Peyewik, but his face fell at the sight of Trib. Peyewik came to a stop as the people around the cooking fires fell silent, staring at Trib.

  Trib tried to leave, but Peyewik held onto her, remembering too well what it felt like to be unwelcome among the People. He stood up as tall as he could and said in a loud, clear voice, “I ask you to extend your hospitality to my friend Flame Hair, called Tribulation by her people.”