The Rage

by Lassiter Williams

  Trib remembered the beautiful beadwork on the dress Kinteka had lent her the night before the Prayer Ceremony and felt her heart sink.

  “Kinteka thinks that if her sister had known how to use the Rage as you do, she would not have been killed.”

  Trib nodded slowly, her heart pounding.

  “And your question for me,” Morrigan prompted.

  “Can you do Rage Initiations for the People?” Trib asked quickly, before the thought of what Jongren would say could dissuade her.

  Morrigan replied with the same straight forwardness. “Yes. As Aoifa’s apprentice I was taught how to instigate a Rage in someone and train them to access it at will.”

  “How long would it take?”

  “It depends on how many wish to use it,” Morrigan replied. “A few hours for each person. Peyewik has told me how much the Original People have been through already. I can feel their suffering, which sadly, will allow the Rage to come to them easily. But someone would have to teach them how to use it in battle, how to fight.”

  Trib nodded. She had already thought of that.

  “Tribulation, you cannot…” Jongren’s voice wavered.

  “I have no choice,” she said.

  “You have a choice! You said you did not want to ever use the Rage again. Why inflict this horror on the People, who have only ever raised their voices in song and prayer?”

  “I don’t want this!” Trib said, whirling on Jongren. “I liked it when you said I could learn to sing instead of summoning a Rage. I liked it when Peyewik told me I was a friend, and Kwineechka told me I might find a new place here with...the People. I want that, not this, not more raging and fighting. But I have no choice. If the People want to fight for their home, I owe it to them to help in any way I can.”

  “You feel this way because you love them,” Jongren said. “Can’t you understand? It is all the more reason not to do this to them. This is why your mother refused the Rage. Because she believed in love such as you are feeling, not Aoifa’s vengeful, Raging Goddess.”

  “Look at what that love did to her, to my family,” Trib said. “They’re dead because she wouldn’t fight.”

  Jongren looked away from her, and she knew she had hurt him again, though this time she hadn’t been trying.

  “I ain’t going to let that happen again,” she said quietly.

  “Does Kwineechka want you to do this?” Jongren asked. “You deny your relationship with him, but I have seen how you care for him since the first time I saw you with him. Instead of stories you would have him use his voice to summon a Rage that threatens his very soul?”

  She tried not to think about Kwineechka, about how he had suffered when a Rage started coming to her, and how she had said she would stay with him until Aoifa’s voice no longer bothered him.

  “He’ll go with the Away People,” she said. “Far from here and beyond Aoifa’s reach. He won’t need me anymore, and he’ll never have to summon a Rage.”

  “But the others? And yourself? It will destroy you. It will make you like Aoifa and the Scath.”

  “The Rage has already done its damage to me. I’m willing to sacrifice what’s left of my damaged soul to help the People. They will only have to use it once, to defeat Aoifa. It won’t destroy them the way it has me. If you’re so against it, you should go with the Away People, run away like you did before…”

  Jongren recoiled as if she had hit him. “This is wrong, and I pray you don’t do it. But I would rather die than ever leave you again. If you are staying here to fight, so am I.”

  Trib was struck dumb by this. Even when she found her voice, she could not speak to Jongren. She turned to Peyewik instead.

  “You think this is wrong?” she asked, not bothering to ask for a translation. “You think I shouldn’t teach the People the Rage?”

  Peyewik glanced at Kinteka and Morrigan, both victims of different kinds of rage. Then he looked back at Trib and spoke.

  “Only you and Manito know the truth that is in your heart,” Morrigan translated. “You must listen to that truth. I cannot tell you what to do.”

  “Dess damn it, I don’t even know what that means,” Trib said. “What about you?” she asked the priestess. “I can’t do this without you.”

  “Peyewik speaks the truth,” Morrigan replied. “Only you and the Goddess know what is in your heart, and you must listen to that, nothing else. If your heart tells you to do this, I will help you.”

  wineechka came awake with the feeling of cold fingers trailing on his skin. It was still night and he was alone. Crow Woman wasn’t there. But neither was Trib. The sleeping skin beside him was empty. She had left him alone, and Crow Woman had come for him in his dreams.

  Then he heard footsteps and saw a dark shape emerging from the shadows, moving towards him.

  “Where have you been?” he said, sitting up suddenly.

  Trib jumped, her long knife flashing in the moonlight.

  “Kwineechka,” she exhaled, “don’t scare me like that.”

  She lowered the weapon and went to kneel beside him. He could see her hair, dark and loose on her shoulders. He touched it and felt the dampness. The fabric of her shirt was also soaked through.

  “You have been bathing?” he asked, surprised.

  “Aye,” Trib replied. “Someone got me into the habit.”

  “It is nighttime,” he said. “And it is cold.” He pulled a sleeping skin across her wet shoulders.

  “Well, I can’t do it during the day with you always at my side, can I? Unless you want to see more of me than you bargained for. What would your ma think of that?” She laughed softly.

  The cold touch on Kwineechka’s skin and the echo of Crow Woman’s song had left him as soon as Trib appeared. As he listened to her laugh, he felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch her face, to feel the heat that would rush into her cheeks when he did so. He had thought it the strangest thing when he first saw it, the way her face would suddenly turn red. He had thought she was ill. Now he understood that it meant she was feeling something like shame or anger or excitement.

  He didn’t touch her. Instead he said, “You must marry me.”

  Trib laughed again.

  “Why would I do a damn fool thing like that?”

  “My mother…the People…they would understand if we were married.”

  “They would understand that you’re marrying a pale-skinned, fire-haired monster like me because I’m the only thing that keeps an even greater monster from stealing your sanity and soul?” she asked.

  “We are leaving tomorrow,” he said. “A journey with many people. It will be hard for us to…” He gestured between their bodies and towards the pile of sleeping skins.

  “You mean, if we were to marry, you’d be allowed to come with me while I bathe?” Trib said. Her tone was teasing, but Kwineechka heard a hint of anxiety behind it.

  “Would you expect to do more than just bathe and sleep?” she asked.

  Kwineechka lowered his head. He had not been thinking of that, only of the relief she gave him from the torment of Crow Woman.

  “You heard her,” Trib realized. “Just now, while I was away.”

  “Yes.”

  She took hold of his hand, her grip warm and strong.

  “I’m sorry I left you,” she said. “And I’m sorry I let Aoifa do this to you.” Her voice shook slightly. “I told you you’d always have a place with me. And you do. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

  “You will marry me?” he asked.

  “If it will help you sleep better to hear me say it, then yes, I will marry you. Though I doubt it will keep your aunties from having fits over us.”

  Kwineechka stared at her through the darkness, remembering when she had seemed to him like the pale-skinned, fire-haired monster she described. She didn’t seem like that anymore, and it wasn’t just because she could silence Crow Woman. She had changed. She had become something he wanted to be near, like a warm fire that kept the chil
l at bay. She was no longer the person she had been, and he believed her when she said she would stay with him and protect him.

  He nodded, reassured.

  “You can go to sleep now,” she said. “I ain’t going anywhere. She won’t bother you again tonight.”

  Kwineechka lay down. Trib did not lie down with him, but kept one hand on his shoulder and the other on her long knife. He drifted back to sleep with her keeping watch over him and his nightmares at bay.

  He was awakened by a flutter of black feathers and a whisper of Crow Woman’s song. He opened his eyes, reaching for Trib. But there was no one. Just the forest, empty in the morning light. She was gone.

  The flutter of feathers grew stronger, until it beat inside his head and his throat, threatening to choke him. Crow Woman’s song grew louder, and he began to hear words.

  Trying to ignore them, he rose shakily to his feet, telling himself that Trib couldn’t be far, that she would come back soon. She had promised. He stumbled towards the village, expecting to see her at any moment. He found everything in chaos as the Away People said their farewells to the Original People. The men of both villages hung back, stony-eyed, still angry after the conflict over food, but there were tears and embraces among the women.

  He searched the crowd desperately, locating Trib near the cooking fires. She was speaking intently with her father, and he felt a surge of relief. That was why she had left him, to speak to her father. Surely she would come back to him now. Just then she turned towards him, and her eyes were hard, her body tense. Her features softened when she saw him, but it was too late. He knew what was happening. She was getting ready to fight.

  “Why?” was all he could say.

  “I told you I would do whatever I could to keep you safe from Aoifa,” she said.

  “You said you would marry me.”

  She shook her head. “You only want to marry me so the People won’t think badly of you. But if you go away from here, away from Aoifa, she’ll lose power over you. You won’t need me.”

  “I need you now,” he said. His voice sounded distant in his own ears, muffled by Crow Woman’s feathers. The words of her song were growing louder. Soon he would no longer be able to ignore their meaning.

  “I have to stay and teach Okahoki and the Original People how to fight,” she said.

  “You cannot.” Kwineechka looked to Jongren for agreement, knowing he wouldn’t want his daughter to do this. Jongren kept his eyes fixed on the ground and said nothing.

  Kwineechka felt someone touching his face and realized he had closed his eyes. He opened them, expecting again to see Crow Woman. Trib stood before him, but her hands were cold like stone and Crow Woman’s voice was louder than ever.

  “Do not touch me.” Kwineechka staggered backwards.

  He saw pain in Trib’s eyes as she tried to reach him again, and he liked it. He was overcome with a desire to cause her more pain. Before he knew what he was doing, he clenched his fist and struck her with all his strength. Once, then again. He felt the ache in his hand, bruised against the bones of her face.

  Trib was on the ground, blood trickling from her nose and mouth.

  Without thinking, he lifted his foot to kick her.

  “Enough of this, my son.”

  Kwineechka’s mother’s voice, soft and close to his ear, slipped in under Crow Woman’s harsh song.

  “Come away now,” his mother said. “It is time to go.”

  As the People made their final farewells to friends and family, she led him by the hand to his place in line, right behind Chief Mikwin. He followed her blindly as the People left the place that had been their home and their ancestors’ home since the Story of the People began. Crow Woman’s song was loud and clear now, distorting that story into one of violence, fear, and abandonment. Kwineechka tried to look back once but could see nothing through the darkness of feathers that blocked his vision.

  wenty Natives and a dozen Puritanics eyed each other from opposite sides of a clearing. Trib, the Reverend, Jongren, and Okahoki stood between them, negotiating the coming conflict.

  “Jongren and I have been training Okahoki’s people in basic combat for four days,” Trib said. “And Okahoki agrees with us that it’s time to start practicing with actual bodies. That’s where your men come in, Reverend.”

  “We will help where we may,” the Reverend replied. “I have advised my men not to hurt the Natives.”

  Trib glanced at Okahoki and saw the fierce glint in his eye as he stared at the Reverend. He had agreed to the original alliance with the Pure Men in the hopes of preventing further bloodshed and conflict, but that had been before he decided to stay and fight Aoifa to the death. When Trib had told him that she would stay and show his people how to fight the New Murians, the first thing he had said was, “The men who destroyed my village will fight with us?”

  “I ain’t thrilled about it either,” Trib had replied. The idea of fighting alongside her life-long enemies had been nearly inconceivable to her when Jongren reminded her of the alliance. But Jongren had been able to convince her of the logic of it.

  “There’s no arguing with the strategic benefits of it,” Trib had told the chief. “Aoifa thinks you’re still in conflict with the Puritanics. It adds to the element of surprise, which is the main thing we have going for us. Plus the more people we got fighting on our side, the greater our chances of survival.”

  Okahoki had nodded at this and said no more. Most of those who had stayed behind to fight with him were Original People who had lost homes and loved ones to the Reverend’s raids. They would do as their chief ordered, but as Trib watched the chief out of the corner of her eye, she realized she had no idea whether his goals had anything to do with survival.

  “I can’t guarantee Okahoki has advised his men the same way,” Trib told the Reverend.

  The Reverend laughed. “Surely you don’t think four days of training could turn these primitives into a threat to my men who have been fighting for years?”

  “No,” Trib replied. “But burning their homes and killing their friends and family might.”

  Jongren stepped in before the Reverend could respond. “We should get started. Reverend, tell your men we’ll begin practicing one-on-one with weapons and choose your first volunteer.”

  The Reverend went to talk to his men and Jongren said, “You’re going to have to be civil to them or this could end badly before we even see a New Murian.”

  “I reckon not ripping their guts out like I’ve been trained my whole life to do is damned civil of me,” Trib replied.

  Jongren turned to face her fully, a troubled look on his face. “Tribulation, I know it has been hard for you since Kwineechka left. If your judgment is at all affected…”

  “It ain’t,” Trib said forcefully. “That’s over and done. I made my choice, and I’m going to see this through, even if it kills me. Which it most likely will. So there’s no point thinking about anything else.”

  She was relieved when the Reverend returned, preventing Jongren from saying any more.

  “This is Josiah,” the Reverend introduced a short, dark-haired young man carrying a sword. “He’ll fight first.”

  At a signal from Okahoki, one of the Natives came forward to meet the young man.

  “You’re mocking me,” Josiah said, stiffening.

  “Kinteka is one of our best fighters,” Okahoki said through Jongren. “She will fight you.”

  “Josiah cannot fight a woman,” the Reverend said. “It’s beneath him.”

  “He fights women all the time,” Trib pointed out. “That’s why we’re here, ain’t it?”

  “That’s different. The New Murians have the Rage.”

  “Exactly,” Trib replied. “Kinteka will be up against a much stronger opponent when she faces the New Murians. Best get her used to that from the beginning.”

  “It’s on your head if she gets hurt,” Josiah shrugged.

  Trib stifled her anger over the man’s arrogance and
gave Kinteka a nod of encouragement. The round-faced young woman didn’t look nervous at all, but Trib had to force herself to relax as Jongren called for the sparring to begin. Kinteka was turning out to be one of her best trainees, but Puritanics weren’t to be trusted.

  Kinteka raised her weapon, a stone-headed ax, and went for Josiah just as she’d been taught, managing to dodge the first defensive sweep of his blade. She didn’t get close enough to land a blow, but Trib was pleased with her anyway.

  Once Josiah realized that she wasn’t completely unskilled, he put a little more effort into fighting her. He disarmed her and got an arm around her throat fairly quickly. He was in the middle of shouting his victory when Kinteka stepped back, shifted her weight, and threw Josiah off balance. He went down, and Kinteka pulled a knife from her boot and held it to his throat.

  Trib was joined by the other Natives in cheering loudly and laughing as Nishingi and his brother did a victory dance in Kinteka’s honor.

  Kinteka was smiling as she stood and offered a hand to Josiah. When he refused sulkily, the Reverend surprised Trib by calling out, “Lose with grace, man! You were over-confident, and the girl was smart enough to use it against you. Give credit where credit is due.”

  At the end of the day, after the last sparring session, the Reverend turned to Okahoki and said, “Your men did well today. I apologize for underestimating them. I don’t know how well they will stand up against the Rage, but you can at least rest assured that they are getting good training.”

  It took Trib a moment to realize that the Puritanic had paid her a compliment, and then she didn’t know what to say to him.

  “Er…be back here at first thing tomorrow. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “Of course,” the Reverend said and wished her a good night. He rounded up his men and headed back to the encampment they’d set up in the woods near the training field.

  Watching them go, Trib saw Josiah throw a bitter look at Kinteka and resolved to keep an eye on him. Compliments or no, Puritanics still weren’t to be trusted.

  “Good thing they didn’t set up camp too close to the village,” she said to Jongren.