The Rage

by Lassiter Williams

  “To avoid awkwardness with Okahoki and the Original People?” Jongren asked. “I thought they did well together today, all things considered.”

  “Aye, that,” Trib said. “Also because they stink.” She wrinkled her nose at the pungent odor that lingered even after they had gone.

  “The Reverend wasn’t lying. Okahoki’s men did well today,” Jongren said.

  “Nishingi and Nikismus could be good fighters if they stopped thinking of this as a game,” Trib replied, watching the brothers laughing and joking as they headed back to the village.

  “Goddess knows we need the laughter though.”

  “Aye,” Trib agreed. “Thank you,” she added.

  “For what?”

  “You think this is wrong, but you ain’t said a word against it since...the others left. And you’ve been a help to me, translating for the People and running interference with the Puritanics.”

  “Wherever you go and whatever you do, I’m with you,” Jongren replied. “But Trib, you know we’re going to have to tell the Reverend about the Rage Initiations.”

  “I don’t see what for. If he knows, he’ll want his men initiated too.”

  “Would that be such a bad thing? We’ll never be stronger than Aoifa, but as you pointed out, the one thing we have going for us is the element of surprise. Aoifa doesn’t know Morrigan is still alive and therefore can have no notion of her teaching the Natives the Rage.”

  “Aye,” Trib said. “Let the Reverend be surprised along with her.”

  “Tribulation,” Jongren said slowly. “Aoifa would never expect the Puritanics to use her own greatest weapon against her.”

  Trib knew he was right, but the thought of it made her sick to her stomach.

  “I can’t allow it.” It was hard enough knowing that the Natives would be using the Rage against her former comrades. She couldn’t bear the thought of arming Puritanics with the one thing that had kept her people alive and free of their control for so many years.

  “Very well,” Jongren said. “But it will not go well when the Reverend discovers you’ve kept this from him.”

  wineechka hunched under his wet cloak and listened to the roar of the swollen river, wishing it could drown out the sound of Crow Woman’s song in his head. It could not, and he had no choice but to listen to it, feeling it draining him of his will and all hope of ever escaping her.

  Trib had justified her decision to stay behind and fight by saying that Crow Woman would lose her hold over him as the Away People moved farther away from her. But her song had only grown louder in the eight days since the Away People had left their home.

  “I have crossed this river many times on hunts,” Kwineechka heard one of the hunters say, his voice raised to be heard above the roar. “I have never seen it flooded like this.”

  “Can we cross?” Shikiwe asked.

  Kwineechka’s mother had asked him to accompany her and some of the hunters to assess the river while the rest of the People set up camp for the night.

  “Not until the rain stops and the flood waters go down,” the hunter replied.

  It had been raining for three days straight. It was unseasonably cold as well. The People had continued to travel through the terrible weather, but now it appeared as though they could go no farther.

  “When will that be?” Shikiwe asked.

  “It depends on when the rain stops,” the hunter replied. “We will have to wait at least two days beyond that before crossing.”

  “I will tell Chief Mikwin,” Shikiwe said, reminding Kwineechka of all the responsibility she had taken on since the People had decided to leave the village. It was unusual for a woman to take on such a leadership role, but the chief seemed unable to manage without her.

  “You will come with me,” Shikiwe used the tone of authority she had adopted over the past few days. It bothered Kwineechka, but the People seemed to find it reassuring and were glad to follow her instructions when it came to setting up camp, distributing food stores, and dealing with the difficulties and discomforts of their journey.

  Kwineechka tried to avoid her attention by following a few paces behind as she and the hunters returned to the camp, but she stopped and waited for him to catch up, letting the others go on ahead.

  “You still cannot hear the ancestors?” she asked, taking hold of his arm. “It would do the People much good to hear a story.”

  Kwineechka shook his head. “I still cannot hear them.”

  Shikiwe looked as though she wanted to say more, but they had arrived at the chief’s lean-to. She reported the state of the river, and the chief responded by waving vaguely and saying, “So be it.”

  Shikiwe stood for a moment, waiting for him to say more, but he just went back to smoking his pipe.

  “Should we wait until the flooding goes down, or change our route?” she prompted him.

  “I must be allowed to smoke my pipe in peace,” Chief Mikwin replied.

  “The People are cold and tired. They need to know what your plan is.”

  “I am your chief!” Mikwin declared. “And I am telling you to leave me in peace.”

  He stood up and left the lean-to, walking out into the rain with his pipe still in his mouth. One of the hunters tried to stop him, but the chief shook him off and headed into the woods.

  “Chief Mikwin has never had to lead in times of real trouble,” Shikiwe said, watching him go. She turned to the closest hunter. “Tell the People that we will stay in here until the flooding goes down. Can you hunt for food in this weather?”

  The hunter shook his head and Shikiwe said, “Then I will begin rationing the stores we brought along.”

  The hunters left and Kwineechka tried to slip away with them, but Shikiwe stopped him.

  “I know what is wrong with you.”

  Kwineechka suddenly felt ill at the thought that she might know what Crow Woman had done to him.

  “It is Flame Hair,” Shikiwe said. “She put a spell on you.”

  “It is not Flame Hair,” Kwineechka said.

  “You should not have spent some much time with her and among her people.”

  Kwineechka did not argue with this, but Shikiwe wasn’t finished. “You have been foolish. You let yourself be drawn in by her spell. She made you think think you care for her.”

  Kwineechka shook his head, but Shikiwe didn’t let him speak.

  “Your foolishness has done the People great harm for we are now far from home without the guidance of the ancestors. We become more lost with each passing day, and it is your fault.”

  Crow Woman’s song threatened to drown his mother out as Kwineechka was overwhelmed with shame.

  “I know how to fix this,” Shikiwe said then.

  Kwineechka looked at her warily. “How?”

  “Go to your tent and rest. I will come see you when I have finished with the rations and all the other work that needs to be done. I will tell you then.”

  Kwineechka made his way to his tent, aware along the way of the People watching him, blaming him for their bad luck because he had lost their connection to the wisdom and guidance of the ancestors. Even though his mother hadn’t gotten it completely right, she was right about that part. It was his fault.

  “How long since you have slept?” Kwineechka looked up to see Peyewik standing in front of him.

  “When I sleep, I see Crow Woman, I am with her again. So I try not to sleep.”

  “Make a tea from these herbs and drink them tonight. They will help you sleep without dreams.” Peyewik handed him a small pouch. “Remember what I told you. Only you can release the shadow that clings to your spirit.”

  “It is too late,” Kwineechka said. “She took the story from me. I can never get it back. She will torture me forever, and I will never be able to tell another story.”

  “So long as you believe so, it is true.”

  “I am sorry, Little Brother. Thank you for the herbs, but you can’t help me. No one can.”

  Kwineechka continu
ed on to his tent, climbed inside and lay there until he heard someone approaching some time later.

  “My son, come out and speak to me.”

  Reluctantly he crawled out into the damp evening and found that his mother was not alone.

  “You remember Hinutet,” Shikiwe introduced the young woman standing beside her. “You played together as children.”

  Not wishing to appear rude, Kwineechka gave the girl a weak smile and said, “I remember,” though all he wanted was for both women to leave him alone.

  After an awkward silence Hinutet said, “My mother is waiting for me. I should go. I am glad you are with us, Kwineechka. So long as the People have their Storyteller, they cannot forget who they are or where they came from. They can never be lost.” She smiled and walked away.

  Kwineechla was sickened by her words and looked up to see his mother watching him intently.

  “Hinutet will make a very good wife,” she said.

  “For someone, yes…”

  “You must marry her. She will cure you of the spell Flame Hair put on you. You will forget all about that fire-haired demon. You will remember your people and your place among them and the stories will come back to you.”

  Kwineechka opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by a sudden scream. He looked towards the sound and saw Hinutet standing alone before the bedraggled form of a wolf.

  There were more screams and cries as the People became aware of what was happening. The hunters tried to help her, but every time they got too close, the wolf snarled and snapped at the girl.

  Then a small figure stepped between Hinutet and the wolf. It was Peyewik.

  “He’ll be killed!” Shikiwe gasped.

  Kwineechka forgot to breathe as he watched.

  Peyewik appeared perfectly at ease, his body relaxd as though he was speaking with an old friend. He made no sound, but after a time the wolf stopped growling and the fur on its neck no longer stood up. The wolf dipped its shaggy head once, turned, and padded away into the rain.

  Shikiwe and a number of the women ran to Hinutet’s side as she collapsed to the ground. The hunters followed after the wolf to make sure it wouldn’t come back.

  Ignoring everyone Kwineechka went straight to the boy. “All of these terrible things are happening because of me, because I have angered the ancestors.”

  “No,” Peyewik replied. “The wolf came here because he was hungry. The river is swollen because it has been raining. Remember, I can talk to the spirits. I know none of this is because of you.” He smiled impishly. “You aren’t nearly that important.”

  Kwineechka shook his head, wishing he could believe the boy.

  rib and Jongren stood in one of the abandoned houses of the Away People, studying an assortment of stone-headed hammers and axes that had been laid out on one of the sleeping platforms.

  “It doesn’t feel right sending them into battle without proper weapons,” Trib said.

  “The People have been using these tools to kill as well as build for a long time,” Jongren pointed out.

  “Aye, but I can still wish for a few blades, maybe a gun or two, to match the New Murian weaponry.”

  “The Reverend might have a few guns stashed away.”

  “Reckon he won’t share them with us,” Trib snorted.

  “You misjudge the Reverend,” Jongren replied. “He is not the antagonist…”

  He was interrupted by someone shouting Trib’s name.

  “What now?” Trib said, pushing open the door flap to see what was happening.

  The Reverend was storming across the village with a number of his men in tow.

  “What was that you were saying about the Reverend?” Trib made a face at Jongren before stepping outside to meet the Puritanics.

  One of them was bloody and leaning on a crutch. Trib recognized him as Josiah, the man Kinteka had beaten on the training field the day before.

  “I didn’t think Kinteka beat him that badly,” Trib commented to Jongren, who had followed her outside. She crossed her arms and planted her feet as the Reverend came to a stop in front of her, spit flying out of his mouth as he yelled.

  “What was your plan?!” he shouted. “To teach them all the Rage and then turn on us?”

  “What in Dess’s Name are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been teaching the Natives the Rage behind my back!”

  “I haven’t.”

  “You lie!” the Reverend declared.

  “No one has been taught the Rage,” Trib said, speaking very slowly and carefully, trying to keep her temper in check until she better understood what was happening.

  “Then what happened to my man?” The Reverend waved towards Josiah, who was leaning on his crutch and looking pathetic.

  “Kinteka beat him in a fair fight yesterday,” Trib replied. “You said so yourself.”

  “She used the Rage on me!” Josiah cried.

  “That ain’t possible!”

  “I’ve seen the Rage before,” he insisted. “She shrieked and attacked me with an ungodly strength.”

  “I saw her beat you on the practice field yesterday!” Trib said. “She didn’t use the Rage!”

  “Not on the practice field,” Josiah replied. “This morning, in the woods.”

  “You’re lying. Kinteka wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t!”

  The Reverend took an angry step toward her, but Jongren intervened.

  “Kinteka herself is coming. We should hear her version of events.”

  The Reverend surprised Trib by backing off and saying, “You are right, Jonathan. All sides of the story should be heard.”

  Kinteka wasn’t alone. Morrigan walked with her, leaning on a staff that, as a result of Aoifa’s beating, she would probably have to use for the rest of her life. Nishingi and Nikismus followed close behind. They drew near, and Trib saw an ugly bruise on Kinteka’s face. Nishingi and Nikismus carried weapons and stared at Josiah. Trib had never seen them look so serious and intimidating. Nishingi started toward Josiah but stopped at a word from Kinteka.

  “By Dess, what happened?”

  “We would have come to you sooner,” Morrigan said, “but her injuries needed tending.”

  “Tell us,” Trib said through clenched teeth.

  Kinteka spoke, and Jongren translated. “She went to sing her prayers and bathe early this morning. She was coming back when this man waylaid her.” Kinteka pointed at Josiah.

  “He made it clear he wanted to lie with her. She refused and tried to walk away. Then he tried to force her. She fought back, but he was stronger…”

  “You did not mention this,” the Reverend interrupted, speaking to Josiah. “Tell me this is a lie.”

  “It is true,” Josiah said. “But…”

  “You forced her?” the Reverend asked, his voice low and dangerous.

  “I did not!”

  “Only because she fought you off,” Trib snarled, flickers of red showing in the corners of her vision. Suddenly all she could think of was Aoifa touching Kwineechka without permission.

  “She used the Rage on me!” Josiah insisted.

  “You lie to cover your deeds!” Trib shouted.

  “No, Tribulation,” Morrigan said quietly. “He speaks the truth. Kinteka used the Rage.”

  “You initiated her?” Trib asked, confused.

  “I did not. Kinteka does not know how she did it either. She was very scared when the Puritanic attacked her. She thought of her sister, and suddenly her fear turned to anger. She said it felt like fire in her veins and she became strong enough to fight him off.”

  It sounded like the Rage to Trib. “But how?” she demanded.

  “I believe the Rage can come to anyone under duress,” Morrigan said, “though they cannot summon it at will unless they are initiated.” She turned to the Reverend. “I swear by the Goddess that I did not teach anyone how to summon the Rage.”

  “Whether you did or not,” the Reverend replied, “I see she did not use the power with
out good reason.” He turned to Josiah with a dangerous glint in his eye.

  “Aye,” Trib agreed. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I don’t need to defend myself to you,” Josiah spat.

  Before Trib knew what was happening, the Reverend had Josiah by the throat. “Then defend yourself to me and to your Lord!” He let go so Josiah could speak.

  “She humiliated me yesterday,” Josiah said in a pleading voice. “It wasn’t right.”

  “But what you attempted to do to her was?” the Reverend asked.

  “You told us these primitives were no more than animals!”

  “I did not say they were animals. I said they were like animals in their awareness of God. Josiah, you know as well as any Puritanic here that rape is a sin.”

  “You preached that we are spiritually superior. It was not rape. I was teaching her a lesson, as her spiritual better…”

  Jongren was translating for the Natives. When Nishingi understood what Josiah had just said, he gave a furious yell and dropped into a fighting stance. His brother followed suit. They were outnumbered three to one by the Puritanics, but they didn’t seem to care.

  Trib couldn’t blame them. She was relishing the thought of helping them when the Reverend turned to Kinteka.

  “It is my fault if my men did not understand my sermon,” he said, a stricken look on his face. “It is true that in accordance with the Puritanic dogma I preached, that we were your spiritual betters, with a responsibility to bring you to our God with respect and care. But…” The Reverend’s voice cracked with emotion. “Josiah’s actions have proven that we are no one’s betters. He has committed an abomination, and we are all responsible.”

  Trib’s thoughts of revenge foundered in confusion. The Reverend’s regret seemed genuine. Nishingi and Nakismus, however, remained unmoved. Nakismus raised his ax in challenge.

  “Reverend Wilson,” one of the Puritanics spoke up. “What Josiah did was wrong, and we’re sorry for what happened to the girl, but we will fight back if we are attacked!”

  Just then Okahoki arrived, carrying an ax. Behind him came many of the Original People, also carrying weapons. The same weapons Trib had been inventorying earlier. They moved to stand with Nishingi and Nikismus against the Puritanics. The tables had turned, and now it was the Reverend and his men who were outnumbered.