“Dess damn it!” Trib cried. “They’re going to kill each other before Aoifa gets anywhere near them.”
wineechka was sitting outside his tent, sharing breakfast with his mother and father, when two hunters entered the camp carrying a large, hide-wrapped bundle on their shoulders.
“The rain has stopped and already the hunters have found us more food,” Shikiwe said. “Manito is smiling on us! Soon we will be able to continue on our way and leave Snakebrother far behind.”
Kwineechka wasn’t so confident. Although Peyewik’s herbs had enabled him to sleep dreamlessly and awaken rested for the first time since leaving the village, Crow Woman’s song had started again the moment he opened his eyes.
“It is not food,” Kwineechka said as the hunters came towards Shikiwe, their faces grim.
“If that is not a deer, then what is it?” she asked as the hunters placed their burden on the ground before her.
Kwineechka’s father, Nitis, knelt down and pulled away the wrappings to reveal the cold, gray face of Chief Mikwin.
Shikiwe cried out, drawing the attention of the People nearby.
“We left before dawn to hunt,” one of the hunters said. “We were following the river when we found him.”
“Manito is punishing us,” Shikiwe said, and began to weep.
There was outcry of dismay from the People as they recognized their chief’s body. Kwineechka was paralyzed by horror and the song in his head. Then, suddenly, Crow Woman’s voice stopped, replaced by the sound of a different song.
It was Peyewik, singing Chief Mikwin’s spirit across the River of Death. Shikiwe joined him, her voice weak from crying, and eventually the rest of the People joined in as well.
Later in the day, after the songs had been sung and Chief Mikwin had been buried, Shikiwe found Kwineechka standing beside the river. He had gone there to escape the accusatory looks and whisperings of the People.
Shikiwe stood beside him, looking down into the angry waters. Though the rain had stopped, it was still flooded and dangerous. The People could not safely cross for another day or so.
“Some of the People are blaming you for all of this,” she said. “First the bad weather and the river, then the wolf attack. Now our chief is dead, and we have had to bury him far from the land of our fathers. What will happen next?”
“I do not know…”
“Our hearts are breaking. We need a story to remind us of the trials the People have faced in the past and how we survived by keeping faith in Manito. Speak to us with the voices of our ancestors and reassure us that we are not lost and alone, that Manito is still with us.”
“You know I cannot,” Kwineechka said, close to tears.
“What I know is that ever since you were chosen as the Storyteller of the People, it has been a great burden to you.”
“No. It was an honor.”
“You were never comfortable with the ancestors taking over your voice and body.”
Kwineechka wanted to tell her how much he had prayed to Manito to have the ancestors back, to hear them again instead of Crow Woman, but he couldn’t say this to her.
“Marrying Hinutet will free you of Flame Hair and the Pale Ones once and for all. Then you will be able to tell stories again.”
“I do not want to marry Hinutet,” he said, remembering that he had already asked someone to be his wife. At the time it had seemed like a matter of convenience, so that the People would not think badly of him for spending so much time with Trib. Now he realized two things. That the People would’ve thought badly of him for spending time with her, married or not; and that it hadn’t entirely been a matter of convenience. He had loved her before she betrayed him.
“It does not matter what you want,” Shikiwe said harshly. “You have shamed yourself and the People by your involvement with Flame Hair and the Pale Ones. They are Snakebrother’s creatures and you attached yourself to them. You became infatuated with Flame Hair, and this is why the ancestors have forsaken you. So you must marry Hinutet, to prove to them that you are free of the Pale Ones.”
“It would not be right…”
“You must do this,” Shikiwe interrupted him. “You must be able to tell the stories. If you are not the Storyteller of the People, you are nothing, and we do not need you.”
She left him then, and Kwineechka stood where he was, knowing she was right. He was nothing if he wasn’t the Storyteller of the People.
As he stared down into the water, he wondered if Chief Mikwin had chosen to be taken by the river because he no longer recognized himself or his place in the world, and so had chosen to leave it.
e cannot let them kill each other!” Jongren cried.
Trib stared helplessly as Okahoki and the Original People advanced on the Puritanics. The Puritanics raised their weapons in readiness. The Natives outnumbered the Puritanics, but the Puritanics were armed with swords, and Trib counted at least four pistols among them. The Natives carried only their stone tools. The Puritanics also had more extensive combat experience, though Trib could see the fury and grief in the People’s faces. They were tired of being abused and ready to fight to the end. It would be a bloody confrontation.
Okahoki swung his ax into the air.
“In the name of God, stop!” someone cried, and all heads turned towards the Reverend as he pushed his way past his men to stand before Okahoki. He was carrying no weapons.
“You’ll translate for me?” he asked Jongren quickly, then turned to Okahoki. “I beg you to hear what I have to say. Josiah has profaned his faith and shamed his brethren. He has committed an atrocity against this young woman and against your people. One of many, you must agree, that we have committed against you.”
Okahoki stared at the Reverend without speaking. He had lowered his ax to shoulder height, but did not lower it the rest of the way.
“I do not deny this,” the Reverend continued. “I stand before you, before my brethren, and before my God, to ask for forgiveness. I see now that those who are weak try to build themselves up by oppressing those with even less power. This is what Josiah did, and I see for the first time that this is what I have done. I begin to understand why the New Murians unleashed the Rage against us all those years ago. Kinteka had no choice today. What Josiah would have done to her, if she had not used it, is unthinkable. My atonement is this: I will send my men back to the north where we came from, never to harass you again. And I offer you my life in recompense. It is my ignorance and lack of understanding that led my men to abuse you.”
There were distraught murmurs from the Puritanics.
Speaking through Jongren, Okahoki said, “What do your men think of this? Who is to say they will not ignore your orders and attack us again the first chance they get?”
“We follow the command of our reverend as the command of God,” one of the Puritanics spoke up. “We do not believe God wishes us to harm others unnecessarily. We know one of our own has blasphemed.”
The rest of the Puritanics, with the exception of Josiah, nodded or made sounds of agreement.
Okahoki replied, his gaze never leaving the Reverend’s face.
“I do not want your life. I care only for my people, which is why I say this. You will live, and your men will stay. You will be our allies against the Fighting Women, as we originally planned.”
The Reverend bowed his head. “We will fight and die for you if that is your wish.”
“Your men agree?” Okahoki asked.
“Any who do not wish to stay and fight are free to go,” the Reverend replied.
None of his men moved.
Finally, Okahoki lowered his weapon all the way.
“Praise God,” the Reverend said. “I thank you for your mercy.”
But Okahoki wasn’t finished. “If one more of my people is hurt by a Puritanic, I will kill every last one of you myself.”
The Reverend held out his hand. Okhoki switched his ax to his other hand and grasped the Reverend’s forearm briefly.
> “Thank the Goddess,” Morrigan murmured.
“I got something to tell you,” Trib said to the Reverend. “Morrigan is set to begin training the Natives in summoning the Rage today.”
She waited, holding her breath, to see if this would shatter the tentative peace.
“So you did lie to me,” the Reverend said.
“Actually, no. I just didn’t tell you.”
The Reverend nodded. “In light of what has transpired here today, I cannot blame you. It is a horrifying notion to think what some of us would have done with the Rage in our misguided states.”
“So what do we do now?” Trib asked.
“Teach the Natives the Rage,” the Reverend said. “We will fight beside them without it.”
Trib was stunned.
“I turn Josiah over to you to punish as you see fit,” the Reverend said to Okahoki.
“No!” Josiah threw himself at the Reverend’s feet. “You can’t give me to these barbarians! They will do ungodly things to me. ”
“You are the barbarian,” the Reverend said in a low voice. “It is your actions that are ungodly.”
Josiah staggered to his feet and tried to run, but his injuries slowed him down.
“You continue to shame me,” the Reverend said as two Puritanics caught Josiah by the arms and turned him over to Nishingi and Nikismus.
“What will Okahoki do with him?” Trib asked.
“He has asked Kinteka what Josiah’s punishment should be,” Jongren said. “Nishingi and Nikismus are offering suggestions on her behalf.”
“I don’t blame them,” Trib replied, thinking once more of Crow Woman and Kwineechka.
“I would rather hear them telling jokes,” Jongren replied. “They have finally found something they cannot laugh at.”
hat night, as the People ate supper, Kwineechka watched Hinutet serve stew to her family. She was kind and gentle and smiled often. She was graceful and gracious and also very pretty. His mother had been right that she would make a very good wife. She was the opposite of Trib, who was rude, angry, dirty, sodd-looking, clumsy, and violent. She would have made the worst wife.
And yet she was the one Kwineechka had asked.
Kwineechka reminded himself that he had been desperate to keep Crow Woman at bay. He still didn’t understand why Trib’s presence had been able to do that, but it had been such a relief to him that he couldn’t imagine being parted from her. He told himself this was the only reason he had been foolish enough to propose to her. True to her upbringing among followers of Snakebrother, she had betrayed him, leaving him to Crow Woman’s violations without a second thought. It was her nature.
Later, as he fell asleep, his last thought before slipping into dreams was to wonder if Hinutet was as beautiful a dancer as Trib had been.
He dreamed he was still locked in the windowless room with Crow Woman. She laughed at him and taunted him. She told him that escaping had been the dream and that he would never truly get away from her. She had claimed his spirit for herself, and she would never let go. She would have her way with him as many times as she wanted and then she would have her way with the People…
Kwineechka woke, shivering in the darkness. He could not close his eyes again for fear that he would return to Crow Woman’s room. When he heard the dawn birds start singing, he got up and went to the tent where Hinutet’s family slept. He sat and waited until the sky began to lighten and he heard movement inside the tent. Hinutet’s father emerged, on his way to relieve himself in the forest. He saw Kwineechka and stopped.
“Please send your daughter out to me,” Kwineechka requested politely.
“Why?” her father asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“I want to marry her. Today.”
It was a great honor to be asked to marry the Storyteller of the People so Hinutet and her parents both agreed, unperturbed by the urgency of his request. In the absence of a chief, Muhkrentharne performed the marriage ceremony. Kwineechka felt immediately better, as though the ceremony had cleansed him of the past few months, and none of it had ever happened. Crow Woman’s song was only the tiniest echo in the back of his mind, and he was sure that it would fade away completely soon.
Shikiwe was beside herself with joy.
“They were meant for each other since they were children!” she told everyone. Then she turned to Kwineechka. “Now you must celebrate your marriage by telling a story.”
This time Kwineechka did not resist. He stood before the People and saw his new wife among them, smiling up at him. He returned her smile and then opened himself to the story, confident that the ancestors would come. And they did. He felt himself being filled with their presence and welcomed them, glad of their return. He opened his mouth to let them speak through him…
But something was wrong. Instead of returning to the past, to relive the ancestors experiences, Kwineechka found himself in Crow Woman’s prison again, reliving her violation and the theft of the story. To his horror, he realized the People were there with him. He was not speaking with the voices of the ancestors, but with Crow Woman’s voice, and she told everything that she had done to him and everything that she would do to the People once she found them.
Kwineechka fought her with all his strength. He thought he heard Peyewik calling to him, trying to help. This time there was nothing the boy could do. Crow Woman couldn’t be stopped until her version of the story was over. When it ended and Crow Woman’s voice at last fell silent, Kwineechka opened his eyes and saw the People staring at him. He saw the disgust and betrayal in their faces and the shame was unbearable. He turned and ran from them.
He didn’t know where he was going, but he felt drawn towards her. He realized he could finally be free of his suffering if he just turned himself over to her, let her do with him what she wanted. All other thoughts fell away, and Kwineechka heard only Crow Woman’s voice as he ran on and on through the night.
rib and Morrigan stood outside the makeshift house where the priestess conducted the Rage Initiations. It had been removed a fair distance from the village because of the disturbing sounds that sometimes arose during the process.
“The final initiation was completed last night,” Morrigan reported. “Ten of the People chose to undergo them, including Kinteka and the brothers, Nishingi and Nikismus.”
Trib’s heart sank as she remembered how hard it had been to get the brothers to take anything seriously when she first met them. She hadn’t seen them smile once since Kinteka had been attacked by the Puritanic.
“Okahoki?” she asked.
Morrigan shook her head and leaned against the side of the hut.
“You aren’t well,” Trib said. The priestess was pale and shakey. The circles under her eyes were so dark she looked as though she had been beaten again.
“Guiding people to relive their worst memories and then teaching them how to harness the destructive power of those memories takes a toll.” Morrigan gave her a wan smile. “Most priestesses could not have done so many so fast. My ability to feel what others feel makes me very good at it. It was why Aoifa chose me as her apprentice.”
Trib had never thought of the effect that Rage Initiations might have on the priestess who carried them out. Now she realized that Morrigan had suffered through the horrors of her intiates as though they were her own, and she had done it ten times over. Trib felt queasy.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t realize. You should have told me.”
Morrigan shook her head. “After the first initiation she had me do, I knew for sure that something was wrong, that Aoifa no longer worshipped the same Goddess I did. She was exploiting people’s pain, twisting it to her own ends.”
“If the initiations are so wrong, why did you do them for the People?”
Morrigan was silent for a moment, her eyes closed. When she opened them she looked weary, as though she had aged ten years overnight.
“I have seen the worst memories and deepest pain of the Natives who
wished to be initiated,” Morrigan said. “All of it was caused by us.”
“But it was the Puritanics who attacked…”
“Tribulation, why were the Puritanics here? Why do they live the way they live? Because the New Murians harry them endlessly, and they are forced to live lives of violence and distrust. We are equally responsible.”
Trib suddenly saw how this was true. “We’ve drawn the People into it as well, to the point where they had no choice but to fight back or be destroyed. Kwineechka was right from the start. We brought Snakebrother to the People, and he is winning. What does the Goddess have to say about all this?”
“That there is more of the story to be told.”
“Ain’t that always true?” Trib asked. “The thing we never know is what’s going to happen next.”
Morrigan smiled. “Did you ever think you should have become a priestess instead of a warrior?”
Trib laughed. “No way in hell.” After a pause she said, “You going to be all right?”
“I’ll live long enough to see this battle happen,” Morrigan replied, reminding Trib that she had known it was a losing cause from the beginning.
“How long do you think we have before Aoifa finds us?” she asked.
“Aoifa’s anger is a force of nature,” Morrigan replied. “I can feel it drawing near, like the approach of a storm.”
“Do you think the People are ready?”
“I’ve given them the Rage, you’ve taught them how to use it. The rest is in the Goddess’s hands.”
A twig cracked nearby and Trib held up a hand, listening. There was another crack, and rustling.
“There’s someone in the forest,” Trib said, pulling her sword off her back.
“One of the People?”
Trib smiled grimly. “I wouldn’t have been able to hear one of the People coming. She’s found us…”
The Rage Page 23
