The Rage

by Lassiter Williams

  “You used the siren on her?” Trib asked, crossing the hut to stand beside the sleeping platform.

  “To make her sleep,” Morrigan replied.

  “Can you use it to make her forget?” Trib asked hopefully, suddenly remembering what the Scath had told her about Aoifa using her spells to make her forget the day her family was murdered.

  Morrigan shook her head. “She will remember.”

  As Trib stood looking down at Kinteka, she heard the singing continue outside.

  “Josiah is gone,” she turned to Jongren. “Why are they still singing?”

  “They are singing for Kinteka now.”

  She thought of how she had felt after killing the Puritanic boy and knew that Kinteka now knew the same horror.

  “And for all of us,” Jongren added.

  As Trib listened to the People’s song, she realized that Josiah’s death was only the first of many to come. She dropped down on one knee. “What have I done?” she whispered.

  Someone knelt down beside her and she thought it was Jongren until she looked up and saw Kwineechka. She hadn’t realized he was in the hut. He pulled her to her feet again. Jongren murmured something about getting some rest, and Trib remembered that she hadn’t slept in two days. Jongren said he would find her later, and then Kwineechka was pulling her outside and leading her to another hut.

  “This is my father’s house,” he said. “You can rest here.”

  Trib climbed onto the nearest platform covered with animal skins, curled up into a ball, and started sobbing like a child. Not long ago she had been ashamed to cry in front of the storyteller, to let him see her weakness, but now she had no choice. It felt as though grief was all that was left of her, and she could show him nothing else.

  He sat down and put his arms around her.

  “How can you stand to touch me,” she said thickly. “I’m a monster.”

  “You are not.”

  “I’ve hurt so many people.”

  “If you were a monster, you would not care that you’ve hurt people. You would be like Crow Woman. But you are not.”

  “I’m Snakebrother, just like you said…”

  “No, you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. And it is your heart that makes you strong, not your sword. This is not the work of Snakebrother.”

  He did not let go as she cried herself to sleep.

  When Trib woke again, she could see stars through the smoke hole in the roof. She sat up with a start. “Aoifa!” she said. “She’s coming. We have to be ready.”

  “We are,” Kwineechka replied, startling Trib with the nearness of his voice.

  “Okahoki and the Reverend are good leaders. Crow Woman will be here at dawn, and the People are ready. All you can do now is sleep. Jongren will wake you in a few hours. You will need your strength for tomorrow.”

  He reached for her, and she jumped at his touch.

  “You’re married,” she said.

  “Yes,” he replied. “But I love you. My wife is far away, with the Away People, and Crow Woman will be here at dawn. ”

  She let him pull her back down into the bed. In the weak light of the stars she looked into his golden eyes and said, “I understand now.”

  “What do you understand?”

  “That you can’t take anything that has a spirit. You can only share it.”

  “Yes,” he said, and she felt the smile on his lips when he kissed her.

  wineechka was awakened by Jongren’s voice calling from outside the hut.

  “Tribulation, it is time.”

  “I’m coming,” she called back softly and Kwineechka realized she was already awake and dressed, sitting on the edge of the sleeping platform he’d shared with her. He saw the glint of her long knife resting across her knees. She stood up and strapped it onto her back.

  “I’m going with you,” he said.

  “No. Someone needs to lead the women, children, and elders to safety after we’re…” Her voice trailed away and she had to take a deep breath before finishing. “…if Aoifa wins. You can take them to Jongren’s cave.”

  “They will not go,” Kwineechka replied. “The People have been divided too much already. They will not be separated from any more loved ones.”

  “They’ll be killed. Or worse. Aoifa will spare no one.”

  “I know,” Kwineechka said. “The People know.”

  “Please don’t come with me. I’ve lost too many people I love. I couldn’t stand to lose you again.”

  “I have to,” he said. “I am the Storyteller of the People.”

  “But what if you’re killed? Then there will be no Storyteller.”

  “If I am killed, another Storyteller will be born, and I will come to him as an ancestor and tell him how it happened, and it will be the Story of the People, not Crow Woman’s story of fear and loss.”

  “Tribulation!” Jongren called again. “We have to go. Scouts are reporting that Aoifa is close.”

  Trib stepped away from him. “Aye, then, but stay close to me. I will protect you as long as I can. Now let’s go. My father is waiting.”

  The sky was just beginning to lighten when Kwineechka found himself standing on sandy ground in the middle of a large clearing surrounded by thick pine trees. All around him were the Pure Men and the People who were waiting to fight Crow Woman. Behind them, hidden among the trees, were their families.

  “Storyteller,” Chief Okahoki extended his arm in greeting. “We are glad to have you with us on this last day.”

  Kwineechka took his arm. “I am glad to be with you,’ he replied.

  “I miss our brothers and sisters of the Away People,” Okahoki said. “But I will die easier knowing that they are safe somewhere, that some of the People will live on.”

  Kwineechka thought about his friends and family who were so far away now. He was glad to be home, even if he was about to die, but he would have liked to explain to them what had happened, and why he had run away. And he would’ve liked to say goodbye. He thought of Hinutet and felt sorry for making her a widow before she had the chance to be a real wife.

  Kwineechka saw his childhood friends, Nishingi and Nikismus, among the fighters. Their once good-natured faces were hardened by grief and anger as they stared into the darkness of the trees, waiting for their enemy to appear. Kwineechka did not see Kinteka, but knew she would be nearby, staying close to her loved ones until the end.

  A figure emerged on the far side of the field. Some of the waiting fighters twitched and raised their weapons, but Trib called out that it was just the Pure Man scout.

  “The New Murians are coming!” he said breathlessly. “Not far behind. They are more than we expected, three times our number…”

  “That ain’t possible,” Trib said. “She doesn’t have that many warriors, even if she turned every apprentice she had into a warrior.”

  “It’s not as though the odds were ever going to be in our favor,” the Reverend pointed out.

  “Aye,” Trib agreed, “but it gives me a bad feeling.”

  After that no one spoke or moved as they waited for Crow Woman to arrive. Time seemed to stretch and slow. Kwineechka could hear his own breath, harsh and loud in his ears. Each inhale and exhale seemed to last a lifetime. And then he heard it, a distant rustling that grew until it sounded like a hoard of demons crashing through the underbrush towards the clearing.

  The first of Crow Woman’s fighters emerged from the trees.

  “God damn her,” the Reverend said, and Kwineechka heard murmurs of dismay from the other Pure Men.

  Crow Woman’s front line was made up of men carrying long-knives, their faces blank and staring.

  “She used her spell-song on them?” he asked.

  “Aye,” Trib replied. “They’re the brethren and kin of the Reverend and his men.”

  “Tribulation, we cannot fight them,” the Reverend said.

  “They’ll do whatever she tells them. Hack you to pieces if she says so.”


  “We cannot,” the Reverend said again, and Kwineechka heard the pain in his voice.

  Trib heard it too. She nodded her understanding, but then said, “Do you expect the rest of us not to hurt them as well? Because I ain’t going to ask the People to stand by while these manservants…Sorry, I mean these sirened men…attack them.”

  Kwineechka realized that the alliance between the People and the Pure Men was once again tenuous, at the worst possible moment.

  “We will not kill them,” Okahoki spoke up, and Jongren translated.

  “If they attack you?” the Reverend asked.

  “We will stop them, but we will not kill them.”

  “God bless you,” the Reverend said. “I can ask for no more.”

  Just then Crow Woman stepped into the clearing, followed by the hulking figure of her sister, Bear Woman, and all of her Fighting Women. They were all armed with long-knives and some with guns. None of them seemed overly concerned about the coming battle. Some of them even laughed when they saw their opponents.

  Crow Woman moved out in front of the sirened Pure Man and sneered as she surveyed the field.

  “Is this all there is? A few mangy Puritanics and some primitives carrying sticks and stones?”

  Her voice was hoarse and broken, and Kwineechka knew she was still weak from his defeat of her two days earlier. She looked aged and shrunken. He was no longer afraid of her, but her weakened appearance did not reassure him. She was like a wounded animal, made even more deadly by her pain, and she was still dangerous to the People.

  It was Jongren who stepped forward to meet her.

  “Aoifa, let these People go in peace.”

  Crow Woman stared at him coldly. “I remember you. You were Sarah’s man, Tribulation’s father. It is your fault they died, you know?”

  Jongren flinched, and Kwineechka suddenly remembered the first time he’d met Jongren. He’d only been a child, and Jongren had been mad with grief over the deaths of his family. He remembered that some of the children of the People had been scared of him, but he had only felt sorry for how sad the strange man had been.

  Some of this sadness returned as Jongren stood before Crow Woman, but there was no trace of the madness left in him.

  “Sarah and my children died because you had your sister kill them,” he said. “Please, let there be no more innocent blood spilled. Stop this now. Go back to your fort and leave the People in peace.”

  “I am not interested in peace and mercy,” Crow Woman said, speaking loudly so that all could hear. “If they will not submit to the will of the Goddess, then they will suffer the consequences.”

  “It is not the will of the Goddess, Aoifa. It is your will and yours alone.”

  Kwineechka turned to see Morrigan step forward.

  “The traitor!” Crow Woman said. “Twice now I’ve thought you dead and had been deceived. But no matter. You won’t escape a third time.”

  She laughed. “As for the rest of you, don’t you know you are already beaten? Your storyteller told me everything, how half of your people fled in fear, leaving you to die here alone. You aren’t even worthy opponents for my warriors. It’s an insult to ask them to fight you. These untrained manservants will be able to take you by themselves.”

  She turned to her sister.

  “Take the warriors back to the fort. I will order the manservants to fight. We will let them finish each other off.”

  “I reckon that ain’t the best idea,” Bear Woman replied. “The manservants would be outnumbered, and they don’t have the Rage.”

  “Outnumbered?” Crow Woman said, taken aback. “There are only a handful of the primitives, and the Puritanics won’t kill their own.”

  “Turn around,” Bear Women growled.

  Everyone turned then and found the Away People standing behind them. The Original People who had been hiding stepped out to join them and all at once the People were reunited.

  Kwineechka saw his mother and ran to her.

  “Where did you come from?” he asked. “How is this possible?”

  Shikiwe put her arms around him and said, “My son, I am sorry. Forgive me.”

  “Then the warriors stay, and the primitives die together!” Crow Woman shouted.

  “Mother, you must go back and hide!” Kwineechka said.

  Shikiwe shook her head. “Peyewik told us what Crow Woman did to you, how she took the Story of the People. We realized how fear had been driving us further and further from our loved ones and ourselves. Peyewik told us it was time to come home, and we knew he was right. We have returned and the People will not be divided again, even if we are to die today.”

  “Summon your Rages!” Crow Woman cried then. “Kill them all!”

  rib raised her sword and waited for the New Murian warriors to attack.

  “Lower your weapons!” It was the Scath. She wasn’t ordering her opponents to surrender, but commanding her own troops. The New Murians looked confused.

  “Do not interfere, Sister!” Aoifa shrieked.

  “I demand one-to-one combat,” the Scath said.

  Aoifa started to protest, but the Scath cut her off. “I’ve never asked ye for anything. I’ve carried out yer bidding even when it destroyed my honor. Grant me this now.”

  Aoifa narrowed her eyes at her sister. “State your terms.”

  “Me and Tribulation. We finish what was started years ago. No Rages.”

  Trib stepped forward.

  “Trib, no!” Jongren cried.

  Trib turned to him. “It’s all right, Da,” she said. She spoke the name naturally, without a thought, and knew she had said it before. She had called him “Da” when she was a child. She remembered suddenly, along with the scratchy feel of his beard on her face and the tobacco smell of his shirt. She turned to him and saw that he was crying.

  “She’s taken my entire family from me,” he said. “I let her take you too.”

  “She won’t, Da. I promise you.”

  She moved to stand before the Scath. “If I win?”

  “Then I’m dead. And my sister promises to let the primitives go in peace.”

  “Never!” Aoifa hissed.

  “YOU WILL DO THIS!” the Scath roared.

  Aoifa looked coldly furious, but she said, “Very well.”

  “If I lose?” Trib asked.

  “The battle continues. Most likely all yer people die.”

  “Most likely,” Trib agreed. “Then I’ll do my damnedest to make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

  “Aye,” the Scath nodded, drawing her sword. “I’d expect nothing less from a warrior of mine.”

  “I ain’t yours anymore,” Trib began circling her opponent warily.

  “No, ye ain’t,” the Scath agreed, and launched her first attack.

  The last time Trib had fought the Scath, the old warrior’s experience and anger had dominated. Trib had survived only by her mercy. It was different this time. Trib had grown and taken on care and responsibility for others. There was no room for hesitation or self doubt. She put her entire being into the fight, and the Scath was too old and too slow to keep up.

  Trib forced her into submission quickly, disarming her and forcing her to her knees.

  “I ain’t going to kill you,” she said.

  “Ye have to or my sister takes everything. Ye want to offer me mercy, fight me to the death. There’s no honor left in this life. I can’t stand what Aoifa and I have become. Do it as a last favor to the woman who raised ye.”

  Trib let the Scath stand and pick her sword. “Keep fighting,” she said.

  The Scath gave her one last nod of approval then put all her strength into a final strike. There was tremendous force behind it and, if it had found its mark, Trib knew she would’ve died instantly. Instead, she dodged out of the way and slipped in behind the Scath’s guard.

  The Scath fell, a blood stain spreading across her chest.

  Trib dropped her sword and knelt beside the old warrior, surprised to feel hot tea
rs running down her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  The Scath clutched at her arm. “Don’t be. Ye did good.”

  Trib looked up at the New Murian warriors, all of them staring in shock at their dying leader.

  “Don’t just stand there!” Aoifa shrieked at them suddenly. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

  “You promised!” Trib shouted.

  “My sister just told you I have no honor,” Aoifa sneered. “I only care about power. To have power, I must win. KILL THEM!” she ordered again.

  The New Murians were still confused, but they began moving towards the Natives and Puritanics.

  “STOP!” roared The Scath, staggering to her feet with Trib’s help. “I am still the head warrior of New Murias, and this is my final order. Ye will not fight these people. They do not deserve our Rage.”

  “Traitor!” Aoifa screamed. “Don’t listen to her. She’s a dead woman. If these people were innocent, the Goddess would not allow you to use the Rage against them.”

  The Scath looked sad beyond measure at her sister’s words. “Dess forgive us,” she said. “Aye, I’m a dead woman,” she continued, “but I tell ye the truth. The Rage can be used by anyone, against anyone. It ain’t the Goddess giving ye permission to kill anyone who displeases ye. It’s my sister taking advantage of ye and I’ve helped her do it for too long. It’s time to become women of true honor. Never use the Rage against an innocent again. Never follow my sister’s orders again.”

  “You can’t disobey me!” Aoifa cried. “You are mine!”

  She was wrong. The Scath collapsed to the ground then, but lived long enough to see her warriors obey her dying command. The New Murians lowered their weapons and stood still, uncertain of what to do next.

  Trib looked down into the battle-scarred face of the woman who had killed her mother and sisters, and wept. Trib knew that they were more alike than different. The old warrior had done terrible things, but many of them had been out of love for her sister and the New Murians, to protect her family and her people. She hadn’t known any other way to do this and her fate could easily have been Trib’s own.