by Liz Fichera
The boy who stood before me was neither Honovi nor any of the boys from the White Ant Clan.
It was Pakuna.
Without a word, he took a deliberate step forward, stomping one foot into the ground like he owned the circle. Then he grabbed my wrist.
My body froze. I was too startled to say anything. Too stunned to move.
That’s because I realized I was no longer a girl. I was a prize.
Oblivious to my confusion, Pakuna turned to Honovi, his face gloating and triumphant. But then, slowly, even reluctantly, he turned his steely gaze on me. The reflection from the fire filled his dark eyes and sent a shudder through my body. They were the same empty eyes of his father.
And that’s when I knew.
This wasn’t a Dance of Womanhood.
This was a wedding ceremony—mine. Chitsa had tried to warn me.
Chapter Four
Unblinking, I stared back at Pakuna as his fingers tightened around my wrist. He pulled his shoulders back and smiled smugly while my arm twisted inside his hand. Next to him, Honovi stood with his mask dangling from one finger. His jaws clenched as he watched Pakuna drag me closer to his chest and for an instant I wondered if he planned to pull back and strike Pakuna with his mask. Part of me hoped he would.
I continued to squirm as the hushed voices and gasps grew louder and more anxious. The villagers were as surprised as me. This had never happened before, a wedding ceremony following the Dance of Womanhood? It was unprecedented.
And yet no one objected.
No one dared.
Everything around me—the voices, the faces, my own heartbeat—moved fast and slow at the same time while my knees wobbled, barely strong enough to keep me upright. I waited for somebody—anybody—to say something. Miakoda frowned from behind Pakuna but I was too stunned to care that his disappointment was directed at me. I felt like a rabbit in one of Honovi’s snares, helpless.
“Wait,” I finally said, my voice cracking. “This…this can’t happen.” I looked over my shoulder for Ituha and Gaho. Yuma stood behind them, his hands on their shoulders. But was Yuma holding them back or pushing them forward? Surely they would help me. Surely they would step forward when they saw my confusion. I could barely find words.
“Silence!” Miakoda glared at me as he extended his arm. “This can happen. It can and it will. Hunab Ku deems it. It has been foretold.”
Foretold?
I looked frantically for Chitsa but she still rested on the animal skins. Her head bobbed like she was between trying to sleep and stay awake.
Still breathing heavy, I turned back to Pakuna but I could not look at him directly. A cold smugness twisted his face; he was as much a stranger to me as Miakoda. And I wasn’t about to become his wife without a fight, especially when it was clear that I was more prize than wife.
Then, surprisingly, Miakoda laid a heavy hand on my shoulder but I think it was more for the benefit of the Clans than me. “We cannot disappoint Hunab Ku, my new daughter. The village has suffered enough already. We may not survive another harvest…” He let his voice trail off, shaking his head at the serious dilemma.
I swallowed and pulled back but Pakuna only tugged harder and my wrist burned from the heat of his hand. Finally, my eyes pleaded with Honovi, my last remaining hope. My eyes begged his to do something, anything.
Honovi’s nostrils flared as he watched Pakuna’s grip tighten first around my wrist and then grab for my shoulder.
“Let the wedding ceremony proceed—” Miakoda said, but Honovi interrupted him.
The villagers gasped.
“Stop!” Honovi yelled and the circle grew silent. He stepped forward and grabbed my other arm. But then Miakoda’s eyes widened with so much rage that everybody cowered, everybody except Honovi. Instead of retreating, Honovi stepped closer so that my shoulder pressed against his chest.
The villagers began to fidget anxiously.
It was an outrage to behave so brazenly in the presence of a tribal leader, in the presence of his own family. I shuddered to think of Honovi’s punishment. Surely he would be whipped. Or worse.
When Miakoda raised his stick, the crowd fell silent again. I wondered if he intended to crack his stick across Honovi’s head. If he was bothered by Miakoda’s stick, it wasn’t reflected in Honovi’s eyes.
Honovi turned to face Pakuna, his feet spread and planted firmly beneath his shoulders. He looked ready to fight. I had never seen his eyes blaze so, not even at ball court. It was as if they held the sun and the Sky Wanderers all at once. Honovi’s warm fingers continued to wrap around my arm as he spoke.
“Pakuna cannot marry Aiyana,” he said in a clear voice meant for everyone to hear.
But Pakuna only laughed. “And why is that, White Ant?” The words spewed from his mouth like food unfit to eat.
Honovi’s shoulders pulled back and he drew in a breath. Then he said, “Because it’s not you who loves Aiyana, it’s me. She should marry me, not you.”
Another collective gasp rose from the crowd as Pakuna’s eyes widened. Clearly he wasn’t accustomed to being reprimanded. And especially by someone from the White Ant Clan.
But then quick as a heartbeat, Pakuna tossed his head back and laughed. Loud. His laughter made me flinch, even more than the threat of his father’s weathered stick.
I turned to Honovi and searched his eyes. They still blazed with rage.
He must be crazy, I thought. My dearest, oldest friend is crazy. He must only be protecting me. I didn’t know whether to push Honovi away or wrap my arms around him with gratitude.
Honovi’s hand dropped from my shoulder as he waited for me to say something—anything—but this time no words would come. I was frozen, confused. Frightened.
Then I looked behind Honovi’s shoulders and blinked into the darkness, remembering Chitsa’s warning.
I dropped the ceremonial stick still clutched, oddly, in my hand. The deerskin pouch split open when it landed on the ground, scattering sand and pebbles around my feet. I yanked my arm from Pakuna, surprising him. Surprising everybody, even me.
And then I started to run.
***
I ran as fast as I could to the sandy path that lined the river, ignoring all gasps and shouts to stop behind me.
The sun had disappeared during the Dance of Womanhood and I had only the Sky Wanderers to light my way. Truth be told, my feet knew the river path better than my eyes and my ears knew the sounds the water made over the rocks and boulders where the water rose and fell. Even in the dark, I could find it.
I only needed time to think. I needed time to breathe, both impossible wedged between Pakuna and Honovi and their hatred for each other. I could taste every sour bit of it.
Was all of this because White Ant beat Red Ant at ball court? I wondered. My life—my future—for a game?
And what future?
I’d already shamed myself by storming away from a sacred ceremony but I couldn’t face the confusion in Honovi’s face before I understood the knot growing inside my own stomach.
Is this what love feels like?
Or is it fear and dread?
But I knew dread. I felt it every time I had to return to the pit house when I wanted to keep walking past our mountains. I felt it whenever Gaho insisted that I help her weave baskets or dry deer and rabbit meat. I felt it the moment Ituha told me that I was promised to Pakuna. That’s when I felt dread most of all. Dread for my own existence.
When I reached the fork in the river, the water gurgled over the rocks where it grew shallow. I carefully felt my way along the edges until I found my private spot underneath a palo verde tree with a trunk as thick as Miakoda’s stomach. It was a good spot to be alone; it was the perfect spot to think.
I collapsed to the ground and pulled my knees against my chest and began to rock as I peered through the branches that hid me from my village. From afar, it didn’t look so bad. It never did. The fire still burned cheerily by the Great House, a stark contrast t
o how I felt. I tried not to think about what waited for me on my return.
When I tilted my head, I heard the low buzzing sound of voices. My chin dropped to my knees when I realized that they were probably discussing me. How could I face them? They’d never look at me the same again. My throat tightened and my eyes welled with new tears when I imagined their conversations.
“Your daughter is spoiled,” Miakoda would most assuredly tell Ituha. “She’s too old to behave like such a child.”
My father would listen attentively but say nothing because how could he respond? Miakoda was right. Ituha was always too easy with me, easier than Gaho.
And what of Yuma? What will he tell Gaho and Ituha? Will he insist that the wedding ceremony move forward? Will Chitsa?
“Aiyana!” a muffled voice yelled from somewhere along the river. It competed with the rumble of the water as it flowed over the rocks.
He yelled again. “Aiyana!” The voice was anxious but louder the second time.
It was Honovi.
His voice carried across the river all the way to my secret spot underneath the palo verde tree as if he spoke right beside me.
I sucked back a sob and then squeezed my arms tighter around my legs. Of everyone in the village, only Honovi could find me. It made sense that they’d send him. He knew about my spot. It was our spot, our secret. We’d found it when we were old enough to swim. And he knew the river as well as I did. He’d find me before my tears had time to dry.
I wondered what I’d tell Honovi. How could I explain? How could I explain what I didn’t understand? I just needed more time.
I pressed my chin against my knees and squeezed my eyes, hoping that Hunab Ku would have pity on me and help me find the right words for once.
Too soon, a hand gripped my shoulder.
I exhaled.
Honovi was faster than the wind, even in the darkness.
“Honovi,” I said, turning my chin into my shoulder. “Leave me alone. Please.”
But no sooner than I said please did someone throw a blanket over my head.
I screamed into the scratchy fabric as I struggled to lift it. The same hand that gripped my shoulder made a fist and struck me across the cheek till I tasted my own blood.
***
The next time my eyes opened, I was slumped over Honovi’s shoulder. How long had I been asleep? A few heartbeats or an entire moon’s rise? I did not know.
But it was dark and Honovi was running. My jaw still throbbed from his fist and my head dangled and banged against his back like a branch in the wind against a tree trunk.
“Wait.” It was a struggle to speak from all of the bouncing. My hip bone pressed against his shoulder. “Honovi. Wait.” I wanted to ask him why he had hit me. He’d never punched me before; he would have never dared. Finally, I yelled. “Put me down!”
But Honovi didn’t listen.
The blanket that had been tossed over my head was missing, not that it mattered. Everything around me was a bottomless black, even darker the river bottom.
The river.
I strained my neck to listen for the water. I didn’t hear it.
Where were we?
Then I realized that my wrists were tied together. Instinctively, I began to tug. But the harder I pulled against the rope, the tighter the knots twisted around my wrists.
My voice sounded strained and desperate. It was as if none of this was happening—Honovi’s fist against my cheek, the running, the struggling.
“Honovi?” I said. “What are you doing? Put. Me. Down!”
But he only laughed. His chest shook beneath me.
And his laugh sounded all wrong. Completely wrong. It was deeper, almost gravelly. Older.
“Honovi?”
More laughter, deeper and higher at the same time. Like a coyote. Honovi was not alone. There was someone running beside him. I couldn’t see his outline but I heard his footsteps pounding against the dirt, steady and determined. Like drumbeats.
“Pakuna?” I said carefully. “Is that you?”
And then a hand came up to slap me on the back. Hard. Hard enough to make me flinch.
“Quiet!” the man yelled. At least I think that’s what he said. His words, like his voice, were strange. I’d never heard words pronounced like that before. They were my words, mostly, only different.
I craned my neck upwards to look again for my village, still struggling to breathe, not daring to speak. We were higher now, climbing the side of a mountain. But which mountain? Which one? I only knew three.
And then I smelled smoke. I craned my neck in the opposite direction.
When I looked across the darkness for the outline of my village, I finally saw the fire, except it wasn’t the same cheery glow from the fire pit next to the Great House. The flames were too tall, too wide. They snaked through the fields, swallowing everything like water over sand.
My back stiffened.
The fields were on fire.
It was like being inside a nightmare.
And then the screaming started.
I heard women and children screaming throughout the village but I couldn’t see their faces. Children wailed for their mothers, mothers for their children. Men’s voices thundered.
“Water! Water!” they cried over and over but the flames only spread deeper into the fields, engulfing them in a wall of orange rain.
We got rain, finally, but not the kind we needed.
And the man who carried me over his shoulder was someone I didn’t know. He wasn’t Honovi and he didn’t belong here. He wasn’t from the village. And he carried me over a mountain that not long ago I only dreamed about climbing.
I feared that Hunab Ku had finally awakened the animal living beneath Sleeping Mule Deer.
And the animal was angry.
Chapter Five
I passed out from hanging upside down over the man’s shoulder.
All the blood rushing to my head threatened to strangle me. When I woke, the sky was silvery grey from early light. My hips ached, my forehead pounded, and I shivered. Oh, how I shivered.
When I raised my head, a white light sliced across my forehead. After my eyes cleared, they found my feet. They were bare and black from dirt. I must have lost my sandals in the struggle at the river and I instinctively pulled my legs closer to my chest, mostly for warmth. When I breathed, tiny white clouds circled my nose. There wasn’t a fire anywhere, only unfamiliar deerskin sacks strewn haphazardly and just out of my grasp. One lumpy one was partially opened and I licked my lips, both of them cracked.
Water. I needed water.
The taste of my own blood still lingered inside my mouth.
Two strange men slept opposite me, their legs extended and crossed at the ankles. I sucked back a breath as I considered whether to close my eyes and pretend to be dead. One of the men snored through his long nose. Loudly. He slept on his back in the dirt with his arms crossed over his shoulders while a strange brown hat hid the top of his face. Like me, he had black hair, although his skin was lighter than mine, more yellow than brown. Another man, a smaller one was similarly complexioned and dressed—brown pants and strange dusty black pointy sandals that completely covered his feet. He slept next to the man that snored, although he didn’t stir or make a single sound.
And where was the third one? The thicker one with the wide hands? The one who carried me over Sleeping Mule Deer like I was an animal carcass from a hunt?
Then I stopped and listened to what I was saying inside my head.
Over Sleeping Mule Deer? The other side? Is this the world I’d dreamt about? Is this where they brought me? The World Beyond?
I rubbed dryness from my eyes. Anxiously, my eyes scanned plants and trees that I’d never seen before. Instead of saguaros with ripe red berries and endless sage, I was surrounded by round thick-leaved bushes as green as river moss. And instead of earth the color of my skin, my fingertips dug into the dirt as grey and hard as animal bone. The air was cooler, thinner, and ha
rder to breathe.
Where was this place? What was it?
The land surrounding me stretched endlessly with no protective mountains to stop it. And how was that possible? I scanned the horizon for Sleeping Mule Deer and its jagged edges but, like everything else, she was missing. It was as if my world had simply disappeared.
A heavy hand pressed on my shoulder, startling me.
“Don’t touch me!” I screamed instinctively, but the man laughed, the same laugh I remembered when the village burned, deep and throaty. His shoulders quaked more than he made laughing sounds. It belonged to the third man, the thicker man, the same one who carried me over Sleeping Mule Deer. I immediately recognized his smell, a mixture of sweat and spices that wrinkled my nose.
The man released my shoulder and tilted his head in a half-smile as he circled, studying me.
“You’re much prettier in the light,” he said.
I only understood some of his words but I knew what he meant. His words rose and fell differently than mine. But he looked at me the way that Pakuna would, like he owned me. Instinctively, my eyes lowered and through my eyelashes I watched as his dark ones traveled along my body like a lazy paintbrush, before stopping at my feet. Then his brow furrowed at the dirty toes that peeked from underneath my dress. I pulled my knees closer. My knees began to tremble.
I watched him warily as he walked to one of the lumpy deerskins beside his sleeping partners. He reached inside one and pulled out two grey skins—rabbit, from the looks of it—and tossed them at my feet. I fingered the soft fur and watched as he crossed the dirt and kicked the feet of the other two men. They stirred, reluctantly, and the third man sighed and shook his head like an impatient father.
Then without another sound or a glance in my direction, he trotted away toward a ridge of leafy green trees, so green that I had to squint against its brightness. But then my throat tightened in fear, not at the lushness of the strange trees or the bright colors.
I suddenly wondered if I’d have been safer if the thick man hadn’t abandoned me for the trees.
***
With no one to watch me, I started to stand, one silent finger-length at a time.
