Into the Wilderness (86 page)

The
dancers were moving again. Spotted—Fox, Splitting—Moon, Otter, and then
Nathaniel. As he passed,
Elizabeth
saw his attention was someplace far away.

The
singing grew louder and then stopped abruptly. She watched as He—Who—Dreams
reached into the basket of gifts Throws—Far had brought, finding a highly
decorated pouch, closed by a drawstring. He opened it and poured what was
inside into his palm.

"Great
Spirit who gave us the night," he chanted, as the last rays of the sun
trembled and then were lost. On the other side of the sky, the moon rose, the
color of an overripe peach.

"Great
Spirit who gave us the darkness in which to rest. In that darkness we send our
words to you."

The
tobacco crackled when he scattered it on the fire, smoke rising with a great
whirl of sparks in a sweet, pungent eddy to the sky. The musicians song
swelled, and receded, swelled again, hovered above the fire like a living
thing, and fell silent.

He—Who—Dreams
thumped the ground with his stick.

"Cat—Eater!"
he summoned. And again, "Cat—Eater!"

There
was a rustling, a soft murmuring. Throws—Far watched, the firelight lending his
face an animation which was not his own.

Elizabeth
swayed with a new wave of nausea, catching Robbie's arm for support. Sweat
broke out on her brow and trickled down her face. Her mouth filled with sour
saliva.

"Wha'
is it, lass?" Robbie whispered. "Are ye ill?"

Richard
came. He stood across the fire from his brother. Pale, so pale, slightly bent
with one arm held at an awkward angle, supporting his weight on a stick. Behind
him was She—Remembers, the clan mother of the Bear long house and the woman who
had been nursing his injuries.

The
two men stood across from each other looking through the flames, like images in
a distorted mirror.

There
was a fist high in her gut, forcing itself up into her gullet.
Elizabeth
turned away from the fire, stumbled
out of the crowd, through the milling children, with both Robbie and Treenie
behind her, making anxious noises. Past the place where Made—of—Bones'
great—granddaughters liked to grind corn in the mornings, past a skin stretched
out on a frame, half scraped. The stink of the urine in which it had been cured
struck her physically, and
Elizabeth
stumbled into the shadows beside the long house where she paused, and let it
happen. And happen again. And again. She braced herself with one arm against
the long house wall and hung there, as miserable as she could ever remember
being. Robbie had disappeared, but Treenie sat patiently, as if she had seen
such behavior before, and expected to see it again. When
Elizabeth
looked at her, she thumped her tail
sympathetically and offered a doglike shrug.

"Here,
lass," Robbie said when he returned, holding out a water gourd. She filled
her mouth and spat. Did that again, and then finally drank in small sips.

"What
hae ye been eatin'?" Robbie asked, shaking his head. "I should verra
much like tae ken, so that I may stay far awa' from it."

She
gave him a weak grin, and drank again.

"Lie
ye doon," Robbie suggested.

Elizabeth
straightened her shoulders, and glanced back toward the fire where the whole
village stood, listening to a single voice. It was one she didn't recognize,
but which was very familiar, all the same. Richard, and his brother, and their
Kahnyen’keháka family around them. Now, standing outside of the light of the
fire, it all seemed so very strange. She had come looking for a life different
from the one she had in
England
,
but this

Robbie
hand was a gentle weight on her shoulder.

"’Tis
a verra curious thing tae stan' betwixt worlds wi' a foot in both," he
said.

"I
don't belong there among them," she said. "I feel as though I'm
intruding on a family matter."

"But
it's his place, too, lass."

She
didn't have to ask for his meaning. Nathaniel was here, because some part of
him belonged here. "’Thy people shall be my people.’ " she said
softly

"Ooch,
it's guid tae hear ye quotin'," said Robbie easily. "I see that ye
are feelin' mair yersel'."

Elizabeth
laughed a little. "I'm feeling much better," she agreed, and realized
that it was true; the nausea had ebbed away.

"Dinna
ye think that a rest—" he began, but he drew up short. Curious,
Elizabeth
turned and
found Splitting—Moon standing just a few paces off.

"My
grandmother asks that you come to her," the young woman said.

"Weel,
then, lass, ye had best be goin'. Made—of—Bones doesna look kindly on
disobedience."

"I've
noticed,"
Elizabeth
muttered, starting off behind Splitting—Moon.

* * *

The
Bear and Wolf long houses were identical in most details, a fact which set
Elizabeth
a little more
at ease. Here, though, the clan mother's hearth was shared with a husband, the
sachem, who was still at the Stick Beating Dance. The lingering scent of his
tobacco made a contrast to the herbs that were so prominent at Made—of—Bones'
hearth. She—Remembers seemed to be more involved in the making of the ornaments
that so many wore, and the fine needlework that decorated the clothing. Bits of
work in progress were piled everywhere, as were baskets of porcupine quills,
shells, threads, and other things that
Elizabeth
could not identify. There was time to see all this, because she and
Splitting—Moon arrived first.

While
the younger woman fed the fire, bringing it up to a good blaze,
Elizabeth
examined a long
row of feathered headdresses, picking up a half—finished one to look at it
closely. The headpiece itself was an elongated cap of supple wooden splints
interwoven and covered with the softest doeskin. This one did not yet have
feathers, but it sat beside baskets full of them: eagle and turkey, which she
recognized without too much trouble, some long ones which might have been
feathers of the great blue cranes they saw so often on the waterways, crow and
hawk.

Splitting—Moon
made a sound of welcome and
Elizabeth
looked up to see the bear pelt at the door pushed aside.

She
laid the headdress carefully down and stood, her hands folded in front of her.
The three clan mothers came in first, followed by Richard, leaning heavily on
his stick, and finally, thankfully, Nathaniel. He came to her immediately.

"Are
you unwell?" he asked, hooking one of her fingers with one of his own.

She
squeezed tight, and managed a small smile. "I am well enough," she
said. "We can talk about that later."
Elizabeth
was vaguely aware of Splitting—Moon
slipping through the doorway and away into the night.

She—Remembers
was a woman of perhaps fifty years, straight of back and very tall for her sex.
Her left eye seemed to be blind, for there was an opaque cast to it and the lid
hung slack. This was her hearth, and she spoke first, welcoming them all. She
looked down the length of the corridor as if there were some message to be read
in the shadows, and then she turned to
Elizabeth
.

"Cat—Eater
tells us that you first seemed ready to take him as your husband, but then left
in the night with Wolf—Running—Fast. He says that you promised to bring the
mountain we call Hidden Wolf to him when you married, and that he has been
cheated of this land, which is rightfully his. He has made a suggestion to us,
and asked us to consider it, but first we would hear your side of this
matter."

Nathaniel
had translated some of this for her, staring at Richard, who stood almost in
the shadows. His face was haggard but his attention as clear and focused as a
hungry bird of prey.

She
cleared her throat.

"You
will forgive me if I use French when Kahnyen’keháka fails me—"
Elizabeth
looked each of
the women in the eye. Two—Suns seemed to be quite young to be clan mother to
the Turtle long house but she had a serene air. She—Remembers had a more
hesitant way about her, but there was nothing obviously hostile or unfriendly
in her bearing or tone.

But
Made—of—Bones. The old woman stood watching her with drawn brow. She rubbed the
fringe on her sleeve between her thumb and forefinger and squinted at
Elizabeth
, her head
cocked hard to one side.

Elizabeth
said, "It is true that for some weeks I let Richard talk to me of
marriage. But it is not true that I promised him anything, because I never
intended to marry him. I told him so at least twice. But I followed my
heart—and my conscience—and I took Nathaniel as my husband." She paused,
and met Richard's eye. "I am well satisfied with him."

Made—of—Bones
pushed the air out through her nose. Nathaniel squeezed
Elizabeth
's hand, and she returned the
pressure.

"It
is true that Hidden Wolf is now Nathaniel's property, but that is only true
because the laws of my people do not allow women to own property when they
marry. I would not hand over what is mine simply because I am a woman, if not
for the law."

Made—of—Bones
snorted again, whether out of displeasure or agreement, it was not clear.
Two—Suns spoke up in a surprisingly hoarse voice.

"The
O'seronni call us backward," she said. "They do not see
themselves."

"It
is not the Kahnyen’keháka way," agreed She—Remembers.

"The
O'seronni are a nation of fools," pronounced Made—of—Bones with a
dismissive chop of her hand. "Do you need to be reminded?" She
considered
Elizabeth
for a moment, one corner of her mouth turned down.

"Did
you take anything from Cat—Eater which is his?"

"No,"
said
Elizabeth
slowly. "I have taken nothing of Richard's."

His
voice came, not unexpectedly. "Except my good name," he said. He was
feverish with agitation, sweat pear ling on his brow.

"You
have your name," she answered calmly. "And it is as good as ever it
was."

"Enough,"
said She—Remembers. She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "By our law
Cat—Eater has no claim to you or what is yours. My sisters will agree with
me?" Two—Suns nodded quickly; Made—of—Bones responded with a jerk of her
shoulders.

"But
we also cannot make any judgments based on your own laws, which are mysterious
to us. We can only advise you."

Elizabeth
felt
Nathaniel relaxing beside her, but she could not do the same: the expectant
look on Made—of—Bones' face made her shift uneasily from one foot to the other.

She—Remembers
said, "Cat—Eater tells us if he cannot have the mountain, then he would
claim the child of Sings—from—Books as his daughter."

Elizabeth
grabbed onto Nathaniel's arm. Her face inches from his, she watched all the
color drain from him, felt the coil of his muscles. Her own knuckles were white
where her hands gripped his forearm. "Nathaniel," she hissed, shaking
him. "Nathaniel!" He glanced down at her, his face ragged with anger.
Seeing her distress, the wild look in his eyes eased just a bit.

"She
is not yours to claim," he managed finally. in a voice that was almost his
own.

"I
say she is," said Richard.

Elizabeth
's
heart thundered so that her vision seemed to throb with it. Hannah. Only once
had she ever heard Richard mention her name, on her first night in
Paradise
at her father's Christmas party. He had looked
at the little girl as if she were a stranger, and an uninteresting one at that:
nothing more than a half—breed female child, and no good to the world.

"You
have no interest in Hannah's welfare," she said to Richard in English.

Nathaniel
said, It is not about Hannah." And looking at the clan mothers one by one,
he said: "Cat—Eater is consumed by envy and will take from me whatever he
can get."

Richard
put his fist against his chest, so that the livid gash of his half—healed wound
flared. "I take what is mine."

"Wait,"
Elizabeth
said,
holding out both hands in a pleading motion. "Kahnyen’keháka children
belong to their mothers, is that not so? Then what claim could Richard possibly
have?"

"I
would bring her here to her great—grandmother," Richard said, looking at
Made—of—Bones. "But she would be brought up in the knowledge that I am her
father."