Native Gold (47 page)

"I could have."

It would haunt him for the rest of his life if he didn’t find them, if the headman’s sons had already...

He clenched his teeth. He couldn’t think of it.

"Why would they take my babies?" Mattie’s voice was so small, so helpless, so innocent. It hurt his heart to hear it.

"To anger me," he lied.

He knew why they’d taken his sons. It was the same reason he’d left her in Paradise Bar and gone home to spend every day in the
kum
, praying to Wonomi for guidance. It was the reason his spirit had been filled with dread when he beheld his newborns.

They were twins.

Twins were bad luck.

It was Konkow custom to kill them at birth, along with their mother.

He wouldn’t tell Mati. He would never tell her. He should have taken her away long ago, when he’d first had the vision. He’d always seen
two
eggs in the white eagle’s talons. He should have known all along. He should have fled with her before she gave birth.

And now, because of a foolish, archaic superstition, he was in a race, like the footraces run between the tribes at the celebration of Hesi, only this one wasn’t for glory or honor, but to decide if his sons would live or die.

Slipping past the watchman, identifiable by his single magpie feather, Sakote strode brazenly into Nemsewi and surprised the villagers.

"Where are my sons!" he snarled, drawing his knife. The thunder of his voice scattered the women making acorn mush and drew the attention of the warriors standing by the fire, among them Win-uti and Omi, the headman’s sons.

"You shouldn’t have come." So spoke Win-uti, the one who had challenged him at the Kaminehaitsen, the one Hintsuli had unwisely befriended.

It was difficult for Sakote to hold his knife still and his gaze steady as he studied the man’s crafty grimace for some sign of guilt. Were his sons safe, or had this bloodthirsty savage already killed them? Sakote tensed his jaw. He would know soon. For now, he must show no weakness.

"Where are my sons?" His fingers tightened on the knife.

“Your children bring bad luck to our people,” Omi sneered, advancing on him, “just as your white
kulem
brings bad luck.” Sakote wondered how Hintsuli could have admired such a rattlesnake.

"What have you done with them?" he demanded.

Omi snorted. "Maybe they’re already—"

The younger man never finished his answer, which was probably a good thing, for Sakote would have swiftly ended Omi’s life if he’d told him his sons were dead. But his words were interrupted by twin cries from a nearby
hubo
, the unmistakable wailing of hungry babies.

"Give them to me," Sakote said, empowered by the sound of his children, grinding the words between his teeth like acorns between rocks.

"My father was never paid for the murder of my brother by the whites," Win-uti argued, tossing his hair over one shoulder. "Your white sons shall pay the blood price."

"Not while I live," he swore, shrugging the deerskin cloak from his shoulders. "You challenged me before. Now I’ll accept that challenge."

He spat into his palms to secure his grip on the knife. Win-uti smiled grimly and made ready to fight.

Sakote flexed his knees and, while the other warriors formed a ring around the pair, began to circle his opponent slowly.

Win-uti leered at him, his eyes wild and wide, and took a few fast jabs. Sakote ducked out of the way, but his reflexes were not as they’d once been. It was the custom of a man whose
kulem
was with child to refrain from the hunt for the moons of her pregnancy, and so Sakote’s movements were unpracticed. He felt sluggish, like Brother Bear waking from his
ko-meni
slumber.

He swung his knife around, but sliced only air. Then Win-uti’s blade arced toward him, gashing him high on the chest. The shallow cut stung like fire.

Win-uti hissed in victory, his eyes gleaming. He stabbed forward twice more while his Konkow brothers cheered him on, but this time Sakote was able to block his attack. His knife caught Win-uti’s forearm, nicking it, but the warrior was too filled with blood thirst to notice.

Like an eagle hopping around its kill, Win-uti swooped sideways, flapping his arms. He dove in for another strike, and Sakote gasped as the blade gouged his side.

Win-uti crowed with glee, but then he became too confident. He raised the bloody knife in victory, and Sakote thrust forward, slashing the man’s belly with his blade. Win-uti doubled over with a gasp, then immediately shook off the blow, too proud to admit his injury.

Win-uti whirled, swinging low and missing, and anger darkened his eyes. Sakote lunged forward again, and his blade caught the thong of the soapstone charm about Win-uti’s neck. He sliced through it, and it sailed out of the ring into the dust.

Win-uti’s eyes blazed with rage now, and he hacked recklessly. Sakote dodged all of the slashes but one. That one bit deep into his thigh, through flesh and muscle, and he sucked a sharp breath of pain through his teeth. His leg crumpled beneath him, and for a moment, the day around him dimmed as if evening shadows rushed to cover the earth. He dropped to one knee, losing his grip on the knife. Through a muffled haze of agony, he heard the warriors’ voices, howling, cheering, rejoicing in his defeat.

And then he heard another sound piercing through their gloating cries. His sons. Wailing. Summoning their father. Calling to his heart.

Their voices echoed through his spirit, filling him with pride and love, giving him strength. How could he have left them? How could he have questioned their fate? These were his children, his sons. They were as much a part of him as his own heart.

Clenching his teeth against the torment of his wound, he wrapped his fist around the knife once more and willfully rose to his feet. His muscles seemed to scream, and sweat dripped from his forehead, but his sons’ cries fortified him. He swayed dizzily as the world swam in cobwebs around him, and then shook his head to clear his vision.

Win-uti laughed then, and the sound ignited Sakote’s rage faster than lightning triggered a brush fire. He shot forward with his blade, sinking it deep into Win-uti’s shoulder, then bowled the astonished warrior over into the dust. The man hit the dirt with a heavy thud, losing his knife. Sakote pulled his own blade free and prepared to finish the warrior.

He held Win-uti down by the throat and raised his knife high. Then he hesitated. Time seemed to slow as it did when he smoked the dream pipe. The dust rose around them, blown crazily by their huffing breath. Shadows crept in at the corners of Sakote’s vision, and he watched his own sweat drip down onto Win-uti’s chest. The brave warrior didn’t struggle, but stared steadily into Sakote’s eyes, ready for death. Then Wonomi spoke to Sakote in a vision.

Sakote saw the Konkows scattered like seeds. He saw strangers driving them from their land and stealing their food. He saw the people of Nemsewi hiding and hunted, growing sick and starving, until they were no more.

The vision melted away, and Sakote looked down with new eyes upon the warrior whose life he held in his hands. Win-uti wasn’t a bad man. He was a fine Konkow, a fierce fighter, a brave warrior. What he’d done, he’d done with a pure heart and for the good of his people. Win-uti followed the old ways. He meant to keep the rites of the Konkows, to prevent the whites from bringing bad luck upon his village.

But Win-uti didn’t understand. It was too late. The world of the Konkows was changing. The
willa
had already come with their food in tins and their riding-dogs and their rifles. And if the Konkows didn’t change with their world, they would be swept away by the wind of the whites. They would be no more.

Sakote heard the cries of his sons again—so innocent, so unaware of the turmoil into which they were born. And in that moment, he made his decision.

He lowered the knife and loosened his hold. "Brave brother, I let you go. I will take my sons and my
kulem
, and I’ll leave this place. I will return no more. You have my word.
Akina
."

Mattie kissed each of her sons’ brows before she passed them off to their father, who’d finished packing up their meager supplies. She wanted to bid a proper farewell to the miners of Paradise Bar. It was hard to believe she was actually leaving, even harder to trust that the four of them would survive a journey on foot at the tail end of winter with so few provisions.

But she put her faith in Sakote. After all, he’d brought her babies back to her. She’d been half-crazed with worry the day they went missing. Then Sakote had limped into camp, bloody and battered, but victorious, a bawling baby in each arm, and she knew at that moment she’d follow him anywhere.

Anywhere happened to be north. He’d seen it in a vision, he’d said, which was good enough for Mattie. After he’d explained that the twins would always be in danger if they stayed among the Konkows, she was only too willing to leave.

Except that it was so hard to say goodbye.

"I was leavin’ after spring anyways," Tom Cooligan said with a sniff, "goin’ ta Sacramento ta open a real barbershop, since no one here seems ta care whether he’s shaved proper or not."

"Are you sure you don’t want to be a doctor?" Mattie asked.

His vest swelled at that, and he gave her a wink. "Ye take care o’ these wee ones now, or I’ll know about it." He bussed her on the brow.

Zeke and Granny, as inseparable lately as peas in a pod, decided to let her in on a secret that, with Granny’s abrasive voice, wasn’t secret for long. "Zeke’s gonna make me a proper missus," she whispered, "soon as we get Billy hitched up with some young filly."

A smile of congratulations was about all Mattie could muster.

Frenchy kissed her on both cheeks. "Such a romantic life you will lead,
cherie
. Do not forget your old
amis
, eh? And if you happen to find yourself in San Francisco, stop by my gambling establishment. I am calling it
Le Paradis d’Or
, The Golden Paradise."

The Campbell boys shuffled forward awkwardly before one of them finally broke the ice and gave her a swift kiss on the cheek. Not to be outdone, the others followed suit.

"Are you leaving as well?" she asked them.

"We’re gonna mosey on down to Mr. Neal’s place, find us some work where there’s real money," Harley volunteered.

The rest of the camp muttered quick and uncomfortable goodbyes, some of them embarrassed by their own sentimentality, others in a rush to get on with their panning.

Swede was the last to amble up while the others left to give him privacy. He wouldn’t look at her at first, taking off his hat, staring at his boots, running the brim through his fingers.

"Oh, Swede, I’ll miss you so," she whispered, surprised at the catch in her voice.

He pursed his lips, fighting for control. "Now, Miss Mattie, I’m countin’ on you to take care of them two boys."

"I will." Her chin started trembling.

"‘Cause little ones, you know, they take an awful lot o’ takin’ care of, and..." He broke off suddenly, and when Mattie reached for his arm, a tearful snort escaped him.

Mattie’s heart went out to him, and she caught him in a great bear hug.

"Ah, shoot, Miss Mattie," he said, wiping at his eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mattie looked at the deerskin pouch Sakote had made for her, sitting beside the packs of provisions, and a sudden spontaneous inspiration hit her. She pulled away from the big man.

"How much money would you need?" she asked eagerly.

He frowned.

"How much money would you need to get home?" she clarified.

"Oh, Miss Mattie," he said, shaking his head, "there ain’t enough gold left in that creek to get a man by mule to Marysville."

Undaunted, she swept up her pouch, grabbed his hand, and set the gold-filled bag in his oversized palm.

"I want you to go home," she said, and now he looked directly at her in disbelief. "I want you to go home to your girls."

"But that wouldn’t be..."

"Right? It’s not right for them to be without their father," she told him. "I don’t need the money. Sakote is always reminding me that the Konkows have lived for generations without the white man’s gold. And it would make me so happy to give it to you."

Swede blubbered so much over her gift that after several minutes of carrying on, Zeke finally smacked him on the back out of irritation and told him to pipe down, that he was probably scaring the Injuns and the wildlife alike.

Their farewell at the village was more subdued. There were no tears, no regrets. According to the elders, leaving the village had always been part of Sakote’s path.

A contrite Hintsuli gave his brother one final embrace before he scampered off to play with friends. Noa stiffly shook Sakote’s hand, murmuring Konkow words Mattie didn’t understand. Towani peered curiously at Mattie’s babies while she rubbed her own belly, swollen with child. And Sakote’s mother, though she wouldn’t touch the twins out of superstition, nevertheless shared a secret smile with Mattie as the boys gurgled in their sleep.

And then Mattie, Sakote, and the babies were heading north, along an untraveled path, down an unfamiliar road, toward an unknown destiny. Sakote had promised her the earth would provide, and she believed him. His people had lived on the land long before the miners came.