Red Moon Rising (19 page)

26

WE ARE EXHAUSTED, FILTHY, WHEN
the
Kwihuutsuu
land in the village.

“Tootie!” It is Temple who runs to us first, ahead of a crowd of Cheese. She throws her arms around me and I hug her tightly. She steps back and hugs Natka. In the distance, I see Klara walking quickly toward us, coming from Wantosakaal's cave.

Natka and I, pushing aside our exhaustion and hunger, run to her, meeting halfway. Temple is right on my heels.

I thrust the packages of medicine at Klara, and in between heaving gasps of air I say, “Two pills. Twice a day. If his fever isn't gone in two days, the medicine will not work.”

Klara holds the packages, stares at me.

I open a package and take out a pill. I hold it to my
mouth. “Two pills. One early in the day. One late in the day. Until there are no more pills.” I nod, trying to get her to nod with me. I put the pill back in the package and hand it to her. She peers inside, clacks her mouth.

Then she grabs both me and Natka in a tight hug, her long arms crushing us together. “
Totan
,” she whispers.
“Totan. Totan.”
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. And she's off, taking long, quick strides in the other direction, back to Fist and Wantosakaal.

Natka and I follow. My legs are sore and heavy, my eyes feel as though they are filled with dirt, they are so tired. And my stomach. Oh.

As if she can read my mind, Temple runs up alongside us with bags of dried hashava fruit and bits of plini. Natka and I eat quickly as we walk, saying nothing. Temple slides her hand into mine.

“I saw Aunt Billie,” I say when I have finished the fruit and meat. “She says to tell you she loves you and she wants you to come home.”

Temple shakes her head. “But I am a captive.” She sets her jaw. “It is not my choice.”

I laugh long and hard, the wind carrying my chuckles. I touch her hair, her mouth, her
Kwihuutsuu
-skin dress. I run my hand down the altered handbow on her fist, the knife at her waist. I touch the spiraled paintings that flow across her arms.

“Of course,” I say, the laughter leaving me even more exhausted. “Of course, Kalashava, She of Sweet Scrub, you
are a captive.” I squeeze her close to me. “As am I.”

Natka steps in between us, throwing his arms over both our shoulders as we walk.

When we reach Wantosakaal's cave Temple nods and gives me one last hug. “Go to him. He has called out for you during these days you were gone. Klara told us how he missed you . . . and Natka.” She smiles at Natka, who playfully pulls at her ear.

I squeeze Temple one more time and watch as she runs back to the center of the village. I enter the cave. It is just as warm and humid as before. Fist is still on the table, his scaly skin has lightened in color, his body has become more skeleton-like.

Wantosakaal is busy crushing the pills between two rocks, making a fine powder. Aunt Billie did not say if this is okay, but I say nothing. Medicine is medicine, and however he needs to take it will have to do. Wantosakaal mixes the powder with a small amount of water and then drips it into Fist's mouth. He grimaces at the taste and she holds his mouth shut, rubbing his neck, helping him swallow. His wound is covered with a poultice so I cannot see how it fares, though I suspect it must be even more gruesome than before.

When he has taken the medicine, we all stare at him silently, as if it will work immediately. After a moment, Klara, looking elegant even in her exhausted state, looks up from Fist to me to Natka.

“When I said supplies, I did not mean the
kakee
,” she says in a quiet, firm voice.

I look to my feet, feeling heat rise up my neck. I swallow hard and look up, holding Klara's eye.

“I couldn't just go straight to the
Origin
. I had no idea where to go. I needed to make a trade,” I say. Then I whisper, “I needed to learn more.”

There is a long silence, then Klara nods once. She tells us how badly we smell and instructs us to go take a bath and a rest.

I am more than happy to comply.

When I wake, the Red Crescent glows in the night sky. How long have I been asleep? I sit up and my stomach growls angrily, telling me it has been a long while since the food from Temple.

I dress, noting that I am alone in the cave, and jog outside. There is a small crowd around Wantosakaal's cave, even though it is late in the night. My heart bangs until I think it will explode.

Fist is dead. The medicine has not worked. Why did no one fetch me?

I am prepared to push through the crowd, to fight my way into the cave, but when I arrive, the Cheese see me and part ways, creating a path. I run through them, and they pat my back, my shoulders, my ears. I burst into the cave, expecting to be knocked from my feet with the grief of Klara and Natka, but instead, I am met with shining smiles.

Fist is sitting up on the table. Klara holds a steaming
bowl to his lips and he drinks in slow, childlike slurps.

“What . . . ,” I start, breathing hard from my running and panic. I rest my elbows on my thighs and dip my head to steady my breathing. I look up. “What's going on?”

“
Kundastaal
,” Fist says, the broth dripping down his chin. Klara reaches over to wipe the drips but he beats her to it, swiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“
Kundastaal
,” she says, smiling at me, her eyes bright.

“
Kundastaal
,” Natka says, clapping me on the back.

“Breakfast,” I say, laughing. “Of course.”

Wantosakaal brings me a bowl of steaming broth and I drink it down, feeling the salty warmth race through my veins, waking me up, clearing my mind. It is so good.

I set the empty bowl on a stone counter and kneel by Fist. He puts a hand in my hair and kisses the top of my head.

I search for the right words to express how I am feeling, when I hear a distant scream and the distinct
zip-pew
of a handbow.

And another.

And another.

Natka and I are out of the cave like two bolts of lightning, running toward the sounds that clench my stomach. The crowd that was gathered outside of Wantosakaal's cave is also running, buzzing in various pitches. They are worried just as we are.

Up ahead I see fire glowing brightly in the red night; fire that is coming not just from the flames that are always
kept alive in the center of the village. Small patches of light are scattered across the ground, as scrub burns in a haphazard pattern.

As we run closer I see Jo locked in hand-to-hand combat with someone. I cannot see who it is in the dark.

“What is this?” I yell as I run to the fighting. There are more hand-to-hand battles commencing in clumps all around the fire.

My stomach drops. The Cheese are fighting humans.
Ke'ekutaat.
Invaders. Homesteaders.

Cheese, with sleepy looks on their faces, peer from their caves, see the fighting, and then run outside. Men, women, warriors and nonwarriors alike, are fighting the invaders as quickly as they can find weapons. The Cheese are not dressed for battle—most don't even wear shoes.

I am momentarily struck dumb, just standing amid the battles, light arrows skimming my hair and arms. How did the homesteaders find the village? How did they get here? Did they somehow follow me and Natka? How could they? They have no way to fly. I fall to my knees, my face in my hands. So much for compromise, Aunt Billie. I take several gulps of air and steady myself.

Well.

They will get the fight they have come for. I am up on my feet now, pulling my knife from its sheath on my thigh. These
ke'ekutaat
, these
invaders
, they do not have a chance. I will not let this stand. Not while I have breath in my body. I will make it right.

As I charge, my vision tunneling, my scream echoing from the rocks, I marvel at how many men stream into the village. Did they bring every gum able-bodied man from the township? More and more run out and begin immediately shooting and fighting. Fires spark up everywhere from light arrows and the scorching balls of plasma that shoot from the light rifles. I hurdle over burning scrub and throw myself at the first man I see, a man who is locked in fisticuffs with the woman Cheese who plays Oonan in the ceremonies. She is a worthy warrior and holding her own well, even though she is in a loose-fitting robe and her hair flies free. She probably doesn't need my help, but I jump into the fight anyway, slashing and screaming. I hear only the clashing of weapons and the pounding of my blood in my ears. Slash, stab, pick up handbow from the ground, shoot, slash, search for Temple.

Someone shoots a weapon that has a loud concussive boom to it, and for a moment the fighting ceases. Old Man Dan stands on a rock bench and shouts, “Who is the leader here? I want to speak to your leader.”

There is no sound or movement, save for dozens of men and Cheese gasping to catch their breath. After a moment, Jo steps forward. Her hair, too, flies free, making her look wilder and bigger. She is sweating, heaving with breaths, scratched and scorched, but not terribly wounded.

“I am the leader.”

This is news to me, and probably Klara, too, but I keep my mouth shut as does everyone else.

Old Man Dan jumps off the bench and goes to Jo. He nods his head once and several men run to her. With a lucky kick, one of the men knocks the knife loose from her hand. They go in together, trying to subdue her, but she screams and lashes out with both arms, cutting each man across his cheek with her sharp talonlike nails. They stagger back, and she laughs, showing off her pointed teeth.

The
ke'ekutaat
are angry now, clutching at their shallow wounds. After having shown her strength, Jo does not fight back as the men knock her to the ground and hold her hands behind her back. This, of course, angers everyone else and the fighting begins anew, with many of the Cheese struggling to free Jo, while Jo yells, “
Naa!
Do not fight! Let them take me. End bloodshed!” She knows it is suicide to continue fighting. It's not that there are more men than Kihuut, it's that they are more heavily armed and have had the element of surprise. They caught us while we were sleeping. And their light rifles and handbows outnumber our spears and knives and altered handbows. Their weapons are also faster to cause injury.

Natka runs to Jo but is bludgeoned by a tall man whose name I can't remember. He sells sweets in the market. Natka crumples to the dirt, bleeding from his head, not moving. Two men grab him by the arms and pull him, facedown, to the edge of the village. I squint and in the distance there are . . . horses? How did the homesteaders get horses out here?

At this point, I am spinning in circles. I watch as Klara
walks into the fray. Her strides are long, purposeful. She does not run, she does not hurry her movements. Men leap at her and with barely an acknowledgment of her own motions she gracefully crushes the heel of her hand into a nose, knocking a man flat, while at the same time curling her long fingers around the neck of another man. She never stops walking as she does this, leaving broken men in her wake. I have never seen Klara as a warrior before. It is a sight both awe inspiring and bone chilling. She possesses a grace and ferocity I do not think I could ever emulate.

I do not know where to fight first. Should I work to free Jo? I think she is trying to create peace by sacrificing herself. Do I try to save Natka?

A man lunges at me and I bat him off with my forearm, slicing at him with my knife.

“Feisty, eh?” he says. “We been given permission to use force with
feisty
girls. You stay calm and I won't hafta hurt you.”

I slash at him, taking off the tip of his pinkie finger as he grabs for me. His face contorts with rage as he screams and grips his hand.

Another man comes, holding ropes as if he wishes to bind me. He's moving cautiously, like I am an animal to be captured. I rush at him, pushing him away with my left foot to his stomach. He falls back across one of the benches that surround the fire.

My blood is pumping, my senses heightened. I feel as though I have the strength of ten Kihuut warriors. I march
toward the horses in the distance, to help free Natka and Jo, when suddenly there are two more men, each grabbing hold of one of my arms. I struggle and lash out with my feet, but they are strong. One of the men smashes my knife hand against a stone until the pain makes me drop my knife. Gum
ro-ri-ta ke'ekutaat
!

I bend forward, flexing my arms and trying to launch the men into the dirt ahead of me. When one falls I think I have succeeded, but then I see the metal arrow sticking out of his neck. I swing my newly free arm around and connect with the second man's ear, but he holds fast to my wrist, dragging me. I dig my feet into the dirt, giving my arm a yank and causing him to stumble forward a little. He then picks up a large rock with his free hand and hauls his arm back as if to throw it at me.