The Rage Page 12

  Bear Woman roared again and raised her weapon for a killing strike. Peyewik saw her flickering back and forth between bear and woman. Then she roared once more, a sound full of grief and shame, and the sword fell from her hand. The fury had left her as well. She became just a woman once more, looking suddenly tired and old. She growled in a low voice and gestured for the trees. She was sparing Flame Hair, telling her to go.

  Flame Hair didn’t move.

  “Leave her!” Kwineechka cried as Peyewik ran to her.

  He tugged on her arm, but couldn’t move her until Kwineechka came to help. Bear Woman watched as they dragged her towards the trees.

  There was a distant shout, and Peyewik turned to see brown-cloaked figures running through the mist on the far side of the river. Flame Hair and Bear Woman’s battle cries had been heard and it wouldn’t be long before the other Fighting Women found a way across.

  “She said she would kill Flame Hair,” Kwineechka said. “I don’t understand why she is letting her go now.”

  Peyewik looked back at Bear Woman, still and gray in the dull light. “She couldn’t kill her cub,” he said.

  “We can’t outrun the Fighting Women,” Kwineechka said, struggling under Flame Hair’s dragging weight.

  Peyewik had no breath to reply as they pressed on into the trees where it was still dark. He held Flame Hair’s hand and felt her stumbling blindly beside him, slowing them down.

  “We must leave her,” Kwineechka gasped.

  Peyewik stopped suddenly, nearly sending Kwineechka sprawling. He stood in front of Flame Hair and looked into her flat, empty eyes. He couldn’t sense her spirit animal anywhere. “Her spirit has traveled far from her body,” he said, knowing it was true as he said it. “And it won’t know how to return unless I help her.”

  “Why should you help her?” the storyteller demanded. “After what she has done to us.”

  “She didn’t lie to us,” Peyewik said. “It was Crow Woman who lied. To us and to her.”

  “Bear Woman lied to her too,” Kwineechka said quietly, surprising Peyewik.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bear Woman killed her family,” Kwineechka explained. “Not the Pure Men. I heard her say so. All her life Flame Hair has believed it was the Pure Men.”

  Peyewik nodded. He had known that Bear Woman had said something terrible to make Flame Hair angry enough to fight, he just hadn’t known what.

  “That’s why her spirit has gone. Bear Woman was like a mother to her. The betrayal is too much.”

  “You can’t help her,” the storyteller shook his head. “She is lost in all these lies, all this violence. She belongs to Snakebrother.”

  “She rescued us from Crow Woman,” Peyewik said. “I must try to help her.”

  “There’s no time to argue.” Kwineechka glanced over his shoulder towards the river. “We have to keep moving.”

  He didn’t look happy about it, but he pulled Flame Hair’s arm across his shoulders and headed deeper into the forest, stopping again after only a short distance.

  “What is it?” Peyewik asked.

  “Someone is there,” Kwineechka said, peering into the shadows under the trees.

  Peyewik heard crackling and rustling and then fifteen or more Pure Men appeared, weapons drawn. He and the storyteller began backing away as the Pure Men advanced. Peyewik’s heart lurched as a shriek sounded from behind. It was followed by a chorus of battle cries, and he turned to see the Fighting Women charging towards the Pure Men. He, Kwineechka, and Flame Hair were caught between them with nowhere to run.

  “Peyewik!” Kwineechka cried, letting go of Flame Hair and lunging towards him. Peyewik whirled around to see a Pure Man running straight for him. He saw cornhusk hair and sky blue eyes, and froze. Then, just as the Pure Man was upon him, he forced himself to drop into Flame Hair’s wrestling stance. All the practice with the storyteller had trained his muscles, and before he knew what was happening, the Pure Man was on the ground.

  There was no time to congratulate himself. Another Pure Man was running for Flame Hair, who now stood alone, oblivious to the danger all around. The Pure Man’s weapon was raised to strike when Kwineechka slammed into him from the side, catching him around the waist and pulling him down.

  Another round of battle cries distracted Peyewik. More Fighting Women were charging from the direction of the river. He turned back to Kwineechka and found him on the ground, breathing hard and holding his side. The Pure Man he’d knocked down lay dead beside him, a bloodstain growing on his chest.

  A second Pure Man, tall and thin, stood over the storyteller holding a bloody knife.

  “No!” Peyewik cried.

  But the tall Pure Man didn’t attack Kwineechka. He put the knife away and knelt down to speak to him. The storyteller grimaced in reply, and Peyewik saw the blood welling between his fingers.

  “Kwineechka, you’re hurt!” Peyewik said.

  The Pure Man looked up. “I am a friend,” he said, and Peyewik recognized his voice. He was the stranger from the forest, the man who had stopped Peyewik from turning himself over to the Pure Men. He was a Pure Man himself, and he was carefully lifting Kwineechka to his feet.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  Kwineecha leaned heavily on the Pure Man and let himself be led away. Peyewik had no choice but to follow, pulling Flame Hair by the wrist.

  “We have to get away before the fighting stops,” the Pure Man said.

  “Why are you helping us?” Peyewik asked.

  “No time to explain,” the Pure Man replied. “By Manito, trust me.”

  So Peyewik followed the Pure Man, fearful that at any moment one of the Pale Ones would come after them. But they were too caught up in their skirmish and gradually the sounds of fighting faded behind.

  Though the Pure Man was slowed by Kwineechka’s weight, Peyewik saw again the ease with which he moved through the forest. He looked and dressed like a Pure Man, but he could speak and move like one of the People.

  The sun had risen far above the horizon and was shining down through the treetops when the Pure Man finally came to a stop beside a large outcropping of rock. He pulled aside some trailing vines and ducked into a small cave where he gently lowered Kwineechka to the ground.

  “This is my home,” he said simply. “You will be safe here while I go to the village of the Away People for help. I will return as quickly as I can. Kwineechka has lost a lot of blood and needs a healer. ”

  Peyewik let go of Flame Hair’s hand, and she dropped into a corner, hunched over and silent.

  “You know Kwineechka? And the Away People?” he asked, studying the Pure Man. His eyes were blue, like Sky Eyes’ had been, but there were many care lines around them, and they did not frighten Peyewik. Flame-colored hair grew on the lower part of his face, but the hair on his head was darker, except for patches of gray around his face, and it sprang out of his scalp like the curling tendrils of a pea vine.

  “I know the Away People,” the Pure Man replied. “I am an old friend of Kwineechka’s father. I was the one who taught him the language of the Pale Ones, but there is no time to tell the whole story. Just know that I have been watching out for you.”

  “Why did you hide your face from me that night in the forest?”

  “I didn’t want to frighten you or anger the New Murian. I thought it was best if no one saw me.”

  “Kwineechka knew you were there?”

  “He suspected it, but did not know for certain. I will tell you the rest later. Now I must go for the healer.”

  “If you bring me pine bark or sassafras, and some nettles, I can help slow the bleeding,” Peyewik said.

  The Pure Man looked surprised.

  “My grandfather is the healer of the Original People,” Peyewik explained. “I have seen him treat wounds like this. It needs to be closed with sinew and a bone needle, but I can slow the bleeding until you come back with the healer.”

  “The nettles and pink bark are nearby,”
the Pure Men said. “I will fetch them for you before I go.”

  When the Pale Man was gone, Peyewik tried to wipe the blood away from Kwineechka’s wound with a torn cloth. Every time the storyteller took a breath more came gushing out. He sang a little prayer to Manito, asking for help remembering everything he had seen Muhkrentharne do.

  The Pure Man returned with the nettles and pine bark. “There is also some valerian root to help him rest,” he said.

  As Peyewik took the plants from him, he was surprised and pleased to sense that the Pure Man had said the right prayers of thanks to the plant spirits. There was a firepit near the entrance of the cave, and the Pure Man lit a fire there, propping up a clay pot of water to heat. He brought in a pile of dry wood, and then said, “I must go now.”

  At the entrance to the cave he paused to look down at Flame Hair’s huddled form, and Peyewik was startled by the expression on his face. It was a strange mix of fear, hope, and sadness. When he was gone, Peyewik wanted to ask Kwineechka about him, but the storyteller was feverish and in pain.

  Peyewik gave him the valerian to chew and then blanched the nettles in the simmering water to remove the sting. He pounded them with a rock to draw out the juices and pressed them against the wound, the edges of which were starting to look red and angry. Fever would set in soon. He let the pine bark steep in the warm water until it softened and then placed it over the wound like a bandage. It would dry and hold the edges of the wound together, slowing the bleeding until it could be stitched closed.

  When Kwineechka had slipped into a fitfull sleep, Peyewik turned to Flame Hair. He was exhausted, but she still needed his help. Except for startling once when Kwineechka cried out in pain, she hadn’t moved from her huddled position in the corner.

  Peyewik crouched down beside her. He reached out and covered her heart with his hand, then closed his eyes. Her spirit couldn’t be too far away if her heart was still beating and her body lived, but he could not sense it. It wanted to be gone. He understood this because his spirit had felt the same way after watching Sky Eyes die, and again after Chingwe was killed.

  He had been so sure that he could help her earlier, but now he was tired and his head was spinning. He didn’t know where to begin.

  “Peyewik.”

  He looked up and saw a panther slink into the cave. “Chingwe, my friend,” he smiled, thinking he must have fallen asleep and started dreaming. “Have you come to help me find Flame Hair’s spirit?”

  The big cat stared at him with its yellow eyes.

  “Follow me,” Peyewik heard the familiar voice. “I will show you the way.”

  he panther passed through an opening at the back of the cave that Peyewik hadn’t noticed before. Peyewik followed and found himself in cold, damp, absolute darkness. When he looked back for the firelight in the cave, there was nothing but black.

  “Chingwe,” he said, panic rising. “I cannot see.”

  “Walk forward. I am right in front of you.”

  Peyewik could hear the cat purring. It was the only sound in the dense darkness, and he moved towards it. He tried to stay calm as he followed the sound, but the darkness only grew heavier. It seemed to press on his chest, making his heart strain to beat, his lungs struggle to draw air. More than once he slid towards panic, only to hear the voice in the darkness say, “I am with you,” and the panic subsided.

  They seemed to be making a gradual descent. The air grew colder, and he began to shiver. Eventually he lost all sense of time and felt as though he had been walking down through the darkness for years. He thought he was imagining things when the air began to get warmer. He stopped shivering and the darkness seemed somehow less dark. He blinked a few times and saw an earthy reddish brown instead of pitch blackness.

  “We are almost there,” came the voice, and Peyewik could just make out the shape of the panther moving ahead of him.

  The descent ended abruptly. Peyewik took a few more steps and his sight was completely restored. The panther had stopped and was looking back the way they had come. Peyewik turned and gasped at the sight of a mountain so high he couldn’t see the top. He could see the path they had followed down the mountainside, winding and narrow, sheer rock face to one side; a long, cold drop to the other.

  “Come,” the voice said. Peyewik followed and found himself on the sandy shore of a lake so large he could not see the other side. Then he saw that there was a current, moving fast in one direction, and knew that it was not a lake but a river. It was twilight, but he could see the stars overhead clearly. None were familiar. He drew in a breath so clear and pure it felt as though his lungs had become the air itself.

  “You do not need to breathe here,” the voice said. “You felt the darkness lift as we descended, did you not? That was your spirit casting off the weight of your body. We have arrived in a land of spirit. The River of Death flows at your feet.”

  Peyewik didn’t feel concerned by this news. Strange as this place was, he felt at home here.

  “There is nothing to fear,” the voice confirmed. “Your body will be safe until you return. Though the longer your spirit is away from your body, the harder it is to come back. The girl you call Flame Hair, the one called Tribulation by the New Murians, she has been away from her body for a long time.”

  Tribulation. Flame Hair. Peyewik remembered why he had followed the panther to this place. “She is here?” he asked.

  “Call her name. She will come if she can.”

  “Flame Hair?” he said timidly. There was no reply but the quiet rush of the river. “Tribulation?” The word was awkward in his mouth and throat. He tried again. On the third try the name rang out loud and clear. “Tribulation!”

  At the sound of her name, Tribulation felt a tug in the place where her heart used to be. She tried to resist, but the voice was too loud to ignore. With only a vague memory of speech she said, “What do you want from me?”

  Peyewik turned towards the whispery voice but could see nothing. “Your body lives,” he said. “It is not time for you to leave it.”

  A shadow flickered at the corner of his eye and he turned towards it.

  “That body ain’t anything but pain,” the shadow that was Tribulation said.

  “You are afraid of the pain?” Peyewik asked her.

  “A warrior ain’t afraid,” Tribulation said, feeling herself grow more solid under Peyewik’s steady gaze. “Not even of death.”

  Peyewik heard her voice growing stronger and watched her shape emerge from the shadows. “If you do not fear death,” he said, “then you do not fear living. Come back to life with me.”

  “Why?” Tribulation asked. “I’ll never become a master warrior. I’ll never defend New Murias against its enemies and win the Scath’s approval. Aoifa, the Scath, the Rage—all of that was a lie. There’s nothing for me anymore… ” Her shape began to fray at the edges.

  “I am not a lie,” Peyewik said. “Kwineechka is not a lie. He risked his life for you. We are your friends. Come back to us.”

  “The storyteller should’ve let me die. You saw what I let Aoifa do to him…”

  “No!” Peyewik shouted. Her spirit was fading away again, and he didn’t know how to make her stay. He thought of Chingwe’s mother, her wail of grief over her son’s body. He thought of his own mother, long dead to a fever. And he thought of Muhkrentharne and the Original People. He didn’t even know if any were still alive after the attack he had seen in his dream. What Flame Hair had said was true: there was too much pain in life. Maybe she would be better off if her spirit stayed lost.

  “Chingwe!” he cried. “Why did you bring me here?”

  The panther stood nearby, still as a carving.

  “I thought you came to help me,” Peyewik said. “Do you refuse because it was my fault you died?”

  The panther stared at him, its yellow eyes unblinking. “Chingwe’s death was not your fault. You must endure the pain of his loss, but that does not mean it was your fault.”

  “The
n why won’t you help me bring Flame Hair’s spirit back? Why have you led me here?”

  “All you can do is ask her to come back. It is up to her to accept your invitation or not. She is not the only reason you are here. You have a task of your own in this place. You must release the angry spirit you carry with you. It was not your fault the Pale Ones came. You do not need to carry that burden.”

  Peyewik put a hand on his chest, felt the familiar cold ache. “It is the spirit of Sky Eyes. He clings to me. I do not know how to make him let go.”

  “Angry spirits can only take hold where there is already anger. Or fear. Sky Eyes feared death and clung to life. What do you fear?”

  There was still enough of Tribulation in one place to hear these words, and though they were spoken for someone else, they pulled at her, pulled her back into herself.

  “I fear the things spirits tell me, and I fear that the People will blame me for saying things they do not want to hear,” Peyewik replied. Then, to his surprise, he heard Tribulation’s voice.

  “The world ain’t as I was told,” she said. “And I no longer know my place in it. This makes me afraid.”

  “Peyewik, the spirits bring you messages that are not always easy to hear,” Panther said. “But they are messages from me.”

  “From you?” Peyewik asked. “You are not Chingwe? Who are you?”

  Panther did not answer. Instead, he spoke to Tribulation, whom Peyewik could now see clearly again.

  “The world is not as you were told, but it is my world, and it is up to you to find your place in it.”

  “Your world?” Tribulation asked. “You’re the…Goddess?”

  “I am the spirit of a boy called Chingwe, and I am the Goddess worshipped by the New Murians. You can also find me in the holy books of the Puritanics.”

  Sudden understanding struck Peyewik and filled him with great joy. “Manito!” he cried. “Spirit in All Things!”

  “I also answer to that name,” Panther replied.

  Tribulation was confused. “You can’t be both the Goddess and the God of the Puritanics,” she said. “They ain’t anything alike.”