Beyond the Great River (People of the Longhouse Book 1)

  “Stop it,” he groaned. “Just stop it!”

  But her left hand managed to get ahold of his face, and the pain that tore at his skin, running down his cheek, informed him that her nails were as dangerous as a flint knife and worse.

  Blind with rage, he tore her hand off his face, feeling the other one breaking free, pouncing at him. Yet, his fist was faster, and as it smashed into the general direction of her head, he felt her body going blissfully limp.

  Afraid to lower his guard, he stayed thus for another heartbeat, then another, listening to the forest. Could it be that she wandered these woods all alone?

  His face burned, and his vision refused to focus. Did she manage to hurt his eyes after all? Not to mention his lower body that still screamed with pain, his groin on fire. The damn wild fox!

  He blinked forcefully, then moved away, tearing the bow from her lifeless hands, just in case. As his vision focused, he inspected her, then, satisfied, felt out his own injuries. His cheek stung, the warm abrasion starting directly under his eye. The rotten piece of meat! Just a little bit higher and he would have been left with no ability to see.

  Getting up with an effort, he examined the bow, then broke it in two and threw the splinters away. A silly toy, not much larger or more complicated than the bows young boys used to practice with, shooting rabbits and small game. The damn girl, what was she thinking? Why did she attack him like that?

  He watched her, uncomfortable, as she sprawled there helplessly, in a ridiculous manner, her limbs spread wide, the dress askew, indecently so, face twisted, mouth opened, trickling blood. Not a pretty vision.

  What do you do with her now? he asked himself.

  The answer presented itself readily. You dump her in the river, possibly slitting her throat beforehand. She could not be left here, to wake up beside their stolen boats, not such a warlike, fierce thing. She would be sure to rush and get help from wherever she had come. The attacked village up there? Maybe, or maybe some other settlement. There was no telling how those people lived, how they spread around these forests.

  He bent to cover her legs, then hesitated again. Her eyes were partly opened, showing only the whites. The sharpness of her cheekbone was blurring on one side, swelling into shapelessness. His blow must have been vicious enough. Damn the stupid wild fox into the underworld of the Evil Left-Handed Twin. He could not just slash her throat or drag her into the river. Or could he?

  She shuddered, and he took a step back, readying his knife. Her limbs twitched, and a light moan escaped her lips as she blinked, tossed her head, then went back into her wandering state, displaying once again the frightening whites of her eyes.

  This time, he cursed aloud.

  Chapter 9

  She listened to the voices, afraid to breathe, or to even open her eyes for that matter. They were talking quietly, in whispers, relatively calm, clearly unaware that she was now awake.

  Earlier, when she came back to her senses, her panic almost got the better of her. Yet, something prevented her from screaming or trying to spring to her feet, something cold but firm, like a supporting hand on her shoulder, calming, encouraging, but in a distant manner. So she stayed where she was, lying upon a revoltingly muddy surface, with a multitude of small stones jutting against her cramped limbs, her head pounding, face on fire.

  The monotonous hum of the water told her she was still near the river, on some lower shore and not a high bank. It should have calmed her, but didn’t. Instead, it frayed her nerves. The foreigners’ voices that accompanied it took the magic of the murmuring river away.

  Uncomfortable and cold, she didn’t dare to move, to disclose her state of awareness. They seemed to pay her no attention, talking urgently, in whispers. Only two men, according to what her ears told her, and not as sure of themselves as on the day before, when she had spied on them and their companions, who were now busy shooting fire arrows over her village’s walls. Filthy lowlifes! The returning wave of anger helped. It made her forget her fear, lessened the desperate pounding of her heart, enabled her to listen.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” repeated one of the men, his voice low, trembling. Was he afraid?

  “Stop saying that and let me think.” The other one was firm, if low and strained. The voice of her captor, the man with the wolf tattoo, the one she had watched on the day before, scared of him even back then, when an entire hillside separated them, when he didn’t know about her existence at all.

  The fear was back, gripping her insides; the memory of his powerful leap when he lunged at her, paying no attention to the pointed bow, nor to the arrow that flew at him, disregarding those, his entire being dedicated to the purpose of capturing, harming. A true beast, out of the worst of the stories. A Malsum, a bad wolf spirit, the evil twin of the good Glooskap. There was no wonder he managed to make her lose her senses so quickly. It was a wonder she was still alive. Or was she?

  She moved her feet lightly, then her hands. They were not tied, and it was a good thing. Maybe she could manage to sneak away, somehow. Just to get to the river. They would never be able to track her there.

  “But how did they get there? How?” insisted the first voice, rising a little. “Are you sure it was not the same shore?”

  “No, it wasn’t.” The owner of the tattoo nearly growled now, his teeth evidently clenched, making his words come out muted. As though she had no difficulties understanding their foul-sounding tongue as it was. “I’m not blind. I can recognize a shore when I see one.”

  “How did they get there?” repeated the troubled man, forgetting to talk quietly again.

  “The filthy locals found them.” The growling was deepening, making Kentika shiver. He had a wolf tattoo for a reason, that much was obvious. Would he tear her to pieces when he found out that she was still alive? Oh, Benevolent Glooskap!

  “What locals? They are all up there, fighting.”

  “Well, obviously not all of them.” The sound of a hurled stone made her nearly jump, her eyes tearing open of their own volition, needing to see the danger, to face it, the trembling of her limbs impossible to control.

  It was deep into the evening, she discovered, and the wind tore at the treetops, making them sway in a most unfriendly manner. The sky peeked through the gaps it created, dark gray, free of clouds.

  “There were prints there. I’m sure there were,” went on the angry voice, uninterrupted. “I should have stayed and checked for those before the light faded. But for the filthy fox!”

  Another hurled stone tore the ensuing silence, accompanied by a muttered curse. It bounced off some other rocky surface, and her eyes shot in that direction, regardless of her will, taking in the view of the forest line, and the muddy clearing ragged with cliffs, limiting this treeless patch of land all the way to the river behind her.

  They were squatting next to one of the rocks, two dark forms, rigid and tense, one of them half turned to her, his features drawn and pale, smeared with mud as he sat there awkwardly, leaning against the uneven surface, most of his lower limbs coated with dried blood.

  To her endless relief, he seemed to be paying attention to little else but his companion, whose wide, bruised back was facing her, splattered with a generous amount of old blood as well. Thank all the good spirits for that. He didn’t see her!

  Easing away as carefully as her reeling head and trembling limbs allowed, she tried to slip backwards, to reach some sort of a cover while attracting none of their attention. They seemed to be immersed in their own troubled dilemmas, wondering about something that was missing, too busy to guard her, although the wolf man did bother to bring her here. Why? Why didn’t he killed her and been done with it?

  She felt her arms slipping, struggling not to lose the support of the muddy ground. She needed to get away from this man, and fast.

  “Why did you drag that stupid thing here?” The wounded man’s voice piqued again, echoing her thoughts. “Why didn’t you throw her into the river?”

  “Would you s
hut up?” The words of the wolf man slashed viciously, shaking the thickening darkness. “Why scream at the top of your voice, eh? Why not shut up and let me think?”

  Her palm felt the solidness of a rotten log, and it reassured her, brought her back from the brink of panic his voice had encouraged. Not a satisfactory means of hiding, it still gave her some sense of protection, making the trembling subside. The river was very near, its murmuring calming, offering safety. If only they kept busy for a few more heartbeats.

  A futile hope. The gaze of the wounded man met hers as she slipped behind the log, desperate to flatten her limbs, to make herself invisible. His eyes widened, and if she thought his frown was deep before, it was nothing compared to the scowl that twisted his fine-looking features now.

  “She is getting away,” he breathed, but his companion needed no warning. In the next heartbeat, he was beside her, having not bothered to straighten up as it seemed, let alone run or leap. Did he just fly through the air?

  His grip on her upper arm was firm, stony, impossible to break. Still, she fought it. To squirm on the slippery bank was easier than in the closeness of the woods. He had a difficult time maintaining his own balance while struggling to pull her to her feet. Letting him take most of her weight, careless of the fall that was probable to ensue, she kicked at his shin, and his muffled groan was music to her ears.

  As the world swayed, and the wet ground met them both, his grasp on her arm slipped, and she half-scrambled, half-rolled away, charging toward the safety the murmuring of the river promised, blind with panic. The slick, moss-covered rocks hit her limbs as she stumbled through them, using her hands and feet to keep moving, the only sounds reaching her the deafening thundering of her heart pumping in her ears, urging her to rush on.

  Another slide down the slippery stones and the water enveloped her, cold but refreshing, taking her into its embrace, pushing the mindless fright away. Surprised, she didn’t have time to gulp enough air, but the fright was receding. She could swim like a fish anyway, and hold her breath, too, for longer than many boys she used to compete against.

  Her confidence restored, she kicked for the surface, intending to dive back right away, but the motion didn’t help. The darkness and the thickness of her surroundings remained the same, with its distant humming and distorted sounds.

  Another kick, this time desperate, and she realized, through the returning wave of panic, that something held her back, clutching onto her dress, but not in a painful way. The rocks; it was caught between the rocks!

  This time, the dread swept back, overwhelming in its intensity, as she pulled, flapping her arms in a frenzy, gulping the muddy water, oblivious of reason. Her efforts were helped by a hand yanking on her arm, dragging her up, fighting the grip of the river. Still, the water was all around, closing on her, stinging her nostrils and eyes, claiming her life forces for itself, so dark it was like an underworld of the evil spirit wolf Malsum. Speaking of wolves!

  When the darkness of the night was back, she had no strength left to do anything but curl up on the slippery stones, trying to breathe the cool crispness of the air in between the wild retching. It was bad enough that she hurt all over, but the inability to breathe properly, and just as she needed it the most, was terrible, draining her of the last of her life forces.

  “What a wild thing,” he was muttering, standing very close, keeping his guard. Did he think she had any strength left to try to run away again? But for the complete lack of it, she might have glared at him. He was so stupid!

  When the struggle for breath lessened and she could hear the wind and the constant hum of night insects, instead of a blurry buzz in her ears, he hauled her back onto her feet with as little consideration as before, not picking her up but supporting while navigating their way back onto the shore. Too disoriented to resist, this time she let him lead, welcoming the strength his body radiated, as her own trembled too badly, from cold now as much as from the entire experience.

  The wind tore at them cruelly, and the fact that it seemed to do nothing to add to his discomfort confirmed the worst of her fears. He was a bad spirit and not a human at all. Still, his body radiated warmth, and their walk took her away from the merciless darkness of the swirling current. The river at night was not the friendly being she had come to know and trust.

  The wounded man made a face, but said nothing, moving a little to make a space for them both under the cozy protection of his cliff. It was darker here but warmer too, with nothing but a light breeze penetrating the towering rocks.

  “Pity we can’t make a fire,” he said, giving them both a skeptical look. In the silvery light of the broken moon, it was easy to see the teasing glint of his eyes, the only thing alive in the grayish pastiness of his face.

  “We can, and we will,” said the wolf man firmly, although his teeth were clattering. So maybe he was also cold. The realization reassured her somehow, as she huddled under the protruding stone, hugging her legs, keeping as far away from her captors as possible. Every little distance helped. As long as they didn’t try to talk to her, or touch her, she knew she could keep her returning panic under some sort of control.

  “The fire will draw attention.” The wounded man sounded agitated again.

  “We’ll keep it small, and as smokeless as possible.” The wolf man did not attempt to sit down, although now his exhaustion was showing, expressed in sagging shoulders and the way he went about picking dry branches, in a listless sort of a way, untypical to what she had learned about him so far. “We can’t do without a fire at all. We’ll freeze, and who knows what will come out of these woods to feast on us.” A glance shot at the dark mass of trees made the other man tense so visibly, she shuddered too, almost afraid to look but peering at the silent giants nevertheless. They were swaying lightly, rustling in a most unfriendly manner. But of course they were. Why would their woods welcome the intruders?

  “You wanted to go back there.”

  “Yes, of course. But later. First, we make sure you and the filthy fox are well settled.” His gaze leaped to her, bringing her fear back in double. There was a question in his eyes, a firm, unwavering suspicion, a cold calculation. He wanted something from her. Oh, great and small spirits!

  “You don’t mean to make me stay here and guard your precious spoil?” protested his wounded companion, his eyebrows meeting each other across his wide forehead, the amused sparkle gone. “That wild thing? Unless you tie her with a rope we don’t have, I won’t be able to chase her all over the way you do. Even if I wanted to.” The amusement was back. “You are in no position to take captives, you lusty warrior. Not yet. Wait till you hear from our people.”

  “I don’t want her!” The wolf man’s voice piqued the way his companion’s had before, when they were discussing their troublesome situation. He took his eyes away, then went toward a nearby pile of branches. “You are so annoying sometimes, Akweks. Stupid and annoying.” His voice trailed off as his form began fading into the night. “Wish you would not talk so much.”

  The wounded man just chuckled, then busied himself with trying to organize the meager pile of firewood that was in his arms’ reach without the need to get up. From close up, she could see that it was his left upper leg that troubled him the most, his thigh a mess of glaring tissue and seeping blood. Not a wound to get stuck on a foreign shore with, she decided, relieved. When the other one left, she would be free to run away. Good!

  “What are you staring at, girl?” he said, making her heart jump in fright. He didn’t look up, busy checking a flat, round stone, but his voice was still amused. “I wish you could speak our people’s tongue and not some foreign blabbering. Maybe you would have helped us, eh?”

  The stone was laid carefully near the pile, as he began searching again. For another one, she realized. Were they going to make fire by rubbing pebbles? It would take them half a night to get a spark, stupid foreigners that they were. But then, of course, with no good flint pieces or a stick and a bow to make the proce
ss easier, what choice did they have?

  “I wish you would look more passable, too,” he went on, dreamily. “What did he find in you, the stupid buck in heat that he is? You aren’t pretty by any means.”

  She clenched her palms tight, but the temptation was too big to resist. “Not as ugly as you and your stupid people are.”

  It came out well, the best phrasing she could get out of their strange, twisted tongue. He dropped the stone and was staring at her as though she had just sprouted another head. It made a funny sight. His eyes turned as round as two wooden plates, and his mouth was so gaping she was afraid a mosquito would fly in.

  She laughed mercilessly and didn’t care how loud it came out.

  “Ugly and stupid, yes. More stupid.” She tried to remember some words of cursing, something, but nothing came to mind. Neewa hadn’t cursed. She’d had such a pleasantly measured way about her, so delightfully interesting to talk to, or rather to listen. “Disgusting people, yes, that’s what you are.” He was still staring at her, bereft of words, and she forgot the attempt to talk correctly. “What stare for, eh?”

  “It can’t be,” he murmured in the end, blinking painfully. “How can you talk our tongue?”

  “My people smart. Yours stupid. That’s how,” she said, so very pleased with herself.

  Then her sense of well-being evaporated at once, as the silhouette of the wolf man materialized out of the darkness, his arms loaded with branches.

  Sensing the tension, he stopped dead in his tracks.

  “What?” The short word pierced the air like a flint arrowhead. His eyes brushed past her, then rested on his friend, piercing. “What happened?”

  “Your filthy fox…” The hesitant arm of the wounded came up as the man cleared his throat. “She can speak.”

  “What?”

  The annoying wolf man kept repeating himself, making her wish to tell him some of the things she told his companion while he was gone. But for the crawling of her flesh, she might have tried. She had nothing to lose, really, and their knowledge of her command of their tongue changed nothing. And yet, she kept silent, wishing to disappear into the surface of the cliff she was huddling against.