Chapter 17

Chapter

Seventeen

When I wake the next morning, Bren isn't lying next to me. For a horrible moment, I think he might have left, but then I find him outside, sitting in his usual spot by the campfire, sanding arrows. His hair is braided, secured by a leather cord, and a few strands fall across his face, which has become gaunt. Despite the chill, he's only wearing the brown T-shirt Coven gave him and my gaze falls on his athletic, sinewy forearms. As always, just from looking at him I immediately feel that tingle in my belly, the desire to feel his hands on my skin, and his warm whispers in my ear.

I walk a few steps through the grass, dewdrops glistening like bubbles on the tips, the faint sun glowing red in the early morning mist. From somewhere comes the thud of an axe, and Coven and his wife, Aiyana, are returning from the stream with full water jugs.

I stop.

For a split second, I think I'm dreaming. I'm still in Ash Springs and this is all a fantasy. There is no criminal complaint and there are no Navapaki.

A shadow scurries behind the bushes by the tall oaks.

"Amarok says your heart is as big as the sky."

I wince. I didn't hear Darrow approaching. Indians are like Bren; they move silently when they want to.

I nod, but I don't take my eyes off Bren.

"Amarok was upset yesterday."

Only now do I look at Darrow. "I'm sorry. Henry snapped at him."

"He loves you very much. And you love him, everyone can see that." Darrow looks at me earnestly. "Nevertheless, Amarok is determined to conquer you."

Not good at all! I sigh deeply. "You have to talk him out of that. Besides, Amarok doesn't even know me."

"He watches you, I think he knows you better than you think."

Bren watched me before the abduction and thought he knew me. Of course, I don't mention that. "Amarok has to stop stalking me. It drives Henry insane and it scares me."

"Amarok knows no laws from your world and he has never really adapted to ours. Sometimes, he disappears into the forest for days and no one knows where he is. It took a long time for him to learn Navapaki. At first, we could only communicate through sign language. He lives and dies for the spirits and he acts on the old stories. He believes them, Josephine."

I remind myself of everything Amarok doesn't know, reminding me a bit of Mowgli from The Jungle Book. "Don't you believe in your spirits?"

"I believe in the great mystery. Everything is animated by the spirit of Manitou and I believe that through rites and trance, we can allow the healing powers of animals and stones to flow into a person. Nashashuk is my grandfather, Josephine. I would be a fool not to believe in what I see every day."

"Nashashuk is your grandfather?" I respond, surprised. He could have mentioned that earlier. I remember noticing a resemblance between the two from the start, but I wasn't certain they were related.

Darrow nods. "But despite my faith, I know how living together works and how we humans have to treat each other so we don't spread discord and envy. Amarok hasn't learned that yet. He's like a child."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

Darrow's round face looks worried. "Take care. Watch out for Henry. Amarok is only leaving him alone because he is injured. As soon as he's fully recovered, he'll certainly challenge him."

"What do you mean challenge? He's not going to want to challenge him to a duel." In my mind, I see the two of them attacking each other with tomahawks.

"He won't put up with the way Henry treats him," Darrow replies evasively.

I wish I could tell them about Bren's illness because it would explain a lot and make things easier. "Maybe we'll be gone by then." I hope it and I don't hope it.

In the evening, Bren and I sit around the village campfire—far off since some of the villagers are still not particularly kind to us. We don't want to cause trouble, but Darrow personally invited us and not showing up would have been rude, especially since Darrow is the son of the tribal chief. And since he is in civilization at the moment, Darrow represents him along with the elders.

Bren's arm is placed around my waist and I snuggle up against him on the wooden bench, my head resting on his shoulder. Amarok sits on the other side, and whenever he thinks we're not looking, I see him secretly glancing at me through the flames, his eyes intense and burning hotter than the fire.

I sense Bren's impatience and squeeze his hand. The situation unsettles me. I can't judge which of Bren's reactions are justified and which are not, not after the conversation with Darrow.

The Navapaki tell stories throughout the evening, some true, some fictional or passed down. When they talk, their characters seem to come to life in the flames. They say some things in their own language, but I understand a lot by their gestures. They speak of their ancestors, of wise men and brave warriors. Of girls who were kidnapped to embarrass their enemies or simply because they couldn't resist their charms. Stories of rough nature and its clear beauty.

I try to relax, but it's difficult. A mug of homemade herbal schnapps is passed around and a couple of men smoke a long, dark brown pipe that reminds me a little of my first recorder except it had no feathers. Bren looks over at it longingly and only then do I realize that he lost his cigarettes, too, and may have been experiencing withdrawal symptoms for days.

Looking from one person to the next, Nashashuk tells the story of an old chief sitting around the campfire with his grandson.

"The old chief watched the flames in silence. The young Indian was frightened because the shadow of the fire cast dark silhouettes on the circle of trees." Nashashuk's eyes linger on me.

"‘Grandfather, I'm afraid. I see silhouettes of bears and wolves in the trees,' said the boy.

"The old Indian just shook his head. ‘There is no need to fear, grandson. Flaming Light and Darkness are the names of two wolves that dwell in the heart of every man.'

"The young Cherokee gave the old man a questioning look and the chief continued. ‘In the legends, there is an old story about the white wolf and the black one. The white wolf stands for everything good, like love, peace, justice, and compassion, and the black one embodies evil, like hate, fear, envy, jealousy, and feelings of inferiority. Bad qualities and feelings.'"

Nashashuk pauses artfully, and as if on cue, a plaintive, dark wolf howl erupts from the forest. Bren looks at me and sadness shimmers in his fire-lit eyes, burrowing deep into my heart. He hasn't shown it much in the past few days, but I still know how much he misses Grey.

Nashashuk continues. "The white wolf and the black wolf are locked in an eternal battle, at war with each other."

Yoomee, who is sitting on her mother's lap playing with her hair, looks at the shaman wide-eyed. "And which wolf wins?"

Nashashuk smiles. "The grandson asked his grandfather the same thing and he replied: ‘The one you feed. But keep in mind, you must feed both wolves because as soon as you neglect the black one, he will starve. And when he's starving, he'll seek an opportunity to break free, but then his attack will be more furious and vicious than you can imagine. If he gets a steady bit of attention instead, he'll be happy in his dark corner and leave the white wolf alone.'"

I'm pondering why it is a good thing to pay attention to feelings like hatred and envy when there is a ruckus on the outskirts of the camp.

Words in Navapaki are shouted and Darrow stands up and strides toward the edge of the forest. Nashashuk stands up as well.

"John and his men have returned from town." Thea explains the excitement to us in her soft, melodious voice and I hear the tenderness in her words. John is her husband, Yoomee's father.

With the little girl in her arms, she walks toward him, hips swinging, while Bren and I stay behind. Part of the group follows Darrow, Nashashuk, and Thea, but some older ones remain seated. A subtle welcoming ceremony follows, and at one point, Darrow whistles through his teeth and calls out something in Navapaki, and Amarok rises with a grumble and strides over to the edge of the forest.

Bren and I look at each other and Bren frowns in displeasure. I don't know what the appearance of the chief means for us. If we're lucky, they were in a small town and didn't pay attention to the latest news—which is what Bren is speculating. And maybe the media isn't reporting on us anymore. Maybe the men were merely running errands and didn't have time to ask around. Perhaps they generally avoid these worldly things.

I sit tensely next to Bren and watch as the three Navapaki hand out various bags and items to the bystanders. A few of them likely make the pilgrimage to town from time to time to acquire things that the wild can't provide or are too cumbersome to craft such as bowstrings. Do they barter? Maybe with animal skins? After all, how else would they pay for the things they need?

Coven and Aiyana carry a bulging leather bag into their tent and other Navapaki also lug their things into their teepees while Darrow talks to one of the Navapaki who has just arrived. I assume it's Darrow's father, John. Concentrating, I study him from afar. He's a giant compared to the other Navapaki, looking stern and suspicious like one of the Indians in Dances with Wolves, Liam's favorite movie. The man has short hair, prominent cheekbones, a hooked nose, and a sharp searching gaze, which he now directs at us and nods fleetingly, but it may be in regard to Darrow's words.

I lower my head involuntarily but continue to secretly watch him. Please don't let him be a fan of The Daily News! Maybe we should go over and say hello.

I get an uneasy tingling on the back of my neck when he suddenly turns to the two Navapaki he was traveling with. They talk to each other while glancing at Bren and me from time to time. The smaller of them rubs his forehead several times and the other, wearing a conspicuous colorful necklace, remains motionless.

"Fucking hell! I don't like it," Bren murmurs next to me. "They know something, I'm sure." He stands and wipes his hands on his cargo pants. "We better leave right now."

"What?" I ask, shocked.

"I'll pack a few things, you wait here! It's better if they don't even see us together."

"Bren…"

"It will definitely help to smile and talk normally to them when they come over. Tell them I went into the woods and you don't know when I'll be back. In about ten minutes, come to the teepee and we'll leave."

The next moment, he scurries away during the general commotion, unobtrusively and silently as a wild animal's shadow.

I'm completely dazed. It's all happening too fast. We can't sneak away like thieves without saying goodbye or thank you. Then again, if the men actually do know something, we'll have no choice. I don't want to imagine what action they might take.

I shift nervously, my fingers clenching the hem of the leather dress. I can't stop watching the Navapaki. They're still talking, heads together now. Disbelief crosses Darrow's face and his eyes narrow, I can see it even from this distance. Oh, no, that's not good, Lou, not good at all! Bren's right, they know something. Maybe everything.

Shit, I don't know how to act.

As inconspicuously as possible, of course!

I'd like to bolt to our teepee, but Bren told me to stay here for now.

John glances over at me again, serious and probing like a doctor visiting a patient in intensive care. Cold creeps up my spine and I feel like he's looking straight into me with his keen eagle eyes and hearing the voices in my head.

Still, she is a victim.

Yet he does not approach, instead, after a while, he disappears behind the oak trees by the stream along with Darrow, Nashashuk, and the other two Navapaki.

Only Amarok stays behind, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me like a bird of prey, but after a moment's hesitation, he follows the group into the forest.

This is my chance! Slowly, so as not to attract unnecessary attention, I get up and walk along the dirt path through the knee-high grass to our tent.

I push the tarpaulin of the teepee aside. "Bren?"

He's kneeling in front of the trunk, packing our few belongings into a linen bag with a thick caribou hide wrapped around his shoulders like a hooded cloak. The image brings me as close to reality as a freshly sharpened blade.

"We have no provisions." I get dizzy as I realize what this all means. "We have no herbs and no sleeping bags." And no canoe—we have to steal from them to get off the island.

"We'll take two pelts with us, that'll do for now. And I have a bow now." Bren thrusts his chin toward the corner where his homemade bow rests against the tarp, next to a lined quiver of feathered arrows.

I feel even more miserable. "They might not know anything, Bren. They retreated into the forest."

He looks at me, the shadows under his eyes still wide, looking like war paint. "Maybe they're holding a council meeting there. Do you really want to wait to know for certain? Maybe then it'll be too late and they'll stand in our way."

I bob my head. But I don't want to leave either. Bren hasn't fully recuperated yet.

"They will find out. Either way, let's not kid ourselves. We have to get out of here one day anyway." Bren tosses me Liam's scarf, still knotted into a pouch. I mechanically tie it around my waist just as someone pushes the tarpaulin aside.

I whirl around, startled.

It's Amarok. His face is in darkness, but two red stripes shine along the cheekbones, two black circles with a yellow dot in the middle shine on his cheeks. Yellow means an Indian is ready to die, I know that from Darrow.

"Come with me…Louisa!" Now Amarok's accent sounds frightening, even more menacing is the fact that he knows my real name.

Bren stands up and his face turns so dark that my stomach tightens. I'm afraid I'm going to throw up.

"Amarok," I begin, but he's not looking at me, only at Bren. He chokes out words in what is presumably not Navapaki but Mohawk. They sound like Bren is a murderer and a rapist.

"You…no good. No good for her!" he then exclaims. "You go, she come with me!"

Bren's arms tense and he clenches his hands, making the veins in his forearms stand out unnaturally. "I advise you to get lost, and quickly!" Anger and impatience burn white in his eyes.

"Don't, Bren," I whisper anxiously. He must not freak out! God, please, don't let him have a flash! Otherwise, we'll never get out of here, apart from the fact that it's dangerous. What if he hurts someone? They will not understand his condition. I should have told them how sick he is.

I tug at Bren's sleeve. "Just let Amarok speak! We'll wait to see what the others say. They might let us go." It's still a shock that they actually found out.

Bren shakes his head. "We can't wait, Lou. They will definitely not let us leave. They won't understand. Nobody can." Bren looks at me, then Amarok, who's standing with his legs apart, blocking the tent's entrance. Then he picks up his bow and slings his quiver and pouch over his shoulder. "We're leaving. Let us pass or I'll make you!"

"No. Louisa stays…stays with me!" The young Mohawk quickly grabs my wrist and pulls me along.

"Amarok!" I tug at my arm frantically, but his grip is too tight and I stumble clumsily through the portal behind him.

"Let her go!" Bren sounds cold and composed, like the calm before a storm. Suddenly, the night is eerily quiet.

"You bad, Brendan!" Amarok doesn't even look back, his words echoing loudly through the camp. Undeterred, he keeps walking and spits disparagingly into the grass. In those seconds, I truly hate him. He's like the others, he doesn't know anything, doesn't understand anything.

"You're looking at this all wrong," I begin, but it's pointless. How could anyone ever understand it? I stop abruptly, lose my balance due to him towing me, and fall to my knees. I gasp. Pain shoots from my wrist to my shoulder.

Amarok curses, rigorously dragging me with him. "You don't understand anything. We separate…"

An animal growl erupts behind me, making my blood curdle. Something rattles, like a quiver of arrows falling to the ground. Bren lunges past me, knocking Amarok back so hard, he falls to the ground.

"You're not hurting her!" he yells, beside himself with rage.

I can't react. Amarok lets me go in time, but Bren is on him in an instant, his fist slamming into Amarok's face, once twice, three times with screams of anger. Panic hits me, every clear thought gone.

"Bren, stop it!" I scream through the night, but I no longer dare touch him. He is trapped in his anger, making him much stronger than his injuries allow.

Shouts drift through the camp behind me, but I don't understand anything. All I can see is the blood on Amarok's face, glistening in the moonlight, smeared across his war paint. He appears surprised, shocked, stunned.

God, make him stop!

As if hearing my silent plea, Bren momentarily hesitates. He's staring at Amarok not as a rival but as an opposing soldier. That expression scares me.

"Stop it, please!" I beg. "Let's leave. Now! Nobody needs to get hurt any further." I approach him hesitantly from the side, thinking it's a bad idea, like he's a horse that needs blinders. He sees me out of the corner of his eye. His head jerks toward me and he's distracted. In that second, Amarok pushes him off.

Everything happens at lightning speed, individual images string together in a choppy film. Bren flies back, screaming in pain. Amarok jumps to his feet, putting some distance between them, but Bren is absent. Spaced out, in one of his states in which he no longer notices anything. I see it in his eyes—as if blind.

He gets up. The dark hair falls over his forehead, behind which his eyes glow. Blood and fire. His breathing is ragged. It seems to me that a viper has stuck its fangs in him, which are now paralyzing his logical thinking. He's in pain, I can see that, probably his ribs, but that only makes him more aggressive. He lunges and all I can think about is protecting Amarok. He saved Bren's life, he carried him and gave him water when I could no longer do it. It's not his fault he fell in love with me and doesn't know the rules of this world.

"Don't, Bren!" I yell, barely noticing that a crowd has gathered around us. Without a plan, I rush between the two, and the next second, Bren's punch strikes me in the head.

Excruciating pain explodes at my temple. Something cracks and shatters into a thousand pieces. I fly through the air, hit something, and float as if in a vacuum.

Like in a snow globe. All I can see is Bren's wide, dark, shiny eyes, his horrified, silent exclamation—LOU—misery flickers across his narrow, fearful face.

Moments that become eternities, something unforgettable in the soul. The pain in my head isn't the worst. It drifts away. But the shards fall to the ground, still and quiet like broken dreams.

I know what this means.