chapter one The Hunters "Where did the boy go?" an angry voice asked. "He can''t be far. Grab him as soon as you see him!" The voice that answered was calm but cold. They were, indeed, close to Okwaho''s hiding place in the blackberry tangles. It was not yet the time of the fall rains, when it would be safe to burn away the dried undergrowth. So the half-green bushes on his side of the trail were still thick. Even now, with the midday light of Elder Brother Sun shining brightly down on the land, it was dark within the bushes where he hid. He began to sing--not out loud, but inside his mind.
Songs have power. His uncle, At the Edge of the Sky, had taught him that, praised him for his singing. You will not see me. You will not see me. You will pass on by. You will pass on by. They were getting even closer. Though they were not speaking now, he could hear not only their feet crushing the twigs on the path but also their heavy breathing.
If I hadn''t crawled in here, he thought, I''d be caught now. A captive like Tawis. The thought of what had just happened to his friend troubled him more than what might happen to him. The two of them had gone together to the stream that flowed into the small river near their village. They knew that fishing there would be better, that at this time of the year big trout sometimes left the main water to run upstream into the creeks. It had not been that far for them to walk, no longer than the time for Elder Brother Sun to rise another hand''s width up into the sky. And despite the fact that there was always the threat of enemies, things had been calm for their little community since the decision to leave the big village of Onondaga. There were only fourteen families, fifty people altogether, who made that decision.
It had been suggested first by the women who were the heads of those families and the men had agreed. All of them had lost friends and family members to the conflict that never ended. As long as they remained in the big village, led by Atatarho, their giant chief whose every thought was of war, more of those they loved would die. Burnt Hair and Okwaho''s father, Holds the Door Open, had been chosen to announce their decision to the great chief. Atatarho had stared at them with anger in his eyes. For a few breaths it seemed as if he would either forbid them to leave or have them punished. Then the giant war chief had shaken his head, the black snakes tied into his hair writhing as he did so. "You are no help to me if you will not fight," Atatarho growled.
"Go. See what your foolish decision brings you. But your dogs cannot go with you. They stay here. They will help guard our village from enemies, and take the place of you weaklings." As the group left the village, no one had spoken to wish them a good journey and good health. Instead, everyone who was not coming with them looked away. All except one person: Clouds Forming, who was the best friend of Okwaho and Tawis.
She stood defiantly at the gate, watching them depart. Though she did not speak aloud, Okwaho saw the words she was forming with her mouth. Be strong, my brothers. We will meet again. When the fourteen families decided to leave the big village, the family of Clouds Forming had not agreed to go with them. They were of the same clan and family as Atatarho, the powerful warrior chief. There was no way anyone in his family could go against their kinsman''s word. Even if they had not feared his anger, their first loyalty was to their powerful relative.
It had been five moons since their departure from the big village. The hard times of constant fighting that cost the lives of so many had seemed far behind them to the two boys. It was the sort of warm day that sometimes comes after the leaves have begun to change color. The stream where they knew there were big trout was not that far from their hidden village. Surely no danger could come to them there. Even so, Okwaho and Tawis had been careful. They''d waited, looking around and listening before leaving the shelter of the forest and walking out onto the meadow that had been left when an old beaver dam had finally collapsed. The narrow but deep stream that wound its way through that meadow had spots eroded out under its banks by the current where good-sized fish might be found.
The two of them had walked along either side of the stream, staying low, moving slowly and keeping their eyes on the water. They knew that fish could feel the vibration of heavy feet and hide before being seen. Still, every time they caught sight of a trout facing into the current, tail moving lazily, that fish would quickly see them and dart for safety under a stone or under the stream bank. Most of those fish were small, no bigger than the width of two hands, so they kept going. Then, just past the place where the spring-fed stream widened, they both saw it. A brook trout near the surface. Facing upstream, watching for any food the stream might bring its way, it was almost as long as one of Okwaho''s arms. Big enough to provide a meal for both their families.
Sensing their presence, the trout dove, its square tail sending up a plume of spray. "THERE!" Tawis had shouted. Then, realizing he needed to be quieter, he lowered his voice. "Under the stream bank on your side," he said, pointing with his lips toward the other place where a big old birch tree grew, its feathery roots caressed by the current. "Go for him. I''ll keep watch." Okwaho nodded and slid carefully into the water. For the type of fishing they were doing, being slow and quiet was important.
He put his feet down on the stream bottom, finding his balance. The cool water was up to his waist. A song came into his mind, one for the big fish. It was a song that would calm it, ask it to give itself to them, thank its spirit for the sacrifice of its flesh. Singing that new song softly, Okwaho began to move forward, first one foot and then the other, like a stalking heron. Okwaho looked up at Tawis on the other side, the stream wider here than an agile man could clear with a running jump. Tawis nodded. "There," he said.
"You are in the right place." "Keep watch," Okwaho said. He began taking deep breaths. One, two, three, four. When his lungs were full, he leaned forward, bending his knees until his head was underwater. He could see the dark hole circled by a tangle of tree roots. It was deeper than he''d thought. He''d have to pull his whole body inside to reach the huge trout.
Okwaho had not worried about how long that would take. He was very good at holding his breath for a long time. Also, as he moved forward, he could see a shaft of light from overhead at the back of the hole. It was open there to the air between the thick roots on the back of the large bankside birch. If he ran out of breath, all he had to do was stand up to get his head and shoulders out of the water. That shaft of light reflected off the tail of the big trout. The rest of its body was hidden where it had nosed into a crevice at the back of the hole. My friend, Okwaho thought , sending his thought to the fish, Swift Swimmer, I ask that you let me catch you.
My family needs your help to provide food for us. Hooking one leg under a nearby root to keep himself from floating upward, he reached both hands forward slowly. He began to move his fingers as he touched the big fish, caressing its slippery side as he worked his way up toward its gills. Feeling the quiver of its life between his hands, he grasped it firmly, pulling it out of its hiding place. It didn''t struggle, as if it was showing its agreement to be their food, knowing that they would respect it. That when it was taken from the water and the quiver of life left it, Tawis and he would speak those ancient words: May your spirit continue to swim. Thank you for giving yourself to me, Okwaho thought as he turned inside the hole, holding the big trout to his chest, his fingers inside its gill slits. He made ready to thrust himself out and up to the surface.
But then he''d heard a sound. Even underwater, the sound reached him. It was a shout. "NO!" And at that same moment he felt the thudding vibrations of heavy feet. He let go of the trout. He''d almost run out of breath, but he didn''t dare leave the hole under the bank. That shout from Tawis had been meant as a warning. He pushed backward toward the place where the hole opened up between the tree roots.
Then he stood up slowly so that his head broke the surface without making a sound. He shook his head to clear the water from his ears. All that he could see to either side were the roots of the birch tree. It meant that he could not be seen. But he could hear. And what he heard made his heart pound. "Where is your friend?" a harsh angry voice said. "I was alone," answered a voice Okwaho recognized immediately as that of Tawis.
"I was looking for fish by myself." "Hah," another voice answered, a voice that sounded as cold as a winter wind. Like the first one who spoke, his accent was not that of an Onondaga. It sounded like that of one of the Standing Stone Nation, the Oneidas. "Do not lie to us. We saw two of you." "No," Tawis said, his voice stubborn. "I was alone.
" That word was followed by a sharp slapping sound. Though he could not see what had just happened with his eyes, Okwaho saw it all too clearly in his mind. His loyal friend was being hit for his defiance. If only Clouds Forming had been with us, Okwaho thought . She would have kept watch while we fished. With her keen eyes and ears she would have sensed trouble. Then another voice.