The group was then divided up and assigned to the four canoes, separating the seven foreigners in the process. The next moments were spent getting situated in the vessels and pushing them off into the water.
The current quickly gripped the canoes and began to carry them downstream. Without delay, the Onan warriors picked up wooden oars that were lying within the interior of the boats.
With fluid motions, the warriors dipped the oars into the water and pulled vigorously as they began to propel the vessels down the Winding Steam. They traveled in a staggered line, with Ayenwatha’s canoe traveling in the lead.
Almost immediately after bringing the boats under control, the quartet was gliding into a curving bend towards the left. It was just one of the many twists and turns that gave the sinewy watercourse its name.
The rising sun’s rays glinted off the stream as they slanted through the flanking trees, dappling the water surface with a dynamic blend of sparkles and shadows. A lively chorus of insects along the banks and high among the trees joined their serenade with the bright songs of birds, providing a peaceful accompaniment to the passage of the four boats cruising smoothly along the water’s surface.
Before the sun had risen much higher, the Winding Stream merged in a confluence with a much larger river. Looking behind him, Ayenwatha watched the eyes of his guests widen in wonder as they passed into the channel of the considerably larger flow.
The greater river was called the Little Brother. The Little Brother was a substantial river in its own right, but undeniably a lesser sibling to the great Shimmering River that passed through the very heart of the Five Realms.
The Little Brother had cut deep into the tribal lands over the long ages, as it meandered around a number of large, forested hills. Rich green slopes towered high to either side of the river, rising away from the steep banks. The morning fog had dissipated by then, and Ayenwatha relished the brightness of the clear, unsullied day that now dominated the skies above them.
Ayenwatha heard the otherworlders within his vessel begin to speak quietly to each other, where they sat just a few places behind him. Discreetly, Ayenwatha listened intently to their conversation.
“I wonder where we are going today. It seems to be quite the surprise,” the one named Logan commented, with a somber tinge to his voice.
Antonio replied in a similarly low voice. “Do you think I know? You tried asking him?”
Ayenwatha knew that they were referring to him. His finely chiseled limbs continued to move with a steady, rhythmic grace, flowing smoothly through each dip, pull, and raising of his oar. The war sachem kept his eyes focused upon the broad river ahead, even if his mind was wholly occupied with his guests.
There was no need to interject with an answer. They would know where they were going, and who would be waiting there, soon enough.
LOGAN
From where he was sitting further back on the canoe, Logan knew that it would be rather difficult to speak directly with Ayenwatha. He had grown highly impatient with the query that lingered upon his tongue. With each moment he found it increasingly harder to wait any longer, and he finally opted to seek some level of answer. Instead of raising his voice and trying to address Ayenwatha, he turned towards the tribal warrior that was paddling immediately behind him.
The warrior’s face was implacably stern, presenting a pair of stoic, dark eyes that rested behind a hawk’s beak of a nose. His mouth was set in a taut line over his sharp chin. A little taller and broader of back than Ayenwatha, the warrior held a strong posture, and conveyed a supremely confident aura about his person.
The warrior certainly looked as if he was not the sort of man very inclined to harboring a good sense of humor. Nor did he appear to be the kind of individual given to easy conversation.
“So, where are we going today? Nobody has told us yet,” Logan asked the warrior in a low voice, careful not to sound too demanding.
“Ayenwatha will explain to you soon. You are in no danger,” the warrior replied calmly.
The warrior did not take his eyes away from his task, continuing to work his oar in a consistent rhythm.
Logan waited a few moments longer, hoping that the warrior would elaborate further. With nothing forthcoming, Logan turned back towards Antonio, and shrugged in a gesture of resigned futility.
“Maybe it is a big surprise,” Antonio said.
At the moment, Logan was not feeling very enthusiastic about surprises. The new world that had been revealed out of the dense fog had been far enough of a surprise for his liking. Indeed, it was a surprise that was adequate for a lifetime.
A part of him wondered whether it would simply be better to jump out of the canoe and swim for the shore. He glanced back at the warrior, the man’s unbending expression showing no acknowledgement of Logan, as if he were invisible.
As Logan casually eyed the warrior, he could not help but take note of the man’s strong build, and the sense of strength that his sculpted, heavily tattooed form radiated. The sight brought to mind the stoutly fashioned, ball-headed war clubs, the short-hafted axes, and the bows that the warriors such as him possessed and utilized.
Even the small knife, in the bead and quill decorated sheath hanging from the long cord around the warrior’s neck, took on a much more formidable aspect than it would have solely by itself. Its wearer conferred a significantly greater status upon the short blade, reinforced by the thoughts of his skill in wielding it.
Logan shifted his attentions back towards the front. “Right now, I just don’t want any more surprises,” Logan stated curtly, as Antonio nodded his agreement.
Logan sat in a moody silence for about two hours longer, resigned to simply take in the sights of the hilly landscape passing by around them. The thick mass of trees, running up the slopes of the rises flanking the river, presented a nearly impenetrable upper surface. The intertwined concourse of branches and leaves could easily mask any manner of creature lurking beneath them.
Logan found himself wondering what manner of strange sights that the great span of forest might be sheltering within its midst.
The continuity of branches and leaves down by the river was broken up from time to time by stretches of bare ground. Broad patches of open space were spread out along some areas of the shoreline, especially within a few of the bends in the river.
On one of these patches, a rounded protrusion of land jutting deep into a curve in the river, was a herd of deer with reddish-brown coats. The cluster of deer came into sight as the canoes glided around the bend to the left. Having moved out from the shade of the treeline farther back, the deer were lapping at the clear waters of the river.
Reacting as if one singular body, the startled herd recovered in an instant from their initial surprise at the sudden appearance of the canoes. For a moment, a flurry of snorts broke the passive spring atmosphere. Flashing the white undersides of their tails, they sprang off in nimble, bursting bounds, racing swiftly into the shadows of the forest. In just seconds, it was as if they were never there.
About a mile downstream, along a straighter expanse of the river, Logan happened to be looking towards the bank when he caught sight of a towering, brown-furred form with a set of broad, palmated antlers. The great bull moose was almost hidden from view, standing still under the boughs of soaring trees. As the canoes neared the moose’s position, the huge creature turned and lumbered off into the forest.