Jem thought he saw movement in the darkness and pulled the trigger. His gun clicked, empty. Two werja ran forward so quickly that Jem barely had time to get his other gun free. He fired blindly, counting his shots, conserving his bullets until he had a clear target even if it meant waiting until the things were right on top of him. He needed to save three bullets, he thought. I’m not letting these kids get eaten alive.
Jem cocked the hammer back and waited, trying to breathe. One of the beasts roared, coming close enough that Jem could see its bright eyes as it leapt from the ground at him but did not strike. The animal’s open jaws sagged and it dropped at Jem’s feet with an arrow sticking out of the side of its skull.
Whistles filled the air as arrows showered down around them, followed by the thunk-thunk-thunk of struck targets and the roars of dying werja.
Jem held his arms in front of the boys as shadowy figures approached them, coming through the steam escaping into the cold air from the bodies of the werja. He heard their beads rattle and saw their tall bows first. Their arrows were trained on him now and Jem did not move away from the boys as the dozen Beothuk warriors closed in.
“This boy’s hurt,” Jem said. He pointed down at Ichabod and said, “He needs help.”
One of the men broke through the ranks and shoved Jem out of the way, looking down in horror at Ichabod’s injuries. He scooped up the boy in his arms and held him to his chest, then lifting his head to shout, “Mahpiya! Mahpiya!”
The warriors parted as a withered-looking savage limped through the crowd. He was dressed in long white robes and used a staff to support his lame right foot. He bent to inspect Ichabod’s arm and reached into his robe for a small bottle. He uncorked the top and poured something foul-smelling onto the wounds, making them sizzle.
Ichabod groaned, and the adult savage rocked him back and forth, wiping the boy’s hair out of his face. The old man poured the last of the liquid onto Ichabod’s arm and removed a clean cloth from his bag that he gently wrapped around the wound. He spoke rapidly at the men nearest to him and waved for them to come over. They picked up Ichabod and carried him to a destrier, then laid him across the back of the animal and secured him there. One of them leapt up onto it and galloped away.
The warriors lowered their bows but kept their arrows notched as a tall, handsome savage came toward, moving anyone in his path aside with one look. His long grey hair was twisted in braids that were intertwined with feathers. Beads rattled from the fringe of his boots as he walked.
Bug ran to the man and wrapped his arms around his waist, saying “Noshi.”
Squawk stood up and took his place at Jem’s side, thrusting out his chest and swallowing so hard that Jem actually heard it. Jem looked from Squawk to the man, then to Bug and said, “Let me guess, Daddy’s here.”
The man stopped in front of Jem and began to speak, but as he looked at Jem’s face his words stopped and his eyes widened. Squawk seized the chance to step in front of Jem and start in, chattering non-stop while the man continued staring.
Squawk started to act out the attack of the werja and smacked Jem across the chest, pumping his fist for emphasis. The man folded his arms and waited for Squawk to finish speaking. Squawk finally ran out of breath and the man waved him out of the way with the back of his hand. He lifted Jem’s chin and inspected both sides of Jem’s face. He looked down the length of his nose at Jem and smiled gently before letting go and turning to seek out one of the fallen werja.
He rolled the animal’s carcass over and grabbed the handle of Jem’s knife that was sticking out of its neck. He grabbed the handle with both hands and put his foot against the beast’s head to draw the blade from its hide. He peeled back its thick black lip and stuck the knife into its gums, prying the longest razor-sharp fang until it popped out in his hand.
He held the fang up to the several dangling from his own neck and nodded with approval. He wiped it on his loincloth before dropping the tooth into a pouch on his belt. “I am Chief of this tribe. My name is Thasuka Witko. We camp nearby and you will come with us.”
Jem looked at the Chief and said, “Uh… I… am Jem Clayton.”
Thasuka Witko turned to walk toward the others and said, “I already know who you are.”
12. The Medicine
They called the elder “Mahpiya,” and he remained seated at Ichabod’s side within a tent, fanning the boy with a smoldering plant that smoked white and fragrant. He draped talismans on the boy’s chest and painted symbols on his body while singing and chanting. Jem looked through the tent flaps and watched, but Mahpiya did not acknowledge him.
Squawk tugged on Jem’s sleeve and pulled him away from the tent toward a clearing where the rest of the group was gathered. The men were seated in a circle surrounding a roaring fire. They stopped talking and sat up straight and became tight-lipped at Jem’s approach. Only Thasuka Witko leaned back and relaxed, playing with a long, unlit wooden pipe as Jem joined the circle and sat down.
Two Beothuk warriors moved aside from Jem and both he and Squawk sat down. Those two watched Jem from the corners of their eyes while others only nodded curtly. Thasuka Witko raised his voice to say, “Welcome to the circle of warriors, Jem Clayton. You take your place amongst the true people of Seneca and have earned the right to sit among us. Only one white man has ever earned the right to do so in my lifetime, and it was also through an act of bravery and humanity toward the people. He lives in our stories as El-Aquila.”
The name brought murmurs from the men and many of them looked at Jem with renewed curiosity. Thasuka Witko waited for everyone to be silent before continuing, “When El-Aquila sat in our circle, he asked Chief Hoka-Psice how the Beothuk came to this place and why we make war on the outsiders. Our stories had never been shared with a white man before.”
The Chief looked at the faces of the men seated around him and said, “It was my father’s belief that by telling the white man about our people, he would take our stories back and enlighten the rest as to the ways of the Great Spirit. I argued that no white man’s ears could hear our truths and it was a waste of time to try. Hoka-Psice was a wise Chief, and ignored me, as I will ignore those who sit here and would try to stop you from hearing the same story.”
Jem looked around at the brown faces in the circle, seeing that none of them looked very pleased. “If your young ones are an example of your people’s character, there is much more I’d like to know.”
The flames flickered in the Chief’s dark eyes and he looked up at the sky and pointed his finger at the stars, “In the first days, the Beothuk were slaves in a far away land, made to work for cruel masters. It was The Enlightened One who led our people to freedom and told them to take a fire wagon by force and escape. They found this place where no one would bother to look for them. Many of our ancestors complained that this place was not fit for them. They saw no forests or oceans. They said the land was too hard and the sun was too hot, but the Enlightened One scolded them, for this was a place he felt they could live in peace. If this planet had no riches for the White Man to plunder, the White Man would never come.
“The Beothuk populated the planet and learned its ways. They harvested the harsh ground and plucked fruit from the agave plant. They fed on the fast, long legged awiyusti and the slow, fat agana. They fought the mighty werja and fashioned their skins into blankets to protect themselves during the cold desert nights.
“Our people made trinkets out of the strange glittering stones that sometimes appeared at the mouths of caves, or rattled around the bottom of our water jugs when we filled them in the streams. The Enlightened One could not have dreamed that someday Outsiders would come with enormous machines that bored holes in the ground to drill for these stones.