The Game of Silence Read online

  As the older women talked together just outside the lodge, Omakayas made herself very quiet. She curled on the fragrant cedar where the hot stones still emitted a gentle warmth. She kept her ears open, although she shut her eyes and pretended to sleep. It was the best way to hear things the women thought too grown up for her ears. She heard Two Strike’s name.

  “Ii’ii, Two Strike…is our Little Frog asleep?”

  “Looks like she’s sleeping.”

  “We had a time with her, that child.”

  Nokomis was talking, for it was she who had been called upon to spend time with Two Strike.

  “She listened,” said Nokomis, “but did she hear? I don’t know.”

  “Her father was never strict with her after her mother died, and Muskrat has her hands full with LaPautre.”

  Omakayas didn’t have to open her eye even a slit to see that Nokomis made the quick fist-to-mouth sign for drinking the ishkodewaaboo, the water that burned. Albert had developed a love for the stuff that disarranged men’s minds. Deydey rarely took any of it, for he said that the burning water was a false spirit.

  “Muskrat said her troubles with Two Strike were much less before Albert took the ishkodewaaboo. Anyhow, we put her out to fast.”

  “Where at?”

  “The little northwest island. We wanted her to stay out there. Not run away!”

  “That was a good idea,” Old Tallow laughed.

  “If she’s going to be a leader, an ogitchidakwe,” Nokomis said, “she needs to listen to her elders. She can’t go around talking back and stirring up the little boys all the time!”

  “At the same time,” said Yellow Kettle, “you don’t want to kill her spirit. I’ve had to be careful, too, with my Omakayas.”

  Omakayas kept her eyes smoothly shut and breathed evenly, although her heart raced. She could almost feel Yellow Kettle’s eyes upon her, checking to make sure she was still asleep.

  “Our girl might seem dreamy, but she very definitely has a gift. I’m sure of it. Nokomis, you told me.”

  “Geget sa,” agreed Nokomis, “she has a deep spirit. Omakayas can tell me the medicines, too, as we walk in the woods. She knows so many of them already, I’m amazed at her knowledge. Sometimes I think she is told how these medicines work by the creator, as well, for I am surprised at what she says.”

  “I’m surprised too,” said Angeline, “by how much she can remember!”

  Not as surprised as Omakayas, who almost sat up in amazement at the praise from her big sister.

  “The one I feel sorry for is Twilight,” Angeline went on. “She has lots of extra work to do. That boy who lives at their house, the son of the old man, he does help out although he always looks like he just bit into a green walnut!”

  The women laughed a bit. “You’re right,” said Yellow Kettle, “you never see that boy smile. He’s glaring all the time. But he lost so many it’s no wonder.”

  “Maybe that is why the old Miskobines is so good-hearted.”

  “You value life then.”

  The women agreed, as did Omakayas, silently, in her heart.

  “Ii’ii,” said Nokomis, “we’ll bring Two Strike back tomorrow. We’ll see how she did, if she got some help out there. If she won’t listen to her elders, at least she’d better listen to the spirits!”

  Omakayas felt a fuzzy, comfortable warmth stealing up along her limbs now, and her head felt very heavy on her blanket, on the ground. Fire flickered on the insides of her eyelids. She tried to keep listening. But the voices of the women blurred. The cozy warmth invaded her and soon she was drifting softly into her dreams.

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  NINE

  TWO STRIKE’S WAR

  Two Strike Girl was not in the least upset by the spirits, nor was her fire put out by hunger and loneliness. She returned as tough and braggy as ever, saying that nothing could affect her, and that the spirits had not wished to change her direction with any particular vision or dream. Two Strike still defied Auntie Muskrat and wormed her way out of every task she was given, so poor Twilight had to haul twice as much water, work twice as hard at setting fishing nets. Even Little Bee complained of the way her older cousin treated her, bossing her around, making her pick up after her and bring her food as though she was a chief. After eating, Two Strike ran away from Auntie Muskrat’s every morning, and remained stubbornly in the woods making plans for war.

  But who was she going to fight?

  The Bwaanag, who terrified Albert LaPautre, lived far across the water and inland. There was no way that Two Strike and her war party of boys could paddle over and find the Bwaanag, even if they were to steal a canoe. They hadn’t the weapons, either, though they labored hard to put together an arsenal of bows and arrows, sticks, rocks, and even a broken old musket that had for a time been used as the handle of a digging hoe. They had no enemy to fight, though they sewed together a hand made of tattered old buckskin and painted it with stolen vermilion. A red skin hand, stuffed, was the signal to go to war. Every day, they practiced war behavior—sneaking, ambushing, killing, yelling cries that paralyzed their invisible foes, and, most of all, returning triumphant. At last, though, they tired of all the pretending and Two Strike chose an enemy close to hand, an enemy that offered her a grave insult.

  One night, Pinch told Omakayas about it.

  “Sister,” he whispered, late, after the flames of the fire had turned to coals, “I may never see you again, for tomorrow I do battle.”

  Omakayas was half asleep. Groggily, she rolled over.

  “What?”

  “Ssshhh, my sister, this may be good-bye.”

  Omakayas woke up entirely, worried by her brother’s strange mood. She wiggled closer to him, whispered that she was listening. With some relief, he went on, speaking gloomily, as though he was a doomed warrior.

  “The enemy finally showed itself to Two Strike yesterday, and tomorrow, at dawn, she means to attack.”

  “What happened, brother? You must tell me!”

  “One of Old Tallow’s dogs, the black one I think, growled at Two Strike. Besides, she never got a puppy, remember? Two Strike has sent the red skin hand to all the boys. At dawn we are to attack their village and wipe them out.”

  “Whose village?”

  “The village of the dogs.”

  “Do you want to go?” Omakayas could hardly believe that her brother would want to, or dare, attack Old Tallow’s close companions.

  “Are you crazy?” said Pinch, his voice trembled a little. “Of course not. That’s why I’m telling you this. Old Tallow will beat us with a big stick if we hurt any of her dogs. I just don’t know how to get out of it!”

  “Let me help you,” said Omakayas, her brain working quickly. Together then, whispering in the dark, they concocted a plan. When they finished with the plan, Pinch gave a great yawn.

  “I knew you would help me, my sister,” he said, and with that he turned over and began to lightly snore. Omakayas sighed. Her bed was warm and soft, but she couldn’t sleep, for the rest was up to her. Stealthily, she sneaked from her bed, stepped quietly around her parents’ sleeping forms. Of course, it was impossible. Deydey’s hand shot out and grabbed her ankle.

  “Deydey,” she said, crouching down, “I have to…”

  “Let her go,” said Mama sleepily.

  He turned over and Omakayas quickly slipped out the door into the dark.

  Omakayas didn’t mind going outside at night. Deydey had told her frightful stories of grandfather owl, and spirits with mischievous intentions lurked everywhere, but she also believed that there were comforting spirits at work. There were rustles, hoots, calls from unseen sources—some unsettling, some beautiful and musical. Sometimes balls of light glowed, or radiant green spots littered the ground. During the day these were ordinary-looking lichens and mushrooms, but during the night they gave off a ghostly fire. They were the food of the dead, but they were also strangely beautiful. By the time Omakayas reached Old Tallow’s cabin, however, sh
e was frightened, for she’d got to the scariest part—waking Old Tallow from her sleep.

  But that proved easy, for of course the dogs barked long before Omakayas arrived. They heard her approaching and told Old Tallow, who was still awake. Even though the night was far advanced, she was working on something at an outdoor fire. She had a small kettle heated by white-hot coals, and she was concentrating by the light of a small pitch torch.

  “Ahneen!” Omakayas greeted Old Tallow from some distance.

  “Ombay,” said Old Tallow, inviting her near.

  “Ahneen ezhichigeyan?”

  “Making this pipe stem, this okij,” said Old Tallow, proud of her work. She was concentrating on the perfection of the details she was adding. She was so intent on the art of her pipe stem that she’d probably lost track of time. The wood was a beautiful dark color, and she had carved a striking pattern into it, then melted lead into the grooves. The lead hardened and made the design on the okij. Old Tallow frowned at her work, adjusted it a bit, and didn’t ask why Omakayas was visiting her at such an unusual hour. Old Tallow had no curiosity about such things.

  “Don’t you wonder why I’m here?” asked Omakayas.

  Old Tallow glanced out of one fierce, skeptical eye, but said nothing.

  “I’ll tell you then,” said Omakayas. “Pinch is in trouble. Two Strike wants to make war, and she has Pinch in her war party. But he doesn’t want to.”

  Old Tallow said nothing.

  “He can’t get out of it, for if he did, the others would laugh at him. But he doesn’t want to go on the war party!”

  Still, Old Tallow maintained her silence, squinting hard at the flames. Omakayas reached the end of her patience.

  “Don’t you want to know who they’re attacking? They are making war on your dogs!”

  At this, of course, it was as though a sudden rod stiffened Old Tallow’s spine. She sat bolt upright in outrage, stared hard at Omakayas, and then she laughed. Her laugh startled Omakayas. It started low in her throat, like a sifting of sand on the shore, and then it burst out in a crash. Omakayas jumped.

  “At dawn,” she told Old Tallow. “They will make their war at dawn!”

  The sand sifted away and Old Tallow stopped laughing, spoke.

  “I won’t give away your brother, but I’ll be ready for Two Strike’s war party. Now crawl into my bed and go to sleep, little one. Stay here, and that way you’ll see the fun!”

  Several hours later, Omakayas woke in Old Tallow’s bed, a snarl of blankets and skins like the den of a bear woman. Gray light was just beginning to lift in the arms of the trees. Omakayas found a crack in the chinking of the logs, and peeked into the edge of the woodpile, where Old Tallow’s dogs lived in the neat lean-to houses that Old Tallow built for them. Their houses were much more nicely kept and better built than Old Tallow’s own. Her cabin was stuffed to the brim with every conceivable kind of junk she’d ever acquired or traded for—old brass pails were loaded with crumpled furs, the floor was covered with piled bolts of cloth, with sheaves of bark and equipment for hunting, ricing, sugaring, and for just being Old Tallow. The cabin smelled of old leather and rank new raw animal hides, and Omakayas was glad that the chink in the wall also let through a little fresh air.

  Suddenly, one of the dogs pricked up its ears. Omakayas watched as the next and the next dog became alert and looked with steady dog anticipation toward the place where, Omakayas was sure, the little war party would appear. Two Strike knew that Old Tallow tied her dogs up at night. Shooting at them with their bows and stoning them with their rocks was easy work. Or so it would have been if Old Tallow had really tied them. For Omakayas now saw that first one dog and then the next stepped beyond the boundary of its rope. There was no rope! When the warriors burst into the yard, instead of tied-up dogs to torment, there were a pack of alert and suspicious free dogs who didn’t like the arrows in the bows or the stones in the children’s hands.

  Two Strike gave the first yell, and rushed forward. The dogs stepped back, for they never before had been attacked by humans and couldn’t quite believe that these small ones would want to hurt them. But the warriors, seeing the dogs’ hesitation, grew bolder and threw their rocks. The rocks hit the dogs with solid thunks, but not one of them whimpered or ran. They seemed intent on figuring out their next move. Omakayas’s throat pinched. The dogs were puzzled by the sudden viciousness directed toward them. They had always been loyal to humans, their troubled stance seemed to say, why should the humans turn on them now? What had they done?

  The warriors released the first volley of arrows. Omakayas held her breath. Luckily, none of the arrows hit. Suddenly, from behind the warriors, there sounded a strange, thrilling cry that stopped the children in their tracks. Even Two Strike glanced around to see what made this sound—the sound of a furious lynx combined with the screech of an owl. When the thing that made the sound slowly rose out of the bushes, half the warriors dropped their weapons. For Old Tallow had sneaked behind them and now reared before them mighty as a tree, her eyes flashing and her crooked grin wide. She advanced toward them thrashing a great, stout stick rhythmically and whirling a set of whistling pliable sticks in the air above her head. She threw the stick down before her, bounded forward and crouched.

  The wands whistled and snapped with terrifying cheer around the heads of the war party. The warriors turned to race past the dogs, but now, at word from their master, the dogs leaped from their houses and circled the children, grabbing and pulling back any warrior who tried to break from the circle.

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  “Throw down your weapons, every one of you,” Old Tallow said.

  Even Two Strike dropped her bow and war club, though the sneer never left her face. Her warriors stood ashamed and foolish, heads bowed, as Old Tallow informed them the purpose to which she had cut the willow withes in her hands, the ones that cut through the air.

  “Every one of you will come forward and bravely endure, as warriors must, the punishment of captives,” said Old Tallow. With that, she proceeded to methodically pick out of the circle one warrior after another. She gave each one a switching with the stinging sticks and made that warrior howl or in silent shame wonder what came next. When she came to Pinch, Omakayas didn’t know what to hope. If Old Tallow spared him, Pinch would be outcast from the group. Two Strike would know he had betrayed their plan, and she would get even in ways that made the switching seem a light punishment. On the other hand, a switching from Old Tallow was nothing to take lightly.

  Pinch looked aware of this, and frightened, as he left the circle. Sure enough, Old Tallow raised the switches, struck once, twice, three times. Pinch began to cry. Tears popped from his eyes but he was too proud to make a sound.

  “Oho! We have a brave little warrior here, do we?” Old Tallow growled. “I have ways of making you beg for mercy. I will tie you up.” Old Tallow tied Pinch up with a few quick motions. He looked aghast at the rope that bound him. Perhaps he thought she’d eat him. “I’ll put you in my house,” said Old Tallow, to the horror of the other warriors. “What these ones get will be a mere taste of what you will endure!”

  “Gaween!” cried Pinch. But all the same Old Tallow hoisted the bound boy on her shoulder, carried him to the door of her cabin, rolled him in.

  Even Two Strike seemed subdued by the severity of what Pinch would endure, and she tried to struggle forward, although the black dog held the seat of her pants.

  “Take me!” she cried out. “I am the head warrior. I began this war party to avenge an insult from your dogs. If one of my warriors is captured, I will be captured too. Take me! Let him go!”

  Again Two Strike tried to step forward, offering herself. Omakayas couldn’t help but admire her spirit even as she hated her, and perhaps Old Tallow felt the same way, but she expressed it harshly.

  “You are indeed a leader, and your offer is a leader’s offer. You will receive twice the punishment of your warriors, but I will keep Pinch and do with him as I like!”
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  With that, Old Tallow gave a terrible switching to Two Strike, who endured it, however, with contempt and walked back to her warriors giving not even a backward glance to the powerful old woman who had beaten her in her first war.

  After Old Tallow had given a talk to the war party and then sent them off into the woods, feet dragging, heads bowed, Omakayas began to work Pinch’s rope loose. She shushed the whimpers he could not help emitting when he thought of his fate. “She won’t hurt you, silly,” said Omakayas, removing the rope. “Old Tallow just gave you a gift. Your war party will think you the bravest of all. You’ll have to make up a story about what she did to you. But she is glad you alerted her because, after all, if she had gone off in the morning as she often does, or even run from her cabin too late, Two Strike could have killed one of her dogs. And if that had happened…”

  “Oh,” said Pinch, his voice shook, “oh, don’t even think about it.”

  The two traveled home when the sun was up and pretended that they’d both got up early, very early, in order to set out snares for rabbits and check the ones from the night before. And although Yellow Kettle glanced suspiciously at Pinch, who hated rising early, and although later on it was observed all through the camps that the boys were unnaturally quiet, and Two Strike too, the war was over. No one knew of it, except those involved. Old Tallow’s justice was rough, but quick. Even her dogs forgave the warriors when they crept back, later on, and threw them bits of stolen meat or pieces of their own bannock. For when they were cured of the war fever, the boys regretted having hurt the dogs who would, after all, have defended any one of them to the death. They knew very well that the dogs were loyal to all people whom Old Tallow told them to love. Before the war party members had skulked home, Old Tallow had told her dogs, in the warriors’ hearing, that it was their duty to stay devoted even to these cruel children who had betrayed their trust. These words had shamed them all so bitterly that even Two Strike’s fire was put out.