Renegade's Magic

“Now you will eat and drink and everyone will tend you and you will sleep well tonight, while the rest of us work to make ready for tomorrow’s departure. But what of Likari? Do you know what he must do? He must dance, dance, dance, all the way back to the western side of the mountains. Nor does he sleep warm and comfortable tonight to prepare for the journey. The dancers of Kinrove dance, on and on and on. Dancing themselves to death. Just as my mother did.”



Still, Soldier’s Boy made no response. He did not move toward her or even look at her directly. Instead, he stared past her, as if looking at someone else. From the corner of his eye, I saw her look at him. Something seemed to go out of her. Anger had perhaps sustained her. But anger is a passion that is hard to maintain when the object of one’s anger is immune to it. She spoke in a low voice, bitterly. “Go on, drink. Eat. Then sleep. All will be done for you, who do nothing for us. Tomorrow we must rise and begin the journey.”



He seemed for the moment to obey her. He lifted the mug to his mouth and drained it dry. Then, heedless of its fate, he let it fall to the floor. He ignored the food that was offered to him as one of his other feeders hastily picked up the fallen cup. Instead, he stood, letting the blanket fall to the floor. Without a word, he turned away from them all. He walked to the bed, lay down on it, and pulled the covers up over himself. He closed his eyes and was still. I was probably the only one who knew that although he retreated deeply into himself, he did not sleep.



There was a stillness to Soldier’s Boy that spoke of something dead or dying. I could not bear to consider it too deeply. Just as isolated as he was, I listened instead to the quiet bustle within the lodge. Olikea had spoken truly. Searching for him had interrupted the work of the feeders, and now they toiled into the night, making all ready for the morning’s journey. Everything that would not be taken with them was carefully cleaned and packed for the summer’s storage. Cedar shavings were tucked in among winter blankets and furs before they were packed away in cedar chests. Pots were scrubbed and hung on hooks, dishes were put away, and all food was carefully packed up for the journey. Tomorrow they would break their fasts with a simple meal before beginning the long walk back to their summer grounds. There would be no quick-walking tomorrow. Magic such as that was used only in necessity. Tomorrow all the People would begin their journeys that would converge on their hidden passage through the mountains and back to the west side of the mountains.



Within an hour, the last of the chores were done. The other feeders retired, some to their own lodges, doubtless to finish their own preparations there, and three to pallets at the end of the lodge. Olikea came, by habit I think, to Soldier’s Boy’s bed. She sat down on the edge of it and bent down to loosen her shoes. Then she stood up and dragged her woolen shift off over her head. She moved silently and wearily. When she lifted the edge of the blankets and got into the bed, she took exaggerated care that no part of her body should so much as brush against his. She faced away from me, and from her breathing, I knew she was no closer to sleep than Soldier’s Boy was. I hoped with the strength of a prayer that one of them would have the sense to touch the other. I believed that was all it would take to break down the barrier rising between them. They did not have to be in love or even to be lovers tonight. I believed that if one so much as reached out to the other, they could have found each other and recognized the other’s misery and loneliness. There would have been some comfort, I think, in that. Instead, Olikea stared unsleeping into the darkened lodge, and Soldier’s Boy, just as restive, remained perfectly still, staring into the darkness inside his own eyelids. And I, I was the trapped witness to how pain could make two people incapable of giving each other even the smallest measure of comfort. As much as I disliked Soldier’s Boy and distrusted Olikea, that night I pitied both of them. Life had not dealt fairly with any of us.



No one rose early. Everyone had worked too late the night before. But eventually the others began to stir. Olikea rose before Soldier’s Boy moved and began the final packing up while other feeders came and went, preparing food and drink for Soldier’s Boy’s breakfast and laying out his clothing for the day. I was aware of all this from behind his closed eyelids. The feeders chatted of inconsequential things, reminded one another to close the trunks tightly, and sent someone to be sure that there would be both firewood and kindling waiting by the door when they returned in the autumn. They nudged one another along, apparently eager to leave soon in the hopes of catching up with the rest of the kin-clan so that they might travel through the pass as a group. Someone said that Kinrove and his feeders, clan, and dancers had already departed ten days ago. Someone else grumbled that Kinrove and his dancers would have emptied the fish traps and eaten the best of whatever grew along the route.