already midday, so they knew they wouldn’t make much time, but it was enough to
practice real distance travel and at least gave them a sense that their odyssey
had actually begun.
Because they were new at canoeing and because the day was so warm, Cloud Dancer
repacked the heavier clothes and showed him another gift. They weren’t much more
than loincloths, really—ornate belts from which hung a meter or so of plain wool
cloth dyed earthen-brown—but they would preserve modesty among strangers while
allowing the important clothing to be protected from the water and elements. She
also used the medicine man’s magic paint to draw a few designs on Hawks’s face
and her own for protection on the journey.
The early Europeans had encountered such people and branded them primitive, or
savages. Hawks knew they probably looked very much that way now, but that was
not his problem. His problem was having to look at her very beautiful figure and
still keep his mind on business.
The early going wasn’t too bad. When they found a current, they would follow it
south, actively paddling only when that current became too swift or carried them
toward obstructions and shallows or in the wrong direction. Neither had any idea
of the distance they made on any given day, but the river was peaceful, and they
felt good to be alive.
The navigable rivers were used by all tribes and nations as highways for trade,
commerce, and information. They also connected with millions of kilometers of
trails which took the sacred pipestone from Minnesota to the lodges of the south
and east and returned with finely crafted gemstones and sacred totems from those
places as well as tobacco, vital to many ceremonies among tribes with eastern
roots.
Hawks and Cloud Dancer passed other canoes, some quite large, going upstream
loaded with goods, and occasionally a craft shot ahead of them at a speed far
faster and surer than they dared to travel. Their fellow travelers represented a
great many tribes and nations, but they did not seek out any conversation and,
except for an occasional upraised palm or even a wave, were generally ignored by
the others. The river was strictly neutral territory.
The weather held for three days, then changed dramatically as a line of thick
clouds rolled across the sky, followed quickly by a chilly, steady rain. Forced
to pull in and make camp until the storm passed, they rigged a lean-to using the
largest blankets and thick trees for shelter, but it really was a damp and
miserable time. Too, their meager provisions were running quite low, and while
they’d managed to find some apple trees with enough fruit just coming ripe, they
could not live entirely on apples. He didn’t want to use the jewels for barter
yet; he didn’t know who or what they might attract in this region. And while
they might hunt, the ground was far too damp for them to build and maintain a
fire. Anything they found would have to be eaten raw.
Cloud Dancer again proved amazingly resourceful. At her direction, they both
scrambled in the mud for insects and earthworms and other live things driven out
by the rains and then tied them to vines secured with small rocks in the
shallows of the river. She stood there, staring at the opaque, muddy waters as
if she could see right through them, hip deep herself, absolutely motionless,
often for an hour or more. Then, suddenly, she was a blur of motion as the spear
came down, and about half the time it would come up with a huge wriggling
catfish. He tried the same thing and almost speared his own foot. It was
something of a blow to his ego, but he accepted it.
She prepared two fish using the knife, but they still had to be eaten raw. He
found he didn’t mind it that way, although not long ago he would have recoiled
at the idea. He was changing, and the longer they were out on their own, the
more pronounced the change became until even he could not deny it. It wasn’t
just that he was getting weathered, leaner, and more muscled; it was something
inside him as well. The dreams he had about Council and its wonders had been
replaced, for one thing. He hadn’t dreamed about what was most familiar to him
in days; instead, he dreamed pastoral dreams, of building a lodge, of becoming a
hunter and gatherer, of making love to Cloud Dancer. Even awake, he had to force
his thoughts back to the reality of his situation. This life, this wilderness,
this moment preoccupied him and seemed normal and natural to him; the world from
which he’d come seemed cold, distant, somehow not merely unreal but undesirable.
It was the template, of course, but it had never affected him to this degree
before. Of course, he had never before been married to a woman of this culture
and isolated in the wilderness; past Leaves had always been a matter of simply
passing time until the obligation was fulfilled and he could return to his true
life. He was no longer merely thinking in Hyiakutt, he was thinking as a
Hyiakutt. It seemed as if the old Hawks had died somehow and a new Hawks born,
one who’d never left this place and gone off to the other world. Each day made
any other life seem unimaginable and dreamlike. Not even the rain and mud seemed
unpleasant or inconvenient. Cloud Dancer lay next to him, her head on his
shoulders, in silence.
Tell me—have I changed in the past few days? he asked her, not even sure why
he was concerned about it.
No, my husband, she answered softly. Do you feel changed?
I—my thoughts seem filled with fog. I must work to remember.
Remember what, my husband?
My past, my knowledge, my work. Even the lodge of the Four Families seems
distant to me.
Who are the Four Families? she asked sleepily.
Something very cold cut like a knife through the fog in his brain. Do you
remember anything? Do you remember our marriage?
I—I— She seemed suddenly very confused.
He moved away and stood. Get up. We will have to float down more, storm or no
storm.
That confused her even more. Why should we wish to float down anywhere? I—I
cannot seem to think right.
That is why we must do it. Hurry! Now!
It was a real effort to act and to keep his determination, but they packed up
the supplies, loaded the canoe, and pushed off. The rain was light but steady,
and they were already thoroughly soaked. The wetness they could ignore, but the
mist hid the river, which was swollen and now filled with many tricky currents.
The hypnotic field did not seem to be specific to them, which meant that it
might not involve them at all, but he had no idea how far down it might reach.
It was weak, slow, and subtle, which was why it had caught him by surprise, but
that also allowed normal river traffic to pass through without even realizing
the field was there. Only because they had camped for so long in its grip was
its effect so strong, and only because he had the background to recognize it and
fight it were they able to move away at all.
There were two overlapping beams, one on each side of the river, moving in a
short sweep pattern. Now, feeling the pulses as they passed, he realized that
their campsite had to have been on the upper fringe of the field and that the
canoe was now traveling directly into them. Still, the sweep area couldn’t be
very large; it would have to be in a normally unpopulated area with few good
landings, or whoever had set it would risk catching and trapping normal traffic
on the river.
The area has been sensitized to those not keyed to it. She cannot get out. .
This, then, was a part of the Val’s barrier. He tried to concentrate, to force
himself to think of it on the old level, for that was the way to fight it. If it
was the barrier, then he could understand why it would have some effect on him,
although not the command effect intended for a total Outsider, but he couldn’t
understand why it had also struck Cloud Dancer. The only answer might be that if
it found a potential target, it included anyone else within a certain distance
of that target. To anyone farther away, it would not even exist.
The pulses were getting stronger, and he found them increasingly difficult to
fight. Cloud Dancer, in the front, had already stopped paddling and was just
sitting there, a frozen figure. He felt himself begin to go numb, found thinking
impossible.
The canoe bounded forward, out of control, strictly at the mercy of the currents
in the pouring rain.
It had taken several days for their senses to return. Hawks had no clear
memories of that period of time, but both of them were scratched and bruised and
covered with a mixture of mud and blood. The blood was not theirs; he had vague
memories of lying in wait for small animals, beaver and muskrat and others, and