Darkthaw (10 page)

We've only been out four days. Feels far longer—the past two days in particular. Again last night, Matisa gave the Jamesons her remedy tea with the rest of us, but I'm not sure how much she has to spare. She didn't look worried, but I'm happy the Jamesons won't add to that burden much longer.

Not that they know what she's doing for them. Not that anyone knows, save me, and even I don't know the whole story. Again, the thought that Matisa alone is responsible for our safety like this starts a flicker of unease in my belly. If we got split up from her . . .

Mayhap I should tell Kane about the Bleed.

I walk with Matisa at the head of our procession. Kane
walks just behind us with his ma, leading Dottie, who is carrying the little boys. The horses with the Jamesons are at the rear with Andre. Behind them, Isi and Nishwa.

I glance over my shoulder and notice Kane's head is bent toward his ma; she's talking quiet and serious about something.

I bite my lip. How would she react to this? Is it worth upsetting her if we're not truly at risk?

I look back once more, to where Charlie leads Josiah on Nishwa's horse.

I draw close to Matisa and keep my voice low. “How do you think the Jamesons survived out here?”

She glances at them. “Luck,” she says.

“You mean the Bleed wasn't in their water,” I say.

She nods.

“But there's no big water around there,” I argue. “They would've had to source it from small creeks.” I think aloud. “Suppose it's like Henderson told us: the Bleed's gone?”

“No,” she says. “As I have said, it comes and goes. We have observed this cycle for generations. The Jamesons were lucky.”

“So those newcomers Henderson talked about—they've been lucky, too?”

“Perhaps,” she says, but she hesitates.

“What is it?”

“I've been wondering if they know how to avoid it.”

“You mean avoid the shallow waters?” I ask.

“That, or they know to boil their water. Boiling is only a temporary solution, not one a community can exist on for long, but it may explain why they have been surviving so far.”

“But wouldn't that mean they've figured out where the Bleed comes from?” I ask.

She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “It took us many years to understand. Many years of watching. I do not think they could discover such a thing so quickly.” Her eyes grow dark. “But I have been thinking: perhaps they didn't realize it is in the little waters; perhaps they were
told
.”

“Told by who?”

“There was talk before we left last summer. About some of our people abandoning. There was one group who spoke the loudest. They were known as
sohkâtisiwak
—it means ‘they are mighty'—and they wore the symbol of the hawk.”

“Abandoning. Why?”

“They were not content living in . . . mystery.”

“They didn't like the remedy being kept from them?”

“Yes. They want to break off, lay claim to a different area, and live on their own terms. But . . .”

“They can't without being able to create the remedy.”

She nods.

“But why would the
sohkâ
”—I wave my hand helpless-like as my tongue trips on the word—“tell newcomers where the sickness comes from?”

She shrugs. “Perhaps
sohkâtisiwak
have decided to align themselves with a more ‘mighty' group. One that can force us to reveal the method for creating the remedy.”

“‘Force' you,” I say.

“We have studied the weapons the Dominion creates,” she says. “They are many, and brutal.”

The war she's been dreaming. What if it's not just the
Dominion who's bringing it. Could be it's this group of abandoners aligned with people from the Dominion. Fear shoots through me. The thought of these abandoners out here, betraying Matisa's people like this . . .

“You say they don't have the remedy?” I ask.

“They may have stores of the remedy, but
sohkâtisiwak
are not healers from the circle; none would know what it is. All of our people know the sickness is in the waters—that knowledge is common—but they do not know which plant protects us.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes,” she says, firm. “And none of my circle would reveal that secret.”

I think on this. “But how
is
it that the remedy came to be secret? At one time, all of your people must have known what it was.”

Her eyes flicker. “Careful mythmaking,” she says. Her tone is flat—like she's telling me an answer she knows is the truth but wishes it wasn't. “Our elders realized how valuable our remedy was when the ‘newcomers bringing death' perished without it. Some of them wanted people to forget their knowledge of the remedy.”

“Your elders didn't trust their people with the truth,” I state.

Matisa's brow is creased. “It was a dark time,” she says. “Not everyone agreed.”

“But how did they do it?”

“When we left the plains, we took the remedy plant with us to cultivate at our new home. At that time, people were busy adjusting to a new way of life: different tribes had
come together, uniting against this threat of newcomers our dreams had foretold. In the chaos, our elders saw a chance to . . . obscure the truth. They created a mysterious lore around the sickness, full of superstition and half-truths. A circle of healers was created to know the truth and to create the remedy as a mix of many plants and herbs—all useless, except for one—so that none could identify it. The mythical stories were passed down generations, and the knowledge was forgotten.”

Like before, the familiarity of Matisa's tale starts an uneasy feeling in my stomach. “Sounds like how my people started believing in the
malmaci
,” I say. I think of how the lore shifted over the years from an evil that caused sickness to a monster that would Take people from the woods. “Sounds like Brother Stockham's pa, perpetuating the spirit-monster myth to keep power.”

She presses her lips together. I've upset her.

“But I know this is different,” I say, quick.

“Perhaps not so different,” she says. She smiles, but her eyes are a mite sad. “But necessary. My ancestors' methods to shroud the remedy in secrecy may have been deceitful, but if
sohkâtisiwak
are doing as I fear, it proves that the fewer people who know the truth, the better.”

But if what she says is true, it means that being one of those few people puts you in danger; it makes you valuable to people who would use the truth for their own gain. I glance back again at Kane. He's still listening to his ma, nodding, but his eyes seem troubled.

All at once I wish we'd never found the Jamesons. Taking them to the crossing will only waylay us a day, but even that
one extra day makes me nervous. And the fact that I'm the reason we are delayed—

“Do you smell that?” Matisa asks me, tilting her face to the wind.

I frown and shake my head. Don't smell anything but the fresh moisture of the forest. “You know I'm useless at that sort of thing,” I say. Matisa and the boys always smell and see things long before I do.

“Yes, you are,” Matisa concedes. A small teasing smile lights her face. She reaches over and grasps my arm. “But I am glad you are here, Em. I feel . . . I feel better that you are here.”

I look at her fingers, and my dream surfaces in my mind. Her brittle fingers coming up from the soil. Emerging, half skeleton. In my first dream, Matisa was dead. In this last dream, she's halfway to life. Mayhap it's telling me I'm on the right path.

“I think my dreams are telling me that, too,” I say. I watch her turn her head again to the wind, wrinkling her nose. I should tell her. She might help me figure it. But . . .

Make peace with it
.

It's asking me to accept something, and it feels like it's something I've already done. The settlement, Matisa, life and death—is my dream telling me to make peace with what I've agreed to keep secret? Or is it asking me to accept what I've done by finding her? With what happened after—

“What is that?” Kane's voice comes from behind us.

I look to where he's pointing, off into the trees.

Something hangs in the branches.

A bundle of sticks? Whatever it is, it doesn't look natural; doesn't look like it belongs to the tree.

Looks like it was put there.

Matisa peers into the trees. “I do not know. But I believe it is making that smell.”

“Stay here,” Kane says to his ma, giving her Dottie's lead rope.

Matisa and I follow Kane into the trees, our eyes fixed on the bundle. The way it twists in the breeze—slow, lazy—puts a chill to my skin. As we get close, I notice the smell. It's sickly sweet, rotten, like deadfall and spoiled meat.

We stop beneath it and stare, putting our hands to our noses to block the odor and squinting into the sun that filters through the poplar boughs. I walk to the far side and shield my brow with my free hand to get a better look. The bundle is held together by a net of ropes. Within those ropes patches of fur and flesh are visible. Bits of white bone protrude from the netting. Flies buzz around its bulk.

“What is it?” Kane asks from beneath his hand.

“A food hang?” Matisa suggests, staring up at it with a curious look. “Perhaps it was left behind by mistake.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “What is a food hang?” The eye of whatever animal it is stares down at me. I think I can make out a mouth.

“We are travelling through big-predator country,” she says. “I have heard of people hanging their food to keep it safe.” She frowns. “But my people do not do this. We have different methods to avoid big predators, and we know well enough when they are near.”

I look at her.

“There are many signs.” She waves her hand.

“Looks like it's been there a while,” Kane says.

“It is spoiled,” Marisa agrees.

I look back at the group.

Isi and Nishwa have started into the brush toward us, their eyes fixed on the sickening bundle above.

There's something that doesn't feel quite right about this.

When I turn to look back at the bundle, I know. From where I'm standing, I can see the mouth. It's caked with black blood. As I look closer, I can see that blood starts at the eye.

This isn't someone's food; this animal had the Bleed.

So why would they hang it—

A scream cuts the air behind us, shattering my thoughts.

We spin to where Isi and Nishwa were walking. They've disappeared—no, I can see the top of Isi's head among the brush, the tall ferns. Matisa sprints off toward them, with Kane close behind.

When I catch up, I find them on the ground, hidden by the underbrush. Matisa is bending over Isi, who's kneeling beside Nishwa. Nishwa lies on his side, his leg twisted awkward beneath him.

“What happened?” I ask.

They're speaking fast and furious in their tongue, and I can't see past Matisa to get a look at what's keeping Nishwa on the ground.

“Get me a strip of cloth!” Matisa calls to me. Nishwa lets out another inhuman cry.

I fumble with my
ceinture
, unravelling its bright length from my waist fast as I can.

“Can I help?” Kane asks.

“It's all right,” Matisa says, her voice more calm. “Keep the others back so they do not get scared.” Kane leaves to do as she says, and I hurry forward and pass my
ceinture
to Matisa, who is kneeling beside Isi.

Nishwa is an unnatural white, and he's breathing hard. Whimpering.

Below the bright sash Matisa is tying around Nishwa's calf I see blood, flesh—metal.

Oh Almighty . . .

One of Nishwa's feet is caught in a big steel trap. It's huge—far bigger than the traps Pa used to set out for the odd wolf that would venture near the settlement—and the teeth of one side of it are sunk deep into the flesh of his leg, above his moccasin.

The teeth on the other side have caught a small piece of fallen branch and have it pinned against his shin. Blood is spurting out around the teeth that bite his flesh.

His pant leg is soaked dark.

Matisa wraps the cloth below his knee and ties it.

“We need to get it off.” I try to say it firm, but my voice is too high. I can't stop staring at the blood. Slick crimson pools coat his leg and the ground beneath.

Isi examines it, running his hands over the hinge real light, like he's scared it'll close harder if he touches it wrong. He speaks to Matisa in their language, his voice low and tight.

She examines it with the same caution, looking over every inch, but not touching it. “He is lucky there was a branch here. Without it catching the trap, his foot would be gone.”

Nishwa whimpers again. I don't know what to do, so I go to him and take his hand. He squeezes so hard I think he'll crush the bones in my fingers to nothing.

“If he had been on his horse—” Isi begins.

“Isi, stop,” Matisa snaps. “This was no one's fault.”

Isi pulls his chin up and looks away. Nishwa whimpers. Squeezes my hand.

Matisa examines the trap again. “We need something strong. To pry it apart.”

“A branch?”

“A branch won't do. We need something harder.”

“The rifles,” Isi says.

Matisa nods. They look at each other, unhappy.

I stare at them. “What are we waiting on? How many?” I push to my feet.

She holds up a hand to stop me as I go past. “It could ruin them. They are old weapons. It might bend them.”

I frown. Can't see how she'd care about rifles when Nishwa's in pain like this. Then I realize she's not worried about the rifles; she's worried the others won't want to give them up.

But she's wrong. Course Frère Andre and Sister Violet won't think twice about passing them over so we can save his leg.