he ought to be. The possibilities were unfolding.
This spot can shelter me from illusion. There is no such creature. Yet it undid me. I did as Nokusi told us, and I leapt for it as I might not have in other dreams. I could only have done that. I don’t think anything is wrong. Only a brief fear, only an uncertainty. No, only that.
The purple predawn light crept through the fire hole in the pitched roof of his mother’s bark-covered cabin as Otci slept on a moss-stuffed cot. Outside, an impish breeze whispered against the broad leaves of a sycamore by the side of the cabin. Now that the days had turned quite warm with the fattening moon of the blackberry ripening month Otci slept inside, where he also kept the fire. Only with the end of the Poskita at the new corn ripening time was the fire to be extinguished and a new, unpolluted fire kindled. Squirrels pattering across the bark-covered roof awoke him. He saw the faint morning light through the fire hole and realized it was time to join the others at the river for the morning bath. Already they must all be down there, and the rest of the village would soon follow. He heard again the caution of Bear’s voice, felt the rigor of his own responsibility, and the necessity of making it right.
He threw off the blanket and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Footsteps outside the stretched deerhide door startled him. He knew it must be Hobithli coming to rouse him. A few taps rattled against the side of the cabin and he recognized the impatient sounds of his dauntless friend.
“Otci, Otci, get up!” The voice whispered harshly outside. “The others are already down at the river. Come on!”
“Good, good,” he muttered. “Just let me set the fire.”
Squatting naked at the stone-encircled fire pit in the center of the cabin, he threw several handfuls of dried grass onto the embers glowing beneath the gray ashes and blew the heat to a flame. Picking up a few small sticks, he placed them across the flames gently and walked hurriedly over to the wall peg for his breechcloth. Wrapping it around him and tying it off at the front, he heard the sticks pop as they caught fire. He reached for several thicker short sticks and placed them around the perimeter of the small flames so that they met and connected above the fire. He skillfully tied them with a thin piece of grapevine and propped several other smaller sticks between them to form an easily lit conical wick for the fire. Stepping back to watch it flame, he heard Hobithli again rattle the stiff deerhide door.
“We’re late, hurry,” said his friend in a grating voice.
Otci sensed his carelessness in arising late. He brought his fist once against the wall to stay Hobithli’s impatience. “It’s just about to catch!”
Facing the fire, he saw the flames flicker up between the piled sticks and reach up to singe the twisted grapevine. He hurriedly placed more grass around the base of the fire, piling smaller then larger sticks on top of it to catch the fire when the bottom of the pile became heated. He quickly lifted the leather loop at the edge of the deerskin doorflap off the short wooden peg on the wall and stepped outside. Turning to Hobithli he narrowed his eyebrows and turned his mouth down in a frown, imitating the wild, contorted facial gestures of the dance leader. Raising his hand as if to bring it flat onto the belly of his friend, he slapped it instead on his heavy shoulder. “Come on, you’re holding me up,” he said with a mock sneer.
Otci ran off in the direction of the river, past the dark council square rimmed with open-front warriors’ and elders’ cabins, past the cabins circling the square and around the smaller ones located irregularly beyond the perimeter. Despite his size, Hobithli was as fast as he, and he caught his friend as they reached the end of the melon patch outside the village. Together they raced down the worn path, brushing and knocking branches before them. Reaching the bluff they looked down to see the others washing quietly in the river, sending out ripples over the dark water. The two initiates skirted down the clay bluff and across the sand bar and ran, diving with great splashes into the midst of the others. Disregarding their spirited joking at the start of their race, the two initiates set their minds to washing themselves, rubbing briskly in their first, early obeisance to the Master of Breath.
Finally, Otci washed his face and hair, and stood up out of the water to see if the others were through. Their reddish brown bodies gleamed in the morning light, giving accent to every well-formed muscle on strong frames. Even in a hurry, the initiates washed as if in the presence of an unseen authority.
They stepped out of the water and gathered on the bank. Otci stood among them. “Fuswa,” he said. The Bird Clan hunter would know an unwatched path to the old man’s fire. “Tell us where to go.”
“There is a trail that runs to the north around the edge of the swamp by the bend,” he responded promptly. “It is thick enough with bushes and trees to hide us. It will be unguarded, I’m sure.”
“Maybe unguarded,” replied Illitci, “but it is too well-known by the hunters. He would be watching for that one. We need to find a path that is far out of the way, one that would come up behind him.”
Tumchuli raised his head and said eagerly, “We can canoe downstream and approach him from the west. The trees are so thick that he would never see us until we are right upon him.”
“Too thick for us to even walk through, Tumchuli,” said Pinili, shaking his head. “Too many briars.”
“We must find a way that is never taken, approach the fire from a direction he would never suspect,” said Francis. He looked at Otci for a comment.
“Pinili,” he said, “you’ve been out in the thicket enough. Isn’t there some hidden path you take to kill your turkey?”
The reticent hunter pondered silently, then he looked up. “His fire is on the north side of the juniper grove, and I know the grove well,” he said.
“Yes, and there is a creek that runs by the trees, too,” said Tumchuli excitedly.
“That creek comes out into the river right down there,” said Pinili pointing downstream in the direction of the bend in the stream. “We may take the creek up to the juniper trees, and then only a short distance from that is where he burns his fire,” he said.
“What is the wood like by the creek, and how dense is it from the trees to the fire?” asked Katutci.
“It is clear by the creek. I see squirrels feeding along it every time I’m in there. But the growth from the junipers to the fire is dense. If we can sight the mulberry tree that stands right behind Nokusi then we can crawl around to it. It’s big enough for us to see,” he said.
“Only there won’t be any commands, Otci,” said Hobithli.
“Yes, I know,” said Otci. “Then you stay in front of me and point out the way, Pinili. Katutci is behind me and the rest know their place.”
Otci set the order of their progression through the woods every day. At his direction, each took an advanced position in line as they traced their way from the river to the fire for the master’s talks. Thus, as Bear ordered, they all had the opportunity to lead. But Otci, if he didn’t lead himself, was always behind the one in front, and was always responsible for the direction and the skill by which the group moved.
He walked ahead a few steps up to the rise of the bluff, the rest falling in line behind him. He looked back to see if Hobayi had a branch with which to cover their footprints, and waited until his raw-boned, sharp-jawed brother had broken off a limb from a small tree, shook it to see if it had the weight he liked, and joined in at the rear of the line.
Otci felt a communal spirit. It would
