A November Sky

Chapter Two

Kocoum began powwow with the tap-tap clang of his staff to the edge of a drum. From my seat at his side, I watched our drummers pick up the beat, the line of them swaying together. The women shimmied and shook, their arms jangling with bracelets of white shells and berry-dyed stones. Together, Toma and I passed out necklaces of bleeding heart and iris and crimson clover, beckoning the eligible young women closer as Kocoum reclined on his log, eyes scanning over the participators, saying nothing.

In between hands of clover and iris, I watched him, watched the fire play shadows over his oiled chest and shoulders, turning his blue eyes black. It was hard to sit by the fire and not remember our first powwow, how the drums had first beat louder, quicker, like the deer racing from the hunter. And then how they'd stopped, how conversation had tapered off and, for a minute, there was nothing but the sound of the fire hissing and then, one by one, the sound of our fathers calling our names.

"Nadie, daughter of Kanti and Ahanu."

"Pocahontas, daughter of the Powhatan."

I'd risen fluidly, head high, and Toma had slipped the bleeding-heart necklace over my ears, lifting my hair and smoothing it out over the red blooms. "Sokanon would be proud of you," she whispered, leaning down to touch her forehead to mine.

Despite my resolve to stay strong, tears had pooled at the corners of my eyes. Toma had been a childhood friend of my mother's, until my mother passed into the stars, and Toma and my father had bonded over their grief. Now, Toma was the only one willing to tempt the evil spirit by speaking of her.

I'd caught her hand in my own and squeezed. "Thank you."

Toma had smiled. "Go child."

I'd left her and my father, moving closer to the fire.

It'd taken me a moment to spot Kocoum in the crowd. All thirty of the clans had assembled, pushing forward their eligible men to stand around the fire, while the married and children wove in thick lines through the village huts, some standing as far as the forest. These men and women had had their turn around the fire, and now it was ours.

Kocoum had stood in the second row, the pelt of a great wolf draping his bare shoulders. On his head rested the wolf's head, its muzzle jutting over his forehead. He'd removed most of the teeth while curing the hide, but left two fangs on display. Against the white and gray fur, Kocoum's skin glistened. He didn't need to be at the front to stand out from the suitors of the other clans. He was beautiful, fierce, kind. Perhaps there was no need to choose between wife and warrior. Perhaps Kocoum, as my father's newest warchief, would provide a mix between the two.

I'd crossed the dirt to him, and stood before him. To the two men blocking Kocoum from my view, I said simply, "Move." They each shuffled to the side, and Kocoum stepped forward.

Here, I'd waited, watching Kocoum's black eyes as they swept my outfit, from the way the bleached deerskin dress contrasted against my dark legs, the beaded strips tinkling and sliding about my calves, to the way the long necklace of my ancestors hung at my breast, a bead of antler bone for each chief in our line, and finally to the set of antlers woven into my hair like a crown, the rawhide straps keeping them in place hidden by a few carefully arranged flowers. Here, on my hair and antlers, his eyes lingered, and I shivered despite the warmth of the fire. I might have looked fierce in my deer-inspired attire, but I did not feel it. Not with him this close. He'd yet to touch me, and I already felt as if each of my walls was collapsing.