A November Sky

Chapter Seven

Part Two: John

The newworlders arrived at high tide, when the waters of the Potomac River plastered cattails to the bank. I could see the tops of their canoes from the canyon, visible over the white pines. The newworlder ships were massive, riding low and sluggish in the water. From the canoes' centers rose whole trees, their branches strung with flapping white feathers. I tried to pinpoint a sound, some sense of understanding about these new people, but failed; beside me, the waterfall raced over the canyon, roaring out any other sound. I'd always thought our forest impenetrable, but somehow intruders had slipped into my world, and the forest still looked the same.

Movement drew my eye. Below, on the edge of the pooling water, Nehsandi stood with his face tilted to the canyon, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun, waiting. The beaded blue jay feather hung from his black hair, swaying in the light spring breeze. The SkyKeepers had repainted the vertical blue arrows on his cheekbones, his palms, and the soles of his bare feet. Already, he'd been in their keeping for three full moons, sitting with them at the village heart fire, drifting through the huts like a sleepwalker, slipping away to visit the cave on the hill. This was the first time in days that I'd seen him up close, meaning he'd come to fetch me. Or to warn me. I'd deal with him first, I decided, then come back for a closer look at these newworlders.

I scaled down the dark side of the canyon, where dense evergreens hid me from Nehsandi's view, then stepped from tree to stone, slipping into the hollowed-out stone chamber behind the waterfall. Through gaps in the water, I could see Nehsandi standing but paces from the water, his little back turned to me, curly amber hair brushing his shoulders, his first throwing dagger strapped with rawhide to his hip. With sure steps, I snuck across the great stepping stones to him, crouching low in the roar of the falls and slipping the little bone-handled knife from his side.

Nehsandi whirled around, a fisted hand swinging at my throat.

I laughed and danced out of the way, moccasins sliding against damp grass. "Very good, little brother." The first rule of a warrior: if you are not strong enough to win, fight to stun, then run. The Powhatan people understood there was no shame in numbers. "You're getting faster." I held the knife to him, hilt first.

Nehsandi grabbed it from my hands and tucked it back at his side, throwing a second rawhide knot around the blade. His mouth pulled tight at the edges. "Father wants you back at camp."

"The ships?" I asked. I'd learned long ago that the best way to disarm Nehsandi's anger was to ignore it.

His little shoulders slumped, his news stolen. "Yes. Kocoum goes now to negotiate with the newworlders."

"Taking much of our harvest with him, I suspect." I sat on the grass, curling my legs before me. I pulled my bow from my shoulder and placed it across my lap, wood belly on both knees. I'd heard enough stories of the pale people from my father to know what Kocoum would offer, what these people would want, and what these people would take. "Is it not enough that we share our lands?"

After a moment, Nehsandi sat beside me, one leg outstretched, the other knee bent to his chest. Unprepared and lazy. I nudged him with my shoulder but said nothing. He hated it when I corrected him.

"Kocoum has done this before," Nehsandi said finally, picking a grass stem and rubbing it between his fingers. "You have not. Leave these strangers to the council and come back for evening meal. Kocoum is asking for you."

He knew me well. I looked again at the trees, where the tall peaks hid the top of the newworlder ship. I would return later, I decided, after the newworlders had made land. I stood, nudging his thigh with the toe of my moccasin. "Race you back?"