Queen.'
Owen entrusted the journal, ring, and notes to Msitazi. 'I will take your messages myself, Aodaga.' The Chieftain nodded toward the eldest of Nathaniel's sons. 'I shall have William accompany me. It is time he ventured out.'
'Are you certain, Msitazi?'
The elder man laughed. 'You now sound like all my children. I am old, I am not dead. And there is much magick left in me.' His milky left eye sparkled as if it were not truly dead. 'We will deliver your messages and I shall thank the Prince for his gifts.'
Owen raised an eyebrow. 'You want another look at Mugwump.'
'The great warrior sees past the obvious.' Msitazi slapped him on the arm. 'When you next return, we shall share great stories of our adventures.'
They each said their good-byes to those they were leaving behind. Nathaniel, who had not slept in the long house, hugged and kissed his children and their mothers. Kamiskwa made the rounds of the village.
The little girl came to Owen and offered him one of her dolls, the one she had given him when he seemed sad. He made ready to refuse it as politely as he could, but she remained adamant.
Kamiskwa intervened to explain. 'She is giving you this to keep you safe. You will have to return it to her when you come back.'
Owen crouched and gave the girl a kiss on the forehead. 'Thank you, sweetheart.'
Kamiskwa likewise crouched and gave the girl a hug and kiss. He spoke to her softly. She smiled, took a step back, stared at Owen for a moment, then ran off giggling.
'Who is she?'
Kamiskwa smiled. 'Agaskan, my youngest sister.'
Owen tucked the doll into the bag that had once contained his clothes and found himself smiling. It occurred to him then that Doctor Frost, Prince Vlad, and now an Altashee child had each given him a gift to speed him on his journey.
And that no one from Norisle had even made a pretense at doing the same.
Kamiskwa, Nathaniel, and Owen departed Saint Luke for Hattersburg by mid-morning. They traveled lightly laden with little more than guns, powder, shot, and supplies. The Altashee provided them with pemikan -dried meat combined with tallow and pressed into cakes. The food was packed into one pouch and the three of them alternated carrying it as they went.
The trio set off at an easy pace-what Kamiskwa called a hunting-walk. Owen considered it a stroll, and used the time to ask questions, make calculations, and even take notes. His companions pointed out a few more useful plants, stopped to harvest some tart red berries, and generally enjoyed the countryside.
The day's rising heat had them stripping off their tunics. By noon they cut onto a well-worn trail so they took off their leggings. Though not nearly wide enough for a modern army to move along, the track did allow them to make good time. By dusk they reached the shore of a small lake.
They made camp in a hollow a hundred yards or so from the shore. The area had clearly been used before- fire-blackened stones formed a circle at its heart. Nathaniel kneeled beside them. 'Ryngians.'
Owen picked his rifle up. 'How can you tell?'
Nathaniel pointed to the hollow beneath a large stone canted to the side. 'Not much wood there. Probably find bones and scat over other side of the hill. Lazy, good-for-nothing bastards the lot of them. Kamiskwa, best we check the canoe.'
'Canoe?'
Nathaniel nodded. 'Weren't thinking we was a-walking Hattersburg way did you?'
'You must have canoes hidden everywhere.'
Nathaniel stood and waved Owen after him. They followed Kamiskwa over a small wrinkle of earth to the east and down into brushy ravine. Two trees had fallen across the ravine, providing a bridge for the brave, but the men ducked beneath them. There, half-hidden by bushes and the shadows of the log lay a birch-bark canoe approximately twelve feet long.
Kamiskwa brushed away some leaves. 'Looks sound.'
'Good.' Nathaniel rubbed his nose. 'We was happy to see Pierre dead on account of his joy in life was staving canoes in. He was just pure mean. Runs in the Ilsavont blood.'
'People just leave these canoes out here?'
'This ain't Norisle. We ain't all thieves. We cooperate. Around these shores is dozens of canoes. You come up, you work. You make one. You take it across the lake and put it away. You tell another man where it is because, the next lake on, or the next river, he's got one you can use. Now there is those you don't use.'
Owen worked his way out of the ravine behind Nathaniel. 'Yes?'
'Ungarakii have several, most over to the eastern shore.'
'And they'll kill you if you use them?'
'Nope.' Mischief sparked in Nathaniel's brown eyes. 'They make poor canoes.'
Kamiskwa nodded. 'Prone to leaking.'
Owen stopped by the fire ring. 'And that propensity, would it be something you help along a bit?' Nathaniel laughed. 'It's our way of encouraging Ungarakii to learn to swim.' 'So, even if we'd not found the corpse, the Ungarakii would have been happy to kill us for sport?' 'Well, don't nobody out here kill just for sport. Don't mean they don't like killing, though. Ungarakii enjoy it an almighty lot.'
The casual confidence with which Nathaniel made that statement sent a shiver down Owen's spine. He said nothing, choosing instead to gather firewood. He set the first pile near the ring, then gathered more to replenish the storage area beneath the leaning rock.
The fire offered light and warmth. The men took the opportunity to wash their loincloths and strung them from sticks to let them dry. Owen sat and wrote in his journal. He mostly recorded landmarks and basic information. The impressions he'd had from the day mostly involved Nathaniel's attitudes toward the Ungarakii and Ryngians. Recording them seemed to be a violation of trust.
The disgust with which Nathaniel had addressed the Ryngians' selfish use of the clearing echoed his earlier comments about the squatters they'd seen on the way to the Prince's estate. The idea that people might be wasteful offended him as much as absentee landlords controlling vast tracts of land.
Owen looked up. 'If I might, Mr.Woods, ask you a question: When you look out at the land, when you travel through it, what is it you see?'
'Aside from the leaves and all, you mean?'
'Yes. I'm asking philosophically.'
Nathaniel groaned. 'You'll be a-wanting big words, then?'
'Not required. You love the land, clearly.'
'Well, mostly, I reckon, I want it to be unspoilt.' He sat silent for a moment, letting the crackle of the fire and the distant, mournful call of a loon fill the night. 'I know men will bugger it all up. Chop down trees, make a farm, but that's soes they'll live. The Shedashee do that some, but they do it different. If they packed up Saint Luke tomorrow, how long before the land reclaimed it?'
'A year?'
'A season more like.' Nathaniel's eyes narrowed. 'How long for Temperance to vanish?'
'A generation?' Owen remembered marching along a portion of a Remian road in Tharyngia. 'Much longer, maybe.'
'Men is arrogant. Now their Good Book tells them that God made them out of mud just like everything else, but they reckon-on account of they disobeyed Him and got theirselves kicked out of that Paradise Garden-they is somehow better than the animals, plants, and dirt.' The scout shook his head. 'They go to making rules and laws what is for the benefit of themselves. Lets them get more. Lets them keep more. Don't matter they lie and cheat to get things.'
Owen frowned. 'You're not just talking about the land, are you?'
'Well, I don't reckon I am.' Nathaniel hesitated, then smiled. 'And I don't reckon I want to speak more on that particular point. Fact is, however, men and their society do more harm than good often as not. That's why I prefer keeping far from most folks.'
'Is this a common theme among Mystrians?'
