“A man was killed in the fighting.” I glanced at Roger. “They think you killed him; did you?”
He shook his head, shoulders slumping with tiredness.
“I don’t know. I—probably. What will they do about it?”
“Well, it took them a long time to decide, and it isn’t settled yet; they’ve sent word to the main Council, but the sachem hasn’t made a decision yet.” I took a deep breath.
“They won’t kill you, because the whisky was taken, and that was offered as the price of your life. But since they’ve decided not to kill us in revenge for their dead, what they usually do instead is to adopt an enemy into the tribe, in replacement of the dead man.”
That shook Roger out of his numbness.
“Adopt me? They want to keep me?”
“One of us. One of you. I don’t suppose I’d be a suitable replacement, since I’m not a man.” I tried to smile, but failed completely. All the muscles of my face had gone numb.
“Then it must be me,” Jamie said quietly.
Roger’s head jerked up, startled.
“You’ve said yourself; if the past canna be changed, then nothing will happen to me. Leave me, and as soon as it can be managed, I will escape and come home.”
He laid a hand on my arm before I could protest.
“You and Ian will take MacKenzie back to Brianna.” He looked at Roger, his face inscrutable. “After all,” he said quietly, “it’s the two of you she needs.”
Roger started in at once to argue, but I butted in.
“May the Lord deliver me from stubborn Scotsmen!” I said. I glared at the two of them. “They haven’t decided yet. That’s only what the Council of Mothers says. So there’s no sense in arguing about it until we know for sure. And speaking of knowing things for sure,” I said, in hopes of distracting them, “where’s Ian?”
Jamie stared at me.
“I don’t know,” he said, and I saw his throat ripple as he swallowed. “But I hope to God he’s safe in that girl’s bed.”
* * *
No one came. The night passed quietly, though none of us slept well. I dozed fitfully, through sheer exhaustion, waking every time there was a sound outside, my dreams a vivid crazy-quilt of blood and fire and water.
It was midday before we heard the sound of voices approaching. My heart leapt as I recognized one of them, and Jamie was on his feet before the door flap lifted.
“Ian? Is that you?”
“Aye, Uncle. It’s me.”
His voice sounded odd; breathless and uncertain. He stepped into the light from the smokehole and I gasped, feeling as though I had been punched in the stomach.
The hair had been plucked from the sides of his skull; what was left stood up in a thick crest from his scalp, a long tail hanging down his back. One ear had been freshly pierced and sported a silver earring.
His face had been tattooed. Double crescent lines of small dark spots, most still scabbed with dried blood, ran across each cheekbone, to meet at the bridge of his nose.
“I—canna stay long, Uncle,” Ian said. He looked pale, under the lines of tattooing, but stood erect. “I said they must let me come to say goodbye.”
Jamie had gone white to the lips.
“Jesus, Ian,” he whispered.
“The naming ceremony is tonight,” Ian said, trying not to look at us. “They say that after that I will be Indian, and I must not speak any tongue but the Kahnyen’kehaka; I canna speak again in English, or the Gaelic.” He smiled painfully. “And I ken ye didna have much Mohawk.”
“Ian, ye canna be doing this!”
“I’ve done it, Uncle Jamie,” Ian said softly. He looked at me then.
“Auntie. Will ye say to my mother that I willna forget her? My Da will know, I think.”
“Oh, Ian!” I hugged him hard, and his arms went gently around me.
“Ye can leave in the morning,” he said to Jamie. “They willna prevent ye.”
I let him go, and he crossed the hut to where Roger stood, looking stunned. Ian offered him a hand.
“I am sorry for what we did to ye,” he said quietly. “Ye’ll take good care of my cousin and the bairn?”
Roger took his hand and shook it. He cleared his throat and found his voice.
“I will,” he said. “I promise.”
Then Ian turned to Jamie.
“No, Ian,” he said. “God, no, lad. Let it be me!”
Ian smiled, though his eyes were full of tears. “Ye said to me once, that my life wasna meant to be wasted,” he said. “It won’t be.” He held out his arms. “I willna forget you, either, Uncle Jamie.”
* * *
They took Ian to the bank of the river, just before sunset. He stripped and waded into the freezing water, accompanied by three women, who ducked and pummeled him, laughing and scrubbing him with handfuls of sand. Rollo ran up and down the bank, barking madly, then plunged into the river and joined in what he plainly saw as fun and games, coming close to drowning Ian in the process.
All of the spectators who lined the bank found it hilarious—save the three whites.
Once the white blood had been thus ceremonially scrubbed from Ian’s body, more women dried him, dressed him in fresh clothing, and took him to the Council longhouse for the naming ceremony.
Everyone crowded inside; all of the village was there. Jamie, Roger, and I stood silently in a corner, watching as the sachem sang and spoke over him, as the drums beat, as the pipe was lit and passed from hand to hand. The girl he called Emily stood near him, eyes shining as she looked at him. I saw him look back at her, and the light that sprang up in his own eyes did a little to ease the soreness of my heart.
They called him Wolf’s Brother. His brother wolf sat panting at Jamie’s feet, viewing the proceedings with interest.
At the end of the ceremony a small hush fell on the crowd, and at that moment Jamie stepped out of the corner. All heads turned as he crossed to Ian, and I saw more than one warrior tense in disapproval.
He unpinned the brooch from his plaid, unbelted it, and laid the length of bloodstained crimson tartan across his nephew’s shoulder.
“Cuimhnich,” he said softly, and stepped back. Remember.
* * *
All of us were quiet as we made our way down the narrow trail that led away from the village next morning. Ian had taken a formal, white-faced farewell of us as he stood with his new family. I hadn’t been so stalwart, though, and seeing my tears made Ian bite his lip to hold back his own emotion. Jamie had embraced him, kissed his mouth and left him, without speaking a word.
Jamie went about the business of setting camp that night with his usual efficiency, but I could tell that his mind was somewhere else. And no wonder if it was; my own was divided in worry between Ian behind us and Brianna ahead of us, with very little attention to spare for present circumstances.
Roger dumped an armload of wood beside the fire and sat down next to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly. “About Brianna.”
“Have you? So have I.” I was so tired, I thought I might tumble headfirst into the flames before I got the water boiling.