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I stop.
For a split second, I think I’m dreaming. I’m still in Ash Springs and this is all a fantasy. There is no criminal complaint and there are no Navapaki.
A shadow scurries behind the bushes by the tall oaks.
“Amarok says your heart is as big as the sky.”
I wince. I didn’t hear Darrow approaching. Indians are like Bren; they move silently when they want to.
I nod, but I don’t take my eyes off Bren.
“Amarok was upset yesterday.”
Only now do I look at Darrow. “I’m sorry. Henry snapped at him.”
“He loves you very much. And you love him, everyone can see that.” Darrow looks at me earnestly. “Nevertheless, Amarok is determined to conquer you.”
Not good at all! I sigh deeply. “You have to talk him out of that. Besides, Amarok doesn’t even know me.”
“He watches you, I think he knows you better than you think.”
Bren watched me before the abduction and thought he knew me. Of course, I don’t mention that. “Amarok has to stop stalking me. It drives Henry insane and it scares me.”
“Amarok knows no laws from your world and he has never really adapted to ours. Sometimes, he disappears into the forest for days and no one knows where he is. It took a long time for him to learn Navapaki. At first, we could only communicate through sign language. He lives and dies for the spirits and he acts on the old stories. He believes them, Josephine.”
I remind myself of everything Amarok doesn’t know, reminding me a bit of Mowgli from The Jungle Book. “Don’t you believe in your spirits?”
“I believe in the great mystery. Everything is animated by the spirit of Manitou and I believe that through rites and trance, we can allow the healing powers of animals and stones to flow into a person. Nashashuk is my grandfather, Josephine. I would be a fool not to believe in what I see every day.”
“Nashashuk is your grandfather?” I respond, surprised. He could have mentioned that earlier. I remember noticing a resemblance between the two from the start, but I wasn’t certain they were related.
Darrow nods. “But despite my faith, I know how living together works and how we humans have to treat each other so we don’t spread discord and envy. Amarok hasn’t learned that yet. He’s like a child.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
Darrow’s round face looks worried. “Take care. Watch out for Henry. Amarok is only leaving him alone because he is injured. As soon as he’s fully recovered, he’ll certainly challenge him.”
“What do you mean challenge? He’s not going to want to challenge him to a duel.” In my mind, I see the two of them attacking each other with tomahawks.
“He won’t put up with the way Henry treats him,” Darrow replies evasively.
I wish I could tell them about Bren’s illness because it would explain a lot and make things easier. “Maybe we’ll be gone by then.” I hope it and I don’t hope it.
In the evening, Bren and I sit around the village campfire—far off since some of the villagers are still not particularly kind to us. We don’t want to cause trouble, but Darrow personally invited us and not showing up would have been rude, especially since Darrow is the son of the tribal chief. And since he is in civilization at the moment, Darrow represents him along with the elders.
Bren’s arm is placed around my waist and I snuggle up against him on the wooden bench, my head resting on his shoulder. Amarok sits on the other side, and whenever he thinks we’re not looking, I see him secretly glancing at me through the flames, his eyes intense and burning hotter than the fire.
I sense Bren’s impatience and squeeze his hand. The situation unsettles me. I can’t judge which of Bren’s reactions are justified and which are not, not after the conversation with Darrow.
The Navapaki tell stories throughout the evening, some true, some fictional or passed down. When they talk, their characters seem to come to life in the flames. They say some things in their own language, but I understand a lot by their gestures. They speak of their ancestors, of wise men and brave warriors. Of girls who were kidnapped to embarrass their enemies or simply because they couldn’t resist their charms. Stories of rough nature and its clear beauty.
I try to relax, but it’s difficult. A mug of homemade herbal schnapps is passed around and a couple of men smoke a long, dark brown pipe that reminds me a little of my first recorder except it had no feathers. Bren looks over at it longingly and only then do I realize that he lost his cigarettes, too, and may have been experiencing withdrawal symptoms for days.
Looking from one person to the next, Nashashuk tells the story of an old chief sitting around the campfire with his grandson.
“The old chief watched the flames in silence. The young Indian was frightened because the shadow of the fire cast dark silhouettes on the circle of trees.” Nashashuk’s eyes linger on me.
“‘Grandfather, I’m afraid. I see silhouettes of bears and wolves in the trees,’ said the boy.
