The Strong Current. Robert Day

out the black-cowled animals splashing in the water. As the initiates approached, the raccoons remained unbothered, unaware that the human procession was nearing them. Not wishing to startle them or set the birds off from their branches, Otci pointed to Pinili to take them over to the left. Katutci passed, and the rest followed. Only Lojutci paid attention to the animals. He looked over his shoulder at their round, gray-striped bodies with alert little ears shaking with each quick dip of their paws in the water. As he moved past them, he noted well their habits. The living embodiment of his ancestors, his Raccoon clan blood spirited him with the same cunning as these animals.

      The line passed so noiselessly that only the softly scratching branch dragged by Hobayi caught their ear. The larger raccoon looked up and met the strange one’s cold eye directly. It stood in its hind legs. The other turned suddenly and saw the line passing through the green. They dashed across the creek, alerting Francis to the noise. Hobayi pushed him on with stiff arm. His hungry, flashing grin beamed at Francis, the light skinned one. There would not be many opportunities like that which would escape his killing arrow. They passed over the edge of the moss bed. Tumchuli whimpered as he stepped on a stick embedded in the soft cushion.

      Creeping at a slower pace through the woods, Otci sought to find the large mulberry tree that was his sign. Before it Bear must be sitting, carefully laying the small sticks on the leaping flames of his fire pit. He reached forward and grabbed Pinili’s arm. He turned back around and stood up to where he could see the end of the line. The mulberry was only twenty steps beyond him. He turned to face Hobayi. Both hands at ear level gave them the sign to halt. He swept his arm leftward to swing them out along a line which would converge on the perimeter.

      Then from behind came a loud rattle. A menacing low voice growled unseen from the trees, stiffening Otci’s neck in a cold flash. The animal anger then mounted instantly to a shrill, stuttering yelp, then almost musically to a protracted fierce and high-pitched howl. Otci turned in fright, ready to dodge blindly the attacker behind them. Illitci, the killer, solid as an oak in all tense moments, closed his jaw, set his eyes, lowering himself to one knee. Hobithli and Lojutci stood up and looked for a movement in the thick undergrowth. The panic of individual movements broke the order of the procession. Otci searched the trees in trepidation, unable to give a command. The air hung still, broken only by the call of the long-tailed mockingbird high in the branches. The expectancy of a clash coiled up in his legs like the bent spring of a trap, held in tension and set to fall on the prey which would trip it. Among the trees Otci turned quickly, narrowing his eyes to look through the mulberry growth into the clearing. There was no one there. Coldness ran through his temples. He clenched his fist in indecision.

      “Look behind the asi bush, Otci,” a heavy voice spoke out of the stillness. “But it’s too late. I would have split your skull when you left the creek.”

      They looked at the asi bush with the bright red berries. It rustled, and from it Bear slowly rose, his dark eyes heated to dark gleaming embers. Placing his huge hands on his hips, he glared at the line, moving his assailing eyes from Otci, paled, to the towering Halpada, who stared at his feet, to the pursed-lipped Illitci and Kunip, to Francis and Hobayi, who met his eye stoically.

      Bear remained standing at his full height, far taller and more imposing than he had ever been among them. Otci felt his impatience and displeasure heated by their failure to put his teaching to the proper use he expected. The old warrior spoke to them with crisp authority.