Lindsay Buroker - Peacemaker

“We should get going,”Kali said, though she came over to check on the youth’s handiwork.She froze when he held up a carving of an elk, a seven-point bullelk. Though the entire figurine was no larger than her hand, shecould count each individual tine on the antlers. They even appearedfuzzy, like the real thing. “That’s beautiful,” shebreathed.

Tadzi twitched a shoulder. “I can doscrimshaw, too, but ivory’s hard to get. That time with the honey,I was hoping to trade for better tools. It didn’t happen. I gotstung a bunch, on top of breaking my hip.”

Kali could certainly understand going to anylengths in pursuit of one’s passions. “Don’t get discouraged. Youdo real fine work.”

She caught a strange expression on Cedar’sface.

“What?” sheasked.

“Just wondering if Ishould be jealous of a ten-year-old boy,” he said.

“ Why? ” Tadzi stared up at him-he only came up to Kali’s shoulder,so he had to tilt his head way back to look Cedar in theeyes.

“Because she’s moreimpressed by your carving than by my skirmishing skills, eventhough I navigated heaps of pirates fighting harder than KilkennyCats, retrieved that surly fellow’s gold, cut the belt that held upthe captain’s pants, and escaped the mob by leaping over therailing from forty feet in the air.”

Tadzi turned hisincredulous stare onto Kali. “You are? ”

Kali shrugged. “I get to see him do stufflike that all the time. Though-” she nodded at Cedar, “-you didn’tmention the part about the captain’s pants.”

“They fell clear to hisankles and hobbled him like a horse,” Cedar said.

“Nice. Tadzi, are you fromMoosehide?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How did you learn suchgood English?” When Kali had been a girl, it hadn’t been spoken atall amongst the tribe, and only a couple of men who negotiated withtraders and trappers knew any at all.

“I’ve been working at itreal hard,” Tadzi said. “I talk to any white people I can. Someday,I want to…” He chomped down on his lip and eyed the ground. “Ishouldn’t say.”

Maybe he was someone like Kali had been,someone who always knew he would leave someday. “Can you take usthere? Introduce us to the medicine man?”

Tadzi brightened. “Can weride there on that ?” He nearly threw his shoulder out of joint in his eagernessto point at the SAB. “I saw its smoke, and that’s what made me comedown here. I bet riding it is a hog-killin’ time.”

“There’s not room forthree,” Cedar said.

Kali gave him a frank look.

“Oh.”

“You’re tough,” she said.“You ran through that whole dog-sled course beside me.”

Cedar patted the boy on the shoulder. “Lookslike I’ve another reason to be jealous of you.”

Moosehide lay on a flat stretch of land nextto the river, with a tall, craggy ridge guarding it from behind.The fog had finally cleared, and a dozen canoes and fishing boatsfloated in front of the camp, several with nets stretched betweenthem. Square moss houses squatted alongside the shoreline, andthose people who weren’t fishing worked out in front of them,drying and cleaning the catch.

A few ornery nervestangled in Kali’s belly as her little group approached the camp.Would anyone remember her? Would anyone care that she had returned?She sniffed. Not that she cared if they cared.

“Are they likely to be aproblem?” Cedar pointed at a trio of men lurking in the trees tothe side of the trail. He was running alongside the SAB while Kalidrove and Tadzi hung on.

“No,” Tadzi said, shoutingto be heard over the rumbling of the engine. “That’s my cousin andhis friends. They’re supposed to be hunting, but they’re likelyhiding from the chief and drinking again. When he finds out, he’llrustle up some punishment for them.”

“I’d be more concernedabout that fellow watching us with a shotgun in hand.” Kali noddedtoward the trail ahead of them. It was a foregone conclusion thatnobody here had seen anything like her steam-powered bicyclebefore. She didn’t think anyone would mistake it for some attackvehicle and shoot, but one never knew.

“He’s out in the open,”Cedar said. “Likely a guard for the camp.”

“Guards aren’t usual forthe camps. At least they weren’t when I was a girl.” Kali twistedher head around to ask Tadzi, “Is there usually a guard out whilepeople are fishing?”

“It’s on account of themurders.”

Now Cedar’s head whipped about, and hepinned the boy with a stare. “Murders? Have women been killed heretoo?”

“Not here,” Tadzi said,“but we heard about our people being killed in yourtown.”

“It’s not our town,” Cedarsaid. “We’re just visitors.”

Tadzi’s brow wrinkled.

“From the Han point ofview, all the white people here are just visitors,” Kali pointedout.

“Lots of visitors,” Tadzisaid. “I don’t mind. I like your people. And your shinycontraptions!” He patted the seat.

As the SAB drew near, the man with theshotgun stepped onto the trail to block their way. Kali did notrecognize him, though he was young enough that they should havebeen children at the same time. Maybe he had come from anothertribe through marriage.

He wore the same sort of wool britches asthe folks in Dawson, a derby hat, and a beaded caribou shirt.Though Kali had seen Han in town wearing a mixture of traditionalclothing with white man’s garb, it was strange seeing it here, in atrue Han setting. She remembered a few men in the tribe havingprize coats or dusters they had traded furs for, but everyone hadworn predominantly caribou or buckskin clothing when she’d been agirl. But the men, women, and children working and playingthroughout Moosehide wore a mix.

“Who are these people,Tadzi?” the man asked in the Han tongue.

“Friends,” Tadzi said.“They stopped the sky bandits.”

Kali thought she might get a curious look,since she had Han hair and skin coloring and wore her tool-stuffedoveralls instead of a dress, but the SAB itself captured more ofthe man’s attention. He walked about it, studying it from allangles, his shotgun drooping.

Cedar noted the lowered weapon and shook hishead with a soft, “Tsk, tsk” on his lips. No, not exactly amilitary-trained guard.

Kali supposed she should introduce herselfand let the man know she understood the language, but she couldn’tdecide whether to use her Han name or the one she had chosen forherself when her father hadn’t been able to pronounce theother.

“I’m Kali,” she said,deciding she wanted the name she had chosen, “and this is Cedar. We’d like to talkto…is Kesuk still the medicine man?”

The guard’s eyebrows disappeared beneath hishat. “Yes,” he finally said. “Wait here.”

“I’ll go with him,” Tadzisaid, still speaking in English. “I’ll tell the anatkok you help people. He doesn’tcare much for…” He looked up at Cedar.

“Understood,” Cedarsaid.

When they were alone, he came to standbeside Kali and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you allright?”

“Fine.”

“You seem tense. Andgrumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Kalisaid. “This is my usual state. It’s probably caused by living herein a climate without enough sun. I really want to see that Floridaplace you mentioned.”

“There’s plenty of sunthere, but alligators and crocodiles too.”

“I’m still waiting for youto show me that scar,” she said.

Cedar kneaded the back of her neck, thumbteasing out the knots in her muscles. It felt good, and she had tokeep herself from making contented sighs or displaying otherobvious signs of pleasure. She had a notion a respectable girlshouldn’t lean up against a man like a hound getting a scratch.