PART TWO- NOTE:
You may have noticed that at the very bottom of part 1 was 3 sentences of Ziio. THIS WAS A MISTAKE, it was supposed to be part of Part 2, so please ignore. :)
Sometimes half an hour feels like half an hour, sometimes it feels like five minutes, and sometimes an hour. For Nitika and I, waiting for Heammawihio, Alo and Canowicakte to return dragged us through what felt like a year. Each passing moment was filled with a dull nothingness. Our own minds instead brimmed them with terror, tension and depression.
I couldn't bear the image in my head of Koshisigre, clinging onto a boulder with all his might, wincing and sweating with the effort choked tears into my eyes. Fear surged through my brain, raging inside my heart. I couldn't lose Koshisigre. I couldn't lose the boy I called my brother. My best friend, and Nitika's son. What if he was injured? Or lost? Or worse?
No, no, NO. Do not think of that. He will be fine.
I could not convince myself this. I didn't have the energy or heart to be positive. The forces of darkness were too strong.
But it was obvious that Nitika had taken it the hardest. I led her back to my brush house to spend time in the quiet, away from the village. Silent tears oozed from her bloodshot eyes: she too did not have the might to howl. I curled up in the corner of my house, my arms wrapped around her and swaying from side to side.
"It will be alright," I whispered. But my words were empty. I could not even convince myself that Koshisigre would be alright, let alone poor Nitika.
"If they do bring him back, and he is..." she trailed away. "He will have left this world after an argument with his mother. He will have left this world with no mother's love." She began to sob uncontrollably.
"Now, now," I soothed. I hoped that this would end soon; that there would be some news from the elders of someone of the hunting patrol's return.
But there was none for half an hour.
Until...
An elder limped hurriedly into my hut, his eyes dancing. "Nitika! Kaniehtí:io!" he panted. "Come outside! There is something you must see!"
"Is it Koshisigre?" demanded Nitika, sitting straight up like a bullet.
"Yes!"
"Is he alright?" I asked hurriedly.
"Well...he is injured, but he is alive!"
I hugged the old woman and we laughed in relief. The elder continued, watching our embrace with a reminiscent smile, perhaps recalling one person close to him. "But there is someone we have to thank! Come and see him!"
We came to the village entrance at break-neck speed. A crowd of elders gathered in a circle around a figure. As we approached we could see it: a young man lying on the floor.
"Koshisigre!" Nitika and I cried in unison.
We rushed forward, pushing past the crowd and knelt to him. There was a white bandage across his hand and around his left arm. He was good as unconscious. But he was alive. Alive! We gripped his warm hands. We whispered his name in shuddery breaths that he could barely comprehend in his state. He looked like he'd just been sent to his grave and back. It was a heart-rendering sight.
At last, Alo announced: "But it is this man we really have to thank."
I turned. My mouth dropped open silently. There, standing above me beside all the villagers, stood him.
"H-Haytham!" I gasped.
"Ziio." he replied, smiling broadly.
My mind was racing. How did I not see him?
Well, you were too focused on Koshisigre.
Oh my...he saved Koshisigre? Haytham? Saved him?
"You saved Koshisigre?" I breathed in disbelief.
"Yes...I- I saved..."
"Thank you!" I cried. "Haytham, you saved him! We owe you with our lives!" I sprung to my feet and flung my arms around him. I let my head rest on his shoulder. His warm physique tensed in surprise, but his arms soon wrapped around my back. This closeness was enough that he could probably feel the pulsing of my heart and the tremors in my voice.
"It's- erm- it's quite alright," he responded, a little taken aback. The whole Clan emitted a silence so powerful that it forced Haytham and I apart. I stepped back.
Did I just...did I just hug Haytham?
It would appear so.
HAYTHAM
That evening I decided to stay.
Well, why not, when it was I who rescued the young man- no, but a boy in fact- from plummeting to his death. The tribes-folk were eternally grateful. It would seem somewhat rude to just disappear.
But it was Ziio I wanted to talk to most of all.
The way that she threw herself into my arms with such emotion- maybe even love...it was enough to melt my heart to fluid. It was enough to make the world around us stand still, in a blissful utopia. Only for a moment. Then it was gone.
But I wanted to see her again. I wanted to snatch that moment back.
The Mohawks busied themselves helping the poor young lad (who had suffered a sickening injury to the side of his head), darting in and out of one brush house, barking orders in uptight voices in their mother-tongue, which I dared not bother to try and comprehend. The sun retreated below the valley and plunged everything into darkness. Except for two lone flames; one coming from inside the brush house where the boy was being treated, and the other...by the village entrance. Sitting beside it was Ziio, all alone.
Like a roped canoe her spirit pulled me in. I found myself walking towards her, lust sparkling in my eyes.
Here you are, Haytham, once again succumbing from an errand, to see a woman.
Succumbing? I saved the boy's life!
Yes. But had he not been Mohawk, would you have batted an eyelid?
I swallowed hard. I knew that this thought occurring to me was true. I had rescued the young Mohawk on the off-chance of seeing Ziio, and nothing else.
You must not let this woman steal your heart. You have duties that she is distracting you from.
I know. But it is too late. She stole my heart on the day we met.
You are a Templar, not a poet. Remember this.
The orange flame lit up Ziio's soft face. The roots of tears glistened in her eyes. What was wrong? She started blankly into the flame and sighed.
I sat down beside her. Her head tipped upwards; her shimmering eyes detected me. The corners of Ziio's mouth twitched in the attempt of a smile. A very pathetic attempt indeed.
"I could not help but notice that something was troubling you," I improvised.
She sighed again, staring back into the fire. "It is nothing really. Only...Koshisigre is very close to my heart. I could not bear to lose him."
As a mixture of anxiety and jealousy rolled up into my throat, I asked: "Why?"
"He is like a brother to me," she replied. "We grew up side by side. We obscured nothing from one another. Now he is in danger, it's..." the tear in her eye trickled downwards.
Don't just sit there! Comfort her!
How? I've never been a man of consolation!
But I couldn't. My muscles froze over in an instant when I tried. I opened my mouth to say something, to verbally wipe away her tears. No sound came out.
"He and his mother are the only family I have left," she continued. Another tear meandered across her cheekbone.
"It will be alright," I rasped. My voice was playing up on me like it had in the tavern. When I could bear to see Ziio so distressed no more, I at last put a shaking hand on her shoulder. "I promise it will be alright."
She sniffed. "Thank you, Haytham. I am sorry for my terrible state."
"That's...fine," I shrugged, "I too know what it feels like to be anxious like this."
She nodded. "As do I. But I have had to deal with far worse than this."
There was a long pause in which she poked a stick at the crackling fire. I savoured what she had said: 'I have had to deal with far worse than this.' I swallowed again: "If...if you'd allow me to ask...what has happened to you that is worse than this?"
Her head turned slowly. Her eyes, her blazing brown eyes surveyed me with a display of countless emotions: curiosity, pain, sadness. The burning beauty shot through my pupils, down my throat, into my stomach. It seemed to do a backflip. "I'm sorry," I gasped hurriedly, "I have brought back some bad memories, I can tell."
Why on earth did you ask her that? Stupid, stupid bastard.
Ziio shook her head. "No, no! I do not mind sharing it with you!" She cleared her throat, adopting a grave tone. "When I was just a child, my father and two older brothers left the village to hunt. A beautiful summer's day it was...perfect for hunting. We all knew that on a day like that they would stay out long. They would want to savour the sunshine, catch as much prey as they could possibly carry. There were three others with them, too. One of them being Koshisigre's father. But when they were not back, even after nightfall, we all grew sick with worry." Ziio began to breathe faster. I put my arm around her shoulder to calm her. She continued:
"The patrol soon came back. It was...horrible." Her voice had become no more than a pitiful squeak. "Because in their arms were the bloodied corpses of my father, Helaku, Pallaton, Koshisigre's father and two other men. One of them was injured, but the other...d-dead." Her eyes were broken floodgates; streams of bitter tears rolled from them now.
I gasped in horror. "Ziio, that's dreadful! I'm sorry I even asked!"
She said nothing for a while. But when she leaned across and rested her head against my breast, my heart tightened. I looked round, to check that we were completely alone. "It is alright," she breathed.
"What happened?" I asked gently when I felt the time was right.
"The one survivor- Kitchi- recovered and told us about the events. They were walking by, and...Helaku caught sight of a British man. My brother was young and unafraid, and he acted on instinct. He had pulled out an arrow and shot the man dead before my father could scream: 'No, Helaku! Stop!' It was too late. Out of nowhere appeared at least five more men dressed in the same way. Their leader spotted the men in the bush before they could escape...and...he k-killed them. All of them." Ziio shuddered; the images were flashing violently before her eyes.
Well, say something! Such a terrible story and you've not a word of comfort to Ziio!
What do I say?
Just let your heart do the talking.
Yet my heart felt too fatigued with all these feelings to 'say' anything. But I tried.
"Hey," I soothed. My hand slipped around her back again. "I understand. My father was murdered, too."
It seemed a very good recovery. "He was?" she asked.
I nodded. "I was just ten. My sister, too. She was kidnapped. I have not seen her since."
Ziio gasped. "Haytham that's terrible! I never knew!"
I shook my head. "It's sad, yes..." I sighed, "but...there are no happy endings to life."
She nodded in grim agreement. "Have you ever come to avenge the men responsible?"
"No."
"Neither," she huffed. "I don't know who it was. All I know is that their leader was a British man. He was in his thirties at the time, I think. He was not a redcoat, though. That is all Kitchi would say."
"Whereabouts were the attacks?" I pressed, praying for the mild assumptions in my head not to be true.
"Near a large manor house, not far to the East."
Realisation hit me like a blow to the stomach. I clasped a hand to my mouth.
NO. It cannot be.
It could be.
No...but...
"Johnson..." I gasped, hardly daring to believe it.
Ziio's head shot upright, making me jump. "What? Who?" she demanded.
"Nothing, nothing."
William Johnson.
No. It cannot be him. He has always been kind to the Mohawk people.
So he says.
But...he is the most moral man I know!
Who else would it be? Washington was not...
Anger, confusion and disbelief crashed through my veins. No. No! Not Johnson. Could it not have been the work of...oh, what's the name? Achillies Davenport? No. His house was to the South from here. That left only...only...
Ziio's voice came drifting back in. "You are troubled," she murmured.
"No, no. I'm fine, thank you." The lie had escaped my lips before I could stop myself. I couldn't be more stunned even if I'd been shot in the back. William Johnson? Killing Mohawks? Surely that was against Templar protocol?
More cruel realisations. No. That isn't true. The boy killed the man, so he deserved to die. By rights of the Templars. I swallowed the bile in my throat.
Take your mind off it.
I surveyed Ziio's face in the light. How she made the soft contour of her cheek glow; how the tear streaks were charmed with a sad beauty. Her arms were like blocks of ice in the night air, yet she gave not a shiver.
"Your arms," I said. "They're cold."
She shook her head. "No, not really."
This is the part in which I put my arms around her.
In an opera, yes. You're a man, Haytham. Not a poet.
Just do it.
No!
I felt my stomach turn again. I pulled her a little closer to the fire. She made no attempt to stop me.
Phew.
"I'm sure your friend will recover," I reassured her.
She smiled. "Thank you for comforting me, Haytham. And, of course, for saving Koshisigre."
"It was nothing."
"How did you find him?"
"I was riding for Lexington on a small errand. But I saw a man from your village running towards me, pleading for help. And so I rode back to Boston, fetched some rope and bandages, came back, threw the rope to him and we hauled him up."
She stared for a moment, stunned. "Such an act of kindness deserves more than just my gratitude. Our tribe is in your debt."
"Not at all," I shrugged. "It was just a good thing I happened to be passing."
"What were you riding to Lexington for, in any case?"
"Oh- it was something little. A letter to deliver there." That reminded me. "Oh, dammit. It's too late to ride back now. Too dark."
"That is not a problem. You can stay here."
Stay. My heart began racing again.
Stay? With Ziio?
In her village?
In her company?
For the rest of the night?
But I knew I couldn't. "Oh..." I itched my neck uncomfortably. "I would love to, but...my horse. I cannot leave it out here."
"We have a stable," she replied. "We can keep your horse in there for the night!"
"You do?"
"Yes!" her eyes glimmered with anticipation. "You can stay at my house."
"I- I..." Lost for words, I felt my throat close up, choking me for a split second. How long had it been since any woman had made me feel this nervous? Too long. "I'd love to. Thank you."
DADADAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!
So it ends on a kinda romantic note!
No, that's the end of "Cliffhanger", I'm afraid!
Was William Johnson responsible for the murder of Ziio's family?
Will Koshisigre survive his injury?
How will the other Templars react to Haytham's little night-time visit?
Find out in the next update!