Kutkhay started working for the shaman. Contrary to his assumption, his duties did not include sexual favors, the man never once even hinting at any kind of physical approach. Instead he had him cleaning his house or organizing and maintaining some tools and implements and the like, and in return, as agreed, taught him the new words in the foreigner's language.
The shaman's apprentice was more or less the same age as Kutkhay's eldest brother, a rather strange fellow. Aloof and somewhat dour, he seemed always to be in a bad mood, almost surly; indeed his nature was thoroughly in contrast to that of his mentor's.
One day, after his lesson, Kutkhay was halfway back to the village when he was caught in a cloudburst. He stopped, allowing himself to enjoy the sweet sensations produced upon his skin as the large, pounding raindrops assailed him. These storms, while violent, were short and always came in with a pleasant, mild temperature, and he loved them. On the other hand he loathed the Great Rains all too prevalent in another season, for these were insistent, tiresome in their long duration, and cold.
The boy turned his face to the sky and closed his eyes. Then he opened his mouth to let the raindrops glide along his tongue even as they pelted his eyelids. It was so wonderful! An idea suddenly took form in his mind. He left the path and headed away from home and soon came upon a favorite small meadow, away from anyone's casual view. He undid his loincloth. Now he felt totally free and it was exhilarating. He loved being like this, so in touch with nature, feeling a part of it, as one with it. He started to sing out at the top of his voice, using the new words he had learned, not even trying to give sense or order to how they went together.
A clap of thunder shook the air and lightening crackled and flashed behind the dark, billowing clouds all around him, and Kutkhay laughed aloud, shouting, "Yes, Spirit of the Air, yes! Sing out loud, too! Yes, sing! Isn't life wonderful? Everything is beautiful! Sing your song!"
He stroked his smooth, wet skin with his hands, his body cool and shiny with the water that streamed along it and from the ends of his soaking hair. He picked up his dripping loincloth, whirled it in the air in front of him or over his head, and began running along the edges of the clearing, skipping and jumping in his joy.
The storm soon ended, as suddenly as it had started. A ray of sunlight broke through the clouds, and as if it were a wedge, it soon opened the sky to a deep blue. The sun's rays were not long in warming everything and in restoring all of nature to its luxuriant colors and perfumes. Reluctantly, Kutkhay donned his loincloth and returned to the village. The heat of the sun caressed his skin and dried it quickly, leaving only his garment and his hair with any indication of the soaking to which he had submitted.
Everyone back at the village was outside taking advantage of the short period of sunshine to do something constructive. He spotted Mokoa going into someone else's house. A moment later he came back out and set off toward the forest. From the same house a boy their age, Wikhat, also emerged, taking off a bit more hurriedly in the opposite direction. He had been paired with Mokoa at the initiation rite. Kutkhay was familiar with the subterfuge he suspected he was now witnessing, having used it himself often enough in league with his friend and lover. He figured the two had likewise arranged a tryst. So, was Wikhat one of the two others Mokoa had spoken of, as it now seemed? He decided he was going to find out right now. Kutkhay had become quite adept as a hunter, his confidence boosted by his newly acquired adult status, and with the added incentive of the shaman's lessons, so he was able to follow a prey skillfully without its awareness. Now he could put his skill to the test with his first human "prey." And so he was hardly surprised in his success in shadowing the other boy, neither being spotted by, nor ever loosing sight of, the unsuspecting "prey." From time to time Wikhat did turn and look around to affirm his secrecy, but he never did suspect that two attentive eyes were with him every step of the way.
The hike was long, but finally Wikhat approached a pierced rock in a small clearing where he sat on a small mound of earth, apparently to wait. Kutkhay assumed they would use the privacy of the cave for their rendezvous, and seeing that the boy relaxed in anticipation of his friend's arrival, he was able to slip furtively inside behind his back. The wait was brief. He heard Mokoa's voice indistinctly, and Wikhat's response, but from confines of the cave he couldn't really hear what they said. He only hoped he had guessed correctly that the two actually would come inside to have sex. Aha! He heard the voices come nearer and withdrew to a low ledge he discovered that was obscured in the darkness and perfect for him to remain hidden. He watched them enter and they stopped not far from the entrance.
"Let's stop here. I don't want to be in the dark," Wikhat said. "And if somebody comes we'll be able to see him in time."
Mokoa nodded.
Kutkhay's heart was in his throat and he could feel a pounding in his temples, but he never took his eyes from them for a single moment. He watched while the thing he had guessed started coming true. They both undressed and began their sexual romp. The blood rose to his face and he felt the blaze of jealousy burn inside him. Mokoa was letting himself be taken from behind by Wikhat just as he always did with Kutkhay, but he noticed with a certain satisfaction when they were done that they hadn't included those special things that the strangers, and Mokoa and he, would do. Wikhat wanted to penetrate him a second time and Mokoa was eager to oblige, and this time they moaned and squealed in their wantonness like little beasts in heat. Wikhat's body was undoubtedly fine looking and strong, he decided, but not really beautiful.
As their fire ebbed and they disengaged, the boy said, "I'd like to get together with you like this more often."
"No, it's fine the way it is now," Mokoa replied.
"But I really want to do this a lot more often!" the boy stubbornly repeated more adamantly.
Mokoa responded with a hard tone. "You forget my rank! We do as I want. Now don't be insistent or we will stop altogether."
"Come on, you know you like doing it with me. If we stopped meeting anymore, what would you do?" Wikhat didn't try to disguise his arrogance.
"I'd rather stop doing it!" Mokoa answered with a finality in his tone that was unmistakable.
Kutkhay was glad to see that Mokoa didn't mention having two more lovers. The other boy looked at Mokoa for a moment, his expression still defiant, but Mokoa was calm, adding, "Go now. I'll be back in a little while."
Wikhat lowered his eyes, retrieving his loincloth and grumbling, "You are so arrogant," and stalked out of the cave.
Mokoa, still naked, watched him disappear into the forest. He stood stock still at the cave's entrance. Meanwhile, Kutkhay watched this awkward conclusion with growing satisfaction. He freed himself from his loincloth and silently came up behind his friend and enfolded his shoulders in an embrace.
Mokoa was startled, yelling and struggling until he wriggled free, and turned in a stance ready to fight. But in a second he recognized his friend and exhaled sharply, an expression of surprise crossing his face. He burst into a laugh. "You were here the whole time? You saw everything?"
The boy nodded, his eyes betraying no emotion.
"So I guess now you know who one of them is. But how did you find us out? Were you here in this cave just by chance?"
Kutkhay shook his head and spoke for the first time, explaining briefly the circumstances that brought him to this moment. Meanwhile Mokoa was taking notice of his friend's naked state, and didn't overlook the state of his aroused member, either.
"You want to do it now, don't you?"
"Yes..."
"Me, too!" The excitement rose in his voice. "It's always better with you. Come here."
But Kutkhay hesitated. "Then why do you do it with him, too?"
"Because he is strong. Because having just one partner for sex isn't enough for me. Because it's fun having variety." He watched his friend as he spoke and noted the sadness of his expression. "Don't tell me you're jealous? We aren't married, you and I, not to each other, anyway. We are free to do whatever we want... and with whomever we want."
Kutkhay didn't answer and was a little confused at the words, thinking that maybe his friend was right. Mokoa embraced him and began kissing him tenderly on the mouth. Kutkhay surrendered himself to the moment. But then he backed off a little, asking, "How come you didn't kiss him, or do the other things?"
"It isn't the same with him. It wouldn't feel right. With you it's different; only with you."
"And not with the other guy either?"
"With him it's something different altogether."
"Mokoa, who is he?"
Mokoa chuckled. "You're so resourceful, why don't you find that out for yourself?" He didn't expect or wait for an answer and went into another embrace and gave him another long kiss.
"Wait, I don't feel like doing this here inside. Let's get out into the open air, under the sun," Kutkhay murmured.
"I think it's going to rain again..." Mokoa answered, glancing outside with a perfunctory scan of the sky.
"Even better. We can do it in the rain!" Kutkhay replied, taking him by the hand and pulling him along. He felt his spirit beginning to lighten with remarkable momentum.
They were no sooner outside, just beginning to touch each other everywhere at once, when the skies opened up once more. Heedless of everything but each other, they continued their affectionate play, and still standing, and under the storm's fury, their passion ignited. To the accompaniment of the rumbling clouds, the sounds of the lashing winds and the white flashes of scattered thunderbolts, they soon joined, back to front, the small, taut rump and the tireless, driving phallus. Kutkhay lowered his head to Mokoa's shoulder, his lips and cheek caressing his lover's tender ear and neck, and his arms enfolded the hot, wet body while his hands grasped at and fondled Mokoa's swollen genitals. They continued like this for a long time, their moans and grunts lost in the deafening reverberations of the tempest blowing in from the sea, until in an endless moment, as the steam rose from their dripping, slippery, heaving bodies, their breathless ecstasy was fulfilled.
The storm continued on their trek back to the village, although its initial energy, like their own, was spent.
"Mokoa?"
"Yes, brother?"
"How do you do it, sharing yourself with four different people? I find it hard enough to share myself with two. I wish it was only you and me..."
"Oh, no! I would like to have even more sexual playmates. I could willingly give it up with my woman, but that isn't possible. My brother said to me: do your duty with your woman, and then if you like, do as you please. And that's what I'm doing."
"Your brother knows?"
"Of course."
"And... he doesn't say anything more about it?"
"No, but he has a male lover, too, Jokkah, our slave. And Kwashi has sex with Gohtey..."
"How would you know that?"
"I know."
"And do you think there are other male couples in our village?"
"I know the shaman does it with his assistant. And it seems as though even the chief does it with Preskh, but I'm not sure."
"Who is your other lover?" Kutkhay abruptly asked again.
"Somebody I promised never tell you."
"Then he knows about me?!"
"No, he doesn't know about us, but he asked me not to tell anybody, and especially not you."
"He said me by name?"
"Yes."
"So who is he?"
"I told you, I promised him I'd never say his name."
"OK, then don't tell me his name, but help me, give me some kind of hint," Kutkhay said with a teasing laugh.
"You have to swear that you won't ever let him know I said anything. You swear?"
"Of course. I swear!" Kutkhay's excitement was unbearable.
"All right, it's somebody that got married a little while back."
"Tarhak!"
"No, after him."
"After? But after him... Tumchey? My brother?" he asked, astonished, halting abruptly to study his friend, trying to determine if he was teasing him.
"I can't tell names."
"You let him fuck you?"
"No, actually I fuck him."
The virile Tumchey? the strong, masculine Tumchey allowing himself to be penetrated by the delicate Mokoa? He was in utter shock. "No, I can't believe that! Besides, you aren't the same status or of the same class. He is the older. How could it be?"
"It can be. And he loves it. And he is actually the one who taught me. My first male," Mokoa said persuasively.
"But Tumchey? He is so masculine. And I've seen how he makes love to his woman. It is so hard to believe, especially that he lets you enter him."
"Listen, the next time I go to meet with him, I'll tell you where, and you can see with your own eyes," his friend responded with a serious, not to mention a roguish look.
"I guess I believe you. But I'm so shocked!"
From that day on, Kutkhay began watching his next older brother with much greater attention, all the while trying to figure out whether Mokoa had told him a tall story after all. It was all so confusing. Nothing could make him believe Tumchey really even had such inclinations. But then, it didn't really seem like Mokoa was kidding, either. So he started spying on him at night sometimes while he mated with his wife. Their sleeping mat was pretty close to his own, so when they made love, he could discern their bodies in motion. Tumchey really was virility personified, not only more so than their eldest brother, but even more than their father. That was a fact certainly plain to see, not only in the ardor with which he took his wife almost every night, but also in the his stamina and endurance.
When Tumchey's wife was in her seventh month, she went to her mother's house to await and prepare for the birth, as tradition warranted, while Tumchey remained alone with his own family. One night Kutkhay awoke. He became aware of a faint, rhythmic noise, barely perceptible, not enough to be the cause of his waking up. From its direction he realized what it was almost immediately: Tumchey masturbating. The idea of this got him hard immediately, and after only a brief hesitation, hardly giving it any thought at all, he rolled toward him until he was close enough to touch him.
He moved closer, leaning into him, his body against his brother's, letting his brother feel his own erection rubbing against him, and he brought his hand into contact with Tumchey's hard member. He sensed Tumchey's body stiffen, and then, in the darkness and with no words spoken, it became apparent he was being directed, ordered, to go away. But Kutkhay persisted, and when he felt his brother turn his back to him as if the matter were settled, he slid along his back and pushed his hot, hard cock against the buttocks presented to him. He sensed Tumchey's resistance weakening and before long he knew the resolve had dissipated. Kutkhay pushed with his pelvis until his brother's tight little knot of muscle opened to him. Tumchey let out a whispered sigh that lasted until his brother could advance no farther. Kutkhay became almost crazed with the combination of excitement and pleasure as he sunk into his brother and slowly glided along the velvety, grasping channel, savoring the hard male body of his handsome brother, and with no rational thought remaining in his head. Thrusting in and out and increasing the tempo, he caressed Tumchey's muscled chest, his taut belly and his enormous staff and full, squirming sack, and felt his responses in the way he quivered like leaves in a spring breeze.
When both had calmed from their climaxes, Kutkhay remained inside his brother for a long while, continuing to caress his body, until he felt the last tensions leave his body. They separated and Kutkhay went back to his own mat and quickly fell fast asleep, drained and contented. Their silent coupling continued almost every night for the rest of his brother's wife's absence. Meanwhile, during the daytime, they both acted as if nothing was going on, never once bringing up the subject.
But there was one day that their oldest brother beckoned them aside while all three were hunting with a group of others. "If you want to play together, this is a private matter between the two of you. But it would be wise if you didn't do it at home. It is almost inevitable that others will find out. Go somewhere else. That would be best. Especially for you, Tumchey, since you are soon going to have a child." He turned away and rejoined the hunting party.
Both the brothers were greatly embarrassed. Kutkhay quickly proposed meeting at a place he was certain would be private, but the idea was turned down just as quickly. "In a short while my wife will be back. It is better if we stop altogether, and now."
Kutkhay was deflated, but since he knew he still had Mokoa he decided there was no need to insist. Only days later Tumchey's wife was back with their child.
It was mid-autumn when the village reinstalled itself at the winter site, just before the season of the great rains. Kutkhay's woman was pregnant now, and the requisite marriage of the couple was celebrated. The house by now was becoming too crowded for the growing population of the family and a new house was erected for the youngest couples. These were Tumchey and Kutkhay, together with two of their cousins and their wives and children.
With the coming of his child, Tumchey had severed his secret relationship with Mokoa, and after taking a wife of his own at about the same time, so did Wikhat. So Kutkhay, to his delight, met with his lover with much more frequency, and there was no denying how he savored this new exclusivity. Apart from their wives, Mokoa was finally his alone, and he didn't even feel any jealousy towards his friend's wife.
In the height of winter, when the snow on the ground was at its deepest, they could no longer meet in the open air for their sexual romps, and the opportunities for any indoor activity were extremely rare. But with a resourcefulness born of desire, the two youths had discovered a cave reasonably nearby where the temperature was bearable, and to which they brought two old mats and a lantern; and so, with a small fire for added warmth, they were able to continue to meet in relative comfort while winter passed.
When spring arrived and the village moved again to the summer site, another new home went up for the four young families. In the night, when Kutkhay listened to the sounds of his brother or one of his cousins copulating with their respective women, there was only his wife to placate his desires. He noticed this only diminished his internal fires but never successfully extinguished them. The boy had come to realize that he was attracted more and more by the male body. In his mind there was an indefinable fineness, a magnificence, to the male form, one of his house-sharing cousins particularly exemplifying this quality, while to the contrary, the female shape seemed to him... uninspiring. He admitted as much to Mokoa, whose response, in his usual breezy way, was that it was the same for him. This reassured him a little, because all the other men of the village, except for the ones his friend had revealed to him, seemed to be attracted only to women. Kutkhay, of course, had an aversion to feeling different from the others, but Mokoa said that it wasn't a question of being different, merely that each one has his preferences, "the same as for food," he reasoned.
About this same time Kutkhay was becoming aware of changes occurring in his own body, obviously growing and filling out. This satisfied and gratified him immeasurably. It wasn't a narcissistic attitude. He just was glad to see his physique was maturing, attaining admirable proportions and elegance that reflected his strength and grace, yet retaining his lean framework. He looked just like the men whose physical appearance he most admired. And it was particularly refreshing that Mokoa mentioned quite often how handsome he was becoming.
They were at the summer village for just a short time when something happened that would leave a deep mark in his people's society and in Kutkhay's life. Two men of the tribe had trespassed into the territory of the neighboring tribe, a mountainside where they had seen numerous moose, many more in a relatively small area than anything they had ever seen in their own dominion. They subsequently suggested to the elders to carry out one broad hunting foray into that area. This prompted a long discussion, wherein the wisest among them objected on the basis that to venture into the territory of another tribe was equivalent to a declaration of war. But in a society predominantly ocean based in its consumption, the prospect of meat in bulk, the excellent large hides and a bounty in the skeletal remains with which to work into tools and decoration, were enough to convince the majority that the risk was worth it. Besides, they intended to make it a quick raid, and not too deep, so there wasn't much chance of ever even being seen. The decision created a great agitation throughout the village. There were the refinement of plans and the preparations, the rites to help assure a good hunt and, for at least some, the prospect of a glorious war.
Mokoa was one of the advocates of the undertaking. Kutkhay, while not exactly against it, wasn't really so sure it was a good idea either. Nevertheless the raid had been decided. Scouts were sent out to study the terrain and the precise location of the other village, to locate the grazing areas of the elk, and find the most advantageous places for the approach and the retreat. When they returned it was with reports that only served to increase the number of supporters of the enterprise. Finally, when the village felt there was nothing more to prepare, the men departed in groups of twos or threes, following different trails to a predetermined location known to them all.
Mokoa made sure to get himself paired alone with Kutkhay. They left at first light, armed and equipped with plenty of rope, and hastened to the wooded slopes leading to the hinterland. Along the way no one spoke. As long as they were in their own territory, everyone knew he could move quickly and safely, and used that to maximum advantage. A few words were exchanged only whenever they stopped for a brief rest. It was during one of these when Mokoa proposed a bit of sex-play but Kutkhay refused.
"You know it isn't that I don't want to, my brother, but it's better if we conserve our energies. When we get back we will find a way to do it right away." He didn't mention that the prospect of his first venture into foreign territory had produced a restless anxiety and a mix of emotion that built steadily until he was actually on the way, and it was taking a little time for him to get in control of himself.
Mokoa felt dejected at first, but because of his fundamentally sunny good nature it didn't last very long, and he temporarily accepted his friend's resolve. But when they stopped at night to rest, Mokoa started teasing his body and persisted until he succeeded in arousing him. Kutkhay tried to make him stop, but his lover was determined to get what he wanted. Kutkhay was feeling more comfortable with himself by now, and his friend's affectionate goading finally had the desired effect in stirring his passion. His reluctance slowly melted away. They struggled for a while playfully but Kutkhay didn't really try very hard to resist, and he finally surrendered completely when his friend managed to unfasten his loincloth and brought his mouth down to his groin. They made love with complete abandon, forgetting for the moment their surroundings, only conscious of each other and of the pleasure they were able to give and receive.
When they at last had quenched their mutual desire and found themselves in the serenity of afterglow Mokoa asked, "Kutkhay, will you promise - no, swear -- to be my lover forever?"
"Of course, you know you don't even have to ask. With you I feel complete. You know that. It is you who isn't content with having only me..."
"But you know that right now I do have only you."
"Sure, but that's only because the others decided they had had enough."
"Will you ever tell me you've had enough of me?"
"No, never."
"Then I am swearing to you that from now on, I'll never again go with anyone else."
Kutkhay was deeply moved, and could only whisper into his ear, "Thank you."
Mokoa took him in his embrace, and as he lightly caressed his lover's body they fell to sleep. They slept in each other's warm embrace, nestled into an ever greater sense of wholeness.
They resumed their trek while it was still dark. By dawn they reached the rendezvous. When everyone was accounted for, the chief gave final instructions. Now they must locate a feeding ground heavily populated by the elk, where the most difficult part of the enterprise would take place. Without being spotted by the enemy, they must kill as many of the beasts as possible, with as much stealth as possible, and return with the carcasses to the safety of their own territory as quickly as possible. Some pairs of men were chosen to scatter and keep watch, responsible for sounding an alarm at the first sign of danger, while the main body proceeded with their mission. The guards were chosen from the youngest of the party, so it was with a good deal of disappointment that Kutkhay and Mokoa found themselves among those selected. They were assigned a specific area and quickly taught a set of signals.
The two boys had to be absolutely silent and move about with extreme caution. Their mission was to survey the terrain while remaining conscious at all times of an escape route. Because of the contours of the terrain, they found themselves frequently in the treetops in order to be able to scan the distances. Mokoa was less cautious than his friend and Kutkhay often was tempted to reprimand him, but he kept in mind the admonishment for strict silence. They moved forward until Mokoa, from one of their many treetop vantage points, signaled him to climb up. Kutkhay climbed quickly with his usual agility and reached his friend to look in the direction to which he excitedly pointed. They could easily see the village of their enemy, spreading along the valley below them.
It was the first time Kutkhay had ever seen a village other than his own. And it was really peculiar, composed of small cone shaped tents, and from the tips of some a thin column of smoke rose. There was a good deal of activity, seemingly oriented toward and influenced by their location on the valley floor, and the comings and goings were mostly at the far side of the village from the aerie of the two boys. The men wore aprons not unlike those of the women of their own tribe, but smaller, shorter, and these were very colorful in their decoration. They also wore their hair very long and tied at the back. The women wore clothes that hid the upper parts of their bodies, and they tied their hair at both sides of the head. From this distance it wasn't possible to distinguish specific facial features but the skin was of a color slightly ruddier than his people, actually quite similar if compared to the strangers who visited from the sea.
Mokoa whispered in his ear, "From here we can see the moment they head this way. We're safe here."
"But we have to get away from here. The climbing is difficult. We'd probably be safer a little farther back."
"No, no, it would be just as difficult for them to climb up to this ridge. This place is safe."
Kutkhay nodded, although not quite convinced, and they remained here in silence just watching. Now they had to stay where they were until they heard the callback signal from their companions. The wait turned out to be a long and boring one, making it all the more important to concentrate on vigilance. They both knew how easily boredom could lead to inattention, and the result of that could prove not only dangerous but fatal.
The hours passed slowly and when there arose from the village the splendid aroma of roasting meat, it reminded the two youths that it was in fact more than a day since they last ate. Mokoa held his nose with two fingers and grimaced in a way that expressed how he suffered from the provocative smells. Kutkhay could barely stifle his laughter. He loved his Mokoa's special brand of cheerfulness and he valued what he had with him. He felt lucky to have found a friend like him. But his primary responsibility at the moment was vital and he didn't have the luxury of allowing himself to be distracted by gazing at his friend. This occurred to him at the same time he felt his desire awakening. They continued directing their attention toward the village. As long as nobody ascended the mountain there was no immediate danger, at least in this vicinity. And while it seemed the time was never going to pass, they had no lack of patience.
Suddenly Kutkhay heard a noise behind them. He put a hand on Mokoa's arm, signaling him to not make a sound and pointing in the direction of the noise. Both tensed, staying motionless as they listened and peered through the forest. A few moments later, they spotted a man heading downhill towards the village carrying two dead hares on his shoulder. It was obvious he was hunting by himself, and the way he walked reflected a certain ease of mind, no doubt due to the safe proximity of his village. Kutkhay hoped he wasn't going to raise his eyes, for he would surely see them and then just as surely would give an alarm. From here it would not take much of a shout to be heard at the village. Kutkhay put an arrow to his bow and took aim. Mokoa promptly followed suit. Despite the rush of adrenaline they both could feel pumping through them, they held still, only moving that little bit that allowed them to keep the man in their sights. The man was coming around to their position from farther uphill, quietly following a trail leading to the village of teepees. Suddenly a jay broke the stillness with its disconcerting call and flew from a branch of their tree, and the man picked up his head unconsciously toward the small commotion. Two arrows sailed toward him in tandem, and the hunter reflexively tried to dodge from their trajectory. Simultaneously, a startled yelp erupted from his lungs, abruptly cut short as the slender missiles found their mark. One arrow pierced an arm, the other drove deep into his chest. His body dropped heavily to the forest floor.
The youths looked to the village and instantaneously confirmed that the shout had been heard. They yelled out with their own danger signal as they scurried down the tree, taking flight up the steep slope in a nimble retreat. As they ran past the fallen enemy there was no indication he was still alive, but he half rose behind them, his bow in hand, and suddenly an arrow plunged deep into Mokoa's back. The boy collapsed with a strangled groan. Kutkhay turned instantly and a second arrow flew from his bow, and the man dropped where he stood, half the arrow protruding from the center of his chest. Lifting him bodily, he tried to bring his friend to his feet.
Mokoa spoke with an odd, breathy voice Kutkhay could hardly recognize. "Go on... warn the others."
"You need help..." His friend was slipping from his grasp and he fumbled to hold him precariously on his bent knee.
"No. I order you. Remember... my rank is... Go, Kutkhay!... You must..." and he collapsed further, tumbling the rest of the way to the ground.
Kutkhay heard the excited shouts of the men rushing up the mountainside from their village, and suddenly his legs were carrying him further up toward the crest. The going was every bit as steep as the terrain behind him, but the urgency of warning his people and his fear combined to shut off any feelings the strain in his leg muscles might have created by his speed and the climb. Every few steps he shouted out the danger signal again, until, as he dropped behind the peak he was able to hear his comrades somewhere responding. He continued running at top speed, maybe faster than he ever had before, in the direction of his home territory and his village. Even when he recognized the familiar homeland he didn't slow down. His lungs felt as if they would burst with the effort and he could feel his strength deserting him, but he pushed on, running for hours and hours.
He was in safe territory, almost home, when he came upon the cave where he had met Mokoa so many times in the past winter. He went inside and threw himself on the old mats, exhausted. He remained sprawled there a long time until he caught his breath and the pounding in his heart slowed. He hadn't seen another person the whole journey back, not even his own people. He didn't know if the others succeeded with their mission and didn't know if they escaped. He didn't know if Mokoa was dead or only wounded. Did the enemy find him? Did they take him prisoner or did they kill him?
Mokoa's crying out echoed in his mind, haunting him. The sadness that filled his heart was heavy. Eventually he picked himself up and continued toward the village, no longer running but still at a fast pace. When he got there he saw that some were already back while others were still arriving. He went to his friend's wife and the mother and told them immediately what he knew of Mokoa's fate. They both broke down with a plaintive cry. Kutkhay sat in front of his own house, leaning his shoulders against the wall and closing his eyes. Their crying was irksome and he wished he could shut it out. He had more reason to cry than they but the tears wouldn't come.
The last of the men eventually returned. The hunt itself had gone fairly well but another man besides Mokoa also never returned. Three of the tribe had come upon four local hunters. There was a skirmish and the four were killed, their prey seized; but one of their own lay dead on that field, too. Two men's lives in exchange for eleven elk. It was cause for subdued celebration, despite the losses. The enterprise had lasted three days.
Kutkhay wasn't blamed or held responsible for not having assisted his friend. Everybody knew the first duty was to give the alarm and would have done exactly the same thing. His signals were heard and was certainly the reason greater losses were avoided. All the same, the boy felt he was responsible for losing his friend forever.
The meat, and the skins and bones, were apportioned throughout the village. When Kutkhay received a shinbone he cut a small piece from it to carve into a whistle. He hung it from his neck with his herbal talisman. Secretly he named the whistle "Lover." Since it was assumed his friend was now dead, it was forbidden for anyone ever to speak his name again until a newborn at some future time had it conferred on him. Mokoa's wife became his brother's wife, as was the custom, and life continued almost as if nothing had happened, except for the mourning of the two lost men's relatives. Kutkhay secretly also performed the mourning rites, even while in his heart he continued to hope Mokoa was taken alive and kept as a slave. But for all intents and purposes, in his village he was indeed dead. This cleared up for him the mystery of one of the customs, why the slaves didn't usually escape. They would no longer be welcome among their own people once they had been mourned as dead.
The days passed. Kutkhay was terribly lonely, and he had taken to carrying out his conjugal duties with his wife less frequently. One day she even asked to him how she had offended him, or whether by chance Kutkhay had grown tired of her. He tried to reassure her and for a time made sure to have intercourse with her more often. But still, on every occasion he'd recall his Mokoa, and how wonderful, how intimate the act of love with him was. He could still remember every detail of that beautiful body he knew so well, and each time the result was a sorrow so heavy he was nearly overwhelmed by it. He immersed himself in his work, in the toil of it. At least this allowed him a reprieve from his thoughts. It also contributed to the strengthening and further development of his body. Nobody called him "Wrong-one" anymore. In fact, these days he was respected and admired pretty much by everybody. The only part of his life that gave him any respite from his grief and misery, though, were the lessons he continued to receive from the shaman.
He was working with his father cutting planks from a tree one afternoon when a commotion could be heard back at the village. At first Kutkhay thought it might be a surprise attack in retaliation for his people's incursion of their neighbor's domain. He and his father stealthily approached, expecting to have to defend their home. Kutkhay often wondered whether this would happen and hoped with all his heart that this was it, not only to get his revenge, but also because by dying in battle he would reunite with his Mokoa in the spirit's world.
But as they approached the village it was obvious something else entirely was happening. A ship, a white man's ship, was coming towards their bay, and everyone was already at the shore. This all too infrequent event was always cause for wild anticipation. His father heaved a sigh of relief that there was no danger and went back to retrieve the tools they left under the tree. Kutkhay was already halfway to the shore, flying at breakneck speed. His dream had come true! Now he could speak to these mysterious men in their own language, he'd learn about the fascinating world from which they came.
At the seashore he plunged into the crowd, joyfully sharing his excitement with his people. Even through the voices, he heard the sound of the ship's anchor dropping and turned in time to see it hit the water as a hive of activity was taking place on board. Perhaps his tribe was greatly excited, but not more than the boy. Finally his father's people were back, men whose blood flowed in his own veins. These were likely his family, he thought, his brothers. Someone among them might even know his father, might know where to find him. Why, among these very men might stand his true father! He'd always thought the man must be very handsome to have entranced his mother into forgetting she had a husband, and to surrender herself to him several times. In his observation and experience women were always loyal to their husbands and he knew his mother really loved hers. Yes, he must have been irresistible, his father James...
The small boats were lowering to the surface and Kutkhay noticed right away that these men were not dressed all alike, but in many different colors and sorts, and that few of them carried the shining thunder-sticks. Nor was there a chief in glittering buttons and impressive headdress with white feathers. And in looking more carefully he came to the slow realization that this ship was not the same one. This one was much wider, and taller. More disconcerting, it logically followed that there must be many more of these great boats, and maybe each one was of a different tribe. Then how would he know which would be of his father's tribe. But then he shook his head as if to clear it, and breathed a little easier. He knew that every tribe he was aware of speaks a different language, so if he could understand the words a man spoke, it would have to be a man of James' tribe. He watched the small boats come closer and his anticipation and anxiety quickly returned stronger than ever.
The first boat was beached and its occupants waded knee-deep up to the dry sand. When one of the strangers said the first words, "Peace! Peace! We come in peace," Kutkhay almost jumped in the air. He recognized those words!
The shaman answered, "Peace, men," and gestured with his hands.
The man asked, "Do you understand my language?"
"Yes, me understand you language."
The second boat had just landed and Kutkhay eagerly walked up to the first man of this party and said, bursting with pride, beaming, "Me you language understand!"
The man looked back at him, his face suddenly brightening, then laughed, saying. "Well that's a lucky thing, lad, because I can't understand yours!" with a vigorous and friendly clapping of Kutkhay's shoulder.
"The man, James name, do you him man know?" Kutkhay blurted. He could hardly contain himself and held his breath.
"James? We have at least six James's on board. What is the surname of your James?"
"Sur-name?" Kutkhay asked. He didn't know that word.
The man patiently explained and in just a few moments Kutkhay understood that James was only half of a man's name. That was kind of confusing, but he nevertheless realized that it meant it was going to be more difficult to find his father without knowing the other half. Anyway, they were from his true father's tribe -- the language was the same!