God, how I prayed this guy wasn’t one of those kooks … because he had an arrow pointed at my heart and his fingers looked like they were itching to let it fly.
“This is Miccosukee land. You’re trespassing. We don’t want you here.”
I don’t know what possessed me to speak, but once the words were out it was too late and useless to regret them. “Not anymore it’s not.”
He sneered at me. “We claim all of the Kahayatle for our own. You think you can take it away from us?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Kaha-what? Who’s us? I don’t know what the hell you just said, but all I see standing here is you.”
“Then you see like all the other white men who came before you. Not very well.”
My hackles rose and my eyes darted around, looking for others. I couldn’t see anyone but the guy in front of me, so I figured he was bluffing. I took one step forward, working to adjust my footing so I was better-balanced and in a position to immobilize him, should he decide to get frisky. He didn’t move, so we were just two feet away from each other now.
He lifted his bow a little bit higher and pulled the arrow back farther. “Don’t move or I will kill you.” He was aiming for a face shot now.
“Not today, you won’t,” I said softly. A split second later I slashed my arm out towards him, knocking his bow to the side, while simultaneously leaning over to protect myself from any flying arrows. His now un-notched weapon, loosened by my fist’s impact, fell to the ground and wedged its lethal end in the roots at our feet.
I heard the slick, deadly soft sound of a knife leaving its sheath and quickly brought my other forearm across in a flattened arch, connecting with his wrist with enough force to send the weapon flying from his hand. I caught a quick flash of it out of the corner of my eye, noticing that its blade was a nasty one, meant for skinning animals and sawing through tendon and bone. A spasm of relief that I hadn’t been gutted by that thing skittered across my brain as I continued to exercise the well-practiced motions I had often used to bring a man who out-weighed me by fifty pounds down to my level on the practice mat.
I swept my foot low and backwards, taking him out by the ankles, ending the move by slamming myself down on top of him with one foot at his throat. I leaned back, grabbing his leg and pulling it up to keep him from hooking me with it. I could feel his body tense up beneath me, as he got ready to try and throw me off.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” I warned. I pushed my foot up into his chin harder, making it painfully clear that my intentions were serious and that my final move would be even worse for him than my earlier ones had already been.
“Fine!” he grunted out through gritted teeth. “I give.”
Buster got loose from Peter’s arms and ran over to start licking the guy’s face, taking a few precious seconds in between licks to bark at all of us in excitement.
I ignored the rest of the dog’s performance and looked up briefly at Bodo who was standing there and staring at us on the ground, as if in a trance.
“Check him for weapons, Bodo.” I waited for him to obey, not moving my foot an inch.
Bodo came over and bent down, touching the guy’s body all over and pulling out another small knife from a strap around his ankle, hidden under his pants.
“I can’t check da back of him. You haff to get off.”
I grabbed onto Bodo’s forearm and pulled myself up, hopping on one foot a couple times until I could get my other one under me. I reached down and grabbed the indian kid by his vest, hauling him roughly to his feet and spinning him around once he was upright. He lifted his arm up and I tensed, ready to take him down again, until I realized he was just wiping the dog slobber off his face.
“Check him now,” I said, angrily, pissed that this guy had made me do this to him. It just felt wrong to take out an indian on his own land like that. I hadn’t really meant it earlier when I’d said it wasn’t his. Who the hell am I to decide whose land is whose?
“He’s got nothing.”
I turned him around and released him, stepping back to give him some space. I saw him look on the ground towards his fallen bow.
“Don’t even think about it, Mikko.”
His head jerked back up. “What’d you call me?”
“Mikko. Miccosukee, right?”
His eyes narrowed at me.
I raised an eyebrow at him in challenge.
“My name isn’t Mikko. It’s Yokci.”
“What does it mean?” asked Peter, stepping up to stand beside me.
“None of your business,” he said, now a proud, stubborn look on his face.
“I think it means loner,” I said.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Bald guy?”
“No.” The tiniest flicker of amusement appeared at the corner of his mouth, and then was quickly replaced with a scowl.
“Swamp thing.”
He sighed, looking wistfully at his bow again. “Close.”
“Your name means Swamp Thing?” I asked, not believing I had actually guessed it.
“No. If you must know, it means turtle.”
I tried not to laugh but it was really, really hard. No one said anything. It was totally quiet for a few seconds until I lost it and snorted, no longer able to hold in my mirth. I held up my hand, saying, “I’m sorry. That’s so bad of me to laugh, I know.”
“She has a problem,” said Peter. “We’re working on it with her.”
“He wass pretty slow, dough, wasn’t he? Just like a turtle,” said Bodo, “Bryn took him down in less dan ten seconds. It wass pretty cool, actually.”
The guy frowned. “That depends on your perspective.”
“Says the turtle,” I quipped.
He glared at me.
I decided to appease him by sharing some of my more positive thoughts. “Love the tattoos.”
He glanced down at his arms without expression. “Thanks.”
“Do they mean anything?” asked Peter, staring a little too hard at Yokci’s chest which was plainly visible through the opening in his undone vest. The body art was pretty cool and the body they were on wasn’t bad either. Peter looked like he was going to start salivating any second.
“Yes.” He didn’t volunteer anything else and still remained totally passive, making me wonder if they taught that whole indian-brave-of-few-words-thing in the cradle.
“So what are we going to do now?” asked Bodo, once he realized that Yokci wasn’t going to elaborate.
“Yokci, we’re from up north of here … Orlando area. We’re looking for a new place to live, out of the way of … other people,” I said. “This place looks pretty cool.” I gestured towards the hut. “Is is free?” It didn’t look like it was being used, but that was probably the beauty of it. Maybe the area behind it was full of painted warriors with arrows pointed at us. I liked the idea of being able to surprise unsuspecting canners who stupidly came looking for their next meal in the Kaha-whatever-whatever that Yokci had called this place.
“That is a ceremonial lodge that we use … or used to use sometimes. It’s empty now, but you can’t have it.”
“Why not?” asked Peter, putting his hands on his hips. Even he was starting to sound feisty now.
“Because, we plan to use it for rituals. Once we have our … situation figured out.”
“What situation?” asked Bodo.
“Tribe business.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. If we want the place, we’ll take it; it’s as simple as that. Give me a better reason why I shouldn’t want it, Yokci. Otherwise, I’m gonna go stick my flag in it or whatever.” When I said it, I was picturing Neil Armstrong on the moon. I didn’t even have a flag, nor did I know what my flag would look like, if I were to design a new one. Maybe a giant ‘Canner’ with a circle around it and a line drawn through the middle? I didn’t think Bodo’s bright orange bicycle flag would make the statement I was going for.
“You don’t want this place for lots of reasons. Mainly, though, because there are better ones elsewhere.” He ran his hands across his bald head, rubbing it back and forth a few times. There was still a tuft of hair on the back part, which was tied in several places like a ponytail, kind of. It hung down to a spot just above his shoulder blades. I had to admit - it totally went with the badass indian warrior thing he had going on. Too bad his fighting skills sucked so bad.
“Where?” asked Peter. I could practically read his mind - he was hoping he didn’t have to do too much more paddling with me behind him jerking his canoe all over the place.
Yokci turned and gestured towards where our canoes were sitting. “Continue on that waterway where you were going, take the next two splits to the left, and you’ll find it.”
“Why shouldt we belief you?” asked Bodo.
“Because he’s going to go with us and show us personally, aren’t you, Turtle?”
“No,” he said, all offended now.
“Yeah. You are. And I’m going to have your pretty knife at your back the whole time too, while you paddle my canoe.” I bent over and pulled it out of the roots where it had landed, wiping it off on my pants and slapping the flat of its blade in my hand. The thing was seriously heavy.
Peter looked at me and nodded his head. “Nicely done, Bryn … getting the escort to do all the work.”
I shrugged. “Just want to be sure he’s not going to lead us into a trap, is all.”
“It’s not a trap. And if you try to take me with you, you’ll be captured and either killed or sent out of the Kahayatle with nothing.”
“He means Everglades,” said Peter.
“I know what he means,” I said, a challenge now in my voice. “I think he’s full of crap. He’s the only one here and he’s just trying to intimidate us.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Think what you want, but consider yourself warned.”
“Why haven’t dey come to rescue you? Where are all dese friendts of yourss when Bryn wass taking you down?”
“Good question,” said Yokci, before letting out an earsplitting whistle that almost sounded like a bird.
Several answering calls came from out in the swamp. At least four of them that I could make out.
“Shit, he wasn’t kidding, Bryn,” whined Peter, tiptoeing over to stand right next to me. He grabbed onto my arm, but I shook him off. I couldn’t have him hanging on me if I was going to have to make some moves on this guy again, otherwise, both of us would end up getting hurt.
Bodo spun around and looked out into the trees. “I don’t see anything.”
“I do,” I said, looking out behind Yokci. Coming out from the far side of a big tree was another indian kid. This one was bigger and also tattooed all over his bare arms and chest with a bald head and a topknot ponytail thing. He even had a tattoo on his cheek. It was one black stripe, going from below his eye to his jawbone. He moved over the lumpy tangle of roots without looking down and without faltering. He looked graceful and dangerous.
“Nice of you to show up,” said Yokci sarcastically to the tribesman coming up to stand beside him.
The guy held his hand out as if to shake mine. His bow and arrows stayed on his back, but I just stood there and stared at his hand. He looked down at it and up at me, raising an eyebrow, as if daring me to take it.
I slapped my hand into it, squeezing it hard, making sure he knew I was not to be messed with. He stared me dead in the eye the whole time, and I was pretty sure he knew that letting me touch him like this was a risky proposition for him.
“Kowi,” he said.
“What does that mean? Hello?”
“No. Hello is ‘chehuntamo’. Kowi is my name.”
