The third woman, First-to-Dance, came up. She leaned and waited. The washers exchanged troubled glances. This woman had been a widow for only three moons. It was a little too soon for her to be at liberty. But the choice was not theirs to make. With slow, reluctant movements, they cleaned her face. If they were rougher than usual, to show their irritation, it didn’t provoke any complaint on her part. The onlookers murmured. Only time would tell whether they would tolerate her infraction, or ostracize her for it.
Minutes later, a villager started screaming. “The dead! The dead have returned from the sea! We are doomed!”
There was a mass exodus from the place of assembly, and all eyes were turned west. There, the men and women of the First Fleet were being disgorged, and the masts of more than a score of ships were dark against the morning sky.
The vessels used by the Indians of Central California were little rafts woven of tule reeds. A few had seen the plank canoes of the Chumash of the Santa Barbara Islands, farther south, but you might as well compare a minnow to a whale. The great ships of the First Fleet were beyond their experience.
One Indian pointed at the ships. “Those—those are the very islands of the dead, with dead trees standing upon them,” he urged, his voice quavering.
First-to-Dance’s expression was more curious than frightened. “They wear clothes that are nothing like ours, so how can they be our dead?” she asked.
“Who knows what the dead choose to wear, fool woman!” said one of her tribesmen.
The chief was anxious for the well-being of his people, and very conscious of their inability to fight so many strangers—be they living or undead. He welcomed the opportunity to act. “This is your fault, First-to-Dance! You dishonored the dead!” And he struck her senseless.
The Indians looked at each other, and voiced the thought that had come to all of them.
“Run!” They fled upriver, leaving First-to-Dance behind them.
* * *
“So how is our patient?” asked Date Masamune.
“Alive, at least. Her pupils are the same size, so she is not concussed. She will have an extremely picturesque bruise for several weeks, I am sure. She has been able to take water, and I am switching her to soup, soon. I think the brown seaweed will be the most efficacious, but—”
“But you can spare me the medical details, just do what you think best. And have me informed once she is speaking.”
* * *
First-to-Dance had been awake for several hours. As soon as she was awake enough to appreciate the alien character of the words spoken in her presence, she had schooled herself to remain still. When the voices receded, she had ever so slightly opened her eyes, hoping that her long eyelashes would hide them.
It was annoying not be able to move her head, but her only advantage right now was that her . . . rescuers? captors? . . . didn’t know that she was awake. Alone among enemies, she must be as brave as Duck Huck, the monster-killer, and as clever as Coyote his grandfather.
She couldn’t help but wonder whether they were in fact the Dead returned, as her fellow tribesmen had assumed. They certainly were not dressed like the People. At this time of year, Ohlone men would be naked, and women would just wear an apron, unless there was bad weather, or a ceremonial need for extra garments. Was it cold in the Land of the Dead? Well, cold breezes came off the sea, so perhaps that explained it.
One of the men spoke. Of course, she had no idea what he was saying, but the speaker made it clear that he knew she was feigning sleep: He put his forefingers on his own eyelids, and lifted them up.
First-to-Dance opened her eyes and tried to sit up. She immediately felt light-headed. The man was beside her in an instant and steadied her. He spoke again in his incomprehensible language.
First-to-Dance had no idea why she couldn’t understand him. Wouldn’t the Dead still remember the speech of the People? She didn’t resist, what was the point? Dead or alive, he was stronger than her, and she didn’t know where she was, how many friends he had, or where her tribesmen had fled.
They were in a hut of some kind, made of an unfamiliar wood. It didn’t seem to have any openings, but then he slid away a part of a wall and stepped out, beckoning to her to follow.
She blinked her eyes as they emerged into the daylight. They were on a high place, looking down at the bay. There were giant huts, with trees growing out of them, floating on the water.
So it was true! The Dead had returned!
With great daring, First-to-Dance asked, “Who were you in life? How long ago did you die? Why have you returned? Were our offerings too small?” In a smaller voice, she added, “Is my dead husband among you?”
The man spread his hands, bowed to her, and left the room.