The Cicada's Song

Set during the European conquest of the Americas, two Algonquian brothers return home to find their whole village wiped out from smallpox.

The hot summer sun pounded down on them like a bad headache. Ahani and his brother slumped over in the canoe, tired from the long hot journey, in need of fresh water and rest. the bounty of their trip sat in the front of the canoe, two plentiful baskets of caught fish. the reeds on the side of the river rustled with the soft summer breeze and the cicadas played their song for lack of a better past time. Ahani and his brother took turns rowing lethargically, each boy getting drowsier by the minute. they were barely men, sent on a fishing trip by their father to 'learn discipline and independence'. Ahani dipped his hand into the rushing river and reveled in the cold current. the little taste of cool made him want to take a nice long swim, arching his back in the water, feeling the current rushing around him in a hurry. but he couldn't, they were almost to the village. he sighed and lifted his hand out of the water, wiping it off on his mantel. they passed a giant oak tree and in the twisting branches he saw a small boy, knees scraggly and scraped, struggling to reach a higher branch. as he watched the boy lost his footing and tumbled down the tree, landing on the ground with his ankle oddly bent under him. Ahani felt the familiar shooting pains of memory in his right ankle and could still see the scar he gained from his favorite childhood spot. when he looked back downriver, his brother was asleep. they were almost to the village, Ahani could even see the fields now, but no one was in sight. he reached back to nudge his brother. "Maska, wake up." 

Maska's eyes snapped open and his spine shot straight up as he jolted awake, long hair greasy from perspiration falling into his face. 

"what is it? are we there?" 

"almost." 

the river continued to carry them along, Ahani and Maska steadily steering the boat closer to the left bank as the docks slowly came into sight.

 "strange, I thought Papa was going to greet us the day we got back."

 but the docks were strangely abandoned. not even the usual swimmer boys who would stand on the poles and shout and dive deep down to gather smooth river stones were to be seen. Maska hopped out the back and pushed the boat until it was aligned with the side of the dock, allowing Ahani to jump directly on to the dock with the rope and tie the canoe down. he then waded over to the grassy bank after making sure the boat was secure and pulled himself up. the trees on the bank shifted without a wind as he climbed, a warning; but Maska paid no mind. lanky and tall, his spindly limbs and awkward thin frame contradicted his birth name 'strong'. but he made up for it by being one of the best marksmen in their generation, and since Ahani was equally gifted with sharp tracking skills, the two made a great pair in the winter when prey was scarce. 

Ahani cautioned a little ways down the path from the docks to the cluster of houses and huts, growing wary as there was still no one in sight.

 "something isn't right." 

he hurriedly backtracked to the canoe and pulled his dagger from his rucksack out of habit. Maska followed suit and pulled his bow and quiver onto his shoulder. 

"what's wrong?" he asked, pulling out his quiver. "no one's around, and look at how the other canoes are tied; no one has been down the river in days. something has happened," Ahani said in a low voice.

"do you think the white men came?" 

they had heard tales of bands of white men, ruthless people in funny clothes with odd jewels who were clueless about living off of the land but liked to deceive the native people and plunder their towns, leaving scores of natives robbed and dead.

"possibly....it's hard to be sure. come on, let's look around." 

they slowly walked back down the path, treading lightly as they had been taught to do when hunting or using caution. Approaching the group of huts, there still wasn't a single person in sight, and the birds were shrieking from the trees warning, warning, warning. Ahani stopped when he rounded a corner and came upon an arm on the ground protruding from behind a hut. He gestured to Maska to follow, and braced his dagger to round the corner. what he came upon was gruesome. Adsila, the daughter of a farmer, was splayed out on the ground before them. It seemed she had fallen there, but her position was such that her marred beauty was displayed for all the world to recoil at. Her golden brown arms were covered in disgusting welts, oozing up her limbs and onto her face. The corner of her mouth was dotted with spittle and her doe's eyes were glazed over in agony. Ahani recoiled at the sight of her, nearly dropping his dagger and backing up against a wall. Maska was making muffled choking sounds with his hands over his mouth. 

"oh my god......Adsila."

 Maska and Adsila had planned to be wed when Maska came of age, and the sight of his would be sister in law splayed in pain before him made Ahani's stomach boil. Maska stepped forward and bent down, kneeling in the dirt and bringing his fingers at her neck.

"No, don't!" Ahani cried, and pulled Maska back against the wall.

"my Adsila....." Maska whispered, tears forming in his eyes. "we still don't know what happened here. it could be the white men's pox, I wouldn't touch her," Ahani rasped into Maska's ear. 

"come on, let's try to find Lonato." 

if there was one person who could make sense of all of this, it was their father. Ahani rounded the next corner and gently nudged open the door to the next hut. the room was dark and pungent with a horrible odor, and at first all Ahani could make out were 3 hunched shapes on the bed mats, but as his eyes adjusted he saw the gruesome details of the boils on their arms and faces. he gagged and pulled his kerchief up over his mouth and nose, backing out, horrified. when he was in the open air again, he collapsed in anguish.

"what has happened?"

 he clutched his head between his knees, blood rushing to his head. as he saw drops falling onto the ground below him he realized he was crying, and men don't cry, a line his father had told him over and over. 

"come on Ahani, you have to be strong. it's what Lonato wants."

 he slowly stood up again, filled with shaky courage, and grasped his dagger, gesturing to his brother who had been retching around the corner.

  "Maska. go to the elder hut and check on them. I'm going to find Lonato."

 Maska shook his head rapidly, greasy locks flying.

"don't leave me."

 Ahani rolled his eyes slightly and gestured for Maska to follow. sometimes he felt like the older brother, and not vice versa. the pair rounded the bends in the maze-like spaces between huts, and Ahani stopped in front of the familiar door to the elder's hut. with one hand he pulled his kerchief up again from his neck to cover his mouth and nose and with the other positioned the dagger to attack. in an apprehensive silence, he counted down to Maska on his fingers; three, two, one - and the boys burst into the elder's tent. the same rotting stench as before filled their airpipes, and as Maska gagged Ahani looked around him. two of the elders were in their beds, one on their side and the other on his stomach, exposing the back of his neck and showcasing the welts residing there. a third elder was slumped on the ground leaning against a woven bin; Ahani recognized the woven pattern as that of his mother's. this was his grandfather, Rowtag. he picked up the wooden staff leaning against the wall and carefully used it to turn Rowtag's head to face his. his grandfather's mouth fell open in a pleading manner, frantic eyes and cheeks swollen with welts and boils making for a horrific sight. the sound of Ahani's heart filled the deadly quiet hut, and he was sure the earth would break with the horrible pounding of it, with his terror. something had come to their village in the 8 days they had been gone and killed under their noses, swift as a fox breaking a rabbit's neck in the dead of night, deforming everyone they had known since birth. Ahani's legs shook and he promptly turned and ran, forgetting his brother, forgetting his grandfather and his sister in law to be. he had to find Lonato, his father would have all the answers. his father who had raised him since their mother died in childbirth, the wisest man he had ever known and his mentor in all things. he would have the answers. he ran and ran and ran until he reached the very edge of the border of their village, where they buried the dead; but Ahani didn't notice and didn't slow down until he was abruptly stopped by an unseen obstacle catching his foot, and faceplanted. his whole body hit with the force of impact, he slowly lifted his face out of the dry dirt and spit the gritty grains out of his mouth. the soil was looser than most of the beaten paths between the houses, so he must have reached - Ahani jolted up and took several steps back. the grave sites. he had fallen right into a burial mound decorated with the beaded feathers of the chief. Ahani put his hands to his mouth and dropped to his knees, whispering the gods a word of apology. if the chief had died, then there was no way the town would ever go back to normal. his wife had been expecting child, but without her husband, her child would never have viable claim to the position when he grew up. Ahani suddenly became aware of a cold object digging into his right shin. he slowly turned, following the shovel with his eyes up to a wrinkled, weathered old hand. the hand connected to an arm which connected to a splayed body, and a sense of dread filled Ahani's stomach as he subconsciously recognized those clothes. he crawled over to the shovel on his knees, to the hand and the arm and its owner. the arm belonged to a man face down, salt and pepper black hair a tangled crown on his head. a few sores peeked out of the bottom of his sleeve, telling Ahani he had suffered the same tell-tale fate as the rest of the village. the pit in his stomach deepened when his eyes made it up to the man's overturned face. forgetting caution he bent over, short of breath, and gently turned over the man's head. the wrinkled lines he had memorized long ago and the defiant expression confirmed to him who it was. his Lonato, his papa, was on the ground at the gravesite. his eyes were closed, as if some spirit had come along before him to save Ahani the pain of seeing his father's eyes reflecting his agony. 

"No," he whispered, voice hoarse as if he had been shouting for hours. 

"Lonato. wake up. Maska and I are here."

 he shook his father's shoulder, carefully, then forcefully as the panic in him rose.

"Lonato, wake up. it's me. wake up."

 teardrops began to dot Lonato's weathered face and Ahani broke into a sob, shaking his father with all he had in him. suddenly Lonato's eyes snapped open. they were glazed and crusted with old tears of pain, and could barely register the boy in front of them. 

"Lonato, father," Ahani whispered, overjoyed and brimming with tears. Lonato was silent as his eyes took everything in, then widened in alarm. his mouth opened, moving up and down as if it had forgotten how to make words. finally a great rumbling started in his throat and he choked out a few mangled words: 

"run. get away from here as fast as you can."

 Ahani stood and backed away rapidly. he knew he had to take Lonato's word. 

"Kuwumaras," Ahani whispered, and then turned and ran with all his might. the birds were singing, panicking for him, screaming go go go. he halted to a stop when he passed by the alley where they found Adsila, where Maska was now seated against the wall crying silently. "Maska. we have to go." 

Maska nodded in silent agreement, accepting the offered hand pulling him up, and the two ran. ran ran ran back through the maze of huts, down the beaten path, onto the docks where Maska waded out to the canoe in the water and Ahani quickly untied the rope and stepped in. together they pushed the boat back out the way they had come, past the fields, past the tree he used to play in and back out into the open river. Maska was silent as he climbed back into the canoe. Ahani didn't need to look to know his brother was grieving the same way he was, quietly grieving for everyone they had ever known. the wind rustled the reeds and Ahani was silent, thinking not about immersing himself in the cool river water or eating freshly caught fish, but of his dead father and the horrible boils on his flesh. he thought of what would come next, where they would go; they would have to seek shelter in a neighboring town, if that town wasn't already dead. he thought about how he would never sleep again, because when he closed his eyes he could see his fathers glazed pupils, his grandfather's mouth falling open in a silent plea. he knew he should have listened to the cicada's song, who had sung louder than ever this summer in an unheralded warning. they sang at them now from the river reeds, taunting their blissful ignorance as the two brothers sailed back down the river. 

Author's Note

This is my first time publishing on here, I had the idea for this story after I saw a scene of a canoe in a river in an inkblot painting for my psyche class. it is also written from my knowledge of smallpox, the conquest of the Americas, and draws on the book Blood on the River. Open to critique anytime.