Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(71)

“Of course.”

As we approach the village, I expect a loose cluster of buildings, like the First Settlement. Instead, there are a few small outbuildings clustered around two large ones that remind me of Indigenous longhouses.

“Communal living,” I murmur. I think I’ve said it low enough, but Tomas hears and smiles.

“Yes. It’s more economical for heating and food. Everyone works together, whether it’s cooking or child-rearing.” He glances to the side and his smile grows. “Speaking of child-rearing…”

A little girl, maybe five or six, comes racing over and throws herself into Tomas’s arms. He swoops her up and swings her about as she squeals. I notice a boy a year or two older eyeing us. Tomas waves him over.

“These are my children,” he says. “Becky and Miles.”

“Eric,” Dalton says. He shakes the boy’s hand. The girl just giggles, but when I introduce myself, she shakes mine. They aren’t really interested in us, though. Both pairs of eyes are fixed on our furry companion. I introduce Storm and have her sit while the children pet her.

“Can you guys do me a favor?” Tomas asks. “Your mom is busy right now, so I’d like you to stay with us. We’re going to speak to the elders.”

“And if you can keep Storm company while we do that, we’d appreciate it,” I say. Then to Tomas, I add, “She’s very well trained, and we’ll be close by.”

He nods and charges the children with “watching” the dog, which really means just walking along beside her and petting her while we all enter the first longhouse.

A campfire within is the main source of light, and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. As I look around, I remember once going to a park with re-created Iroquois longhouses. That really is what this reminds me of. Down the center is a workspace, where women sew and children play and men whittle. Bunks line the walls, three high. Drying herbs and vegetables hang from the ceiling.

At the back sits a group that I’m guessing are the “elders,” since they’re talking, rather than working. The eldest is in her sixties. That makes sense, given that the Second Settlement launched in the seventies.

At the First Settlement, we’re always met with a combination of curiosity and hostility, emphasis on the latter. It’s saber-rattling. They want us to know how strong they are, how well defended. A pissing match that we must engage in, or we’re the submissive wolf rolling over to show our unprotected belly.

In the Second Settlement, we get curiosity tempered by caution. While Tomas’s daughter ran out to see us, her brother held back, and that’s what many of the adults do. They withdraw, physically and emotionally, stepping backward to let us pass, their faces blank. Even in their caution, though, there is politeness rather than aggression. You are welcome enough here, but please don’t stay long.

Others are more like Tomas and his daughter, the friendliness outweighing any reserve. They smile, and they nod as we pass, and I do the same in return. Storm’s presence lures a few of the children closer, especially when they see Tomas’s kids petting her. I get her to sit a few feet from where the elders wait, and the children surge in, with adults supervising.

There is another thing I notice as we walk. Signs of … well, the words I consider and reject are “religion,” “faith,” “ritual,” “belief.” It’s not as if I’m seeing crucifixes or dharma wheels or anything I recognize, yet my brain still identifies them as signs of a ritualized faith. There is what appears to be an altar built of stones and filled with dried grasses that add a sweet, pleasant scent to the campfire smoke. Other stones line the walls, each carved with an unfamiliar symbol. I see ones that look like stylized versions of wind and rain and snow. I also spot animal carvings, too many to be mere toys. And the sleeping berths bear more carvings, some symbols and some animals.

I struggle not to draw conclusions from what I’m seeing. Take in the data and store it for processing once I have more information.

I don’t get more information on this by speaking to the elders. Well, I do … and I don’t. It’s not as if they extend a ritual greet ing or ask that we all bow our heads in prayer before we speak. But there is a calm here that reminds me of a church, a hush and a peaceful contentment, and a reverence in the way Tomas addresses the elders. I may not see religion and ritual, but I feel it.

The conversation itself is a ritual I know very well. We have been presented to the leader—Myra—and she welcomes us, and we extend our greetings and explain our purpose. She expresses sadness at our news, gratitude for our attempts to find this woman’s people, and promises of cooperation. It’s like when I’d dealt with crimes involving an organization of any kind, social or political or business. “Yes, this is a terrible crime, and of course, we’re here for anything the police need to solve it.” Honest intent or empty promises? That’s always the question, and if I was to hazard a guess, based on my experiences, I’d say that the Second Settlement isn’t going to actively block my investigation, but they’re not going out of their way to help it either. Ellen isn’t theirs, and since she’d been shot—and they forbid guns—her death isn’t theirs either.

The meeting lasts about fifteen minutes, and it’s nothing more than a formal exchange of information and promises. As we leave the longhouse, the women at the cooking pit press food into our hands, fresh stew in beautifully carved wooden bowls and hunks of warm bread. They give some to Tomas, too, for himself and his wife, and we all thank them as we depart.