Chapter 4: Tribeswomen

The slap across her face seemed to echo across the camp.

Or maybe she imagined that, because no one came running to investigate the sound. She could already feel the heat rushing to her cheek, and she was sure she’d have another welt to pretend didn’t exist tomorrow. Amazingly, the pain didn’t really register. Mostly, she was glad that it was just a slap. A slap usually arrived without company. The nights that started with a fist are the ones she had nightmares about.

If she trusted herself to think in situations like this, she would contemplate how quickly one could adjust to a situation, and how easily she considered an unprompted slap to be getting off easy.

Instead, Neta focused all her concentration on staying perfectly still and quiet. Experience—even just a few days—had taught her that anything else just prolonged the abuse. Nobu was going to vent his anger, and nothing she could do would change that, or at least avoid it; there was plenty she could do to aggravate it.

Tonight’s transgression was the fact that Neta didn’t have dinner ready when Nobu came home from his hunt. The fact that Nobu had come home almost two hours early made no difference. Actually, a hunt cut short meant either very good things or very bad things. Nobu had come home without any large game, so safe money was on the hunt going very badly. In that case, Nobu’s early arrival may have a lot to do with his mood, if not the state of dinner.

It didn’t matter what she cooked; Nobu complained about the taste, the tenderness, or the smell, so Neta was in the new habit of starting dinner sinfully early and simply letting the food wither over the fire until Nobu decided it was time to eat. That usually gave her a window of a few hours, but today was unexpected, even for Nobu’s impulsiveness.

As the Chief’s daughter and only child, Neta’s wedding had been long anticipated. Young men had been propositioning her father for years in the hope that it would win them favor with the leader. Some suitors had traveled from tribes as much as four days away, and the offered bride prices had almost set records. Some of the prospective husbands would have been in debt for years before paying their promises off.

However, Chief Kolto was considered a weak leader, which, among other things, meant that he put the wishes of his tribe members above political maneuvering. So Kolto had considered Neta’s wishes when considering her betrothal. Or, in reality, he had listened to his wife’s less-than-subtle hints on the matter. Most of those suitors were politely entertained and then just as politely sent on their way. Most of them, with the exception of Bargo.

Bargo and Neta had known each other for as long as they could remember. That wasn’t unique with a tribe as small and close-knit as the Riverpeople, but they were friendlier than most. Along with Khea, the three were known to purposefully push every boundary and gleefully bend every rule. It was rare when one of them wasn’t being chastised. Scandalously, the three were also more than willing to ignore social taboos; Bargo could be found cooking as often as Neta or Khea could be found hunting.

As children, it was simply friendship that kept them together. But as they grew up, so did their relationship. A regular topic of gossip amongst the tribespeople was which one Bargo would woo when he came of age. Some even whispered that he would have neither, as Khea and Neta would choose each other and live together in spinsterhood. So, no one was overly surprised when Bargo made his own petition for Neta’s hand. While more than a few egos were bruised, the Chief’s approval was considered just as inevitable.

Bargo’s humble bride price would have raised some eyebrows if it had become public, but the Chief had the privilege of keeping the agreement confidential. Besides, Kolto knew better than to risk the years of dirty looks, cold beds, and overcooked food from his wife—even if he hadn’t welcomed the match himself.

The tribe took any excuse to have a party, and the Bargo-Neta wedding was no exception.

Neta had three whole days of wedded bliss before her nightmare began.

Despite being an industrious and productive member of the tribe, Bargo was a middling hunter. He kept Neta’s pot filled, but they rarely had enough left over. What extra they did have was always given away to the widows and orphans. Hunters like Nobu took great pains to parade their large kills through the center of the camp, making a point to leave a large portion for the Chief in front of as many people as possible. Oddly, that parade often required Nobu to walk right in front of Bargo’s tent, and Nobu’s kill always seemed to compare favorably, and audibly, to whatever was on Neta’s fire.

So, while he wasn’t looking forward to it, Bargo couldn’t refuse an invitation from Nobu to hunt together.

That evening, Nobu and Bargo arrived back at the camp bloody and broken. Both were covered with claw wounds and dripping blood. Nobu had to drag an unconscious Bargo behind him and collapsed almost as soon as they reached the main fire. Nobu told the story of a surprise attack by a large cat, a vicious fight, and barely escaping with their lives. The dead cat was forgotten as Nobu made the heroic effort to bring Bargo back to the camp for the healer’s care. Despite Nobu’s lauded labors and the healer’s vigil, Bargo did not survive the night.

In less than 48 hours, Neta had gone from the envied daughter of a chief to a poor, outcast widow.

A week later, after Nobu had made a speedy recovery, he made his bid to take the recently widowed Neta as his wife. Despite Neta’s protests, her father couldn’t surmount Nobu’s status in the tribe, especially given his recent heroism, the backing of most of the hunters, and Neta’s diminished position.