
That was why he teamed up with Woodpecker and Alligator to make their first genuine war-party raid. They had of
course indulged in many mock raids; virtually the whole of a male's youth consisted of just such games. First they had
learned to hunt the simplest creatures, bringing down squirrels with their small arrows, and worked their way over the
years up to deer. Then they had approached the most difficult prey: man. They matched clan against clan, and
threatened each other fiercely, but never seriously, for the clans were all parts of the great tribe of the Toco. They
believed they were ready, and they were certainly eager. They had gone to Chief Slay-Bear for permission, and it had
been granted.
For this the clans united, and the respect they had learned for each other in the mock contests could be acknowledged
in this real one. For courtesy, and the sharing of a taste of adult honor, they referred to each other by their clan names.
Thus Woodpecker, rather than the child-name that would soon be lost, and Alligator, and Eagle rather than Hotfoot.
This gave them each a sense of importance and responsibility, for it was not merely themselves they represented, but
the honor of their clans. The youths of the other clans, the Rattlesnake, Tortoise, Deer, Bear, and Panther, would be
envious of the honor these three won this day. Hotfoot's father was a Rattlesnake, but he would not begrudge the
Eagle Clan this day, though in any tribal function he would support his own. A person's clan was determined by that
of the mother, and no one could marry into his own clan, for all were brothers and sisters in name. Thus every father
had to watch the success of his son without applause, but with secret pride.
Now they were crossing the Little Big River in their canoe, to Cale territory. It would have been extremely bad form to
raid an affiliated village, but the river was the cultural and political boundary between tribes. The Cale were suitable
enemies; they spoke a different tongue, used different pottery, and made similar raids into Toco territory. Therefore it
was only fitting that prior grievances be redressed. He was not on business now, as a messenger, so had no
protection from assault, and no need to honor any truce.
They had prepared with suitable ceremony, performing the Preparation Dance, enduring an overnight vigil, drinking
and vomiting the White Drink to purify themselves, fasting, and accepting the painful ritual scratching on their
forearms and calves without flinching. But that was merely the preparation; manhood came only with verified heroism
in war. They would serve as witnesses for each other, and were bound to tell the truth; to do otherwise was to risk
correction by the spirits, and bring shame not only on them, but on their families for rearing them, and on their clans,
and on their village, and on their tribe. To deceive an enemy was a great feat, but to deceive a friend was evil.
Now they were dressed in their loincloths with leggings to enable them to get through the thorny brush, and armed
with bows, arrows, and knives. Spears were too long and clumsy to carry on a secret raid; if they could not strike at
arrow distance, or defend themselves with their knives, then they were not fit to be warriors. They had made their
bows themselves, finding the best saplings, molding them in the hot ashes of a fire, carving them carefully and
stringing them with deer tendons, and had cut their own arrows similarly. They had good knives, their stone blades
chipped from the quarry to the west and bound to secure wood handles. But Hotfoot hoped he would not have to use
his knife, because that would mean he was within reach of an enemy warrior's knife, and he could be stabbed and die
even if he managed to kill the man. He hoped that this thought did not make him a coward. The priest had told them
that fear was natural, but that a warrior did not yield to it. So now his fear was not so much of getting hurt or killed,
but of yielding to fear itself and disqualifying himself as a warrior. Humiliation was worse than death: as a child he had
doubted, but now he knew.
Hotfoot had the lead paddle, and Alligator the rear; both stroked swiftly and silently as Woodpecker knelt in the
center, bow ready, watching for enemies. If they were careless they might be attacked before they had a chance to
strike, or the enemy might wait and steal their dugout canoe, so that when they returned they would be stranded.
Either would be disaster. Their objective was to come upon the enemy unobserved, strike, and escape unscathed,
leaving behind only the Toco arrows they used. Those arrows would make clear what tribe had inflicted this
devastation on the Cale, completing the honor for the raiders and the dishonor for the victims.
Hotfoot had been nervous during the vigil, and probably would not have been hungry even if he were not fasting. So
many things could go wrong! But as he started out on the mission he felt only excitement. Now his mood was level
and grim: he intended to accomplish his heroism no matter what the cost, and be a man at last. He knew his
companions felt the same.
They had justification, of course. The Cale had severely wounded an elder tribesman of Atafi half a moon before, and
gotten away cleanly. Retribution was required, and the three of them had volunteered to achieve it. To their surprise,
this mission had been granted. Perhaps it was because most of the men were currently hunting deer, to get a supply of
flesh for drying and smoking. More likely it was because the elders judged it was time for these boys to become men.
The crossing was uneventful. No enemy spied them. Hotfoot had not entirely trusted Woodpecker's alertness; he had
peered closely at the riverbank between paddle strokes, verifying it. He had glanced into the dawn sky too, to make
sure no bird of prey passed over them; that would have been a sure signal of mischief, unless it was an eagle. But all