The Cache Read Free

youth. He held out a book bound in Mek leather. “Place your right hand upon it and swear upon it that you will obey the Council.”
    Benoni hesitated a moment. The full moon, which had just come over the faraway Supstishn (Superstition) Mountains, showed him gritting his teeth.
    “Come on, son,” said Chonz. “I ain’t got all night. Besides, you know the Council won’t do anything but what’s good for you.”
    “Can’t I even see her once before I go?” said Benoni.
    “Not unless you go to her house,” said Chonz. “Her father is making her stay at home. Old man Awvrez is mad. He says you and Joel have shamed her by bandying her name in a public place. If it wasn’t so close to initiation, he’d horsewhip both of you.”
    “That is a lie!” cried Benoni. “Why, I never once mentioned her name! It was Joel Vahndert! It’s not fair!”
    Sullenly, Benoni placed his hand on the book. He said, “I swear by The Found—and The Lost—Testaments to obey the will of the Council as charged in this matter.”
    “That’s a good boy,” said Chonz. “Good luck to you on your first warpath. God be with you.”
    “With you,” said Benoni. He watched the tall lean Announcer ride away, then he rode Red Hawk back to the stable. After unsaddling the horse, he did not return to the house. He wanted his fury to die out first. Instead, it became stronger, fed by images of Debra and Joel. After elaborating various forms of exotic punishment for Vahndert, if Vahndert ever got into his power, he felt somewhat better. Then, he went back into the house and explained what had happened. To his relief, he was not kidded. His father and brothers-in-law did speculate on the chance of bad blood between the Riders and Vahnderts, and they talked with gory detail of some honor-battles that had taken place between Fiiniks frats in the remote and recent past.
    Until now, the elders of both families had been on good terms. They went to the same church. They lived not more than five blocks apart. The heads of both often had amicable and mutually profitable business.
    “If Peter Vahndert belonged to our frat,” said Mr. Rider, “we could submit the dispute to the Inner Lodge. But the Vahnderts don’t, so that way is out. However, nothing will happen to cause us to draw our swords until after the boys come back. Then, God alone knows. That Joel is a loudmouth; he’s been nothing but a trouble maker since he was a child. Give the child of Seytuh his due, though, he throws a mighty javelin.”
    The men began to heap abuse on Joel. Benoni did not join them. It would not have been correct for him to do so when others present were. Besides, he did not want to think of the lout. He wanted to think about Debra. After a decent interval, he excused himself and went upstairs to his room. Here, he soaked some clothes in water and hung them over the window in the hope the breeze would be cool enough for him to sleep. After an hour or more of tossing and turning and futile efforts to get Debra out of his mind, he fell asleep.
    Benoni dreamed that he had been captured by the Navahos. They were about to pour a great kettle of scalding hot water over him before inflicting more localized injuries. To give him an idea of what the entire kettle would be like, they were letting a few drops of the skin-burning water drip on him. By doing this, they also hoped to unnerve him and make him beg for mercy.
    He swore to himself that he would act like a man, a true Fiinishan, and would make them admire him. After it was over, the Navahos would send a message to Fiiniks that the white youth, Benoni Rider, had died bravely, and they would compose a song in his honor. Debra would hear of this. She would weep, but she would also be proud of him. And she would scorn Joel Vahndert when he came courting. She would call her father and brothers. They would drive him from the house with whips and dogs.
    Benoni woke to see his stepmother’s profile against the moonlit