Child of the Dead (12 page)

It would be very hard to travel now. The beauty of the tallgrass prairie and its man-high grasses was overshadowed by its problems just now. At this season, it was very difficult to travel, especially on foot. With the real-grass and feather-grass taller than one’s head, it was quite easy to become disoriented and lost. Especially on foot. She wished for a moment that she had asked her sons to leave her a couple of horses. But that would have been ridiculous. She had expected to die here, and to have no need for travel.

But what now? It had come down to this: should she plan to winter here, or try to move to a more favorable site? Eventually she decided on the latter. It would be almost a moon before the tall seed heads of the grasses reached their heaviest and became the greatest of problems. There was a little time to travel.

Besides, the alternative was not a pleasant prospect. She did not relish the thought of long dark nights only a couple of bow shots upstream from a dead village of corpses. Probably they were already being devoured by scavengers. She shuddered.

Part of the shudder was brought on by the realization that she must go back to the lodges of the dead one more time, at least. The supplies that she had salvaged were running low. Distasteful as it might be, Deer felt that another visit to the camp would be by far the easiest way. She could probably find more food in the deserted lodges. The only alternative that she could think of was to try to kill some large animal … deer, elk, or preferably buffalo. She could possibly do that, because she had the bow and arrows. Then, however, it would be necessary to prepare the meat. The butchering, slicing,
drying, and packing of the food would require some time … Time that they really did not have.

No, if they were to move, it should be quickly. A day to prepare, and then they should be on the trail …

Running Deer had hoped that she could persuade the girl not to accompany her to the camp. That was not to be. Little Mouse was so terrified at the possibility of being abandoned again that finally Deer relented.

“It will not be pleasant,” she warned.

The child nodded, holding tightly to her hand, and with tears still flowing.

Running Deer was shocked to see the changes in the village as they approached. It had truly taken on the look of a dead, abandoned place. She realized that it had been nearly a moon, but
aiee!

A deserted house, bereft of the supportive spirits of those who lived there, begins to deteriorate quickly. It can be seen anywhere. Windows stare like empty eye sockets, shutters and doors sag, sad and lonely, because the life force that was once there has now departed. How much more apparent in a lodge of poles and skins, which are a few steps closer to the life force that produced them, and has produced all things …

Tattered skins hung limply on sagging poles. Painted designs were fading from sun, rain, and wind. Grasses grew tall in front of lodge doors. A small animal, surprised in its solitude, scurried away and
into
a lodge to hide … what a strange sensation!

Gray Mouse was clinging to her, silent and afraid. Even the dog seemed to sense something oppressive here, slinking along at their heels.

“Enough!” spoke Running Deer, hoping that her voice would not sound as strained as she felt it was. “Let us look for our food and be gone from here.”

She said this without signs, partly because Mouse was beginning to understand more, and partly because she could not sign well with Mouse holding tightly to her hand. The real reason she spoke, anyway, was to bolster her own confidence.

Many of the supplies that they found were spoiled, bundles torn open by raccoons or other small animals, and the contents partly eaten and scattered. A couple of
the lodges were damaged considerably, perhaps by a bear.

They were able to assemble a bundle of dried strips of meat. Not enough for the winter, Deer thought, but enough to travel on. She also salvaged a pouch of tobacco. She had never smoked it very much, but it might be a comfort. She had enjoyed the social smokes at their big lodge when her husband was alive. She could almost smell it now, the pungent bluish cloud gathering above the heads of the guests and drifting out between the smoke flaps.

Of course Walks in the Sun had used tobacco ceremonially, too. It was always good to offer a pinch of tobacco to whatever spirits might reside in an area. And now they would be traveling … yes, tobacco would be useful to appease the spirits where they would camp, and where they would spend the winter. She should have thought of it before.

She considered taking along a pipe. There were several that were of no use to their previous owners. Not in this world, anyway. Yet a pipe is a personal thing, a thing of the spirit. Tobacco, for the use that Deer had in mind, could be offered in a fire. Just a pinch, tossed in the evening campfire as it grew to a lively start. Yes, she would do it that way. Walks in the Sun had told her once that a ritual itself is not as important as the spirit in which it is done. “If the heart is good, the Grandfathers know,” he had said. Running Deer hoped that her heart would be considered good.

“Come, we must go!” she said suddenly.

It was good to leave the place. Long after the lodges had rotted to dust and the bones of the inhabitants were scattered and reduced to nothing, the People would remember this place as the Camp of the Dead.

Yellow Dog trotted ahead. He, too, had been impressed by the dark and heavy mood that hung there.

Back at their own camp, Running Deer built up their fire, and just to be sure, tossed in a generous pinch of tobacco.

Now she must begin to organize their move. She had thought that they had very little, but now as she surveyed her camp, there was quite a lot to transport. Their robes and blankets, the food, the skin lodge cover
that formed the lean-to. Yes, they must take it. They might also need
more
shelter for the winter, but one thing at a time.

She had it in mind to head south. She had abandoned any thought of trying to find the People. There was no time to waste in wandering around. But a march of a few days—she did not know how many—would bring them to the area where the tallgrass prairie met the oaks of the red-dirt country. That would be a good place for them to winter. The oaks, holding their dried leaves all winter, would be a good natural windbreak. It was necessary only to camp on the south side of a thicket to hide from the main force of Cold Maker’s icy breath.

Besides, the scrub oak thickets harbored deer, turkeys, and squirrels. Yes, they could manage, if they could get there. But so many bundles and packs …

Her eyes fell on Yellow Dog.
Of course!
Did not the People use dogs to pull a pole-drag before the horse came? She laughed aloud.

“What is it, Grandmother?” asked Mouse.

“Come, child,” called Running Deer. “We will teach Yellow Dog to pull a pole-drag!”

T
hey found the travel not really too unpleasant. There were meandering game trails, which through the centuries had delineated the easiest paths. For the same reason, the tread of a million hooves, the tall grasses were not so vigorous in growth there.

In areas where they had a choice, Running Deer chose the trails that followed the streams. There was better concealment in case they needed it, more fuel for their nightly fires, and of course, water. Always, they worked their way south.

The dog, young and undisciplined, seemed more trouble than he was worth for a few days. His main purpose in life seemed to be to avoid the harness that Running Deer had fashioned to allow the use of a small pole-drag. Yellow Dog was inhibited considerably in his explorations by such a contraption. Eventually he seemed to become resigned to it. Even so, he did break away in pursuit of a rabbit once, destroying the harness and scattering poles and supplies along the stream. There were times when Running Deer was tempted to use her hatchet on the contrary creature’s skull. She refrained for several reasons, not the least of which was Mouse’s affection for the strong-willed pup. And it
was
a help, not to have to carry all of the heavier bundles. Besides, if the time came when they really
needed
to kill and eat the dog, it would be in the winter, the
Moons of Snows and Starvation. Gradually, the headstrong pup became accustomed to pulling a burden, and was actually useful.

The weather held, with warm days and cool nights. They were seeing a gradual change in the land. The stone that forms the shelves and rocky slopes of the Sacred Hills is white limestone, laced with veins of the top-quality blue-gray flint so prized by the People. To the south, the rolling hills appear quite similar to the inexperienced eye. But their base is different, a yellow to brown sandstone. Here conditions are favorable for the growth of a variety of different plants and trees. There are groves of oaks of several kinds, hickory, and pecan, in addition to the massive walnuts farther north.

Running Deer’s goal just: now was to reach the first of the scattered strips of scrub oak thickets. This was an area favored by the People for wintering, because of the shelter available.

There was a possibility, even, that they might encounter her own Southern band. Deer was not certain how she felt about that. It was too soon to tell. The circumstances under which they had parted made it difficult. Her decision had been final, or so she had thought. She had been angry with her family, with the People, and would die alone, never having to face them again. She had relished the thought of their mourning her. They would be sorry, to think of her dying alone, racked with pain and fever …

But it had not happened. With the sometimes puzzling, even perverse ways of the spirit, Deer was still alive. She had planned so carefully, had concealed her departure from the People, planned every detail of how she would comfort the poor dying child of the strangers, and then cross over herself. Her plans had included every possibility
except
this one. Running Deer, in the emotion of planning for her own death, had neglected to think that she might
live
.

There were times now, when she was tired and discouraged, that it seemed to her her entire life was a failure. She tried to console herself with thoughts of her happy marriage, of her successful sons. Yet there always came flooding back the despair over the loss of her beautiful daughter, and later, her husband. It was easy to slip
into the dark moods of depression when she thought of such things, and to think that her life had been meaningless. She had accomplished nothing, really, nothing important in her entire lifetime. Any other woman could have been as good a wife for Walks in the Sun, could have managed their lodge as well. Maybe better.

And now, in the twilight of her life, Deer had been given the opportunity to die with dignity, trying to help someone. It had seemed a good thing, but now, even that had turned sour. She had failed in that, too. She had lived. It was not intended to happen that way, and she was unsure of herself. How was she supposed to handle
this?

Yet even while she thought such black thoughts, Deer was taking the appropriate actions. Her entire life had been one which revolved around doing what must be done, what was
needed
. So, without really thinking about it, she continued to prepare for their food and shelter from day to day, and to plan for the cold moons ahead.

There were, of course, some major decisions. It might have been possible to winter with one of the Grower villages that were dotted along the rivers and streams. The People, hunters by tradition, had traded with the Growers for many generations, exchanging meat and skins for corn, beans, and pumpkins. It was their way. Surely, it would have been possible to ask for shelter in one of the permanent towns. They had passed several as they traveled southward. That had not been a difficult decision, though. First, her pride would not allow Deer to ask for help.

Then, the other thing, more indefinite … a dread of closed places. To a nomadic child of the prairie, the thought of the semi-buried lodges of the Growers was repugnant. Deer remembered as a child once when they had camped beside a Grower town to trade. The children had begun to play together … there are no cultural or language barriers among the very young … Deer had accompanied one of these new friends to her lodge. There was a slope down into a hole in the ground, and inside, the heavy, closed-in smell of human bodies. It reminded her of the smell of a mouse’s nest, or of a cave that was said to be a bear’s den, near the People’s
winter camp one season. Young Deer had turned and fled from the earth lodge. How much better to live in a skin lodge, which could be rolled up in summer to catch any refreshing breeze, or pegged down and stuffed with dry grasses in winter … No matter. She did not think that she could survive a winter in a hole in the ground. That possibility was quickly rejected.

Her plans were rather vague beyond that, however. She could have inquired as to where the Southern band of the People were wintering. Growers gleaned gossip and information such as this from everyone who passed. But Deer was not certain that she was ready to rejoin the People. Pride …
Aiee
, sometimes it makes us work harder. Deer was not certain … Maybe she merely wanted to prove herself … Maybe she merely hesitated to let it appear that she had failed to accomplish her purpose, that of dying.