Child of the Dead (19 page)

He had been no problem at all. Deer had been fortunate enough to kill a fat cow when a band of buffalo wandered through the area. It had been almost more than she could handle, to skin and butcher a substantial portion of the meat. But Gray Mouse had proved a willing helper. One heavy load may be divided into many small ones, with more trips. Fortunately the kill had been only a bow shot from their shelter, and many trips were possible. Yellow Dog, recipient of many scraps from the butchering, was therefore constantly near. Running Deer had managed to utilize his effort, too, in carrying bundles of meat. She would tie a pack to his back and hand one to Gray Mouse, then shoulder her own, the heaviest, for the carry back to the lodge. Across the meadow, cross the riffle of the stream …
aiee, the water grows cold
… Leave the packs and return for another load.

After enough weight was removed from the carcass she was able to turn it to finish skinning. She had to cut the hide up the back and remove half, then turn and finish the skinning of the other side. No matter. It was easier to handle the heavy fresh skin that way. If she needed to do so she could sew it back together. With that in mind, she stripped out most of the sewing sinew from along the back and loin as she butchered. It would dry without attention, and she could split it later after
softening in water. Or in her mouth as she worked, after it was stripped.

Two days’ hard work moved most of the buffalo carcass that Deer thought worth salvaging. She waved to the pair of coyotes waiting on a distant rise.

“The rest is yours, my brothers!”

For several nights the sounds of the coyotes, making good their claim, echoed across the meadow in chuckling laughter or yipping quarrel. Yellow Dog was concerned at first, but soon ignored the sounds of his distant kinsmen. They disappeared at dawn, to return each night for more feasting.

But that was behind her now, the tedious tasks of drying and storing the meat finished. She felt good about her winter supplies, and the halves of the robe had tanned well. She had not even considered bothering the deer herd that was preparing to winter in the timber to the east of her camp. She had been careful not to let Yellow Dog bother them. It was good to have them for emergencies.

She noticed now, as she replenished the fire, that the wind had died with the daylight. It was calm, dead calm, and she understood. Cold Maker had driven his line of invasion past them, and now paused before his next onslaught. Deer looked up into the darkening sky expectantly … Yes, here they came, the first fluffy breath-feathers of snow, floating with utter silence to land softly on things below. This sort of quiet snow always reminded her of the soft silent flight of
Kookooskoos
, the owl, hunter and messenger. It made her feel his presence, whether physical or in spirit. It was the season of hunting for
Kookooskoos
as well as for his human counterparts. She had seen a pair of owls often, had wished them “good hunting!” and had wondered whether they would bring a message. And if so, good or bad?

The snow was heavier now, falling thickly, and beginning to whiten the earth. At least, that in the circle of the firelight. Beyond that she could not see, but knew that it was so. There was an occasional hiss now, as the heavy melting flakes survived long enough to challenge the fire. She wondered idly if it could ever snow hard
enough to kill a fire. Rain Maker could do that on occasion, but snow … She thought not. She
hoped
not!

She was becoming drowsy now. She must think about this … A person freezing to death becomes sleepy, and she must decide whether it would be safe to sleep. No, she decided, that must be different. It is said that such a sleep comes on with a longing just to rest a little while and then go on.

Surely this was not the way she felt. There was no desperation here, but confidence. And the cold … not too bad. Uncomfortable, true, but much better since the wind had died. The warmth of the fire was good. Maybe later she could build a reflector, to turn more heat into the open side of the lodge. She would think on that. Yes, small logs and sticks on a frame of stakes … Stacked like the sticks of a willow backrest … Peeled, probably. That would reflect more heat into the lodge.

An owl sailed in out of the snow-filled darkness and perched on a nearby oak. Three times
Kookooskoos
called his own name, then sat for a little while.

“Do you want to talk to me?” asked Running Deer. It was unusual for the bird to be active in a snow storm.

The owl did not answer.

“Do you have a message?” she asked.

As messenger for the People,
Kookooskoos
might carry a message either good or bad. Deer was uneasy about this.

Soon the owl spread silent wings and sailed into the darkness.

“Good hunting, Grandfather,” Deer called after him.

Had there been a message, and if so,
what?
Her husband, the holy man, had often said that one must be ready to
listen
. Singing Wolf was much the same about it. It was not a matter of listening with the ears, though, but with the
spirit
.

She tried to open her mind to that. She had been somewhat fearful just before the owl came. Could she tell whether she was about to freeze or was merely drowsy? How did she feel now about the owl’s visit?

Good
, she decided. There was a calm, a satisfaction about the visit of the messenger. So it must be, then,
that the message had been neither bad news nor warning. It must be
good
.

Relieved, she lay down next to the sleeping child, with the warm dog between them. Yellow Dog thumped his tail a time or two and went back to sleep.

Somehow, she felt that the owl’s message had been not just for tonight, but for the winter ahead.

“Thank you,
Kookooskoos
,” she murmured as she drifted into an untroubled sleep.

I
t was the Moon of Snows now. The Moon of Long Nights had passed, and on some days Running Deer thought that she could actually see the difference. Every season the war between Cold Maker and Sun Boy was repeated. Since Creation, likely.

Cold Maker would initiate the combat, pushing from the north as Sun Boy’s torch began to fade. Sun Boy would wisely retreat. There is a time for heroism, but it is not at the first skirmish. Through the Long Nights Moon and that of Snows, Sun Boy would always retreat to the south, avoiding a confrontation. Sometimes it seemed that his torch must have gone out entirely. There were days at a time when the dark pall of Cold Maker’s clouds hung low over the earth.

Maybe Sun Boy’s torch does go out sometimes
, Running Deer thought.
Maybe that is when he is making a new one
. This was a possibility that she had never heard spoken. Maybe there was a reason, though. If that were true, such a time would be ideal for Cold Maker’s final push, and it would be over. Without the return of the Sun Torch, there would be no return of the grass or of the buffalo. The world would be dead, along with all its creatures. And the People …

For that reason, she had never mentioned her thought, even to her husband, who had been wise in such things. The idea that maybe Sun Boy’s torch
does
go out sometimes was so threatening … What if it did, and Cold Maker discovered his opportunity to finish the age-old war permanently? But if Cold Maker does not know exactly when to strike, the danger is lessened. Therefore, if we do not speak aloud of it, there is still some protection. Maybe … At least,
less
risk.

This had not been an unusual winter. An average number of storms sweeping through. A push by Cold Maker, a retreat by Sun Boy, an attempt to hold his torch high and proud. Another push … Sun Boy was far to the south now. On some mornings, even when his torch did burn, its rays were pale and watery. There was barely any heat to beam down on the snow that covered the earth like a tossed blanket. This, Deer was certain, was the time when Sun Boy was making his new torch, lighting it from the old, fanning it to get it started. It was the critical time in the age-old struggle for fire. The time, of course, when Cold Maker
must not know
, because he would push his advantage.

So she tried not to think about it. Cold Maker might overhear her thoughts. Patience … Let Sun Boy get his torch going. Then begin the push back, crowding Cold Maker, forcing him back to his icy lodge somewhere in the always frozen mountains in the unknown north country.

Then would come the Moon of Awakening, the melting of snows, the tiny bits of green revealed beneath.

But that was not yet. Cold Maker still held his authority. Ahead was still the most dreaded time, the Moon of Hunger.

Running Deer could remember a few times in her life when there had been snow on the ground from the Moon of Madness until the Awakening. Fortunately, this was not one of those. And her camp was pretty far south. She was pleased at her foresight in choosing this camp. Sometimes Cold Maker’s first push came as early as the Falling Leaves Moon, too. That made for a long winter.

Even in a good year, food would run low before the return of spring, and the opportunity to hunt. It had been much worse, the old stories said, before the coming of the horse. Sometimes the People had a Fall Hunt
that was less than successful. Then they had gone into the winter moons knowing that someone would die before the Moon of Awakening. In fact, the old name for the Moon of Hunger, it was said, had been the Moon of Starvation.

She shook her head to clear it of such gloomy thoughts. This was not a bad winter. She had seen many that were worse. Much of the time the ground had been bare of snow. There was still plenty of dried meat in the storage area at the back of the lean-to shelter. And the days did seem to be getting longer. At least she thought so.

But it was a tiresome thing. It was late afternoon just now, nearing the end of another uneventful day. Snow, cold, pale sunlight, darkness. Eat, sleep, bring water, wood, keep up the fire …

There
had
been pleasant times. The child, Gray Mouse, had probably enabled her to keep her sanity. The legends of the People included stories of persons who, isolated and alone, had gone mad in the moons of Long Nights and Snows. She had never understood that. To Running Deer, it had always been pleasant to be alone. Time to think, uninterrupted by the necessities of living. Time to be with the things of the spirit. Like the quest ceremony. She had never taken a vision quest. There had always been other things in her life that required attention. She should have, maybe, after the death of her husband, she had thought later. At the time, it had never occurred to her. Vision quests are for the young anyway, she had convinced herself afterward. Not for an old woman.

That attitude, she realized now as she looked back, had been part of her bitterness.
Aiee
, how hard she must have made it for her sons! During that time she had refused to even think of anything that might be pleasant, or exciting, or
fun
. The memory embarrassed her. And she knew now that she had, for a while, lost the joy of being alone.

Gray Mouse had proved to be an intelligent child, one filled with the joy of seeing, hearing, and learning. Their days were filled with endless questions. “Why is grass green? What makes the sky blue? How high is it? Who teaches the oriole to weave her basket nest?”
Sometimes Running Deer would throw up her hands in frustration. “Because it is so, child. That is the way it is!”

And Mouse would laugh. Maybe that was all the answer she required, when all was said and done. Upon one thing, Deer could depend … Stories. Every child loves stories, and this one was no exception. Deer had forgotten the joy of a child in her lap or at her knee, the shining, eager face and bright eyes as the story unfolded. She realized now that she had missed much joy in her preoccupation with sorrow. Her grandchildren would have listened to her stories. Dark Antelope, the oldest, had done so when he was small. But soon after, the loss of Walks in the Sun had shattered her world.

Through the autumn moons, as Gray Mouse learned the tongue of the People, Deer had regained the joy of the storyteller. The stories had helped the little girl as she began to use the language that was new to her.

Even with all this good, the depressing darkness of winter began to gnaw at the senses of Running Deer. She began to see how hunters or trappers, cut off from others for a long time, would be reduced to madness. There was a difference. It was one thing to be alone to think, meditate, and pray. It was quite another to be forced to be alone.

She had
felt
alone at first, because the girl could speak only a little. Soon, however, it was apparent that Gray Mouse was a person. Sometimes a quiet and introspective person, it was true, but who would
not
be? The child had experienced more horror in her short years than many do in a lifetime. Under it all, the quiet times and times when Mouse whispered restlessly in her sleep, there was a calm strength. A strength, maybe, that lay in her basic curiosity about all things, and her joy in learning them.