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Authors: W. Michael Gear,Kathleen O'Neal Gear

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The memory of screaming women and children haunted him. “To send a message to Deputy Silt.”

Lookingbill frowned. “But … where are you going?”

Windwolf looked back at the doorway, lowering his voice. “To scout the Nightland villages myself.” He waved down Lookingbill’s look of protest. “No one can evaluate an enemy better than I can, Chief. Alone I can cover the same ground in four days that a war party can in seven.”

“And if you’re captured?” Lookingbill asked softly.

“I won’t be.” He chuckled. “I’ll move by darkness. I don’t need to take risks.”

“And where will we meet your warriors?”

How do I tell him?
“That will depend on where the Nightland warriors are.” He paused. “And it would be a dead giveaway if Nashat learned that my warriors were assembling here with yours.”

Lookingbill nodded. “Of course.” He paused. “You should know that a survivor from the Nine Pipes band came through this morning. He said he thought Skimmer and her daughter were alive. Their bodies were not among the dead in the camp.”

Alive?
What implications did that have?

“War Chief, they may have been taken captive.”

“In which case they’re already among the Nightland.” He glanced up. “Is there any reason she might come here?”

“To ask once again for my help?” He winced as he slowly shook his head. “I turned her down once. Why should she?” He glanced up. “Do you have a reason for asking?”

“I would like to hear this plan of hers. She may have information about the Nightland Caves that we can use.”

Lookingbill smiled faintly. “Should she show up, I’ll make apologies and tell her how foolish my people and I have been.”

Voices rose outside, and Trembler called, “War Chief Windwolf, I found a runner for you.”

Windwolf turned to Lookingbill; the old man pointed a stern finger at him and said, “You stay alive, too. Or I fear we’ll all be dead soon.”

Fourteen

T
he sacred caves formed an intricate labyrinth through the Ice Giants. Many of the passageways wound for several days’ walk through utter darkness. In the blackest depths, there were chambers known only to a precious few: the holiest Elders of the Nightland People … and Ti-Bish.

We live like a nest of rats.

Nashat frowned at his chamber. Nine paces across, it was larger than most, but the ice walls had been melting away. They’d become thin. It annoyed him that today he could hear children laughing.

He paced his chamber, wide awake, sipping warm seal broth—thick with fat—from a wooden cup. The warming fire—resting on a bed of gravel—cast his shadow over the pale blue walls like a leaping giant.

“May I go now, Elder?” Blue Wing glanced longingly at the leather door curtain.

A beautiful woman, she had broad cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Her thin lips were pursed, a simmering panic behind her eyes. She should be afraid of him. As should all Sunpath People. He had dressed her in a fine elkhide smock that hung down to her knees. The moment he’d heard the Guide had set her free, he’d had two warriors
fetch her back. With a body like hers, she was much too enchanting a woman to waste.

“No, let’s talk for a time.”

“What about?”

The fear-spawned hatred in her eyes fascinated him. He smiled, finding it both enticing and amusing. “You told me that even against overwhelming numbers, the Sunpath People would fight back. How did you know?”

“They’re desperate.”

“Then perhaps they should stop plotting to kill Ti-Bish.”

“You can’t expect them to abandon beliefs as old as the world.”

He smiled. “Not only do I expect it, I demand it.”

The ceiling had a shiny gleam. Every night when the slaves brought in a fresh supply of wood, it melted, but refroze while he slept.

“And what does the Guide demand?” she asked.

Nashat’s eyes narrowed. Discussing Ti-Bish gave him a stomachache. “He demands whatever I tell him to.”

“Where is he? He set me free!”

“Does it matter? He’s an idiot, Blue Wing. I assure you Ti-Bish could care less what orders I give War Chief Kakala. Did you hope Ti-Bish might order me to stop attacking your relatives?”

“I just hadn’t seen him in a few days, and I wondered where he was. That’s all.” She stared at the floor, her hopes dashed.

“Ti-Bish went to his Dreaming Cave. Raven Hunter called him suddenly.” He sighed. He couldn’t help it; it was so ridiculous.

“You demean your Guide and his Spirit Helper?”

“Demean? No. I take Spirits very seriously. A wise Elder can build an empire on the back of a Spirit.”

“You don’t believe in Raven Hunter?”

“I believe in Raven Hunter’s Power. And I appreciate what he’s done for me.” He motioned to the magnificent chamber with its wealth of hides. Precious shells from the far oceans, and bits of painted hides and bark collected from Sunpath ceremonial lodges were stacked here and there. Painted mammoth-hide shields sat on tripods around the chamber—more loot taken from Sunpath chiefs who no longer needed them.

She said, “The Guide is Powerful. He’ll hear what you’ve done to me.”

“Powerful? The Sunpath People are crying out for him to save
them, but has he answered them? No. He’s locked away in his Dreaming Cave, talking to the great and mighty Raven Hunter.”

At that moment, young Cedar called from beyond the room hanging. “Elder? I have news. The Guide wishes to see you.”

Blue Wing took that opportunity to stalk past him.

He waited until she’d ducked beneath the curtain before he called, “I’ll just have the guards bring you back. Shall I offer them a reward for your return? Perhaps a few hands of time with you?”

Her steps went quiet in the tunnel. It took several heartbeats before she returned. The look of total defeat on her face delighted him.

He said, “Life comes at a price, Blue Wing. Never forget that. Be grateful for what you have. Meanwhile, I want you to stay here until I return.”

He set his tea cup down and walked out into the ice tunnel where two guards stood. “Blue Wing is spending the night in my chamber. See to it.”

“Yes, Elder,” the young warrior, Cedar, said.

Nashat lifted one of the little oil lamps from its hole in the wall and strode through the magnificent arching tunnels. He followed an old tunnel, traveling deeper and deeper into the Guide’s personal labyrinth—a strange series of interconnected ice caves that led into the very bowels of the Ice Giants. No one would live down here but Ti-Bish. The groans and squeals of the Giants were often so loud even he wanted to run, screaming.

It is only for a while longer.

He lifted his flickering lamp high, and it illuminated the arches and rounded domes. If he were not a wiser man, he, too, might fear coming around a bend and suddenly standing face-to-face with the legendary Raven Hunter.

As he walked around a curve in the tunnel, he saw two slave girls dressed in grimy hides. An oil lamp with a hide wick burned on the floor at their feet.

“Little Deer? Pipe? What are you doing? You’re supposed to carry food to the Guide.”

The girls looked up, suddenly wary. Little Deer said, “That crack has been growing wider over the past moon.”

Pipe said, “The Guide says that in the deep tunnels tens of tens have appeared.”

“Have you seen them?”

Fear glittered in her eyes. “I don’t go there. That would scare me. There are ancient monsters that live down there.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“The Guide told us,” Pipe said. She had a round face with wide dark eyes.

Nashat gave her a mean look. He’d never liked her.

But she would learn. Both girls were young. Little Deer had seen ten and one summers. Pipe had seen ten. Their breasts had not even begun to bud. Perhaps that’s why Ti-Bish kept them close. They would not distract him from his holy mission.

Nashat patted Little Deer on the head as he passed. “You’re a good girl, Little Deer. Someday I’m going to reward you handsomely for your loyalty. Perhaps I’ll give you a buffalo hide.”

Her mouth dropped open at the thought of such wealth. “Thank you, Elder. I wish you a pleasant morning.”

“And you as well.”

The cracks are widening. How long before it all falls down on my head?

The leather door curtain that covered the mouth of Ti-Bish’s cave hung in tatters. The Guide said he liked it that way, so Nashat had left it alone. No one came down here anyway. Just Nashat and a handful of slaves.

Nashat called, “Ti-Bish? I received a message that you wished to see me.” He pressed his ear close to the curtain. No sounds came from within. “Ti-Bish?”

“What?” a soft confused voice answered. “Nashat?”

“Yes. You sent a runner for me. What did you want?” Nashat massaged the tight muscles at the back of his neck.

“I did?”

“You did. May I enter?”

“Yes, of course.”

Nashat ducked beneath the curtain. The high ceiling arched five body lengths above him, its heights lost in the darkness. He scanned the chamber. A crackling fire atop a flat stone burned brightly. Several heating stones were glowing in the coals. The stone perched on a rack of whalebone in the middle of the floor to allow air to circulate below it in an effort to keep the floor from melting. The raised hearth was surrounded by thick buffalo hides. Beside the fire, a tea bag hung from a tripod. Several wooden cups and a pair of mammoth ivory tongs lay at hand near the bag.

As Nashat walked toward Ti-Bish, he grimaced. Because of the heat, the ice walls had begun to melt and shone with an unnatural brilliance. Pale blue shadows scalloped up toward the dark ceiling. Ti-Bish had few belongings: A pile of bedding hides lay rolled to the right, along with three mammoth-hide parfleches filled—Nashat presumed—with personal items. Beside the parfleches, he could see several split-tree-root baskets and a bladder of water.

Nashat waved a hand at the fire. “Do you think this is wise? Every day the Ice Giants roar and more caves collapse.” As if to accent his words, a droplet of water spattered onto the floor beside him.

Ti-Bish stared at him. “I … I called for you?”

He wore his hair in two long frizzy braids that clearly hadn’t been washed in days. His long bearhide cape, painted with tiny black ravens, looked as though he’d been sleeping in it. Ti-Bish always looked worn when he finished “talking” with Raven Hunter, but this time he looked worse than usual.

“Yes, Ti-Bish, you called for me,” Nashat sighed. “And I was glad to hear it. I feared you were still wandering the tunnels beneath the caves looking for the hole in the ice. If you’re not careful, someday you’ll get lost down there, and we’ll never find you.

Ti-Bish gave him a vague look. “There’s a—a lake of fire down there. I see things in the flames.”

“A fiery lake? No wonder the Ice Giants are melting.” Nashat barely hid his annoyance. Ti-Bish always told wild stories when he returned from his vision quests.

Nashat put a hand on Ti-Bish’s shoulder and pushed him toward the buffalo hides spread out around the fire. “Sit down, Ti-Bish. I’ll warm you some tea.”

Ti-Bish sat cross-legged and gazed up at Nashat as though waiting for further instructions.

Nashat used the mammoth ivory tongs to pull a hot river cobble from the fire and dropped it into the tea bag. Steam exploded, filling the chamber with the fragrance of dried tundra wildflowers.

He dipped one of the cups into the tea bag and handed it to Ti-Bish. “Drink this; you’ll feel better.”

Ti-Bish took the cup and smelled it, but did not sip.

“How is Raven Hunter?” Nashat asked as he dipped a cupful of tea for himself and sank to the warm buffalo hides.

“He’s worried.”

“Is he? About what? Something we’ve done?” Nashat smelled the tangy fragrance of the tea before he drank. He took small sips. Little Deer had added a few lumps of pine sap brought up from the Sunpath lands to sweeten it.

“It’s not us,” Ti-Bish said. “It’s the Sunpath People. Wolf Dreamer is watching them. They’re Singing their souls up to him.”

“Indeed? I assume that’s bad?”
Blessed Spirits, spare me from having to hear more of this.

“Yes. I think so.”

“Why does Raven Hunter care? If they Sing all their souls out of their bodies, we won’t have to fight them any longer. They’ll all be dead.”

Ti-Bish blinked owlishly. “They are dead.”

Nashat studied him over the rim of his tea cup. Ti-Bish knew nothing about his attacks on the Sunpath villages. Or did he? Perhaps Little Deer or Pipe had heard some bit of gossip and repeated it. The last thing he needed was Ti-Bish wandering out and stopping his war.

Nashat said, “The Nightland clan Elders have been concerned about you. Raven Hunter kept you for ten and two days. Do you realize that?”

Ti-Bish’s brow furrowed. He swirled his tea in his cup. “He needed to speak with me. An angry Sunpath war chief is going to scout the entrances to our caves to see if we can be attacked.”

Nashat’s cup froze halfway to his mouth. Not that he believed it, but on occasion Ti-Bish’s prophecies had proven correct. “When? Did he tell you?”

Ti-Bish tilted his head uncertainly. “He just said we have to double the number of guards around the Nightland Caves’ entrances. We have to be prepared.”

Nashat nodded. “I’ll take care of it immediately.”

Ti-Bish’s eyes went wide and empty. “Raven Hunter also said you must stop punishing our warriors for losing battles, Nashat. If you don’t, some of our warriors will turn against us.”

“Raven Hunter said that?” He drummed his fingers on his leg.

“Yes. Every warrior whispers the name of Brookwood Village when they’re about to go on a raid.”

BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)

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