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

People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past) (31 page)

BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)
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“A quick way to end the killing?”
“Kakala sometimes has grand notions.” She returned to her drawing.
Windwolf frowned, thinking back. Bramble had broached the subject of leaving. He had even been considering it before Walking Seal Village. Now, all these years later, what was he doing, but sending parties of refugees west to the Tills?
Kakala tried to kill Karigi? Would have, had Silt and I not arrived when we did?
“Have you ever thought about changing sides?”
She lifted a brow and laughed softly. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re doomed.”
“We could use you.”
“I’m intrigued by your faith in the future.” She laughed again and shook her head, as though she doubted his sincerity, while she drew several more curving lines. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I’m serious.”
Something about the softness of her expression touched him. He wanted her to stay, to talk, to just let him look at her.
He pointed at the map. “How are you doing?”
“I’m finished.” She handed it to him.
When he reached for the map, he accidentally grasped her hand where it held the hide. Time seemed to stop. Conflicting emotions danced across her beautiful face: a magnetic attraction to him, fear, confusion. They might have been frozen, the physical contact lasting for five heartbeats, then ten. Her cool skin under his sent blood rushing in his ears.
Finally, Keresa gently pulled her hand back and said, “That’s the best I can do.”
Windwolf looked at it, pulse pounding, short of breath. “Is this the eastern entrance to the caves?”
“Yes.” She tapped the map. “And this is the western entrance.”
She’d drawn many more passageways than he’d thought she would, and based upon his own explorations, they looked accurate. It told him something very valuable about her sense of honor.
Her dark eyes fixed on his. He could see the question there that she dared not ask.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“About Kakala, back at the cavern. You shouldn’t have stared like that.”
He sighed. “All these moons I have wanted him dead. And now …”
“Go on.”
He shook his head. “Keresa, I—”
“May I go now?” She refused to meet his eyes, but he could see the pulse racing in her neck.
“Of course.” He went to the entry to hold the curtain aside for her.
She ducked outside and was gone.
S
ilvertip fought his way through a thick haze of gray, images of the Dream living within him.
Each of Wolf Dreamer’s words remained fresh and clear, as though they had become a living part of Silvertip’s soul.
He blinked his eyes open and winced at the grating feel, as if sand had been poured behind his lids. He reached up with a feathered wing, oddly surprised to find a very human hand at his control. It took a moment to remember how to work his fingers as he rubbed his dry eyes. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and a terrible pain filled his head.
Unlike his Spirit body, this one hurt; his bones ached. His bones, the same ones he’d seen slowly bleach, and fall away. Making a fist, he savored the miracle of muscle, tendon, and bone. He felt stiff, but he was whole.
When he turned onto his side, it wasn’t with a simple twist of his tail, but the more ponderous movements of a dull and clumsy body.
It took a moment for his eyes to focus. Then he knew were he was: the Spirit Chamber.
Glancing at the door he determined it was night. The fire in the center
had burned down to coals. Grandfather Lookingbill lay wrapped in his buffalohide blanket. Loon Spot sat just to his side. Her head drooped at an odd angle, mouth open to expose a few peglike teeth, a rasping snore rising from her wattled throat.
I’m back.
He looked down at his small body, so poorly human. But in his soul, the magic of flight still ran through him like a beam of morning light.
Tears brimmed in his eyes, silvering his vision. He blinked at them, and sniffed, a profound grief welling within. The sense of loss grew, encompassing a sorrow he didn’t know his breast could contain.
“Give me back my wings. Please, Wolf Dreamer!”
 
 
I
n the middle of the night, Keresa heard a familiar voice. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. All around her warriors lay stretched out across the floor with their capes tucked closely about their bodies for warmth. Kakala whispered and whimpered, lost in some dream.
The familiar voice came again, and she realized it wasn’t coming from this chamber.
A thrill went through her.
She got to her feet and picked her way between the sleeping men to the blocked tunnel. The debris, composed of several large boulders and tens of small rocks, felt icy cold.
Two voices: both soft, but familiar.
Why hadn’t she heard them before? Voices carried farther at night, especially when it was as quiet as it was tonight. There was no wind. The warriors above her were silent.
She used her hand to dig out some of the gravel and dirt that filled the space between two of the large boulders. It crackled as it hit the floor, but none of the sleeping men seemed to hear it.
When she’d created a hole as deep as her arm was long, she pressed her mouth into a gap and called, “Washani?”
The voices stopped.
“Washani?” she called again, as loud as she dared.
Silence.
Then Washani called, “Deputy Keresa? Is that you?”
She leaned her forehead against the wall and smiled.
 
 
S
kimmer lay on the thick pile of buffalo hides and stared at the utter blackness. She had no idea where she was, but she had to be very close to the beating hearts of the Ice Giants. Their cries and groans seemed louder here, more grief-stricken.
She rolled to her side and tried to sleep.
Ti-Bish had led her through the dark tunnels for hands of time, feeling the way. At each fork, he would sniff the air, as though the tunnels had a distinctive scent. She had funneled all of her concentration into the task, but had no more chance of retracing her path than she did of flying.
When they’d finally arrived here, he’d taken her hand and placed it on the items in the cave: the sleeping hides; a water bag; a basket of pemmican, consisting of a length of intestine stuffed with meat, berries, and fat; and wild rice cakes.
Then he’d left her alone.
The darkness pressed on her eyes and ears as though it had heavy hands.
“Did Windwolf really win?” she whispered, and her voice seemed to ring in the silence, bouncing back from the ice walls. Ti-Bish had assured her he had, and that Ashes was safe. But how could he know for sure?
If Windwolf had lost the battle, what had happened to Ashes? Had Lookingbill gotten her out before the end?
Horrifying images flashed: Ashes being raped by Nightland warriors … Ashes being herded northward with the other orphans to become slaves in Nightland villages … Ashes lying dead in the Spirit Chamber with her head bashed in … .
“He won,” she said sternly. “Windwolf won. He killed Kakala and destroyed his war party to the last warrior.”
She had to believe it.
But whatever had happened, she still had a terrible task ahead of her.
She had to kill Ti-Bish. Perhaps in the chaos afterward, Windwolf would be able to storm the Nightland Caves and force their Elders to halt the attacks on the remaining Sunpath bands. Or, with the Guide dead, maybe the Nightland would simply lose heart, their warriors withdrawing meekly to leave her people alone.
A strange tapping began. It echoed from some distant tunnel. She listened, hoping it was Ti-Bish returning with a lamp. The tapping turned into a forceful thudding, and she realized it was water.
Had a new crack opened in the bellies of the Ice Giants and allowed a pool of meltwater to escape?
Would it flood her cave?
Is this how I’ll die? Drowned in ice water, here, deep in the darkness?
She bent her head, tears of despair streaking down her cheeks. She sobbed, wishing for sunlight, air, and the feel of wind on her face.
The Ice Giants let out an ear-splitting groan, then trembled, shaking the floor beneath her … and the thudding stopped.
Skimmer clamped her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.
S
he doesn’t know I’m here, sitting just outside her chamber.
Raven Hunter told me long ago that I needn’t fear the darkness; that I walked with Death every instant of my life, and if I could just keep staring at it, I would never be afraid again.
But I worry about Skimmer.
She is a creature of light and warmth.
Raven Hunter tells me that I must force her to live in perpetual darkness for at least one moon. That she has to get used to it, because it is the nature of Raven Hunter’s world and the sooner she learns what that means, the better.
I haven’t the heart.
She’s tearing herself apart in there. Her breathing is rapid and shallow. She keeps whimpering as though she can feel the hands of monsters stroking her body.
Doubt consumes me.
I asked Raven Hunter today why it was taking so long, why he couldn’t just show me the hole in the ice and let me lead our people back to that paradise.
For the first time, he grew angry. The earthquake that followed his
outburst lasted for nearly three tens of heartbeats. I was terrified that the Ice Giants were going to collapse around me, burying me in the darkness forever.
He told me he was struggling to assure that everything happened at the right moment and ordered me never to question him again.
I won’t.
Skimmer has started crying.
I am afraid for her.
And for me, if I don’t obey Raven Hunter.
W
indwolf leaned against the mouth of the rockshelter and stared out at the boulders that created Headswift Village. In the sunlight, they gleamed wetly with the morning dew. Down the hill—at the base of the outcrop—Sunpath People went about their morning duties, cooked breakfast, and played with their children. A pack of dogs raced through the village, barking.
He sighed heavily. Two camps had already headed out on the trail west, but another three had arrived. It was an awkward way to move people. Those who came north to Headswift Village might have a couple of days of recuperation, only to be sent off west, knowing they had to ford the great river at the western edge of Loon Lake. They could have saved a moon’s travel or more by simply traveling straight west along the southern margins of the lakes.
But Karigi and Blackta were out there, somewhere.
“I do not understand,” Fish Hawk said. “I just told you that we heard boulders being moved in the chambers where we’ve trapped the Nightland warriors. Doesn’t that disturb you?”
Windwolf kept his gaze on the Sunpath villagers. “I know my orders sound … unusual, but I have my reasons.”
“Please help me to understand them.”
A boy ran down the trail in front of them. His dog, a puppy, trotted happily at his heels. Windwolf waited until they’d passed.
“Deputy Keresa needs to speak with her people. Let her.”
Fish Hawk studied him curiously. “They’ll be plotting against us.”
“I’m counting on it. I’m also counting on their growing desperation.”
Fish Hawk propped his hand on his belted war club. “If they work hard enough, they may open a tunnel connecting the chambers.”
“If they do, pretend you don’t know about it.”
Fish Hawk’s brows knitted. “They’ll think we’re fools.”
Windwolf nodded. “Perhaps. But desperation grows with numbers. I want them all sharing each other’s doubts.”
“Then … you want Kakala’s warriors all in the same chamber?”
“Now you’re getting the idea.”
Fish Hawk shook his head as though he hadn’t heard right. Long black hair fell over his shoulders. “If I were making the decisions, I would be trying very hard to keep them separated. The warriors in the new chamber must still have weapons. We don’t know how many there are, but if they get together, they are much more powerful. They’ll be plotting to escape, and if they escape, they will surely kill some of us.”
Windwolf pushed away from the wall and stepped out into the sunlight. Cold wind gusted up the trail and flapped the collar of his buffalo coat. “That’s a chance I’m forced to take.”
Fish Hawk held his gaze. “Why don’t we kill them?”
“Because the longer we hold them, the more time they have to think, to lose hope. They know the cages are waiting for them. As soon as I know how the Nightland Elders will respond to our hostages, I’ll explain my bizarre orders.” He clapped a hand on Fish Hawk’s shoulder. “In the meantime, I must ask you to trust me.”
“Well,” Fish Hawk said through a long exhalation. “I hope you’re being brilliant, not stupid. If they escape, Kakala won’t rest until he kills you.”
Windwolf tightened his arms over his chest and gave Fish Hawk a tired smile. “Then, we had best not let them escape.”
 
 
“
I
’ll bet you want to kill Keresa,” Ashes said as she knotted fibers cut from spruce roots. Her nimble fingers were occupied making a net bag.
“No,” Silvertip told her as he clutched the Wolf Bundle to his chest. He mostly kept his right eye closed, since it was hard to focus. And the headache didn’t make talking easier.
“Why not? She tried to kill you.”
Silvertip pursed his lips, giving her a squint-eyed appraisal. “She only did what Power wished.”
Ashes gave him the sort of look she’d give the demented. “Power wanted you to have your head bashed in?”
He glanced around, seeing none of the adults close. “I had to die.”
“Well, you came pretty close.”
He gave the slightest shake of his head. “No. I died. I saw my dead body … watched as a condor came down and …” He pressed the Wolf Bundle against his stomach, remembering the sensation of the condor’s beak pulling out his guts. “I had to watch until my bones fell away.”
“Why?” Her eyes were wide, the partially finished net bag forgotten in her hands.
“To learn to fly,” he said wistfully. “It was the only way I could become Condor.”
“Condor?” She hesitated. “Did you eat dead things?”
“It’s not so bad.” He gave her a somber look. “What was wonderful was Dreaming the One. And don’t ask. I can’t explain. It’s a … harmony. A sharing of life and light.” He clamped his eyes shut. “If I could only go back.”
“Go throw another rock at Keresa.”
He smiled, but it hurt. “It’s tempting. But I have things to do.”
“Like what?”
He stared into her eyes. “The voice you hear in your Dreams is Raven Hunter’s.”
Her interest was replaced by suspicion, and not a little fear. “Loon Spot told you?”
“No. I saw us. In the future.”
Her expression had turned wary. “In the future?”
“After our world is destroyed.”
“You’re starting to sound like the Prophet.”
“He is Raven Hunter’s tool. Wolf Dreamer was lost in the One,
Dreaming the harmony. He didn’t understand. Opposites crossed. There’s great Power in that. Harmony and order must be crossed with chaos and creativity. Life must be balanced by death. Only when male and female are joined can new life be created. Wolf Dreamer didn’t understand. The battle between him and his brother was just beginning.”
“He’s not the only one who’s confused. You’re sounding peculiar yourself.”
“The Ice Giants are melting.”
“Tell me something that I don’t know.”
“You’ve heard of the great lakes beyond the Southwind People’s lands?”
“Of course. The Traders tell how the whole southern rim of the Ice Giants is one endless lake after another.”
“Water runs downhill.”
She laughed. “That was a good bump on the head. If you didn’t know that before, you needed it.”
“And all that holds it back is a narrow dam of ice.”
She stared at him, thinking. “But the Ice Giants are melting.”
“As Condor, I flew over the last dam, looked down at the cracks and tunnels. Wolf Dreamer and I saw it. In the One, I watched it give way.” He looked down at the Wolf Bundle, hearing its soft whispers and feeling its growing warmth.
“You have to warn people.”
He nodded. “Many will listen. Others won’t believe a boy who was hit on the head. They will say I’m too young to be a Dreamer.”
“Then what will you do?” She was giving him a serious look that he would come to love.
“I’ll take you with me.”
“But … what about my mother? She’ll come looking for me here.”
“That’s just it, Ashes.There will be no ‘here’ left.” He looked around. “All of this, it will all be washed away.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “And what if I don’t go?”
“Then you will never become my wife, and our children will never struggle to find the balance between Wolf Dreamer and Raven Hunter.”
BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)
7.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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