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

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

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“Why?”

“It’s necessary.”

Skimmer clutched the bundle as she rose. “I hate the darkness, Ti-Bish. Could you bring me a lamp?”

As he led the way back up the tunnel, he said, “Not yet. Soon, I hope. Raven Hunter says you need the darkness right now.”

“Why?”

“To smother the spark of Wolf Dreamer that lives in your soul.”

There is no spark of Wolf Dreamer left, Ti-Bish. He is as dead in my heart as Hookmaker is.

As they walked back toward her chamber, the darkness grew heavy, leaden, weighing down her shoulders like a granite cape. The worst part was the fear … .

Forty-six

S
ilvertip sat with his legs dangling over the sharp edge of a boulder that perched high on the slope overlooking Headswift Village. Below him, yet another of the Sunpath camps was packing up their few pitiful possessions. The two warriors who would lead them west were talking to the Elders, pointing at this and that.

They are the lucky ones. But how can I tell them that by having lost everything but their lives, they have gained a future?

Craning his head, he could look out over Thunder Sea. In the distance, across the gray water, the Ice Giants shot their cracked, piled, and tumbled heights into the sky. No human could cross that.

But I flew.
He longed for the sensation of wings.

“What a gift, just to have known it.”

He could hear the soft whisperings of assent from the Wolf Bundle where he clutched it tightly in his lap.

Wind tugged at his hair, sending cold fingers past his hunting shirt and along his skin.
To feel is to live
.

He heard Ashes as she climbed up and immodestly seated herself beside him. She looked out at the camps, then turned her eyes west, where the faintest rim of Loon Lake could be seen.

“Why do you think I even want to be your wife?”

He smiled, knowing full well that she’d been puzzling over that.

“Because you and I are matched by Power. After what happened to you in the Nightland pen, you have no illusions about this world. After I died and Dreamed the One, I have no illusions about the Spirit World. Both of us were changed, Ashes. We have both lost everything, and gained everything.”

She gave him that probing look. “Your family is alive. You have people who still love you.”

“You’ve never Dreamed the One, only to lose it.” He closed his eyes, savoring the memory. “I had wings, Ashes.
Wings!
” A tear crept past his cheek.

She was silent, considering that. Finally, she said, “Well, what about Mother? You said you’d seen the future?”

He nodded. “She will come back to you.” He paused. “But you won’t know her.”

“That’s silly. Of course I’ll know her. She’s my mother!”

“She’s Raven Hunter’s. As I am Wolf Dreamer’s.”

“But you said that I’m Raven Hunter’s, too.”

“You are. But he will never own your soul like he does Skimmer’s.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She has no balance. You have me, and I have you. I will bring order and peace to your life, while you bring chaos and creativity to mine. Together, we will balance our Power, and lay the seeds for a new world.”

“Don’t bet on it.” Wind teased strands of her black hair across her face. Her eyes were fixed on the distance to the south, where spruce gave way to pine, maple, and oak. “Somewhere out there are warriors who wish nothing more than to kill us.”

“But we can Dream a new way.”

“Only if you have the darts to back it up.” She shrugged. “My father was like you. He thought that if we left the Nightland alone, they’d do the same to us.”

“But your mother wanted to kill the Guide.”

“Mother dragged Father into that kicking and screaming. Up until the end, he thought he could keep his world the same.” She glanced at him. “It doesn’t work that way, Silvertip.”

“No,” he whispered, “it doesn’t. And you’re right. As much as I dislike the thought, we will have to have warriors who protect what
we create. But unlike the Nightland and Sunpath, we can’t forget that Power fills the world.”

She shifted on the rock. “It must have been a wonderful thing … to fly.”

“The world looks different from up there.” He raised his eyes to the sky, seeing a hawk gliding on the thermals.

“Well, what if I really do love you? Among my people, Dreamers avoid women. In the myths, it was love that killed First Woman. If I slip into your blankets some night while you’re Dreaming, are you going to lose your soul in the One like she did?”

He reached out, taking her cool hand in his. “Nothing comes without a price, Ashes. I agreed to that when I came back. To do what I must, I can’t Dream the One again. Not like I did.”

“Good,” she answered simply. “Because I remember how it was between Mother and Father. They thought I was asleep, but they liked coupling.” She grinned. “They used to have this look, something special in their eyes before they sneaked off to lie together. I think I’m going to like coupling when I’m finally a woman.”

He laughed. “I’ll do my best to keep you happy.”

“I suppose you’ve seen it?”

He nodded. “But that’s all right, because I already know you’ve imagined it.”

She punched him playfully in the shoulder. “I’ve imagined a lot.” Then she sobered. “But for a while, during that terrible night in the Nightland pen, I thought they were going to kill me.”

He searched her eyes, seeing the wounded soul behind them. “Then you know, as few others do, that every moment is a blessing.”

G
oodeagle sat in the near darkness with his jaw clenched. Scents of wet dirt, human feces, and sweat tainted the air. Kakala and Keresa had been taking turns questioning him for over a hand of time. Keresa’s questions confused him the most. She kept asking things about Bramble: How did she wear her hair? Did she tilt her head in a certain way when she smiled? What sort of hand gestures did she use? He felt crazed, on the verge of violence.

As soon as Kakala had crawled through the recently opened tunnel,
he’d ordered his warriors, and Goodeagle, to remove and pile all of their weapons in the far corner—out of sight, but within reach. Then he’d told his people to leave. They’d crawled into the adjacent chamber and Goodeagle had heard them guzzling water from water bags, laughing and joking with their friends.

He would have given anything for one sip of their water.

“Why is he leaving us alive down here?” Kakala asked. The side of his head looked terrible: cut, swollen, and scabbed with dried pus.

“I—I don’t know, Kakala.”

The war chief sat on the floor, looking ill. Blood-matted hair hung in greasy strands around his scarred face.

“You are truly worthless. Windwolf is asking questions about the Nightland Caves, and you haven’t any notion of what he might be up to? What’s he doing?”

“I
don’t
know. Leave me
alone
!” Discussing Windwolf made his stomach cramp. He kept seeing the man’s eyes, and he couldn’t shake the remnant of old and abiding friendship.

Goodeagle glared up at Kakala and Keresa. Every word he spoke to them made him feel like he was reliving that terrible day at Walking Seal Village when he’d first made the deal with Karigi to betray Windwolf. His stomach cramped again. He bent forward in agony.

Kakala looked at Keresa, then tilted his head toward Goodeagle. She walked lithely forward.

“Goodeagle,” she said, “let’s lay out what we know. Windwolf has totally reorganized this village. He’s ordered the Elders to stay inside and posted guards around them. He’s set up a warriors’ training school for young boys and girls. Nearly all of the true warriors here, both Lame Bull and Sunpath warriors, seem to be missing. He’s kept a few critical people—like War Chief Fish Hawk—but his own green child warriors are currently standing guard on the high points. What’s he doing? Is this a ruse to distract us from something else? Is it possible he’s already sent warriors to attack the Nightland Caves?”

Goodeagle examined her from head to toe. She’d said “Windwolf” with a hint of softness in her voice.

He ran a hand through his moist black hair and forced himself to respond. “Windwolf would never dispatch a war party to the Nightland Caves unless he was leading it.”

“What about the missing warriors?”

“I suspect they’re involved in finding food for the refugees.” He
looked up and smiled gloatingly at Kakala. “You already told me they’ve looted the dead.”

Kakala’s nostrils flared. “I would do the same thing. Let me ask you this: Is it possible Windwolf is planning on exchanging us for some of the hostages Karigi is holding? Or perhaps the Sunpath slaves at the Nightland Caves?”

Goodeagle chuckled. “If somebody corners him, he’ll try arranging an exchange—your people’s freedom for his. If that doesn’t work … well, you won’t have to worry about anything ever again.” But then, even if they were exchanged, they only had the cages to look forward to.

He paused. Was Windwolf counting on that?

Kakala’s gaze drifted to Keresa. She wandered slowly around the edges of the chamber, grimacing at the walls and floor. Goodeagle’s eyes narrowed. He’d watched her go about her duties for moons; he knew her style: brusque and honest. What was this new feminine allure? He shook his head, fighting against the clear similarities between her graceful movements and Bramble’s. Did they affect Windwolf in the same way? He felt suddenly numb—the thought like a stiletto driven into his soul.

Perhaps her newfound allure reflected exactly what she knew Windwolf liked? Or was it his direct, if subtle, coaching?
Whose side are you on, beauty?
He had to know, and fast.

“I’m worried,” Keresa said. “I think the missing warriors are on their way to the Nightland Caves, and if we don’t get out of here to warn our people—”

“Really?” Goodeagle gave a low laugh that made his own blood run cold. “Did Windwolf tell you that? In personal discussions? He’s a rare man, isn’t he? Gentle, willing to bend over backward to compromise so he doesn’t have to hurt you.Yes, I can hear it now, ‘Keresa, just help me and I’ll guarantee the safety of everyone you love. Help me, Keresa.’”

She seemed to stop breathing. He leaned forward. “And he has a reputation for being an expert beneath the hides. Oh, I’ll bet you like that, don’t you? Did he promise you riches as well?”

Kakala glanced at his deputy, and Goodeagle could see the lurking doubts surface. Kakala suspected it, too.

In a warning voice, Kakala said, “Goodeagle, if I were you, I wouldn’t—”

“You’re not me! And this is too amusing. Don’t you disapprove of treason, Kakala?” He thrust a hand out at Keresa. “Blessed Ancestors, I’ve seen this so many times!” he lied, pushing, trying to force her cool confidence to break. He ignored the slight shift of her body, the cold glare she gave him. “Seducing women warriors is a game with Windwolf, he—”

In a graceful dancer’s whirl, she kicked out. Her right foot slammed into Goodeagle’s shoulder and sent him sprawling. He struggled to his knees, but she kicked him down on his stomach, landed on top of him, and her arm tightened around his windpipe. He gasped for breath.

From the corner of his eye, he could see her smile. “You’re dead, Goodeagle.”

“Keresa,” Kakala said sternly. He tried to pull her off, but her arm just constricted tighter.

“Keresa! Let him go! We’re all crazy from the tension. Don’t let this—”

“You’ll back me, won’t you, Kakala? Goodeagle was obviously suffering from a bout of Sunpath conscience. He was trying to escape … to go warn Windwolf about our plans.”

Kakala hesitated, then nodded. “Make it quick and clean; I don’t want any noise.”

The cool way Kakala had spoken left Goodeagle reeling. “Wait!” he rasped. “The Nightland Elders promised me sanctuary! Kakala, you can’t—”

“No, but I can.” Keresa smiled again, speaking to Goodeagle in a caressing voice as she lessened the pressure. “Let’s have a final talk, shall we? If I get the right answers, you might even live. Hmm? What do you say?”

He twisted to gaze up into Keresa’s icy eyes. “What—what do you want to know?”

“Details. Just minor details of the Walking Seal Village battle.” She toyed with him, smoothing her deadly fingers down his neck like a lover’s hand. Every muscle in his body went rigid. Kakala looked on as though bored.

May the Spirits curse him! He’s a Nightland war chief, and the Council promised me sanctuary!

He blinked at the pressure at his throat.
But that’s not why I did it. No. No!

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

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