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

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“Wolf Dreamer’s flood,” Windwolf said in awe. “This is from the broken ice dam far to the west.”

“Here? It’s come this far?” Keresa shook her head.

Skimmer bent her head back, shouting to the sky, “Call the thunder, Raven Hunter!”

The quake was unlike anything Keresa had ever felt. A great jolt shook the earth, pitching her body up from the ground.

Her reeling senses recorded a confusion of sights and sounds: the water in the river leaping, vibrating, and rising in spikes of spray; Karigi toppling from his boulder as it rose and fell; trees swaying; and odd spurts of dirt, duff, and twigs rising from the very earth.

Somehow she managed to grasp Windwolf’s hand as they bounced like cones on the pitching shale.

Somewhere through the roar, she swore she heard a great mammoth trumpeting in fear.

Sixty-nine

B
lue Wing gasped for breath as she climbed to the high point and looked back. She could barely see the Nightland camps where they tucked up under the jagged wall of the Ice Giants. From this distance, the great cavern was little more than a dark spot in the grimy ice.

I am free.

She walked up to one of the erratic boulders that littered the high ridge and leaned against it, looking back, wondering at what she had lost: her husband, a son and daughter, the sanctity of her body.

“And part of my soul,” she whispered. She looked down at her hand, remembering the feel of the bone stiletto she’d driven between Goodeagle’s ribs.

Did I really do that?

The great quake caught her by surprise. The land leapt, and a rolling thunder filled the air. She barely had time to claw her way to her feet when she pitched sideways. The great stone she had been leaning against rolled on its base and toppled, just missing her.

For too many heartbeats the ground shook, pebbles and gravel leaping as she staggered for balance. Silt rose in a low cloud, only to be carried away by the wind.

And then it was gone. She lay panting, trembling with terror, the thunder fading off to the south.

For a moment, the world was silent, as if holding its breath.

An earsplitting squeal erupted from the Ice Giants, followed by a deep-throated groan.

“Wolf Dreamer, help me.” She started, rising to stare back at the Ice Giants.

Blue Wing watched as the first massive slab of ice cracked loose. It seemed to hang, moving slowly, as if lowering tentatively into the Thunder Sea. Where it sank, white water foamed and a stunning wave of water rolled away from it, traveling at unbelievable speed. The floating bergs rose and fell like a ripple of dots.

Blue Wing stared in disbelief as the great wave spread like a huge ring. It raced across the narrow band of water, rushing up the southern shore, covering the tundra. As it engulfed the land, it dislodged the grounded bergs, tossing them high up on the pockmarked land. Then the water seemed to settle for a moment, filling the hollows, swirling around the hillocks and drumlins.

Behind it, the beach remained bare, reefs of rounded rock sticking up like pimples on the naked seafloor. Then the remnants of the wave began to flow back across the denuded shores, and the roar of it came thundering across the land. She felt the power of it by the trembling of the earth beneath her, and the rumble that deafened her ears.

As she watched, a series of cracks shot through the bellies of the Ice Giants, racing away in every direction, and another slab sloughed off. It crashed into the lake. Then another peeled off and fell with what seemed an agonizing slowness. The massive waves that rolled away smashed into the backwash of the first. Giant geysers of white shot high into the air; the mist rainbowed in the sunlight.

Terrified birds fluttered this way and that like disoriented bats. An arctic hare ran past her in panic.

In one gigantic grinding wail, a piece of ice bigger than all of Nightland country broke free … .

The lake exploded. A wall of water raced through the pitching waves for the shore.

It came like thunder, the sound growing louder by the instant. The great wave overwhelmed the draining waters of the first, thrusting them back into the rocks and old ice that lined the tundra.

Blue Wing watched in stunned amazement as the edge of it rushed
across the land below her, churning, dashing, shooting high as it engulfed the country she had just crossed. The rumble of it shook her, shivering her very bones.

In panicked immobility, she watched wide-eyed as it rolled up almost to her feet, and slowed.

To the south, the Thunder Sea rushed through the hilly moraines, spilling out across the uneven ground in a wild torrent.

The earthquake trembled to a stop, but a new roar filled the air.

As more and more water poured through, the gap widened and sent the icy lake water crashing down what had been the narrow channel of Windigo River. The wave pushed a flood of enormous rocks and chunks of frozen earth before it, scouring the channel.

The water had overflowed the banks of the river and was flooding out like a black sea, washing toward the distant ridge where Headswift Village stood.

Blue Wing climbed uneasily to her feet as the water below her began to drain away. Every hollow was filled; rivulets were being cut into the slopes before her eyes.

Every vestige of the Nightland Caves and villages had been wiped clean. The beach below the camps stretched empty, the water far down the gentle slope. Damp mud glistened in the sunlight with an eerie sheen. Here and there, great rivers of backwash roared back toward the dancing waters of the Thunder Sea.

She had no idea how long she stared, but a distant wall of white caught her eye. It lay along the eastern horizon of the narrow Thunder Sea, a hazy thin band.

She looked at the exposed mud flats where water had once rested, thought about the waves that had washed out of the basin, and looked back at the distant band of white.

Was it bigger now?

“Water always finds its own level,” she whispered. And the Thunder Sea ran right into the ocean.

She turned and ran.

Seventy

F
or two days following the great quake, Silvertip led his people eastward along the ridges. Behind them, the water continued to rise, slipping up valleys, spilling into hollows.

At last he topped a final ridge, following a path between large pines. He stopped, staring, stunned to see with his eyes what his Spirit had known only in Dreams.

Ashes came to stand beside him, her war club resting on her shoulder. He heard her sudden gasp of disbelief. Lookingbill and Dipper walked up on either side, standing in silent awe.

Below them, what had been Lake River Valley had become what at first appeared to be a flat plane that extended almost without relief to the distant peaks of the Ice Giants. To the eye it seemed like flat land at first, until a decided movement became apparent, as if the great expanse of plain moved inexorably to the east.

Looking closer, the observer realized that what passed for matted earth was floating debris consisting of rafts of uprooted trees, icebergs, tangles of wood, sticks, and branches. Most, however, was duff and leaves floated from the forest floor. Occasional clear patches of water, like cracks, gleamed a gray granitic sheen.

Close to the shore Silvertip could see the bloated carcass of a mammoth, the long red hair of its hide clotted with debris. The great cow floated on her side, bobbing slightly, head turned down into the filthy brown water. He spotted other carcasses: a bison, two elk, and the dark hide of short-faced bear. All animals that had no chance to flee the great sprawling mass of water that had rolled out of the west.

In places, high ground stuck up, catching the great rafts of debris, holding it for a time, until the relentless eastern flow spun it one way or another and bore it relentlessly toward the distant ocean.

“So much water!” Lookingbill whispered under his breath. He swallowed hard. “Where … where is Headswift Village?”

Silvertip pointed. “There. That little knob in the distance.” He turned his eyes on the pinprick amidst the debris-matted water.

“No one who stayed would have lived,” Dipper said softly. “That water’s up to the highest rocks.”

“It’s flowing through the passageways,” Silvertip told them, “eating away at the base. Even the great rocks are collapsing, sinking down. When the water drains away, it will only be a low mound covered with silt.”

“Is that a mammoth?” Dipper pointed to where a single calf stood perched on a shallow island to the east. It kept raising its trunk, as if scenting for its mother. Then it would whirl, splash down into the water where wood had collected. Raising its right foot, it would press anxiously at the floating wood, as if in search of solid footing. Finding none, the calf retreated to the limited sanctuary of the rounded hump of land. Even as they watched, the saturated ground seemed to be sliding under the calf ’s feet. Panicked, it whirled and dashed about in ever smaller circles, destroying its haven as it went.

Ashes swallowed hard. “When will the flood subside?”

“Our children may see it.” Silvertip watched the mammoth calf with a leaden soul. “The trees will slowly wash out into the ocean, carrying the carcasses of dead animals, and those few that survived by clinging to the wood: squirrels, raccoons, some beaver.”

“The size of it,” Lookingbill cried. “It runs all the way to the Ice Giants. What of the Nightland?”

“Gone,” Silvertip told him. “Washed away. Their corpses have already been carried off by the tides of the Thunder Sea.”

“Raven Hunter’s Dream?” Ashes asked.

“Alive,” he said simply, and pointed to the south. “The Raven
Bundle is there. I can feel it, like a darkness on the land.” He glanced at Ashes. “Your mother lives.”

“What now, Dreamer?” Lookingbill asked. “What do we do?”

Silvertip filled his lungs, smelling the odors of wet wood, earth, and water. “We go south. There we will meet up with the remains of the Sunpath People who are fleeing to the Tills. It will not be easy. The forest peoples down there won’t be pleased to see us encroach upon them. We will need Silt’s warriors.”

“More war?” Dipper asked.

“Raven Hunter has rebalanced the Spiral,” Silvertip whispered. “Where there is order, there will be conflict.”

He bent down, grasping a handful of soil. Then, slowly, he opened his fingers, letting it trickle away through his fingers.

In the distance, the mammoth calf trumpeted in fear as it crumbled its fragile island beneath its feet.

Epilogue

W
indwolf sat on a high outcrop of limestone and watched the northern horizon. The band of brown hung low in the sky, like a great distant smoke that ran from horizon to horizon. Wind whipped white strands of hair around his lined face.

He coughed, hating the nagging tickle in his lungs. It had become a constant thing over the summers after the end of the world.

He could never rest on a high place without thinking of the great flood. Memories of the time they’d spent watching Lake River swell into a huge torrent remained, as did their frantic flight to the south as the river washed over the shale bench and pursued them through the forest trails.

He wondered: Was any of that country left?

Below him, the great forest—oak and hickory, walnut and beech—stretched off to the distant north, still and green in the summer. The carpet of forest undulated over distant ridges until it merged with the far brown haze.

In the valley below him, a great river ground away at its limestone banks. So much water, but nothing like he’d seen in the north.

At the soft padding of Keresa’s feet, he looked up, smiling as she came to sit beside him. The faint breeze tugged at her graying hair. He envied her for that; his own had gone white years ago.

“Any change?” she asked, pointing at the distant brown cloud. Her hands had hardened with time, the bones knobby under thin and wrinkled skin.

“No.” He turned his eyes to it. “The winds are still carrying it east.”

When the west or north winds blew across the great empty lake beds of the north, they picked up the loose silt and rock dust, carrying it far and wide to settle on the land in a fine dust. Most of the country up north had been abandoned, unfit for man or beast. In places the wind-blown silt could be seen in cut banks, taller than a man. It had suffocated the land. Where once mammoths had fed on lush grasses, dark silt now piled in rippled dunes that stretched for as far as the eye could see. According to the few hardy individuals that dared journey there, the north had become a dead zone.

Winters had grown colder as well.

When the silt blew south, people tended to stay in, their faces wrapped with cloth. Despite that, most people had developed the common cough after years of enduring the fine dust.

Windwolf grimaced. At those times, the sun was gone for days. People huddled in their lodges, waiting out the long dark days. He wondered if that was what Ti-Bish had meant. If so, it was certainly no paradise.

On the other hand, where the silt fell, and the rains came, the forest seemed to swell with life. Nut crops were plentiful; cattails and goosefoot grew. The deer, elk, and bison thrived.

Keresa said, “Silvertip and Ashes have sent a runner. They are holding a gathering again this summer.” She shot him a curious glance. “As usual they have invited Skimmer.”

“And again, she will have nothing to do with it.” Windwolf reached down, toying with the grass before him. “Did Kakala show any interest in going?”

“No. He’s happy to stay with her.” Keresa looked out at the distant brown haze. “Now that Black Bird has taken the Raven Bundle, Kakala wishes to concentrate on raising his own sons.”

Windwolf shot her a knowing look. “She had the boy less than six moons after Kakala began sharing her robes.”

Keresa kept her level eyes fixed on the distant haze. “Black Bird is Ti-Bish’s child. No doubt about it. He has that wide-eyed look.”

Windwolf pulled the grass up, chewing thoughtfully on the stem. “Kakala doesn’t care. He owes his happiness to Skimmer. Only a woman with her Power could have put his ghosts to rest.”

“Then I must be full of Power, too.” She gave his bony knee a squeeze. “Not only did I cure your ghosts, but I gave you four strong children in return.”

He gave her his wary grin. “They tell the other young people that they had two fathers for parents. That you were tougher on them than I was.”

She chuckled at that; then her voice turned serious. “Chief Silt sent a message to you. He wanted you to know that Blue Wing died last moon.”

Windwolf nodded. She hadn’t been doing well. “I owed her. Had she not survived and married Silt, I would never have known what happened to Goodeagle.”

“Would it have mattered after all these years?”

“It would have.”

She studied him. “Windwolf, so many summers have passed, Kishkat’s and Tapa’s children have grown and married into Silt’s band. No one cares that some of us were once Nightland People. We could join their band, become one with them.”

Windwolf shook his head sadly. “Skimmer wouldn’t go. She and Silvertip … they just wouldn’t see eye to eye. War Chief Ashes would side with her husband, even if she follows Raven Hunter’s Dream.”

“Separate and opposite?” she asked.

He nodded. “Silvertip told me the Spiral is just beginning to regain its balance. Let’s give the earth some time before the Wolf and Raven Bundles clash again. Until we are gone, our little band will be the last of the Nightland and of Ti-Bish’s Dream.”

She wound her fingers into his. “I don’t care. As long as I can Dream it with you.”

In the forest behind them, a great black wolf watched with glowing yellow eyes. He often followed the man through the forest, watching, studying the man’s ways.

The only warning came as the soft whisper of wings. The black
wolf ducked nimbly to the side, then leapt and snapped as the big black raven dove low over his head.

The bird cawed, flipped over on its back, and disappeared behind the trees.

The wolf watched it go. There would always be another opportunity. This thing between him and Raven was only beginning.

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

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