Read The Dead Man's Doll Online
Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear,Kathleen O’Neal Gear
The Dead Man's Doll (4 page)
A hot rush flooded his veins as he glanced down at Gausep. “Was that your village?”
Gausep pointed to the wooden figurine in the grave. “She did it.”
As though a huge hand had reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart, Asson whispered, “There are always survivors. You must have relatives somewhere. We'll find them. I promise you. We won't stop looking until we find your relatives.”
Gausep tipped his face up to stare at Asson, and the moonlight cast the shadow of his hooked nose across his cheek. “You're
really
not smart for an elder.”
Gausep took a circuitous, playful route through the leaves, splashing them with his hands as he walked back to stand looking down into the grave. He tilted his head. “I followed her tracks that night. I don't know why. I justâ¦I thought she knew the way.”
The moon vanished behind a cloud, and the shore went dark. Asson suddenly felt tired, so tired. He
wasn't
very smart for an elder. Dear gods. He walked toward Gausep. The old leaves piled in the low spots rose to his knees. He slogged through them, stepping highâ¦until his foot struck something that was neither rock nor earth.
Asson knelt to pull the leaves away. In the darkness, he knew only that it was flesh.
Gausep let out a sharp cry and broke into a run, dashing down to the surf, where he stood facing the ocean. He lifted his arms and started waving them. “Here! I'm over here!”
When the moonlight once again washed over the ground, Asson saw the small body that lay buried in the leaves. He couldn't move. His muscles seemed to have frozen. Monstrous grief filled his chest. He lifted his eyes to the chestnut and watched the branches swaying in the wind.
From the depths of the darkness, two ghostly people appeared, a woman and a warrior. One alive. One dead.
The woman had eyes that would not stop rolling, mad eyes. She shouted, “You're in this tree. I know you are. Come out right now!”
After the woman placed the surrogate body of Madyrut, dressed in its yellow dress, into the hole, she tore at her hair and screamed. Then she threw herself across the figurine, clawing at it.
The warrior looked at the doll with brilliant quartz crystal eyes.
Don't do this, Madyrut. I beg you. Come with me? It wasn't your fault.
The images faded.
Asson murmured, “I don't understand, Madyrut.”
His gaze drifted to where Gausep stood looking out to sea with his whole heart in his eyes.
Asson reached down, slipped his arms beneath the frozen body, and carried the child to the grave. As he walked, he noticed that the boy's skull had been crushed by the blow of a club. This spot near the chestnut was a good four hundred hand-lengths from the village. The child must have kept crawling for as long as he could, trying to get away from the enemy warriors.
Gently, Asson placed the little boy in the hole beside the wooden figurine, where they could keep each other warm, and scooped cold earth over them, filling the hole again. As he did so, he sang the Death Song of his People, praying both the boy and Madyrut to the afterlife, begging to their animal friends to come and escort them along the Star Road.
When he'd finished, he said, “Is this why you called me here, Madyrut? Not for yourself, but to help the boy? Did you see him following you that night?”
I killed him.
“It doesn't matter now. The young man who loves you is right. You must go with him, or you will be lost forevâ”
Gausep shouted:
“Look! Look!”
As hollow as a punky old log, Asson stood up and walked down to the shore to stand beside Gausep. The boy's face appeared luminous in the sparkles of light reflecting from the sea.
“She's here!”
A black speck appeared. A boat. Two people rowed the craft, while one sat in the bow like a sentinel.
Softly, Asson said, “I've done the best I can for you, but I don't know the Songs of your People, Gausep. I hope you find your way.”
“The lights have to flash.” Gausep stared hard out at the sea, as though searching for them with all his strength.
Far off in the distance, Asson spied first one, then two more ships. They were large ships with curving prows and striped sails that billowed in the wind. A few winters ago, Asson had seen ships that looked just like these. A jolt of fear went through him. “Blessed Spirits, I must get back to my people to warn them. We're being invaded.”
“They're Grandfather Day Maker's children.”
Down the beach, the oarsmen drove the boat up onto the shore, and a yellow-haired man jumped out. He grabbed the woman huddled in the bow and dragged her through the surf, where he shoved her down upon the sand.
She doubled over, sobbing as though her soul were being torn from her body. Rocking back forth, she shouted, “Run!
Run!
”
The man laughed and kicked her onto her side. “You don't scare me, witch.”
Gausep started forward, and Asson said, “Stop and stand very still, Gausep. They don't see us yet.”
“She does.”
The man walked back to the boat, and he and his friend rowed out to sea.
When the boat had almost reached the ship in the middle, the distraught woman staggered to her feet. Long white hair whipped around her shoulders, shining as whitely as the moonlit surf.
“She's going to help me. Let's go see her.”
“No, let's give her a few more moments. I need to understand what she's up to.” Asson's skin had started to prickle, and he didn't know why. The air itself seemed to be afraid.
When the woman tilted her head back to gaze up at the clouds, an ethereal stillness settled over the shore. The waves calmed as though they'd been stroked by a soothing hand. Against the silvered ocean, Asson could see the three ships clearly now, dark silhouettes riding the waves.
The woman lifted clenched fists and held them suspended for a long time while she wept. Asson watched drifting clouds pass behind her hands. Finally, she let out a ragged cry and opened her fists.
Gausep cried out.
As though rocked by a silent clap of thunder, the earth shuddered; then a wave of light burst from the clouds. It rolled across the sky, gobbling the Star Road as it devoured the heavens and poured down honey-like through the darkness until it engulfed the ship where the rowboat had gone. Screams eddied in the distance. Asson thought he saw men diving overboard trying to escape, but the gleam flowed out across the ocean where they swam. And they were gone. The ship, the men in the water. Gone.
As the honeyed glow dissolved into the waves, the other two ships veered sharply away and headed out to sea.
Lightning flickered through the clouds. Bolts struck all around the ships, but Asson could not say whether those men lived or died.
The woman waited, her hands still in the air, her pale face bathed in the lightning's splendor, until she was again overtaken by sobs. As though born of her tears, the Northern Lights flared to life, and streams of green fire fluttered across the sky. The Star Road seemed to be strewn with emeralds.
Gausep said. “I'm going now, Elder.”
Asson turned to face him, but Gausep had vanished, so Asson looked up at the flashing lights, trying to see the boy up there. The curtains of light resembled snakes and vast herds of caribou flooding across rolling spring grasslands. Asson smiled.
“Madyrut? It's time.”
At the edge of the trees, two bucks appeared. One stared at the tree with a foot lifted, as though waiting for her. The deer seemed to be holding their breaths.
“It's your last chance. You must go before dawn. I give you my oath that you no longer need to stand guard over him. I will come back each year to check upon his grave and make certain wolves have not dug him up. If they have, I will find him, andâ”
It's my fault. It is my duty.
“No, Madyrut, no. Standing guard over a grave for eternity will be wrenching. Souls can wither from loneliness. They can go blind from tears. In a few centuries, you will be shriveled up and unable to see anythâ”
I saw him run the Star Road. It will be enough.
“Did you?” Asson bowed his head and stared at the pale green sand. Each grain twinkled in the glow of the Northern Lights. “I'm glad.”
The unknown woman collapsed to her knees on the beach and dropped her face in her hands.
Asson walked up the shore toward her.
At last, she rose to meet him. Her fox-fur hood framed her beautiful face like a shiny wreath. She had stopped crying, and squared her shoulders, as though bracing herself for whatever would come.
Asson spread his arms, showing her his empty hands.
When they stood face-to-face, their gazes locked, both searching the other's eyes, trying to see the soul in there. She
was
powerful. Asson could feel her steps inside him, looking around, but for what he did not know.
Asson made no attempt to defeat her. But when it grew painful, he did look away, shifting his gaze to the fluttering night sky high above. “Thank you,” he said simply, and gestured to the flashing lights. “For helping him.”
Tears tightened her voice. “Will you help me, Asson?”
Deep inside him, on the fabric of his souls, he glimpsed a little girl's face, and firelight reflecting from walls. Boots pounded a floor somewhere, and desperate voices split the warmth. Then a baby's screams, shrieking for her motherâ¦and agony too terrible to be borne.
Asson blinked to clear the images before he looked back at her. “You must come home with me, where I can teach you the things you must know about our lands and peoples. You can't survive here without such knowledge.”
“Butâ¦But they will come looking for me here in Vinland. I'm sure of it. If I don't stay here, he won't find me! My husbandâ¦He's coming.”
Asson stood quietly for a time, letting her think about it. Finally, he extended a hand northward, toward the rocky cove where he'd stashed his canoe. “It's your decision, but I must start home. The sea ice is growing.”
As he walked away, he heard her expel a breath.
It wasn't until he started climbing the black boulders that lined the cove that he heard her soft steps climbing behind him.
NORTH AMERICA'S FORGOTTEN PAST
Thousands of years ago, small hunting bands crossed the fragile land bridge linking the Eurasian continent to the Americas and discovered a land untouched by humankind. Over the centuries that followed, their descendants spread throughout this land.
Bestselling authors and award-winning archaeologists
W. Michael Gear
and
Kathleen O'Neal Gear
bring the stories of these first North Americans to life in this magnificent, multivolume saga.
Paleo-Indian Period
Children of the Dawnland
(for ages 9â12)
Archaic
Woodland
Moundville Duology
Cahokia Series
“Copper Falcon”
(Prequel Novella)
Rogue God (Forthcoming)
Anasazi
East Coast
People of the Songtrail
(forthcoming)
Iroquois Quartet
The Dawn Country: A People of the Longhouse Novel
The Broken Land: A People of the Longhouse Novel
People of the Black Sun: A People of the Longhouse Novel
THE ANASAZI MYSTERIES
The Gears breathe new life into the vanished world of the Anasazi. Dive eight hundred years into the pastâa world of danger, murder, and a power that transcends time.
OTHER TITLES BY
KATHLEEN O'NEAL GEAR
AND
W. MICHAEL GEAR
IN ME SERIES
A tale of prehistoric politics and erotic passion surrounding a Native American High Chieftess, struggling with her own inner turmoil and the troubles of her tribe.
MAN FROM BOSTON DUOLOGY
The Morning River
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