People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past) (15 page)

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

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

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You don’t!
Ti-Bish started to tremble, and a need to weep filled his chest. He said, “I’ll be … be in my Dreaming Cave.”

“Again?” Nashat called in exasperation.

Seventeen

T
i-Bish veered sharply right at the next tunnel, leaving Nashat behind. His heart hammered frantically; he could barely breathe. He broke into a headlong run, plunging into the bowels of the Ice Giants. He knew the tunnels as no one else did, but soon found himself panting in a pool of darkness. Why hadn’t he thought to grab a lamp? Tendrils of cold breathed from the stone-impregnated ice. The darkness was complete.

“Raven Hunter,” he called, feeling his way along the walls. “It’s me. I need you.”

It took perhaps a full hand of time to work his way through the darkness. The deeper he went toward the lake of fire, the colder the air grew.

“Raven Hunter, your people need you.” His voice echoed in the stillness. “Please, come to me.”

After another hand of time, he grew too tired to travel and sank to the floor. Pulling his cape tightly around his body, he closed his eyes. No one would miss him. Not for many days. And he would be able to think and pray.

Sleep came quickly … .

F
araway thunder
—
like giants walking
—
awakens me. I listen to the blackness. As the thunder rumbles closer, the Ice Giants shriek and groan. I try not to tremble.

I have found strange animals and plants in these tunnels. Once I tripped over the bones of a huge buffalo, twice the size of those outside, with horns more than two body lengths long. Supernatural buffalo, buffalo that have not existed in our world for many many summers
—
if they ever did. The shore of the fiery lake has even more peculiar things. A moon ago, I watched glowing fish swim through the gigantic spine of a monster that stretched for twenty body lengths.

I rise from the floor and feel my way farther down the tunnel.

When I notice that the darkness is not quite black, but has a faint glow, I know the sacred lake is ahead. The pastel luminescence increases until I can make out the shape of the ice tunnel. A little taller than my head, it has narrowed to barely the width of my shoulders.

As I round the curve, the tunnel opens to my Dreaming Cave. The ceiling soars into sheer blackness above me. I have been here tens of times since I was a boy. I know every sculpted curve and undulation in the floor. This is my secret place. No other human comes here, or ever has that I can
—

A dark form passes to my left. The faint glow ripples.

I spin around, breathless.

He always startles me, frightens me.

A Spirit in the shape of a man, his black body has a shimmer, as though his jet feathers catch the light.

“I knew you’d come.”

“You’re never alone,” the Spirit says in a voice that sounds like the soft beating of wings. “I’ll always be here when you truly need me.”

“Since that night above the Nine Pipes camp when you first came to me, I’ve known you watch over me.”

“Why have you called?”

“Nashat tells me that Sunpath warriors have destroyed several of our villages. Tens of tens are homeless and hungry. Even now, they cry for food out in the forests. I
—
”

“Don’t concern yourself, Ti-Bish. They will have food. I will make sure of it.”

Gratitude floods my fevered body like cool water. “I thank you.”

“I sense there’s more.”

My eyes trace the shape of the lighter darkness around Raven Hunter. Though I’ve never seen the Spirit’s face, I know he is very beautiful.

“We can’t find Skimmer. Nashat brought the wrong woman. I know if I could only talk with her, pray with her for a few days, she’d understand you.”

“You want to pray with her after she plotted to kill you?”

“Yes, she’s a good woman. She gave me food once. I can do this for her … bring her to you.”

Raven Hunter’s soft laughter sounds like rustling wings. “And what would you tell her?”

The darkness shifts as though being blown about by Wind Woman. I can’t see Raven Hunter as clearly now.

“I’d tell her of your goodness and Power. I’d explain to her the wickedness of Wolf Dreamer. I’d show her
—”

“She won’t believe you.”

“But why?”

“Old ways die hard. Especially old Spirits. But we will win this battle in the end.”

The blackness flutters closer, and I feel a light touch on my face. The warmth sends a tingle through me, making me feel better.

“Kakala’s warriors will finally bring her to you.”

“They will?” I say in surprise, and steel myself. I feel a strange attraction toward the woman. Just thinking about her sends a flush through me, even though a part of me also hates her for the suffering she has caused.

“I want you to give her something. Hold out your hands.”

I extend my hands, and he places a small leather bundle in them. “What is this?”

“You must never open it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

I feel it with my fingers. “What’s it for?”

“It’s a bundle for Skimmer.”

“But I don’t under
—”

“For her and
no one
else. A gift.”

The bag feels light. “When will Kakala bring her to me?”

The dark air pulses again, as though touched by fluttering wings.

“Soon. If you can keep Nashat from putting him in a pole cage. It’s very important that you follow my instructions exactly.”

“You know I will. Please tell me what I must do?”

“Skimmer is the source. When she arrives, you must listen to her very carefully. She will say things you don’t want to hear.”

“I’ll listen,” I answer breathlessly, my heart starting to pound. I long to have her close where I could teach her … and just talk to her.

I can feel his eyes on mine. “You love her.”

“With all my heart.”

“You know what happens when a Dreamer lies with a woman?”

“It could cost me my life.”

“Would you pay that price?”

“I … I …” Blinking, I shake my head. “It’s not that way.”

He watches me, and the silence stretches. Fear grows inside me.

“Raven Hunter?” I call in a voice smaller than I intend. “I try so hard to please you, but sometimes I feel stupid and inadequate.”

“You are all I expected you to be, Ti-Bish.”

His voice comes from farther and farther away, as though he is soaring down the tunnel toward the fiery lake. “Never forget that truth shines through the hurt eyes of everyone around you. Love everyone … teach everyone.”

“And you’ll take care of us?”

A spiraling black hole appears down the throat of the tunnel … .

T
i-Bish woke with a start, panting, soaked in sweat. His cape had become twisted and tangled with his long legs. He kicked them free and sat up.

“Spirit Dream,” he whispered.

When he started to stand, something tumbled onto the floor. He felt for it. As his fingers slipped across the soft leather, he knew what it was.

The bundle for Skimmer.

He clutched it to his heart, braced one hand against the wall, and rose.

The ice tunnel had a strange scent now, like falling rain. He breathed deeply, a gentle smile on his lips.

Eighteen

S
upper consisted of the hind leg of a caribou that Bishka had managed to dart while scouting. The roasting meat was a welcome addition to Kakala’s dwindling supplies.

No one had spoken much during the meal. Too many times, Kakala caught his warriors glancing uneasily to the north. Thoughts of Brookwood Village lay heavily on all of their minds.

All but Goodeagle, of course. He had walked in, cut off a slice of meat, and stepped out beyond the boundary of the fire. Kakala could see him, a dark shadow perched on a partially exposed boulder. What would it be like to be that lonely and despised?

But then, he knew. He’d been in the cage, suffered the heaped insults. He’d watched his wife die, and had finally crawled out, back bent and aching—the hurt in his body no match for the pain in his soul, or the staggering sense of loss. Some said he’d been half-mad for years.

Kakala, belly full, extended his hands to the fire and looked up at the stars.

“I’m worried about Keresa,” Rana said. “She’s been gone too long.”

“Trust her,” Kakala replied, hiding his own concern. “She’s the
best. No one else among us could sneak in so close to Headswift Village. If Windwolf is there, she’ll find him.”

“And then we go back?” Corre asked, glancing uneasily toward the spruce tree where Maga’s body lay.

“I’ll take the chance,” Bishka said before biting off another strip of steaming meat. He chewed, swallowed, and gestured with greasy fingers. “Handing over Windwolf’s head keeps us out of the cages.”

“I still don’t understand.” Rana shook his head. “It was as if Windwolf
knew
we were there. By the Guide’s balls, I’d swear the man can see in the dark.”

Kakala chuckled.

“You find that funny?” Rana gave him a flat stare.

“First, you should be careful how you speak of the Guide. What is said here will go no further, but should you slip before Karigi, or, Raven forbid, Nashat, the cages will look like a blessing compared to what they will do to you.” He paused. “Windwolf, however, does not see in the dark. No more than I do. He’s just a man.”

“Sometimes, I wonder,” Bishka muttered, ripping off another chunk of meat.

Movement at the corner of his eye sent Kakala scrambling for his weapons, only to relax as Keresa—wearing a Sunpath woman’s dress—stepped into the firelight.

“About time,” Kakala muttered, sighing with relief as he replaced his war club by his side.

Keresa dropped a rolled pack containing her war clothes to the ground. It landed with a thud. She grinned as she seated herself next to him. “My stomach is an open hole. That meat smells better than anything I’ve ever known.”

Kakala watched her fumble into the rolled pack to retrieve a hafted stone knife. Her nimble fingers quickly sliced a long strip from the thinning haunch.

“Well?” he asked.

She sank her teeth into the meat, making happy sounds as she chewed. Then, wiping her sleeve across her mouth, swallowed. “Windwolf is gone. I overheard that much.”

“Where?”

“No one knows.” She took another bite, wolfing the hot meat. Mouth full, she said, “Lookingbill has sent runners out, offering sanctuary to any Sunpath People who need it.” She met Kakala’s eyes.
“We’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest. The woman who drove a dart into Maga was Mossy, their Storyteller.”

“Lookingbill’s daughter.” Kakala’s heart sank. Raven take him, the old chief would never forgive them.

“How’s Maga?” she asked.

“He has sent his soul to Raven.”

She nodded. No one survived a gut wound like that.

“Anything else?” Kakala asked.

“Some sort of alliance was brokered between Windwolf and Lookingbill. I managed to slip close to several fires last night. People are talking about it, but no one seems to know the details.” She gave him a horrified look. “Perhaps the chiefs don’t trust us with such knowledge?”

Kakala sighed, shoulders sagging. “Then there is nothing else for us to do but return … and face the consequences.”

All eyes lowered, fixed on the fire.

Keresa continued to eat, no doubt thinking she’d need to stock up before a couple of moons in the cages. Then she looked up. “Well, we could always run off and join Windwolf. He doesn’t punish good warriors.”

Kakala arched his back. “This is all my fault.” He looked around, meeting the eyes of his warriors. “I think the rest of you should stay out here. Under Keresa’s command, you should keep looking for Windwolf.”

The warriors looked back and forth at each other.

It was Keresa who said, “ … And you will go in and take all the blame?”

Kakala nodded. “I survived the cages once. I can do it again.”

He could see confused relief mixed with sudden guilt on his warriors’ faces.

“No!” Keresa said adamantly. “We did just as we were
ordered
. Nashat himself sent us out as a small party to capture
one
man. Had Nashat allowed us to take all of our warriors—as we thought prudent—the outcome would have been very different.”

Kakala arched an eyebrow. “Let me get this straight. You want to walk in, heads held high, and tell Nashat and the Council it was
their
mistake?”

She narrowed an eye. “Why not?”

“They’ll order Karigi to kill us all.”

“Let him try.” Keresa didn’t budge.

Corre asked, “Are we talking about fighting with our own people?”

“No,” Kakala muttered. But he had to admit the idea of driving a dart into Karigi had a certain appeal. “We do it my way. I’ll go in. The rest of you continue the search for Windwolf. He’s probably headed back to find his warriors. No matter what happens to me, I want you to locate Windwolf, keep an eye on his warriors, and report back. If they are joining up with Lookingbill, we need to know. That’s more important than any of us.” He met their eyes, one by one. “That’s an order from your war chief.”

Keresa gave him a sour look. “Sometimes I wonder who the enemy really is.”

A
n avalanche of boulders littered the slope that Skimmer and Ashes climbed. Frosted by starlight, the boulders resembled monstrous wind-sculpted statues.

It looks like a broken garden of the Spirits.
She blinked, fighting the sudden tremble in her hands.
Like the ruins of my own soul.

Her daughter trudged up the slope behind her. “It’s scary here. I don’t like it.”

“No. Me either.

Many of the boulders looked like upraised fists, others like angry faces, their raging expressions long ago quieted by the storms. She shook herself, trying to rid the images of dead women in the moonlight, their crushed faces staring … .

“Mother, could we rest for a while?”

“Just a little farther; then we’ll rest.”

Ashes suddenly gasped, and high overhead one of the Meteor People streaked across the night sky, leaving a luminous trail.

“He’s headed toward the Ice Giants,” Ashes breathed in awe.

Let him.
Skimmer watched until he’d sailed out of sight, then continued the climb. When she reached a fallen log near the crest, she sat down. Her blood-soaked cape hung stiffly, and her waist-length hair fell over her shoulders in gore-matted tangles.

Ashes wiped a sleeve under her running nose and sat down hard beside her. In the starlight, her eyes shone gray-blue.

“Where’s Headswift Village?” she asked.

Skimmer pointed. “We’ll be there tomorrow night.”

“I wish we were there now. I’m hungry.”

Wind Woman whistled up the path, and Skimmer closed her eyes against the sting of wind-whipped sand.
Yes, pelt me, make me hurt. At least with pain, I can feel something.

“Hungry? There’s no time to hunt, Ashes. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. It’s not your fault.”

My fault? Everything is my fault.

Faintly, she heard the whoosh of wings in the darkness, and looked up.

Fear choked her. She reached out a quaking hand to gently touch her daughter.

Ashes looked around. “Is it time to—”

“Shh!” Skimmer pointed.

Ashes turned and saw the two warriors standing on the boulders up the trail. Silhouetted against the Blessed Star People, they looked tall and dark.

“We still have a chance,” Skimmer whispered. “Do you remember the pile of rocks we passed on the way up? I want you to slide off this boulder very slowly, and sneak down the trail. Hide in those rocks until I come for you. If they catch me, do you remember what I told you?”

In a tight voice, Ashes whispered, “Yes.”

Gravel scritched as Ashes slipped off the boulder and sneaked down the trail.

Skimmer sat perfectly still, giving Ashes time to conceal herself before she followed. If they spotted her, and she could draw them far enough away, Ashes might escape.

Just as she was preparing to run, a rock flew out of nowhere to clatter off a boulder beyond the warriors. The men flinched, clutched their weapons, trotted away to investigate.

From no more than three paces behind her, a deep masculine voice softly ordered, “Hurry. Follow my voice. There’s a hole here.”

“Who—”

“Do it!”

She slid to the ground, ducked low, and scurried toward the voice.

She found the shelter—little more than a crawl space beneath a toppled slab—and slithered under it on her stomach. Scents of dried grass, human sweat, and rodent dung stung her nostrils. Packrat middens of
twigs, dried berries, and oddly shaped rocks lay at the bases of the boulders. Eyes glinted in the very back, a body’s length away.

She whispered, “Who are you?”

As her eyes adjusted, she could tell he held a war club in his fist.

“Quiet.”

Feet pounded on the trail, heading down the slope. She couldn’t make out the words, but she heard the warriors whispering to each other. They stopped three times—looked around—and continued on.

The man whispered, “Those are Kakala’s warriors. He’s camped up in the spruce. Your daughter won’t try to run, will she?”

Skimmer shook her head—and prayed she was right.

They stared at each other. He was tall and heavily muscled, with a straight nose and short black hair—hair recently cut in mourning. As hers would soon be, when she had the luxury of grieving for Hookmaker.

He whispered, “Who are you?”

“Skimmer, of … once of the Nine Pipes band.”

He studied her with dark, unblinking eyes. “Stay here until I tell you to follow me.”

He crawled out and studied the rocky slope. After several moments, he called, “Come. Quietly. Let’s go find your daughter.”

“Who are you?” she whispered as she crawled cautiously from under the rock.

“I am Windwolf … your new friend.”