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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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N
ashat caught his balance as the quake hit. Impulsively, he cast a quick glance up at the ice overhead. Only a couple of gravel pellets clattered down around him. He could hear the ice moan, screech, and crack.
“Blessed Raven Hunter, I can’t
wait
to get out of this death trap!” Then he glanced around to make sure no one was close.
A sensation of doom was closing in around him, making breathing difficult. He hurried along, passed the opening to the Council Chamber, and stopped short. A huge block of ice had smashed down on his robes. White, and crusted with bands of gravel, it had shattered to send angular chunks of ice around half the room.
If I had been sitting there …
No, don’t even think it.
In half panic, he trotted down the tunnel, feet crunching the gravel underfoot.
At the great opening, he stopped, staring. People had been coming from all over. Literal mountains of packs stood beside small camps. But for the moment, the people were congregated down at the shore. It took a moment for the meaning of the darkened sand to sink in. A large wave had washed up and then receded.
He glanced out at the Thunder Sea. He could see debris bobbing in the choppy water. Among the packs, boats, and floating hides, people splashed around. Some clung to wreckage, calling desperately.
Those on shore were dragging bull boats down to the water, intent on rescuing the survivors before the cold water claimed them.
He took a deep breath. When strong quakes shook the ice, it often broke off, splashing down into the Thunder Sea. His people knew better than to camp too close to the beach.
“Fools! Serves them right.”
Then he returned his attention to the piled packs. The people were ready to move. He shifted his glance to the south, as if seeing beyond the tundra and spruce barrens to the oak and maple forest beyond. A land abandoned, ready for a new people to move in and enjoy the bounty, far from this miserable ice and cold.
“I am sorry, Ti-Bish. But I think it’s time that Skimmer finally served her purpose.” He actually felt a sense of delightful relief. His long ordeal was over. At last, he need no longer endure the wide-eyed innocence of the Idiot.
 
 
K
eresa tossed a stick into Windwolf’s fire. As the flames licked around it, she studied Kakala. He walked around, staring at the stone, fingering the bedding, and idly ran a finger down one of the long war darts leaned against the wall.
Kakala glanced at her as he studied the darts. “Do you think he remembered these were in here?”
“He’s getting tired. Making mistakes.” She flipped the bone stiletto from the top of her tall moccasin. “He never asked for this back, either.”
Kakala picked up one of the darts, glancing down its polished length with a practiced eye. “You two must have spent an interesting night.”
Keresa glanced at the fire. “I just hope it wasn’t the
only
night we ever have together.” Coolly she asked, “Why didn’t you order us to rush Windwolf’s pitiful little band of warriors when we climbed out of the hole?”
“Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe I wanted to see what Windwolf
would do.” Kakala was balancing the dart experimentally. “What does
pssst
mean?”
“
Phiisst!
It’s the sound that one buffalo bull makes when another dominant bull walks up. You’ve heard it.”
Kakala nodded. “And watched them tear up half the scenery. Is that what you think Windwolf and I are? Buffalo bulls?”
“You act like it when you get together.”
“Well, at least he didn’t kill me when I stepped out to clap Homaldo on the shoulder.” He paused, bouncing the dart up and down in his hand. “Do you think the Guide has really found the way to the paradise of the Long Dark?”
Keresa shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Kakala searched her eyes. “Are you going?”
She shook her head slowly. “As much as it will break my heart not to be close to you, no. I’ve been different all of my life, Kakala. The only place I felt at home was with warriors. If the Guide is right, and the Long Dark is paradise, where will the warriors be?”
“Hunting.” He grinned. “And I will never have to look at another dead child and say, ‘I did that.’”
“I wish you all the happiness in paradise, Kakala. You, of all people, deserve a little.” She shot him a sidelong look. “Give my regards to Karigi.”
His expression fell. “Somehow, I forgot. I hope paradise is large enough that I can live on one side, and he on the other.”
Keresa frowned. “What is this nonsense about Windwolf going with us as our captive?”
“I have no idea, but I will enjoy the reversal of roles.”
Keresa gestured impotence. “It’s madness. He doesn’t have to do this! Our warriors can just leave. We can promise never to raid another Sunpath band. They’re going west; our people are going into the ice.”
She looked up as Windwolf—looking weary and concerned—stepped in. He stopped short, seeing the dart in Kakala’s hand. “I hope you’re not having creative thoughts about that.”
Kakala balanced the shaft, feet braced. “Actually, I was. I was thinking how happy I am that it isn’t sticking in one of my warriors’ guts.”
“Or your own,” Windwolf said warily, ready to duck.
Kakala neatly bounced the shaft off his hard palm, caught it, and
laid it back against the wall. “After all we’ve been through, War Chief, it appears that I am as flawed as you are. For some reason that defeats me, I don’t wish you dead either.” He smiled. “I’m tired, Windwolf. Sick of it. And after the last couple of summers wondering what it was all for.”
“Don’t we all?” Windwolf asked, and finally seated himself beside Keresa. He reached out and took her hand. “How are you?”
She smiled, tightening her grip in his. “Still confused.” The smile fell. “Why do you think you have to go with Kakala to the Nightland villages? I don’t understand. My warriors can take their chances, and by returning, no one will believe that they were captives. Homaldo can tell them otherwise.”
Windwolf’s probing look sent a shiver through her. “They have my people. Tell me, Keresa: Why would Karigi be herding still more captives north? Why do they need more women and children?”
Kakala exhaled bitterly. “The captives are to carry the Nightland possessions into the Long Dark.”
Windwolf narrowed his eyes. “But I thought the reason you killed so many of us, destroyed our happiness, was to ensure that no Sunpath People followed you through the ice. Every one of those captives believes, Kakala.”
Keresa saw Kakala nod slowly. Then he walked over and seated himself across the fire from them. “It is Nashat’s order. Probably without the Guide’s knowledge.”
Windwolf’s look was grim. “The same Nashat who ordered the Nine Pipes women clubbed to death in the pen they were being held in?”
Kakala rubbed his face. “How did you hear about that?”
“Skimmer and her daughter, Ashes, escaped. They hid under the dead. Nashat ordered the attack in the middle of the night. Just before dawn, Skimmer and her daughter slipped away.”
Keresa felt her heart sink. She glanced at Kakala. “And you wonder why I am not going with our people? They have lied to us from the beginning. We are sick, Kakala. Sick in our souls.”
“They are our people, Keresa.”
“The same ones who put you into the cage! And for what? Following Nashat’s orders to attack Headswift Village with a force we both knew was too small for the task?”
“We have
had
this discussion before.”
“And we’re going to have it again,” she insisted. “We have obeyed,
followed their orders, and they put you in the cage for it. But for the Guide and me, you’d still be there!”
Kakala’s expression had grayed. “Don’t
remind
me!”
Keresa glanced apologetically at Windwolf. “Forgive us.”
“You sound like a married couple.”
Kakala shot him a warning look. “You’re the one who wants to marry her. I’d never have let myself in for that kind of irritation.”
Keresa shot him a smile. “Marry? Windwolf might be as disgusted with me in next moon as you’ve been for summers.”
Windwolf’s amused smile died. “I still have to save as many of my people as I can.” He looked at Kakala. “Unless you have some objection to that?”
“If my warriors can go free, and you can find a way of doing this without killing my people, I have no objection.” Kakala frowned. “If the Long Dark is such a paradise, why do we need to take so many things with us?”
“The journey is supposed to be long,” Keresa answered. “The captives carry the extra food.”
“And what do they eat?” Windwolf asked. “Each other?”
Keresa met Kakala’s suddenly dull eyes. “Nashat wouldn’t care about feeding slaves. That’s why he had the Nine Pipes women murdered.”
Kakala propped his chin on his knee. He glanced curiously at Windwolf. “You sent your warriors to the Tills?”
“It kept them alive. And, with party after party of refugees, they’re so busy hunting and getting people settled that they don’t have time to come back and get themselves killed over misguided heroics.”
“So, it’s just us?” Keresa asked.
“Just me,” he amended.
“I’m with you,” she insisted. “I helped put a lot of those women in there.”
Kakala gave a harsh laugh. “Windwolf, you’ve been so lucky you’ve come to believe you can’t die. Well, you can. I could have killed you when you walked through that opening.You’re tired, making mistakes. And one man isn’t going to free tens of tens of captives. Not from under Karigi’s very nose.”
Windwolf’s eyes hardened. “Karigi? It’s even more tempting. I have an old score to settle with him.”
“We both do,” Kakala insisted. Then he threw his arms up. “
What
am I doing?” He gave Keresa a pleading look. “He’s a madman!” Then, “Windwolf, you can’t help them by dying!”
She watched Windwolf and Kakala lock gazes. Then Windwolf said in a soft voice, “They’re my people, Kakala. If they were yours, what would you do?”
Kakala’s mouth opened, then slowly closed. He shrugged in weary defeat.
Keresa said, “Kakala, after all the planning we’ve done, and the raids we’ve pulled off, this shouldn’t be that difficult.”
He climbed stiffly to his feet. “I don’t know. My head has been aching since I banged it on that rock.” He looked at Windwolf. “I’m going back to my warriors. Do I need a guard?”
“It would be a good idea. First, it would stop you from entertaining any foolish ideas. Second, it would keep some angry Sunpath or Lame Bull widow from taking out her wrath on you.”
Keresa sighed, pulled her hand from Windwolf’s, and stopped when Kakala smiled. “Stay, Keresa. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
Windwolf smiled at her. “I’ll escort him myself.”
“No guard at the door?” Kakala asked.
“Why would I need one?” Windwolf replied. “I assume Keresa still has that stiletto tucked in her moccasin.”
T
he pain is almost over.
Skimmer ran the words through her soul as she stared at the forbidding blackness of Ti-Bish’s chamber. She could feel his warm body pressed against hers where they lay together under the hides.
Upon their return from the long trek to the hole in the ice, the fire had been burned out. Ti-Bish had been concerned that no wood had been carried in, and he refused to discuss what had happened to his slave girl, Pipe.
Skimmer, still wet from the wave that had washed up her legs after the quake, had been shivering, exhausted, and heedless of anything but getting warm. Ti-Bish, too, had been nearly blue from cold. She had removed her moccasins and damp dress to climb under the hides.
Unable to bear his shivering, she had looked across the room where he’d sat back against the wall. In the flickering light of the little lamp, he’d looked pathetic as he huddled and shivered.
On impulse, she’d invited him to share the hides.
The pain is almost over.
But what had it been for? She stared out at the darkness, sensing a
presence in the very air. The little lamp had long ago burned out. Did something hover in the room?
She almost turned over to wake Ti-Bish, then felt a movement in the air, as if a great wing had spread over her. The sensation was oddly reassuring, as if a covering against her thoughts.
I am alive when so many are dead.
She closed her eyes, remembering with clarity the attack on Nine Pipes Village, the shock of her captivity and the long journey north. She relived each instant of the horror of the pen, right down to the snapping of skulls as Karigi’s warriors waded into the captives. Again, she smelled the cloying odor of death.
So I came here to kill, and found a humble and honest man who Dreams of peace.
The Song of the Ice Giants changed harmonics, little creaks and groans of the ice adding to the effect. Why did she feel so at peace?
“Ti-Bish loves you with all of his lonely heart.”
Did she hear, or just imagine the soft voice in the darkness?
“Loves me?” she asked under her breath.
She thought back to Hookmaker, and what they’d shared.
“You live,”
the faint whisper from the darkness assured.
“Take the moment.”
She closed her eyes, trading one darkness for another. She was aware of the beating of her heart, the blood in her veins. She reveled in the air filling her lungs. She could sense Ti-Bish, feel his warmth and life, where it pressed against her.
Alive.
At that moment, Ti-Bish rolled over to mold his body against hers. A delighted sigh escaped his throat as he slid his arm over the curve of her waist.
She should have stiffened, repulsed by his body against hers. Instead, the disarming memory of his worshiping eyes lingered within her. She could recall each of his gentle movements, the joy that filled his face when he looked out at the marvels of his world.
She had never known a soul as pure as his. That left her oddly disturbed, but with a curious warmth down in her core.
How odd that she’d instinctively placed herself between Ti-Bish and Nashat, understanding the role that Power had cast for her.
Her eyes opened as she felt his penis harden against her buttocks,
and from the purling of his warm breath on her neck, knew that he still slept.
How long did she lie there, aware of his hard shaft? Considering its implications?
She had come expecting this, believing it was part of the ruse to gain his trust.
And now?
Without thought she rolled onto her back and wrapped her hand around his stiff manhood.
He started, coming awake.
“What … ?” The words froze in his throat.
“Don’t speak,” she told him softly, and tightened her hold.
She heard him swallow. With her other hand, she took his, laying it on the swell of her breast. He moved awkwardly as he explored her, the touch reverent and gentle. Then, hesitantly, he settled onto her body. As he slid into her ready sheath he took a deep breath, whispering, “I love you.”
“I know.”
 
 
K
eresa blinked awake, aware of the dull gray light that filtered in around the door hanging. She lay for the moment, deeply content with the warmth from Windwolf’s body. She could hear his deep breathing, feel his back pressed against hers.
If only we could stay like this forever.
What a joyous miracle that would be.
She replayed their coupling during the night, relishing the memory of their bodies moving in unison. She had tried to pull him inside, as if to press his body right through bone and muscle. If only she could keep him there, inside her, somewhere close to her heart.
Turning over, she pressed herself against his back, scooting her knees behind his and hugging him tightly.
“Morning?” he asked gently.
“It is.”
He groaned. “Got to get up.”
“Can’t we take time?”
“The Lame Bull are packing.”
“They don’t need you to put blankets in packs. I’m sure they can do that on their own.” She hesitated. “This might be our last chance.”
Her inquisitive fingers snaked down past his navel to find him. She had greater powers of persuasion than logic.
When they finally lay spent, the glow fading from their loins, he propped himself up to stare down at her. “If anything should happen, if we are separated, I’ll wait for you at the Tills.” He arched an eyebrow, “But I wouldn’t travel there dressed in a Nightland war shirt.”
She laughed. “Come, let’s get on with the day.”
“War Chief?” a voice called from outside.
“Silvertip?” Windwolf asked. “A moment please, and then I will be out.”
“I need to see you both,” the boy said. “Call me when you are ready.”
“How long has he been out there?” Keresa whispered. “He would have heard everything.”
“I don’t think he heard anything he didn’t already know,” Windwolf muttered, reaching for his war shirt.
Keresa pulled on her dress, running fingers through her hair. What she’d give for a proper washing. The miracle was that Windwolf didn’t hold his nose when he was coupling with her.
“Enter, Dreamer,” Windwolf called.
Ashes ducked beneath the hanging, her careful eyes taking in the room’s contents. The war club filled her hands.
Silvertip followed, his face expressionless, but when Keresa looked into his eyes, it was like staring into deep pools, knowing that the bottom might be an illusion.
“Dreamer,” Windwolf greeted. “Can I help you?”
Silvertip walked over and settled by the cold fire. “I am leading my people west, War Chief. Some insist on staying, though I have told them the price they will pay.”
“People must make their own choices, Dreamer.”
He smiled. “That they must.” His young face lined. “Wind, Water, and Fire. It is a Powerful combination. Opposites crossed.” He stared right at Keresa, and her soul shivered. “When you are in the north, you will find the Earth.”
“The Earth?” Windwolf and Keresa asked in unison.
Silvertip smiled. “Power comes in fours: the directions, the great forces, the seasons, it is all part of the unity.”
“Some say six, Dreamer,” Keresa replied. “The four directions, and up and down.”
“Or light and dark,” Silvertip agreed. “Darkness and light. I am one; the Guide is the other. Do you begin to understand?”
Keresa frowned. “He is Raven Hunter’s. You serve Wolf Dreamer.”
“I walk in the light,” Silvertip told her, a question in the set of his lips.
“ … And he walks in darkness.”
“Opposites crossed. We all serve Power.”
Windwolf nodded, as if some great revelation had been born in his soul. “What is my role, Dreamer?”
“To serve Power, War Chief.” Silvertip leaned his head back. “In the end, our peoples will have paid the cost of disharmony, as Wolf Dreamer and Raven Hunter are paying.”
“I don’t understand.” Keresa frowned. “How do Spirits pay?”
“By finally understanding that neither can win.” He smiled. “Opposites cannot exist without the other. Can men exist without women? The very existence of light can never be pure by itself. Look beneath the rock, Deputy, and you will find shadow. Revel in the blackness of midnight, but it will yield to morning.”
“And Wolf Dreamer and Raven Hunter are bound by this?” She gave him an uneasy look.
“Oh, yes. Though it has taken time for them to realize that while they must, by their very nature, oppose one another, they are brothers, born of the same womb. Is it possible, Deputy, to receive without something being given?”
Windwolf took her hand, giving it a press. “We understand, Dreamer.”
“Good. The lesson is surprisingly simple, but infinitely difficult at the same time.” Silvertip pressed his palms together.
“Isn’t that always the way of it?”
“The final pieces are in place,” Silvertip told him. “Opposites crossed. When you find the Earth, you must head south. The west will be impassable. I would urge you to make all haste. You will not have time to tarry. Once across the river, you will have to follow the southern margins of the lakes to the Tills.”
“I see,” Windwolf replied.
“What of my people, Dreamer?” Keresa asked. “We have heard that the Guide has found the way to the Long Dark.”
He smiled at her, eyes seeing somewhere in the distance of his Dream. “The Sunpath People ignored Raven Hunter, and cast his teachings from their souls. They have paid dearly for that.”
“But my people have turned their backs on Wolf Dreamer!”
“And now, the balance must be restored,” Silvertip said sadly. “Deputy, remember, there is no life without death. Sometimes, terrible steps must be taken to restore the harmony.”
Keresa’s fumbling thoughts tried to make sense of it. The Sunpath and Lame Bull were beaten, leaving. Who could possibly challenge the Nightland now? She was about to ask, but Silvertip had stood, nodding politely at them.
“Dreamer?” Windwolf asked, rising. “Will we see you again?”
He looked back, one hand on the door hanging. “That depends on Wind and Water, Fire and Earth.” And then he was gone, Ashes silently following behind.
BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)
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