People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past) (17 page)

Read People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past) Online

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

BOOK: People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past)
13.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“An attack?” he asked in surprise.
“The Raven People are wild animals, Cimmis. Wolves with fangs. As it is, they need no reason to tear out our throats, but our plan will drive them into an insane rage.”
“Elder, I assure you, they will be far more concerned with where
we
are going to attack next.”
“Is that so?” she said tartly.
“Having second thoughts, are you? I would hope not. It’s too late—even the fastest runner can’t get there in time to stop
your
orders.”
She studied him through faded eyes. “Yes, well, if you had been present at the Council for the entire meeting, you might know that our faith in both the plan and the Starwatcher is undiminished.”
Cimmis gently slipped from beneath Astcat and tucked a rolled hide under her head. Before he rose, he smoothed his fingers down her cheek to let her know he was coming back soon.
Cimmis straightened his knee-length blue shirt and bowed respectfully. “Forgive me for leaving the Council meeting so abruptly, but as you see, I was needed here.”
She glanced at Astcat. “I think it could be argued that you would have done more good in the Council meeting, Chief Cimmis.”
Cimmis clenched his fists at his sides—better there than around the old woman’s neck. “That may be, Elder, but if Ecan has arrived at War Gods Village, there is little I can do until we know the outcome. If he is successful—”
“Of course he will be successful,” she interrupted. “We must think about what comes after. What do we do next?”
“Next?”
The deep lines around Old Woman North’s eyes tightened. “If you had been in Council, you would understand that question.”
“I will return this instant if you wish me to.”
“The Council is over. We made our decision without you.”
“What decision, Elder?”
“I had a vision. I waited until the end of the Council to speak of it.”
What? Another one?
“A vision?” Cimmis said.
“This morning just before I woke. We must leave for Wasp Village in eight days.”
“Eight days!” he said in shock. “But that is not wise, Elder! Please reconsider. After Ecan’s attacks, the Raven People will be waiting for a chance to murder us all.”
“There is safety in numbers. We’ll all go at once—one procession encircled by our warriors. Wasp Village will be our fortress.”
The old hag had decided she would be the new leader of the Council, had she? Well, he’d see about that. “Elder, it would be safer to send a few people at a time. A large party is too convenient a target.”
“In addition,” she decreed, “we decided that we will intensify our raids on Raven villages. The attacks will serve as a diversion while we
are readying ourselves, and then while we are traveling to Wasp Village.”
Cimmis just stared at her in disbelief. “Matron, that means dividing our forces. We’ll have warriors running around like ruffed grouse in the fall. You can’t just—”
“My vision was
true
, Cimmis. I have
seen
our success. Or do you mock the revelations given by the gods?” Her gaze returned to Astcat, who lay on her side staring at nothing. Old Woman North studied her empty eyes for several long moments before asking, “How long has her soul been gone?”
“Since dusk. She—she had a seizure that shook her soul loose, but I’m sure it will return.”
Old Woman North shoved the door flap aside with her walking stick. Before she ducked out, she said, “I think the next time you tell the Council you are speaking Matron Astcat’s words, we will wonder about that, Cimmis.”
Then she was gone.
In a barely audible voice, he said, “Kstawl, you may leave.”
He had to be alone with Astcat, to think, to talk with her.
“But, Father, I haven’t finished the soup.”
“I’ll prepare the soup! Just go!”
Kstawl grabbed her cape and rushed out into the gusting night wind.
Cimmis stood like a statue, staring at the beautiful, stylized image of Killer Whale, trying to calm himself. Didn’t the old woman realize …
From behind him, a soft, weary voice said, “You mustn’t get … so angry … my husband. It makes your eyes bulge like Flying Squirrel’s.”
“Astcat!” He saw her smiling at him.
He bent and gathered her in his arms, hugging her tightly. “Are you well? I’ve been so worried.”
“Old Woman North is right,” she whispered, and nuzzled her forehead against his cheek.
“What do you mean?” He gazed down into her sleepy eyes. “Right about what? The visions she’s spouting are nonsense that defy—”
“The Raven People
will
attack this place if they can. We deserve it after the recent Council decisions. We should prepare for the possibility—then, we must leave. Find a more defensible place to live.”
Cimmis hugged her more tightly. “They want to move to Wasp Village. Did you hear that?”
She gave him an exhausted smile. “Yes. But Wasp Village is not defensible.”
“I tried to tell them. They wouldn’t listen. Old Woman North has convinced them these visions are guiding our people. But they make no sense.”
“Tell them again. They
must
listen.” She twined a hand in his shirt. “If our people gather there, the Raven People will only have to circle the village to starve us out. We don’t have enough canoes, so escape by sea will be impossible.”
“I’ll tell them. Tomorrow morning.” As he stroked her gray hair, she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “Will you stay with me tonight? Please, try to stay, Astcat. I need you.”
She clutched his arm with no more strength than a baby’s fingers. “The Dream keeps calling me back.”
“Dream? What Dream?”
“Oh, it’s … curious. I’m hovering high above Gull Inlet, watching a terrible battle, and I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
She smiled again, and his heart ached. Just looking into her alert eyes eased his fears. “I don’t know. I always wake before the end of the battle. But I think”—her hand trembled as it tightened on his arm—“I think I’m afraid I’ll never see you again.”
He kissed her. “Well, I’m here now. Forget about the Dream. I’m tired of hearing about Dreams. Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“Let me get the soup started.” He started to rise.
“Wait,” she said soothingly. “Be calm, my husband. Talk with me for a time; then start the soup.”
He smiled down at her. “As you wish.”
“I have suddenly come to value the time I have with you. Let’s make the most of it.”
“Gladly.”
A
thick bank of clouds had moved in off the ocean, and occasional flurries of snow fell; but in the gaps between, the Star People sparkled like tiny torches. Rain Bear took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. It hung before him as he approached Roe’s lodge. On all sides refugees huddled over fires before makeshift lodges, eating whatever food they had scrounged, their voices dire.
He slowed before Pitch’s lodge and cleared his throat. “Roe? Pitch? May I come?”
“Yes, Father.”
Rain Bear ducked beneath the flap and entered the warm confines of the lodge. In the firelight he could see Pitch against one wall. He looked strained and gaunt. Not that there was much to him to begin with. Roe smiled at him as she removed his grandson, Stonecrop, from her left breast. The little boy had milk smeared around his mouth. His round brown eyes rolled Rain Bear’s way, and he let out an excited squeal.
As in most Raven People lodges, a man could only stand bent over. On the walls brightly painted hides hung, and tied bags of dried foods rested in round baskets.
Stonecrop shrieked in sheer joy and crawled toward Rain Bear when Roe placed him on the split pole matting. Rain Bear held his arms out, smiled, and sat down to allow the round-faced little boy to crawl into his lap.
“How are you, my grandson?”
Stonecrop’s tiny fists waved; he grinned up toothlessly.
“He’s been a terror since Pitch got home,” Roe told him as she wiped her wet nipple and straightened her red-and-black dress. She wore her hair up in a coiled braid pinned by rabbit-bone skewers that emphasized her narrow face. She was growing into such a beautiful woman. In so many ways she reminded him of Tlikit. “Stonecrop missed Pitch so much, he won’t let him rest.”
Where he sat propped against a rolled buffalohide, Pitch smiled weakly. His skin was sweaty, gleaming in the light. Roe turned toward him, and he grimaced as she unwound the bloody cedar-bark-and-moss bandage. He swallowed dryly.
“How’s his fever?”
“Very high. I’ve been forcing him to drink willow bark tea, but it hasn’t done much good.”
“Has the wound soured yet?”
Roe gently pulled the last of the soiled bandage away so that Rain Bear could see for himself. The puncture had festered. Like an eye, the dark scab stared out from a yellowish puffy iris surrounded by inflamed skin. By morning, Pitch’s upper arm would be swollen twice normal size.
Roe asked, “Has Dogrib returned yet?”
“I just finished speaking with him. He killed the man you wounded, Pitch—and he was definitely one of the Wolf Tails.”
“Wolf Tail?” Roe shot a worried look his way. “But, they work for Cimmis, don’t they? Does that mean that Coyote is Cimmis? Or one of his warriors?”
“Maybe.”
“Cimmis?” Face drawn with pain, Pitch asked, “But why would he attack us, Rain Bear? Dzoo and I are just Healers, trying to save a few lives.”
“He knows Dzoo is our strength. The refugees trust her. Killing her would be a blow to their spirit. That is reason enough.”
Roe reached into the water, squeezed out a handful of seaweed cloth, and began gently washing the wound. Pitch ground his teeth against the pain.
“What about Dzoo? Did Dogrib find her?”
“No.” Rain Bear glanced down at Stonecrop, who had grabbed hold of his cape laces and was struggling with the perplexing task of untying them. “Nor did he find her body, which means she’s probably alive.”
Roe rinsed the cloth in the bowl and dabbed at the wound again.
Pitch gasped, his body tensing as she worked the scab loose and blood-clotted pus leaked out in watery yellow streamers.
Roe pinched her nose against the stench and added, “Maybe she went straight to War Gods Village. She needs to fast and pray—to purify herself before the Moon Ceremonial tomorrow.”
Pitch writhed beneath his hide. “Yes. I’m sure that’s it.” He shuddered as Roe carefully squeezed the wound to drain it. “She’s … she’s very strict about these things. But something …”
“Yes?” Rain Bear asked as he dangled a lace in front of Stonecrop.
Pitch was gasping, struggling to keep the thought. “Something was bothering her. As if she knew something terrible, and would not tell. She said things, cryptic things. They left me unnerved.”
“Such as?”
“Such as our world was in danger. But she never said how. She’s a mysterious woman to start with, but to my thinking, she was even more strange on the journey here. Not that I could blame her after what happened.”
Rain Bear heard familiar steps outside.
“We brought the matron, Chief, as you ordered,” Hornet called. “May we come?”
Rain Bear turned to Pitch and Roe. “I hope you do not object. I asked Matron Evening Star to speak with you tonight. Perhaps she can make sense of what happened at Antler Spoon’s village, and on the trail home.”
Pitch nodded, looking relieved as Roe blotted at his wound. “I will be grateful if she can.”
“Come,” Rain Bear called.
Evening Star ducked into the lodge, and Rain Bear glimpsed Wolf Spider and Hornet as they took up positions on either side of the flap. She smiled uncertainly at Roe, her eyes narrowing as she took in the condition of the wound in Pitch’s arm. He had his eyes closed.
Rain Bear experienced a leap of the heart at the sight of her, and cuddled Stonecrop before he slid back to make room for her beside him.
Ten tens of generations of women in her family had ruled the North Wind People. The dignity of her former status still showed in her movements, the elegant wave of her hand, the regal way she tilted her head. By Raven’s shadow, had there ever been such a beautiful woman?
She sat down on the mat and gazed serenely around the lodge. She’d braided her long red hair. It hung down the front of her sea-grass cape.
Stonecrop squealed in delight at the sight of her.
An almost unbearable longing filled her eyes. “Hello,” she whispered. “Who are you?”
“This is my grandson, Stonecrop.”
“Hello, Stonecrop.”
Evening Star dug around in her bag and pulled out two small clumps of herbs. “I took the liberty of making poultices for Pitch’s wound.” She handed them to Roe. “I hope that was all right.”
“Are you a Healer?” Roe asked hesitantly.
“My mother was. I learned a few things from her.”
Roe lifted the poultices to her nose. “Umm, I smell sagebrush leaves, willow bark, and … something else. A flower.”
“Coneflower petals.”
Roe’s eyes widened in surprise. “Coneflowers? Where do you get them? When we can find them, they cost us a fortune in blankets and hides.”
“My mother sends—used to send,” she corrected herself painfully, “traders far to the east for them.”
Roe smelled them again. “How long should I soak them?”
“Just a short while, but keep them damp while they’re on Pitch’s arm. You want the juices to sink into his wound.”
Roe crossed the lodge in a hunched position, put both poultices in a wooden bowl, and poured water over them from a bladder. While they soaked, she pulled shredded cedar bark from a hide bag to make a new bandage.
Pitch shifted against the rolled buffalohide, and a groan escaped his lips.
Roe asked, “What’s happening in the camps? Is there still talk of slaughtering Ecan at the Moon Ceremonial tomorrow?”
Rain Bear sighed. “Not as much. I just came from a meeting with the other chiefs. At the moment, the last thing they want is another fight. Their clans have been through too much in recent moons.” The lines between his brows pinched together. “I just pray the villagers will abide by that decision. People are angry and desperate. On top of everything else, the attack on Pitch and Dzoo is like flicking embers on a pot full of pine sap. If one lights, it will be a very hot fire.”
Rain Bear glanced at Evening Star. She was studying him with bright blue eyes. “Which is why I asked Matron Evening Star to come here tonight. Perhaps her counsel can help us avoid future fires.”
Roe carried the poultice bowl and the clean strips of woven cedar
bark and knelt at Pitch’s side. As she wound the bark around the poultices, water squeezed out, soaking the wound.
Pitch’s eyes widened. “Wretched gods! That burns!”
“Of course it does,” Roe muttered. “That’s how you know the Spirits are alive.”
He slumped against the hides, completely drained.
Roe sank down beside him and turned to Rain Bear. “What else did the chiefs say, Father? Did you discuss joining forces under one leader?”
“We did.”
She caught the tone in his voice, and being her mother’s daughter and quick of mind, gave him a tired smile before nodding. “I was afraid of that.”
“What’s wrong?” Pitch’s gaze darted between Rain Bear and Roe. “What are you talking about?”
Rain Bear gave Roe a sheepish glance and told Pitch, “I’ll tell you when I know more.”
Evening Star bowed her head, catching the undercurrents.
Truth was, Rain Bear didn’t wish to discuss it at all. Doing so would just lead to questions he had no answers for: How many warriors would he have? What were the circumstances that would demand he act? How many chiefs would support him? Could he keep the clans allied despite old blood feuds? What was the ultimate goal of the alliance? Just to stop the attacks, or to break completely the North Wind People’s ability to make war? Or was it something even more decisive?
He needed time to work out the details and to come to terms in his own mind where this might take him, his clan, and his people.
Rain Bear’s gaze dropped to his grandson, and his heart warmed. The little boy had curled up in his lap and was on the verge of going to sleep. His mouth was open, a tiny pink tongue just visible inside.
“I hate to ask this of you now, Pitch, but we have to know what happened out there.”
Pitch let out a weary breath, as though preparing himself. “What is it you wish to know?”
“Did anyone see this man who calls himself ‘Coyote?’”
“Coyote?”
Evening Star started, turning her eyes toward Pitch.
Rain Bear turned to her. “Do you know him?”
“I know
of
him. Even Kenada talked about him in whispers. The word is he’s some sort of sorcerer or witch. That Cimmis has had dealings with him, but only on moonless nights, and outside the palisade.
The rumor is that even Cimmis has never seen his face. I can’t be certain if he actually exists, or if he’s a story.”
Pitch said, “He tried to buy Dzoo’s life from Antler Spoon and Broken Sun.”
Evening Star considered that, her expression thoughtful. “Did anyone see him?”
“Dzoo said she watched him for some time.”
“Dzoo actually saw him?” Evening Star mused thoughtfully.
Rain Bear forced himself to look at Pitch instead of Evening Star. He was acutely aware that Roe was watching him, a frown on her forehead. He made himself say, “For some time? What does that mean?”
Pitch weakly shook his head. “She told me he smelled like the moss that grows at the base of the lava cliff above Fire Village.”
Rain Bear frowned. “Dzoo was that close and let him live? What did she say he looked like?”
“Tall, broad of shoulder, and he wears an ancient coyote mask. Something on his chest catches the light, perhaps a fluted spear point, or shell decoration. No one knows.”
Rain Bear peered at the fire. Struggling yellow tongues of flame licked around the wood. He needed all of his concentration, but he remained achingly aware of Evening Star beside him. He could just catch her faint scent, a sweet musk that teased him. “Was he dressed like one of the Wolf Tails?”
Pitch tried to shrug and winced. “The … the Wolf Tails don’t wear masks, do they?”
Evening Star noted, “The most adept assassins wear masks. It is a sign of their status. Kenada reputedly kept a badger mask in a cedar box in his lodge.”

Other books

Pretty Birds by Scott Simon
The Wedding Kiss by Lucy Kevin
I Live With You by Carol Emshwiller
Boys Rock! by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
Apocalypse Atlanta by Rogers, David
Eight Days to Live by Iris Johansen
NYPD Red 4 by James Patterson
The House of Women by Alison Taylor