People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past) (50 page)

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

BOOK: People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past)
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P
itch jerked awake and stared around the lodge, his heart hammering. In the faint glow of the fire, he could see Dzoo where she sat upright, a sea-grass blanket over her shoulders. From the blank expression on her face and wide glassy eyes she might have been seeing something far distant across time and space.
He was starting back to sleep when he heard the voice: a hollow whisper. He could barely make it out, the words unintelligible. Sitting up, he frowned.
“Dzoo?”
At his call, the voice stopped short.
Dzoo raised a warning hand; her face remained slack, emotionless.
The faintest rustling came from behind the wall, as if hide clothing had scuffed the bark.
“Who was that?” Pitch demanded.
“Coyote.”
Pitch blinked and felt his heart skip. “He’s here? Just outside the lodge?”
“Oh, yes,” she said simply. “He comes and goes. Mostly, he just listens at the wall. Tonight he came to warn me.”
“Warn you of what?”
Her eyes moved; then her face began to melt into a ghastly smile. “That our joining approaches.”
“Dzoo, we have to get out of here. Given the choice of Cimmis or Coyote, I’d rather take my chances dying while trying to escape.”
“There is no escape,” she said simply. “Ever since Antler Spoon’s village, I’ve been working to lure him ever closer.”
Before Pitch could ask, shouts came from outside. “Now what?” he muttered.
He reached for his shirt. As he slipped it over his head, the voices grew louder. He was already on his feet when a warrior threw back the door flap.
“Grab your things!” He was young, skinny, with a melon-shaped skull.
“Why? What’s happening?”
“We’re leaving Fire Village.”
“Now? In the middle of the night?” Pitch stood and tied his pouch to his belt. “I thought we were leaving at dawn.”
“Hurry. The chief wants us out of Fire Village within one finger of time.”
Dzoo was still smiling her eerie smile. Gods, was she actually looking forward to this? Pitch swung his cape around his shoulders and ducked beneath the door flap. Another warrior, older, with hard eyes, stood outside.
“Follow me,” the man said, and turned to walk up the trail.
Some of the warriors carried torches, which illuminated a knot of people who stood near the palisade gate.
Pitch leaned toward Dzoo, whispering, “I still think we should make a break for it.”
The young guard prodded Pitch’s back with a spear. “Quiet. Walk.”
Pitch walked.
Star People glittered across the midnight sky with an icy crystalline brightness. In the plaza, people hugged each other, and he heard weeping as they said good-bye to this place that had been their home.
A coil of gray smoke rose from the dying plaza fire and trailed across Fire Village like a sleepy serpent. The air smelled pungently of burning sagebrush.
“Stop at the gate. The great chief is coming.”
Pitch stopped and glanced at Dzoo. In the faint light, he could still see that enigmatic smile. It brought a shiver up his back. Through the gate Salmon Village was visible farther down the mountain slope. Distant warriors bore torches—but pinpricks of light—while people trotted around the palisade, carrying litters and bundles.
It took Pitch a moment to recognize Cimmis when he hobbled out of the darkness. Could this be the same Cimmis who had scared the soul half out of him earlier? His face was a mask of worry, the eyes glittering as if lost. The man walked with a slight limp, his withered left arm hanging from his shoulder. He wore a blue shirt beneath a hide cape. He looked like an ordinary warrior. Nothing more. He’d even coiled his gray hair into a bun at the base of his skull—like every other warrior standing close by.
At that moment, War Chief White Stone came trotting at the head of a small party of warriors.
“Great Chief,” he called. “We have discovered what happened to the matron.”
Cimmis spun on his feet, crying, “What? Where is she? Take me to her!”
White Stone stopped short, his head cocked, puzzlement on his face. “Well, it seems that she has already left.”
“What? Left how?”
“Deer Killer was on guard at this same gate earlier today. He said that the great matron—carried on her litter by four warriors—passed through the gate.”
“I don’t understand!” Cimmis bellowed. “Was she a prisoner? Was she … Was her soul loose?”
A frightened young man stepped forward, visibly shaken. “Great Chief”—his voice quavered—“I swear, she was fine. She sat atop her litter and gave orders to the warriors carrying her. She seemed completely in control of her senses. She—”
Cimmis stepped forward and slapped the man across the face. “Why? Why did she leave me?”
The blow wasn’t that powerful, but the warrior collapsed to the ground. His voice was almost a wail when he shrieked, “I heard her say she’d see you at Wasp Village!”
Cimmis bent down over the huddled figure.
“Why didn’t you stop her?”
“She’s
the Matron
!”
Cimmis blinked, stepping back. “Yes. She’s the matron.” He shook his head in confusion. “Did she say anything else?”
“Yes! I heard her bid Fire Village farewell. But that’s all. I swear it on my life, Great Chief!”
Cimmis straightened, turning to White Stone. “Then let’s get this column moving. Someone inform my daughter.”
Where she stood beside Pitch, Dzoo leaned her head back. The sound of her laughter rising on the cold night air was unnerving.
“Separate them,” Cimmis ordered, flicking his finger between Pitch and Dzoo. Then he turned and stalked down the slope toward the muscular warriors who stood with the Four Old Women’s litters on their shoulders, awaiting orders to move. The old women resembled dark mounds of flapping hides. More litters lined the trail, loaded heavily with packs and roped with grass cords.
“I’ll see you later,” Pitch cried hopefully as Dzoo followed the shaken Deer Killer off into the night.
People stood alongside the Four Old Women’s litters, calling last words. Several wept openly and tore at their clothes.
The warrior called Thunder Boy hissed, “I swear it’s the end of our world.”
His companion, Ground Hog, a young man with wide blue eyes and copper-colored hair, shook his head. “Not yet. The reckoning is yet to come … when we meet Rain Bear.”
Wind Woman’s cold breath fanned Pitch’s hair around his shoulders. He took a deep breath and gave Fire Village one last look.
H
unter tried to look confident as he strode toward the gate. He could feel Dzoo’s presence, like a malignant wind, blowing a chill onto his back. His hair was prickling, as if someone rubbed a phantom foxhide over his skin. Of all the luck, why did Wind Scorpion constantly order him and Deer Killer to guard the witch?
The Raven People slaves milling around the fires hushed as they passed. They resembled lean hungry wolves. The few Raven People who’d decided to remain had already piled their belongings in front of the lodges they would be claiming and had posted family members to protect them, but he suspected there would still be fights. He could feel the tension in the air. When the elite were finally gone, there would be a great tumult of greed.
Dzoo’s soft steps padded behind Hunter as he walked through the gate. He glanced back to see Deer Killer, shaken and wobbly after his experience with the great chief. He was the last man who should have been assigned to this duty.
Soon, the three of them would be marching out in front of the procession like the triangular head of a snake. All night long, he’d been praying to every Ancestor Spirit he could think of that Deer Killer wouldn’t bolt, or fall first in the battle.
Blessed gods, what will I do if I suddenly find myself alone with her?
The thought must have stopped him in his tracks, because Dzoo walked up beside him. She stared him in the eyes for a long
time, as though reading the path of his soul, before she walked ahead.
Hunter fought to steady his nerves.
Deer Killer gave him a weak grin. “Try not to throw up. Everyone is watching.”
Hunter grabbed him by the cape ties. “From now on,
you’re
leading the way.” Then he shoved Deer Killer ahead.
Deer Killer glanced over his shoulder and said, “I was just joking!”
 
 
T
sauz lay in the cold windswept darkness, listening. All around him, fragrant branches whispered in the moving air, the sound mixing oddly with the snores of tens of warriors.
They had traveled for two days through the forest and up into the alder thickets west of Eelgrass Village. Rides-the-Wind slept beneath the hides to his left, his back to Tsauz. The rest of the camp was behind them, scattered across the slope.
Tsauz reached out and put a hand on the old Soul Keeper’s shoulder. He just needed to touch someone.
Each step he took, he was getting closer to home, but he had to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t going home. Fire Village would never be his home again.
Rides-the-Wind patted his hand and whispered, “Are you all right, Tsauz?”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“What’s wrong?”
Tsauz blinked at the darkness. “Chief Cimmis could still win the battle, couldn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“What will happen if he does?”
Rides-the-Wind yawned. “The North Wind People will probably continue their march to Wasp Village, where they will live until the Raven People finally overwhelm them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Some things are inevitable.” Rides-the-Wind put a warm hand on Tsauz’s arm. “You’ve done everything you can, Tsauz.”
He sucked in a deep breath and held it. He’d flown on Thunderbird’s rain-scented back, diving and soaring through the glistening Cloud People. He had glimpsed the future, but Thunderbird had told him they were just things that
might
be.
He looked up and searched the blackness.
Father once told him that Mother had become a tiny point of light in the belly of Old Woman’s enormous sky. He tried to imagine where she would be shining. Every day since she’d died, he’d longed for her. Tsauz closed his eyes and lifted his hand, holding it out to her.
If I die, Mother, will you please come for me?
“Tsauz, you mustn’t dwell on these thoughts. They siphon your strength. Bad thoughts are like tiny holes in a water bucket. Pretty soon they’ll make you dry and empty.”
Tsauz closed his eyes. He tried to calm himself by imagining the countryside. “I know.”
He smelled water.
They hadn’t traveled long enough to be near Whispering Waters Spring. They must be on Water Storage Plateau. He and Father had camped here on the way north. The flat expanse of lava was covered by wind-carved potholes. When it rained or snowed, the holes filled and served as cisterns.
Rides-the-Wind flipped onto his side. His hair smelled of wood smoke and sweat. It had been a long hard march, and Rides-the-Wind had held his hand the entire way, guiding him around brush and away from holes where he might fall and break his leg.
“Where are we? Would you tell me what you see?”
Rides-the-Wind sighed and lifted his head. “Tens of black humps.”
“Sleeping warriors?”
“Yes. And more stand on the high points, keeping guard over Water Storage Plateau. Every so often the obsidian points of their spears glint in the night.”
“Elder, do you think …” He paused, hating to ask, unable to help himself. “Do you think Thunderbirds can lie?”
“Why do you ask?”
Tsauz smoothed his cheek over the soft buffalohide. “I’ve just been wondering, that’s all.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of a Spirit Helper lying, though they often play tricks on people.”
“No, I mean, would a Spirit Helper try to turn a battle in favor of one side?”
“Of course he would.”
Wind Woman breathed across the plateau, and the foot of their buffalohides flapped. Cold air ate at Tsauz’s bare feet. He didn’t say anything for a while, just breathed in and out as he remembered what Thunderbird had said about his father.
Apprehensively, the old Soul Keeper asked, “Which side do you think Thunderbird might be favoring?”
Tsauz swallowed hard. “The North Wind People.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I—I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.” He rubbed a hand over his aching heart. “Right here. It hurts. Like I can already feel a spear point lodged in my lungs.”
Rides-the-Wind put his hand over Tsauz’s heart. “I wouldn’t worry. That’s probably the dried fish you had for supper. I swear Rain Bear has had that fish for cycles. It looked a little green to me.”
“Did it?” Tsauz asked hopefully. Anything would be better than thinking his Spirit Helper was Trickster in disguise.
“You wouldn’t sound so happy if you’d seen it. I would have rather chewed on a moldering dog leg. I was just too tired to go out and hunt one down.”
“Elder, do you fear death?”
“Not as much as I fear Rain Bear’s cooking.”

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