People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past) (6 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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R
ain Bear, great chief of Sandy Point Village, rarely found time to enjoy the morning. Generally the demands of his people left him in the midst of a maelstrom. Either someone was sleeping with someone else’s wife, or a miscreant had stolen a fishing net or just perhaps borrowed it without asking. Sometimes it was a fistfight that had broken out between friends, or the division of household goods during a divorce that had to be solved while the bickering clans waited in the wings and fingered their war clubs.
ain Bear, great chief of Sandy Point Village, rarely found time to enjoy the morning. Generally the demands of his people left him in the midst of a maelstrom. Either someone was sleeping with someone else’s wife, or a miscreant had stolen a fishing net or just perhaps borrowed it without asking. Sometimes it was a fistfight that had broken out between friends, or the division of household goods during a divorce that had to be solved while the bickering clans waited in the wings and fingered their war clubs.
This morning he had risen early, awakened by Dreams of his wife, Tlikit. She had been staring down at him, warning in her light brown eyes, urging him to do … what? He couldn’t remember that part. Only that something was about to happen.
Not that it took a ghost to remind him of that. His world was changing before his eyes.
So he had dressed, walked down to his heavy canoe, and perched on the bow to watch dawn purple the sky over the forested ridges behind Sandy Point Village. In that moment of peace, he could reach back with his memories and smile once again as he and Tlikit relived some of the tumultuous events of their life together. She had been in line to follow Astcat as matron for the North Wind people. A stunningly beautiful woman, with hair the color of burnished wood, light brown eyes, and a mischievous smile, she had surrendered her heritage and run off with him over ten and six summers ago.
During the following years, she had borne four children, of whom one, his daughter Roe, still lived in Sandy Point Village. One, a boy, had drowned at the age of six, and his second daughter had been taken by an infection of the bowels at the age of ten.
He was pondering that notion when War Chief Dogrib emerged from the trees and picked his way down the beach, stepping between exposed rocks and brown bits of kelp that dried in the cool air. Dogrib had been specially touched by Song Maker. Long white hair framed his round face, and his skin was unnaturally pale, like sun-bleached wood. Long muscles ran down his arms and legs, and rippled on his broad shoulders.
“Many people have made it onto the water before us.” Dogrib walked up, propped his hands on his hips, and studied the canoes bobbing out on the waves. The dark hulks of forested islands appeared and disappeared as the mist shifted.
Old Woman Above had not stepped out of her lodge and begun to carry the ball of the sun across the sky, but a faint yellow gleam now haloed the east.
“Well, forgive me for saying so, War Chief,” Rain Bear said with a smile, “but I had to wait for you
again
this morning.”
again
this morning.”
Dogrib smiled apologetically. “Algae and I spent the past several nights together. Finding time to be together is difficult. We are still desperate to hold each other. It’s like a fever.”
“I wish you two would marry; then you wouldn’t have to sneak into the forest to enjoy each other. You could move her into your lodge.”
“Her grandfather doesn’t like me. He thinks she should marry Blackbird.” Dogrib shrugged as though it didn’t matter. He’d seen two tens and four summers and had already lost a wife and two children to North Wind raiders. Unlike Rain Bear, he seemed to have come to terms with his grief.
“Well,” Rain Bear said in sympathy, “she has only seen four and ten summers. Her grandfather is just trying to protect her.”
Rain Bear rose from the bow of his elaborately painted canoe, thoughts returning to Tlikit. Her death had been so senseless. A fall in the forest. He had seen where her foot had slipped in the moss, tumbling her down a steep slope. She was dead when he finally found her, the terrible lacerations in her head long dried and crusted. Though his clan kept insisting he remarry, he’d just never found anyone that interested him.
“I know. It’s just … difficult,” Dogrib said.
“What isn’t, my friend?”
Tall and muscular, with long black hair and deeply set brown eyes, Rain Bear had seen three tens of summers. The fringed hem of his otterhide cape swirled the mist as he stowed his harpoon and fishing pole, then bent to touch the red, beautifully stylized face of Grizzly Bear painted on the prow. Softly he prayed, “Grandfather, I ask that you help us today. Call the fish and the sea lions. Bellies are empty, and our children are crying. If the creatures will surrender themselves to us, we will honor their souls and pray for their kind.”
Even at this time of morning, he could see the brown swath of runoff water that extended several tens of paces from the shore out into the ocean. Indeed, the world was changing. Everyone could see it. The Ice Giants had been melting at ever-faster rates, swelling the rivers over their banks, spilling silt into the ocean. The fish had moved farther out, past the islands and into the blue water. The coves and deepwater niches where they used to harvest mussels, crabs, clams, and fish were mostly empty. The salmon runs had dropped dramatically, leaving the weirs and traps to clog with mud, sticks, and detritus.
Dogrib had gripped the gunwale to push the canoe into the water, when a voice called, “Rain Bear! My Chief! Wait!”
A skinny man pelted across the rim trail that led from the sea cliffs to the canoe landing. He was waving his arms as he disappeared into the trees. They caught glimpses of him as he hopped from root to rock on the steep trail before dashing out onto the beach.
“Is that your son-in-law?” Dogrib asked, and straightened.
“That’s Pitch, all right. I wonder what’s so important that he would interrupt our attempts to catch breakfast.”
Pitch careened down the trail as fast as he could, his arms out for balance as he negotiated the slippery rocks. He had a wild look, his eyes huge, mouth open. The woven sea-grass cape flapped behind him.
Dogrib said, “Something’s wrong.”
Rain Bear started up the slope, calling, “Pitch? What’s happened?”
Pitch cupped hands to his mouth. “You are needed at the village!”
Rain Bear sighed and retrieved his fishing gear and his harpoon with its toggling point. He carefully wound the cord into a loop and followed after Dogrib.
Pitch was gasping. “The northern villages were attacked three days ago. Refugees are beginning to trickle in. Roe thought you should be warned. They’ve been traveling all night to get here. According to the reports, the wounded are following as quickly as they can.”
“Refugees?” Dogrib asked. “I pray they brought their own food. We have none to spare.”
A sense of unease ran through Rain Bear’s veins. “How many, Pitch?”
“At least five tens—but maybe more. The first reports are hazy.”
Rain Bear strode forward and took Pitch’s arm in a hard grip. His skinny son-in-law had a beaked face with soft brown eyes. “How many dead?”
“We don’t know yet, my Chief.” Pitch gave him a penetrating look. “And that’s not all. Moments after the first refugees came straggling in, the guards on the ridge trail intercepted a woman.”
“What woman?”
“She says she will give her name to no one but Dzoo, but she’s North Wind … and high-born from her jewelry and dress.”
Rain Bear narrowed an eye. “Explain.”
“She has at least two tens of polished shell bracelets on each arm. She wears carved abalone shell necklaces and copper earrings that would buy enough food to feed a Raven village for a season. Her dress belongs to a matron—the finest leather, buffalo calf, if I’m not mistaken, and beaded with dentalium. Even the fringe is adorned with red obsidian fetishes.”
Rain Bear’s gaze rose to the towering trees that thrust up like spears above the beach. During the night, mist had dusted the branches, turning them into glittering silver giants as the morning sunlight poured over them. “Did you tell her Dzoo is away on a Healer’s journey?”
“We have told her nothing, my Chief.”
“Where is she being held?”
“In the Council Lodge.”
Rain Bear shoved past him and took the slick trail up through the trees to the loamy bench where Sandy Point Village nestled amidst the towering firs, spruce, and alders. Smoke from the morning fires hung low, giving the impression that the round bark lodges with their grass-thatch roofs were hulking, shaggy beasts. A handful of refugees crowded around the central fire, filthy and haggard looking, some with bandaged injuries.
Rain Bear avoided them, needing time to think. By Raven Above, who was his woman? Why was she here? Was she another messenger from chief Cimmis? Blood and tears help them if she was, because any messenger from Cimmis meant trouble.
He frowned when he neared the Council Lodge. At least two tens
of warriors stood around. Each held a weapon of some sort; all looked nervous as they paced, talking in small groups.
of warriors stood around. Each held a weapon of some sort; all looked nervous as they paced, talking in small groups.
“Why are so many warriors here?” he asked Pitch in a low voice.
“As soon as the sentries brought her in, men leaped from their robes and hurried to look at her. That’s when I ran for you.”
“I want five guards at the Council Lodge”—Rain Bear swung around to face Dogrib—“and the rest dispatched to the high points around the village.” In a harsh whisper, he added, “Cimmis’s warriors could be following on the woman’s heels—and the refugees could be the excuse he needs for an attack. Do you understand?”
“Rotted dogs,” Dogrib growled as he sprinted ahead. “I should have thought of that myself.”
Rain Bear took a deep breath and used the moment to look around, searching for anything out of place. He nodded to people who bowed to him and continued toward the Council Lodge.
Twice as large as an ordinary lodge, the circular Council Lodge measured six body lengths across. It sat at the eastern edge of the village in a copse of leafless alders. The winter-brown leaves were spongy beneath his feet as he approached the entry.
“I took a quick look inside,” Dogrib said, and drew the leather door hanging aside for Rain Bear to enter. “No one is here but the woman.”
“I thank you, my friend.”
A freshly built fire burned in the central hearth and cast a pale amber gleam over the soot-coated walls. Power Boards leaned side by side around the circumference. These were elaborately carved planks painted with the image of a clan totem or family’s Spirit Helper. Every family in Sandy Point Village had a board here. Rain Bear preferred the huge carving of the Light Giver, Raven. In this depiction, Raven had obsidian-bead eyes that glinted in the light and a painted beak as long as Rain Bear’s arm.
She stood at an angle to him, her face half obscured by a thick wealth of wavy red hair that fell to the middle of her back. He instantly understood Pitch’s comment about her jewelry. Her many bracelets clicked with her slightest move, and her abalone shell pendant was huge, a full hand across. Immaculately carved, the pendant might have been the finest Creation Maze he’d ever seen. Creation Mazes told the circuitous story of how Song Maker had pulled different threads of music from the fabric of his own garments and woven them together to make the world.
“You are Chief Rain Bear?”
“I am. And you?”
She turned to face him, and her polished copper earrings flashed bloodred in the light. Had he ever seen such a beautiful woman? She had bright blue eyes and a perfectly sculpted heart-shaped face. “Where is Dzoo? I am here to see her.”
“Dzoo’s away … on a Healer’s journey. I don’t think she’ll be back for several days. If you’ll tell me who you are, and what you want, perhaps I can help.”
The news struck her like a physical blow. The haughty air slipped; her face paled. “Dzoo is gone? Where? Please, I—I have come a long way to find her.” Her struggle to hide the desperation in her voice touched him. Was she ill? Is that why she’d Come? “The last we heard, she was among the Cougar People—at Chief Antler Spoon’s village. A strange fever broke out there. Some time ago, they sent a runner to beg her to come Heal them.”
Rain Bear crossed the floor toward the fire, knelt, and checked the teapot hanging on the tripod. Empty. There was no Council meeting scheduled, and no one had thought to make tea for her.
The young woman took three quick steps toward him. “Chief Rain Bear, forgive me, but once I explain, I hope you will understand my fears. I am Evening Star, daughter of Matron Naida, of the Ash Fall Clan of the North Wind People. My mother—”
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