Children of the Dawnland (North America's Forgotten Past Series) (4 page)

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

BOOK: Children of the Dawnland (North America's Forgotten Past Series)
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“Yes, but I didn’t understand anything she said. It was all gibberish. Things like, ‘To step onto the path you must leave it.’ I don’t know what that means, do you?”
Screech Owl dipped himself a cup of tea and took a long sip. “No, not a word.” He grinned at Greyhawk.
Greyhawk scowled back. He was over his coughing fit, but kept clearing his throat.
Screech Owl said, “What else happened?”
“There was a loud boom,” Twig said, “and an earthquake.”
“An earthquake?” Screech Owl tilted his head to the left. “Where did it come from?”
“From the Star People, I think. I see a ball of light roll over the top of me. It’s huge. It flies south in a roar, like a thousand lions are running inside the light.”
Screech Owl set his cup on the floor with a sharp crack. “The light flies south?”
She nodded.
Screech Owl shot to his feet and turned first one way and then another, muttering, “So it comes from the north. Blessed Spirits, I hope that doesn’t mean …”
“Mean what?” Twig asked.
His stooped position and the curious tilt to his head
made him look like a demented stork. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re coming for us, but if they are, we’d better be ready.”
Greyhawk put his mouth against Twig’s ear to whisper, “He’s as crazy as a rabid skunk! I’m getting out of here. Are you coming?”
“Please, just give me a little longer,” she whispered back.
Greyhawk slumped to the floor again, but kept his slitted eyes on Screech Owl, who was walking around the cave, talking to himself and touching the colorful Spirit symbols on the walls. After a few moments, he stopped. When he turned back to gaze at Twig, a prickle climbed her spine.
“What is it, Screech Owl? What are you thinking?”
“Hmm?” he asked, studying her with unnerving concentration. “Thinking? Oh, I wasn’t thinking at all … except, well, last moon Old Mother brought me news that a new Star Person had been born in the night sky far to the north. The Star People are very clannish—they don’t like new people—but Old Mother said this new person is very bright.”
“Do you think this new Star Person has something to do with my dream?”
Screech Owl’s bushy gray brows lowered. “I pray not. Once, long ago, the Star People made war upon humans. Huge rocks rained down from the night sky. Many were killed.”
“But why would the Star People send me a Spirit dream?”
“Maybe they sent you the dream so that you could tell Greyhawk. He’s studying to be a warrior, isn’t he?”
“Who? Me?” Greyhawk asked in panic. “I’m just a boy! I can’t do anything. Can I?”
Screech Owl threw another branch onto the fire. “Well, I certainly can’t answer that until I find the chunk of mammoth dung that tells the story of your life. Where could I have put it?”
He started grabbing for new bags and dragging them across the floor to search them. Yipper danced around each bag, as though suspecting it held something edible.
Greyhawk hissed in Twig’s face, “I’m leaving before he can find it!”
Greyhawk rushed for the door and was out into the sunlight before Twig even started to stand up. Outside, she heard the squeal of a tern; then Greyhawk yelped, and his moccasins pounded the ground as he charged away. Yipper dashed outside growling, and ran after Greyhawk.
Twig heaved a deep sigh and finished her tea in three long gulps. After she’d set the cup on the floor, she said, “Screech Owl, I guess I should be going. We have to be home before sundown. Thank you for the tea and for talking to me about my dream.”
“Twig, do you want me to talk with your grandfather about your dream? All of the elders should know about this. They—”
“No. No, Screech Owl. Thank you, but Mother doesn’t want anyone to know I’m having Spirit dreams.”
Screech Owl frowned and looked away. “I’m not surprised. Power always terrified her.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I’m probably to blame. I think I may have pushed her too hard. Cobia had just left the village, and we needed another great dreamer. A Spirit dreamer who truly sees the future can save the lives of everyone in the village. I thought your mother could be that dreamer.”
“But you’re a great Spirit dreamer. Couldn’t you do it?”
“Well,” he said with a smile, “people didn’t like me very much. I knew sooner or later I was going to be made an outcast.”
His face slackened, and an odd tinge of fear entered his voice. “Twig, about your dream … if the Star People do make war on humans, everyone could be killed. We
need
to tell the elders.”
“But what if my dream is wrong? I’m only twelve. I don’t know anything about dreaming.”
In the wavering firelight, his brown face seemed older, more wrinkled, but the twinkle returned to his eyes. “Do you want me to teach you how to be a Spirit dreamer? I might be able to convince your mother—”
“No. I—I’m not sure I want to be a Spirit dreamer.”
He smiled and nodded. Softly, he said, “I understand. It is a hard life. But you should at least talk to the Stone Wolf about your dream. Or maybe Cobia, if you can convince your grandfather to take you to see her. He’s probably the
only one brave enough to do it. And if Cobia is the woman in your dream, she may actually let you find her.”
Twig’s hand quaked before she let it fall to her side. “But Mother doesn’t like me to get near the Stone Wolf. And Elder Bandtail has forbidden us to go near Cobia’s cave. Two children who were curious about her died last year trying to find it. What makes you think—”
“Power has taken to the wind again. The Stone Wolf and Cobia will know that. There’s no saying who or what Power is trying to corner. Maybe you, my only friend.” He rapped the top of her head, listened speculatively to the hollow sound, then smiled and said, “Oh, good.”
Twig laughed. “Thank you again. I’ll try to come back soon.”
“Very soon, I hope. I’ve missed our talks.”
“Me, too.” She walked to the door, but turned back just before she ducked outside. “Screech Owl? We’re having the Buffalo Way ceremony tomorrow night. Why don’t you come? I’m sure no one would mind.”
He tilted his head uncertainly. “The last time I went to a ceremony people threw rocks at me to drive me away.”
“But they won’t this time. I’ll ask Mother to speak with Chief Gill about letting you come.”
“Well, I’ll think about it. Now, you’d better go. Greyhawk’s probably halfway home already.”
She ducked out the cave entrance into the sunlight, and shielded her eyes to see if she could spot Greyhawk. A tern dove and soared over the trail in the distance, and
she thought she heard vague yells and barks coming from below the bird.
Twig began running with all her might, trying to catch up with Greyhawk.
W
IND WOMAN HOWLED and tore at Twig’s lodge as though she wanted to rip it to pieces. Just as Old Mother tern had warned, snow had begun falling just after dark, and already the drifts outside were more than six hands deep, and ice filled their water bags.
“Where were you today, Twig?” Mother asked. She sat across the fire stitching yellow porcupine quills onto a new buckskin dress. Her long black hair draped over the front of her cape, almost covering the images of the running black bears. “I looked all over the village for you. You promised to help me get ready for the Buffalo Way
ceremony. I had to do all the cooking and washing by myself.”
Twig pulled her cape more tightly around her shoulders. When she and Greyhawk had returned at sunset, Twig had seen Mother on the lakeshore pounding their clothing with rocks to loosen the dirt, then sinking them in the water to rinse them. She’d felt guilty, but …
“I—I went rabbit hunting. Didn’t spear any, though.”
Mother’s mouth quirked, as though she didn’t believe Twig’s story, but she just sewed another quill onto the dress. She was creating beautiful chevrons around the neck.
“Twig?” Mother’s voice changed. “Did you go see Screech Owl today? Greyhawk’s mother said he came home shivering and hid under a pile of hides until she ordered him out for dinner. Do you know anything about that?”
“About him hiding? No.”
Mother’s brows lowered. “Did you go see Screech Owl?”
“Well … Mother,” Twig said. She thought about making something up, but figured Mother would find out the truth eventually, and when she did, the punishment would be worse. “Screech Owl gets lonely. He needs people to come see him every now and then. And he needs to come to the Buffalo Way ceremony tomorrow night. It would be good for him. Do you think you could ask Chief Gill if Screech Owl can come?”
Mother lowered her sewing to her lap. In a low shaking voice, she said. “You make me so angry. I can’t believe
you disobeyed me. How many times have I told you that he’s dangerous? You never know what Screech Owl will do. One moment he has the soul of a raven, and the next he’s a dung beetle. No one wants him here.”
“But why not? He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
Mother’s hands clenched the dress for an instant before they relaxed again. “I want you to stay away from him.”
“But I like him, Mother. Didn’t you ever like him, even when you studied with him?”
“Yes, I did, but that was a long time ago, before … well, before a lot of things happened.”
“Before my father died?”
Mother hesitated for so long that it made Twig fidget. “Mother, why don’t you ever tell me about my father?”
“There isn’t much to tell. We were married for only one summer, and he was gone most of that time.”
“To go on battle-walks.” She beamed at Mother in pride. People in Buffalobeard Village told stories on long winter nights about what a great warrior her father, Shouts-at-Night, had been.
“Yes, he was a very great warrior.”
Twig hesitated before she asked, “Is that when you studied with Screech Owl? When my father was gone raiding?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you stop studying with him? He has great power. I’ll bet he could have taught you a lot more.”
Mother’s eyes drifted to the Stone Wolf. She’d left her
medicine bundle open near her bedding hides, as though she’d forgotten to tie it closed after her nightly prayers. The Stone Wolf stood on top of the bag. Black, tiny, it glimmered like a speck of molten midnight.
Mother said, “I’m sure he could have. He just scared me too often.”
Twig kept looking at the Stone Wolf.
She could feel the Stone Wolf’s power from all the way across the lodge, like the sticky feel of a cricket’s legs on her arms.
Silently, she mouthed the words,
Do you know anything about that dream I had two days ago?
The sensation of power grew, and Twig heard a faint rumble, like the distant roar of a flash flood before it wipes the face of the land clean. Fear gripped her. She started shivering.
“Is something wrong?” Mother stared at her.
“No, it’s just that I … it’s the Stone Wolf. It was looking at me.”
“Well, don’t worry. It’s quiet tonight.”
Twig frowned, and glanced at the Stone Wolf. It had started to shimmer, as though firelight lived and breathed in its glassy heart. “Mother, didn’t you feel that wave of power?”
“I didn’t feel anything.” Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Did you?”
Wind gusted, and snowflakes fell through the smoke hole. As they drifted down to vanish over the fire, Twig worked up her courage. Finally, she asked, “Mother, would
it be all right if I … I—I know you’ve told me never to go near the Stone Wolf, but could I just talk to it? Maybe hold it for a little while?”
Mother set her sewing down and walked across the lodge to her medicine bundle. She stuffed the Wolf inside and tied it firmly closed. For a long time, she just stared at her bundle. Finally, she turned back. “Did Screech Owl tell you to ask me that?”
The way Mother said it meant she already knew the answer. “Yes, Mother. He thought maybe the Stone Wolf could help me—”
“You are never to go see Screech Owl again. Do you understand? If you’re not careful he’ll send you on a Spirit journey to the Land of the Dead and forget to tell you how to get back.”
Twig’s heart thumped her ribs. “D-did he do that to you?”
“Yes, of course. He had the soul of a rat snake at the time, and was so busy trying to stuff a whole mouse down his throat that he forgot I didn’t know how to get back. It’s a miracle I survived. Tell me you understand and you won’t go there again.”
Twig looked down into the fire and watched the flames flickering. Quietly, she answered, “Yes, Mother. I understand.”
“And?”
“And I … I won’t …” It hurt to say the words. “I won’t go see him again.”

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