Children of the Dawnland (North America's Forgotten Past Series) (5 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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A
S TWIG FELL asleep, an eerie glitter started behind her closed eyes, and the dream swept over her like an icy flood … .
 
 
 
I AM HUDDLING in a cavern filled with blue light. Towering ice spires rise around me, and from somewhere far away, I hear inhuman chanting … .
Fear clutches at my heart. I start to run, screaming, “Is anyone here? Hello!”
I race up the icy trail, and when I reach the top, I slip and
fall, landing hard. The sharp ice rips my shirt and tears a long gash in my right arm. Hot blood soaks my sleeve.
Everywhere I look, glittering, frozen apparitions dance in the curious blue glow. They have no arms or legs.
“Where am I?” I cry in fear.
“You are in the future, young dreamer.”
I sit up, expecting to see the strange woman. But she is not here. Instead, a bizarre creature perches on an ice ledge above me. It has a human body, but wings and a bird’s beak, and its skin shimmers, as though it’s snakeskin.
I’m terrified, shaking, but I force myself to stand up.
“Please, h-help me?” I stutter. “Who are you?”
It gives me a sad smile. “I am Eagle-Man, your Spirit Helper. Do you hear it, Dreamer? Listen.”
“W-what?”
At first, all I hear is the roaring wind.
Then …
Faint screams creep up from every sparkle in the snow, and fear clutches at my heart. All around me, colors swirl and form pictures. I see Screech Owl’s terrified face and hear Mother shrieking … .
“What’s happening?” I cry.
Eagle-Man just smiles.
A deep groaning rumble erupts, followed by a loud boom! Several smaller booms shake the ground beneath my feet, and I stagger as a strange, orange gleam swells. The blue light vanishes.
The rumble grows to a roar.
When I look up, the sky explodes, and torrents of fire consume
the night. As the rumbling, crackling flames roll across the heavens, the Star People vanish, and the entire world glows brilliant orange. A green flaming ball of light rolls right over the top of me; then the earthquake strikes like the fists of the gods. I’m slammed against the ground. The Ice Giants roar and scream as they split wide open. Somewhere in the distance, I hear ice cliffs crashing into water … and people running, running hard. Three heartbeats later, a wave of heat hits me. It’s as though I’ve been thrown into the midst of a raging forest fire. My skin is peeling from my face!
I scream.
 
 
 
“TWIG! TWIG, WAKE up!”
She felt Mother’s hand on her shoulder, shaking her, and bolted up in her buffalo hides. Cold sweat drenched Twig’s body. Outside, an owl hooted as it glided through the darkness.
“Mother?” she cried in fear.
“You scared me half to death. Are you all right?”
“Mother, I—I had a bad dream. You were screaming!”
“Well, it was just a dream.” Mother hugged Twig. “Everything is all right. Look at me. I’m right here and I’m perfectly safe. We are both safe.”
Twig hugged her hard. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
Mother smoothed her damp hair from her face. “It’s all right. Do you want to sleep with me?”
“Yes.”
Twig crawled beneath Mother’s hides and watched
Mother throw another branch on the fire. Sparks shot out and floated up toward the smoke hole in the roof. When Mother got beneath the hides, Twig snuggled against her.
Mother said, “Tomorrow is going to be a long, busy day. Let’s get as much sleep as we can.”
Twig inhaled a deep breath, trying to calm herself enough that she could go back to sleep. As the fire ate into the branch, the eagle-feather prayer fans and dried Spirit plants that hung from the roof poles spun and fluttered.
Twig sighed and rolled to her side … and her arm hurt.
She sat up in bed again. There was a rip in her sleep shirt. Through the hole, she could see the long gash that tore her right arm. And blood. Dark and clotted. The drops looked like black tears.
I
T WAS ONLY mid-morning, but so warm that most of last night’s snow had already melted to puddles that made shining spots across the tundra.
As Twig and Greyhawk trotted through the plaza, they passed two clan schools. All of the children from the Crabkiller Clan had gathered to learn to flake stone tools. Twig glanced at Grizzly and Little Cougar as she ran by. They sat with a piece of leather over their left hands and a deer antler tine in their right hands. To sharpen the piece of chert that lay on the leather, they pressed the antler tine to the edge and applied pressure. When a flake of stone popped off, they blew on the stone to clean it, and
continued pressure-flaking the edge. If they’d done a good job, at the end they would have a beautiful sharp spear point. If they’d done a bad job, they’d have an ugly stone knife. Twig knew. She’d made lots of ugly stone knives when she’d studied flint knapping.
A little farther down the path, they passed the Waterweed Clan school. Elder Cove was showing the children how to use a stone scraper to clean animal hides, to get them ready to tan. An enormous brown buffalo hide lay draped over a pole, drying in the bright sun. Five girls and three boys were working to scrape it clean. Gray buffalo brains filled a big wooden bowl a short distance away. When the hide was clean, the children would lay it on the ground and rub the brains into the hide to tan it. It was backbreaking work. Twig was glad this was her clan’s day for children to carry water—which Twig had done all morning.
“What did you tell your mother?” Greyhawk asked as they took the trail that led down the hill to the eastern side of the village. Yipper leaped and bounded out in front of them.
“I told her the truth,” Twig replied. “I said we were going to see Grandfather.”
“Did you tell her that you were going to ask him to take you to see Cobia?”
“Shh!” she hissed. “Keep your voice down!”
Greyhawk rolled his eyes. “That means you didn’t tell her.”
“Well, she wouldn’t have understood. I told her we
wanted to hear Grandfather’s story about how he captured Cobia.”
“But we’ve heard that story a thousand times.”
“Yes, but it makes Mother happy that I like Grandfather’s stories. And I always learn new things when he tells the story again.”
“Yes, me too.”
Part of Greyhawk’s warrior training involved memorizing the stories of the greatest warriors who had lived among their people—like Grandfather Halfmoon. Depending upon which clan you belonged to, the stories might be different. Twig had finished her training last summer.
From now on, the Blue Bear Clan would expect different things of her. She would be expected to begin the path to womanhood, to marry, and have children to increase the clan’s numbers. Twig most wanted to become a healer. Mother had been teaching her about Spirit plants, and she was good at making poultices and brewing healing teas.
Greyhawk said, “Did you know that after your grandfather stole Cobia, he was chased by a hundred warriors and had to fight them off by himself? It was a miracle he lived.”
Twig looked over at Greyhawk. Black hair flapped around his face as they ran. He carried his spear—as long as he was tall—in his left hand and had his atlatl tied to his belt. An atlatl was a throwing stick about as long as the thrower’s forearm. When a warrior inserted the hollow
end of his spear into the hook on the atlatl and cast, his spear flew much farther.
Twig said, “I’ve never heard that part of the story.”
“Of course not,” he said with his chin up. “They only teach it to boys from the Smoky Shrew Clan. It’s part of our secret training. Your grandfather came in to tell us how he did it. He almost died before he slithered into an ice tunnel on his belly and lost them. He had to stay there for four days, and Cobia shrieked the entire time.”
Twig frowned. “If it’s a secret, why did you tell me?”
“You’re my best friend. If I can’t tell you, who can I tell? You won’t tell anyone else, will you?”
“Of course not,” she said indignantly.
They swerved in front of the big rocky ridge—really a massive boulder pile filled with sand and dirt—that encircled the eastern half of the village. When they got to the far end of the ridge, Twig saw Grandfather sitting in front of his lodge, talking with the village war chief, Puffer. Puffer was tall and muscular for a woman. She’d seen twenty-eight summers and had short black hair, cut in mourning for a friend she’d lost one moon ago in a battle with the evil Thornback People. She was of Greyhawk’s Smoky Shrew clan, and her bravery was legendary. In her hand, Puffer carried her atlatl. Red, black, and white designs encircled the shaft.
“Let’s stand here and wait until they’re finished talking,” Twig said.
Greyhawk nodded. “They could be making life-or-death plans for our village.”
When they stopped, Yipper turned to look at them, wondering what they were doing; then he trotted back and sat on his haunches beside Greyhawk. His black fur shone today, as though coated with flakes of gold.
Sitting beside Puffer, Grandfather Halfmoon looked very old and frail. He had seen fifty-eight summers. Deep scars cut grooves across his forehead and cheeks, and his eyes had started to turn white, as though the winter snow collected in them and never melted. His graying black hair hung over his shoulder in a long braid.
Grandfather was placing rocks on the ground, saying, “This is where Starhorse Village was, and Sunhawk Village is over here. Farther up the trail, you’ll come to Oakbeam Village. The trail you want”—he drew a line in the dirt with his finger—“runs past Oakbeam Village and down into a narrow ice canyon that the local villagers call Hoarfrost Canyon.”
Puffer nodded. “The entry to her cave is at the end of the canyon, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I doubt you will see her. She’ll see you before you arrive, and be long gone. She knows that honeycomb of ice tunnels better than the lines on her own palm.”
Puffer exhaled hard. “Probably, Elder, but we need Cobia’s help to defeat the Thornback raiders. If we can just get her to dream the future for us, we will know where and when they plan to attack us. Then we can prepare to fight them.” She bowed her head for a long moment. “Walleye’s search party failed. Someone has to try again.”
Grandfather looked at Puffer with shiny white eyes.
“Be careful. The trails will be muddy. And Cobia will not be happy to see you. You know that, don’t you? When she left here twenty summers ago, she said she’d kill anyone from Buffalobeard Village who tried to find her.”
“Yes, Elder, I know.” Puffer stood up. “If she chooses to kill me, at least I won’t have to worry about what the Thornback raiders are up to.”
Grandfather stood and embraced Puffer, saying, “I pray the Spirits watch over you. And don’t worry: While you are away, we will start building a rock wall around the village. It won’t be much, but at least our warriors will have something to hide behind to launch their spears.”
“Thank you, Elder. We’ll try to be home tonight before the Buffalo Way ceremony starts. Then, tomorrow, I’ll assign every warrior the task of helping to build the wall.”
They patted each other on the back.
When Puffer turned and walked away, Grandfather’s blind eyes followed her. He shook his head, as though deeply troubled.
Puffer walked to meet her deputy, Black Star, who stood with the rest of the war party at the lakeshore trailhead. Black Star was Grizzly’s father, and a muscular man with massive shoulders. Puffer spoke to the party briefly; then she led the way up the trail at a trot. None of them looked happy.
“Now we can go see him,” Twig said, and trotted for her grandfather, calling, “Hello, Grandfather!”
Yipper charged forward with his tail wagging.
Halfmoon turned, and squinted hard, as though trying to see her. “Twig? Is that you?”
“Yes, Grandfather. It’s Twig and Greyhawk.”
Grandfather knelt and opened his arms. Twig ran into them, and he hugged her. “How are you today, my beautiful granddaughter?”
“Fine. How are you? Are your eyes better?”
Grandfather smiled sadly. “No, they get more and more blurry every day—though I see a little better after Father Sun goes down.” He turned to Greyhawk. “And how are you, young warrior? Are you practicing with your atlatl and spears?”
“Yes, Elder Halfmoon. I practice every morning and night. I’m getting better, but I can’t slice the ear off a wolf at a hundred paces like you can.”
“That was in the old days. Today, I can’t even see a wolf at a hundred paces.” Grandfather sat down on the mat before his fire again. “Come, children. Sit down. I have some roasted fish left from breakfast if you’re hungry. It’s there, in that bowl.” He pointed to the wooden bowl that rested on the hearthstone, keeping warm.
They both sat down cross-legged beside the fire, and Greyhawk reached into the bowl for a chunk of white fish meat. He smelled it first, took a bite, and gave Yipper a bite, which the dog choked down in one swallow.
Twig licked her lips nervously, trying to muster the bravery to ask Grandfather to take her to see Cobia.
“What’s wrong, Twig?” Grandfather asked. “You’re being very quiet.”
Instead of getting to the point, she said, “Mother told me I could never go to see Screech Owl again, but I have to, Grandfather. He needs me. I don’t understand why she doesn’t like him.”
A gust of wind blew Grandfather’s graying black hair around his wrinkled face as he said, “She did like him. Once. A long time ago. I don’t know what went wrong between them, but it happened before you were born. Is she afraid he’ll turn you into a slug?”
Twig laughed. “Maybe.”
Around a mouthful of fish, Greyhawk said, “What did Screech Owl do to get banished from the village? It must have been really bad.”
Grandfather picked up a stick and prodded the fire, which caused sparks to crackle and spin upward in the morning air. When his sleeves pulled back, Twig saw the burn scars that covered his hands and lower arms. “Not bad, not exactly. He was always doing curious things, like sniffing people’s tracks as they walked by, or leaving wet spots in front of their doors.”
Twig cocked her head. In the distance, over Grandfather’s shoulder, the Ice Giants groaned and a rumble shook the earth. Grandfather listened for a long time, and looked worried.
Twig said, “Did Screech Owl have the soul of a dog then?”
“A wolf, or so he said. Then there was the time he dug a hole under Chief Gill’s lodge and filled it with dead
mice. After five or six days, the smell drove the chief’s entire family out of the lodge.”
Between bites of fish, Greyhawk said, “Did Screech Owl cover them up and forget they were there?”
“All I know is the chief had had enough. He told Screech Owl to get out of the village and never come back.”
Twig reached into the bowl to grab the last piece of fish before Greyhawk could eat it. Yipper snapped for it, but Twig stuffed it in her mouth and chewed. It tasted warm and delicious. “I have to go see him, Grandfather. He gets lonely by himself, and I’m his only friend.”
Grandfather’s white eyes moved, as though trying to see Twig. “Does he have a human soul yet?”
“No, a kestrel’s; but I don’t think he’s buried any dead mice in a long time.” She wiped the fish grease from her hands onto the sand and took a deep breath. This may be the best chance she would have. “Grandfather?”
“Yes?”
“Screech Owl told me to ask you a question.”
Grandfather shifted as though expecting the worst. “What question?”
Twig glanced at Greyhawk, who looked back with his mouth quirked, as though he thought she was insane for wanting to go see Cobia, the baby killer.
“Screech Owl said I should ask you to take me to see Cobia, because you were the only one—”
“
Cobia!
” Grandfather half shouted. “I’m not taking
you to see Cobia! That’s a death sentence. She hates me and my entire family. Do you want to die?”
Twig nervously licked her lips. “But … Screech Owl—he said I needed to talk to her about my dream, and you were probably the only one brave enough to take me.”

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