Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

It Dreams in Me (16 page)

BOOK: It Dreams in Me

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He looked back at the Midnight Fox. “Is that it? Do you keep him alive inside you? You’ve kept him alive all these winters?”

The Midnight Fox heaved a deep relieved breath and closed its eyes. Sora curled up on the buffalohide. Ghostly shadows flitted, moving closer, surrounding Sora in a spectral Healing Circle.

He did not know if he truly heard faint ancient Healing Songs, or if his souls had woven them from the wind and rain,
but he sat back on the floor and massaged his forehead. “That’s why the murders started. He probably doesn’t realize he’s chasing away her reflection-soul … .”

Sora’s body started to quiver, and her eyes rolled back into her head. The seizure struck like a bolt of lightning. She arched and cried out; then her entire body spasmed.

Strongheart leaped to his feet and ran to her. As he dragged her jerking body onto his lap, her teeth gnashed together.

“It’s all right.” He clutched her tightly against him. “Everything’s all right. I understand now.”

While the seizure ran its course, he kept whispering, “I understand, Sora. Can you hear me? I understand … .”

ROCKFISH GRIMACED. BY THE STANDARDS OF THE BLACK Falcon Nation, Fan Palm Village was a pathetic conglomeration of sixteen poorly made lodges, crude pottery, and badly woven fabrics. Its only positive attribute was that it sat at the edge of a beautiful meadow, surrounded by hickory and elm trees that shone an unearthly green in the morning sunlight. Corn, sunflowers, and squash fields filled every hollow.

“My village appreciates the gifts sent by your high matron,” Chief Sand Conch said, and flicked a hand at one of his wives to take them away.

Perhaps twenty winters old, the woman had a gaunt face and skinny arms. Bars of ribs showed through her dress. She scooped up two of the large baskets and carried them out to the people who had assembled in the plaza. As she began handing them out—first to the elders, then to the others—a cacophony of astonished voices rose. Copper clinked and strings of pearls rattled.

Sand Conch took a long drink of tea, and Rockfish studied
him. Skinny and covered with elaborate tattoos, he’d seen perhaps forty winters. To Rockfish, he resembled a brightly colored squirrel. His prominent front teeth thrust outward, giving his face a wedge-shaped appearance. His black hair bun was pinned with an ordinary rabbit-bone skewer. The only jewelry he wore that was of any value was his exquisite pearl necklace.

Rockfish glanced down at Sand Conch’s weapons. The Chief’s bow and quiver rested at his knee, and he kept his war club across his lap. He was taking no chances.

“High Matron Wink will be pleased that you have accepted her peace offering,” Rockfish said, returning to the discussion. “The clan turmoil in the Black Falcon Nation is proving a grueling challenge for our Council of Elders.”

Sand Conch’s eyes narrowed, “I do not understand why your council doesn’t simply Outcast the Water Hickory Clan and be done with it.”

“It is a subject of discussion, but no one wishes a civil war.”

“Of course not, but Water Hickory Clan is liable to get you entrenched in a long war with other nations, including the Loon Nation. It seems to me that civil war is the lesser challenge.”

Rockfish nodded. “High Matron Wink agrees with you. That’s why I’m here, to try to Heal the rift between our peoples.”

Sand Conch sighed. “And how does she plan to do that? Many of our relatives are dead.”

“First, as partial compensation, she will give you the disputed gathering grounds. Second, she promises a very lucrative Trade alliance.” Though as Rockfish looked around, the only thing he could see that the Black Falcon Nation would want was access to their oyster beds.

Sand Conch’s brows lowered. “What does she expect in return?”

His wife ran back, grinned, gathered up two more huge baskets, and carted them to the waiting throng of people. As she pulled out rolls of magnificent cloth and pounded copper jewelry, cries of delight and excitement rose. One young woman ripped a pendant from her hand and ran away with a horde of older women chasing her, trying to take it away.

Rockfish said, “High Matron Wink hopes that you will help us to defeat our own rogue clan. Our coordinated efforts will, she believes, end the problem sooner.”

“Coordinated efforts. What does that mean? Do you wish us to send warriors to be commanded by your war chiefs?”

The distaste in his voice made it obvious he wasn’t about to do that.

Rockfish said, “No. Instead, High Matron Wink will send you warriors to help protect your villages.”

Chief Sand Conch lowered his gaze and laughed incredulously. “Forgive me, I do not doubt your words, but given the hostility between our peoples, that seems, perhaps, too generous.”

“Too generous to believe, you mean?”

Sand Conch inclined his head in apology. “As I told you, I sent my own emissary to the high matron several days ago. I expect him to return tomorrow morning. If he verifies this exceptional offer”—he made an airy gesture with his hand—“we will talk more. In the meantime …”

His gaze shifted when the delighted cries of his people abruptly halted.

Rockfish swiveled to look. The first thing that caught his attention was the dogs. Every cur in the village had stood up and pricked its ears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Sand Conch shook his head. “I don’t know.”

As the molten ball of Mother Sun rose above the treetops,
bars of crimson light shot through the highest branches and lanced across the meadow. The sudden quiet seemed unnatural. Rockfish scanned the shadows that streaked the village.

“Look!”
a man shouted.

In the distance, across the meadow, three men emerged from the trees, running hard, carrying a litter with a fourth man stretched out on top.

“Hallowed Master of Breath.” Sand Conch shoved to his feet, shouting, “War Chief! Rally our warriors!”

A stout burly man in a brown shirt yelled, “Grab your weapons!

Everywhere in the village, men and women ducked into lodges and reemerged carrying bows and quivers, lances, war clubs, and stilettos. They assembled around the war chief, and he immediately dispatched them to guard different parts of the village and forest.

“Who is that?” Rockfish gestured to the litter-bearers. “Can you tell?”

Sand Conch squinted. “The gray-haired man out front is my emissary, Raider. As for the others, their jewelry marks them as Black Falcon warriors.

Rockfish suddenly understood what he meant. As the men ran, their ears, throats, and wrists flashed with copper. They could not be members of the Loon Nation.

“High Matron Wink must have sent them back to guard your emissary.”

“I sent my own warriors to do that. Where are they?”

Sand Conch grabbed his bow and quiver and started forward to meet the party. Rockfish had taken two steps when the forest erupted with the hair-raising howls of warriors.

Dozens of people burst from the trees and pounded hard for Fan Palm Village. Over their heads a barrage of arrows arced upward, the fine fletching glinting in the sunlight. As
the arrows fell, warriors toppled to the ground, and the screams began … .

“Dear gods,” Rockfish whispered, “both groups are Black Falcon warriors!”

Sand Conch jerked a quick nod. “It seems your rogue clan is hunting down its own relatives now. Come with me. Let’s find out what’s—”

Raider broke away from the litter-bearers and sprinted toward Sand Conch, shouting to each person he passed, “Find cover! They’ll be here in moments! Run! Run!”

Women grabbed children and scampered for the trees with babies wailing, leaving the village empty except for the warriors crouched behind every lodge and stump, their weapons at the ready.

Raider ran straight to Sand Conch. His dark gray hair was sweat-drenched and matted to his head, and mud filled his wrinkles. “They caught us less than one hand of time ago. We’re badly outnumbered.”

In a low voice, Sand Conch said, “How many are there?”

“Perhaps two hundred warriors.”

Sand Conch’s jaw quivered before he clamped it down. “We’ll never be able to hold them. We—”

“We might, my chief. High Matron Wink sent you one hundred Shadow Rock Clan warriors to help protect Fan Palm Village. They are the red-shirted warriors out front. With our seventy warriors, we have a chance.”

Sand Conch glanced at Rockfish and gave him a stern nod. “It seems you were telling the truth. Then let us fight like brothers.”

As Sand Conch lifted his bow, Raider said, “Wait, my chief. We must find a safe place for Chief Long Fin. He’s wounded—”

“Chief Long Fin?” The bottom fell out of Rockfish’s stomach. “He’s here?”

“Yes, High Matron Wink sent her son to lead our party. He was shot first. I’m sure Water Hickory Clan targeted him deliberately.”

“How badly is he wounded?”

Raider shook his head. “I fear he will not survive.”

Sand Conch’s face paled. He waved to the litter-bearers and ran out toward them, calling, “This way! Bring him this way!”

Rockfish and Raider followed Sand Conch toward the Loon council house, the only structure in the village made of massive upright logs.

As they ran, Raider said, “You are Rockfish?”

“Yes, I—”

“I know who you are. The high matron said you would be her voice in all negotiations with my people. She trusts you. I regret that we meet under these circumstances.”

The litter-bearers, panting, followed Sand Conch to the council house and ducked inside.

Rockfish went directly to Long Fin’s litter, which rested on the floor near the fire hearth. The young chief’s arms flailed at nothing.

“Long Fin? It’s Rockfish,” he said as he knelt down and examined Long Fin’s blood-soaked cape.

“Rockfish … ,” Long Fin murmured. He couldn’t keep his eyes still.

He can’t see me.

Rockfish ripped open the cape and saw the arrow still buried in his right side. It had been snapped off near the skin, probably when Long Fin fell after the shot, which meant getting hold of it to pull it out would be very difficult.

“Long Fin, you’ve lost a lot of blood. I’m going to bandage your wound. Try not to move.” He reached down and ripped off the bottom of his tan knee-length shirt.

“Rockfish, tell Mother … tell her … I’m sorry.” His eyes swam around in his skull.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault.”

“No, tell her I’m sorry … for being … a bad chief. I’m sorry.”

“You are a good chief, Long Fin. She told me so herself.”

It wasn’t true, but it didn’t matter.

A faint smile came to Long Fin’s face.

The sounds of battle loomed closer. An arrow smacked the council house, followed by several more.

“Come with me!” Sand Conch slapped Raider on the shoulder. “Tell me which Black Falcon warriors I can kill, and which I can’t!”

“OH, STOP CACKLING LIKE A SCARED GROUSE!” SEA GRASS ordered.

Elder Bittern folded her wrinkled hands in her lap and quavered, “We should never have sent all our warriors after the Black Falcon party! It’s taken Wink less than two days to kill the few warriors we ordered to stay here to guard us. What were we thinking? We—”

“We were thinking we wanted them all dead, that’s what!” She waved her walking stick, and the torchlight cast her shadow on the walls like a battling giant.

Bittern smoothed a loose strand of white hair away from her withered mouth and whispered, “I’m next. I know I am. Wink is saving you for last. I just can’t figure out why she hasn’t killed both of us already.”

Sea Grass gripped the head of her walking stick with both hands and snapped, “Stop thinking about yourself.”

“Well, what else do I have to think of?”

Sea Grass glowered. “Ten winters from now.”

“I won’t see the next ten winters, Sea Grass! Neither will you!”

Sea Grass smiled sourly. “No, but your son, Chief Pocket Mouse, will—unless he’s killed in battle, of course.”

Bittern wiped her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that by now Fan Palm Village is a pile of ashes. Chief Long Fin is dead, and our warriors are hunting down the last of the Shadow Rock war party. In the end, we will still win. Water Hickory Clan will rule the Black Falcon Nation. Pocket Mouse
will
be chief.”

Bittern’s eyes widened.

Sea Grass smiled grimly. “Yes, think about it. Sora cannot have children, and Long Fin was Wink’s only child. When they are gone, the leadership will naturally fall to our clan.”

“Then my daughter …” Her voice trailed away in awe.

Sea Grass nodded. “Yes, Tern will be high matron. There’s nothing Wink can do to stop it now.”

Bittern’s smile faded. “Unless, of course, the other members of the council vote to Outcast our clan.”

Sea Grass shook her head. “Improbable. Once we’re dead, the other matrons will believe justice has been done. They’ll find it too distasteful to punish the innocent members of Water Hickory Clan. Trust me, I know my rivals.”

The door curtain whispered behind her.

Wink stepped into the chamber, alone. Her crimson dress was regal; freshwater pearls covered the entire top half. But she looked pale and lifeless.

Sea Grass’ mouth twisted distastefully. “Where’s your assassin, Lean Elk? I expected to see him last night.”

“Off on another mission.”

Bittern started crying softly.

“Stop it or I’ll beat you with my walking stick!” Sea Grass ordered.

Bittern buried her face in the hem of her cape, which somewhat muffled her cries.

Wink clenched her fists at her sides. She seemed to be studying Sea Grass’ every wrinkle and age spot.

“Well, what is it?” Sea Grass said. “Did you come to gloat or to bargain?”

Softly, Wink replied, “I just wanted to see your face one last time.”

She turned and walked out of the chamber.

The curtain whispered behind her.