Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

It Dreams in Me (22 page)

BOOK: It Dreams in Me

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FLINT DRAGGED THE PANTING SNIPE TO HIS FEET AND shoved him hard in the direction of the lake. “Now go guard the trails. Both of you! Signal me if you hear anyone coming.”

“Yes, Flint.” Snipe tied on his breechclout while he hurried south after Osprey.

White Fawn released Sora’s hands and stared at Flint in a way that obviously made him uncomfortable. He shouted, “Stop looking at me like that!”

White Fawn lowered her gaze, and Sora rolled to her side. Through blurry eyes she saw Strongheart. His head hung limply.

“We should tie her up and be on our way to Blackbird Town,” White Fawn said stiffly. “I have a duty to perform.”

“Yes, you’re right. Sora, get on your feet.”

A curious light-headed sensation swept her. She sat up. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Oh, yes, you are. We need you. At least until Wink is dead.”

At the mention of Wink’s name, Sora went rigid. “Are you planning on using me against her?”

As though speaking to a five-winters-old child, Flint said, “You are the best weapon we have. That’s why you’re still alive.”

Flint bent down, grabbed her by the wrist, and hauled her to her feet. “You’re the perfect bait. We’ll tell Wink we’re holding you just outside of Blackbird Town. All she has to do is come alone and we’ll turn you over, in exchange for a fortune in pearls or fabrics, or whatever I deem appropriate at the time.” He jerked his chin at White Fawn, and ordered, “Find something to tie Sora’s hands.”

White Fawn looked around, then marched over to the tree where Strongheart sagged and began untying the cord around his legs.

Sora whispered, “Flint … where were you the night Skinner died?”

He flicked a hand to dismiss the question. “You don’t want to know, believe me.”

“I
do
want to know.”

He dragged her close and, with his mouth almost touching hers, whispered, “Matron Wood Fern ordered me to her chamber.”

He was betraying me … .

“Were you helping her lay the plans to get me to Eagle Flute Village?”

He put a hand around her throat and squeezed. “Yes, it was a stroke of brilliance. The Loon People would almost certainly kill you for the death of Blue Bow, and no one could blame us. The Law of Retribution would be fulfilled without Water Hickory Clan ever lifting a finger.” He smiled and let his hand fall.

She stood there, shaking all over, looking into Flint’s eyes, but she didn’t really see him. Just over his shoulder she could
see Strongheart. His dark eyes were no longer luminous, but dull and still.

Sora’s breathing turned to spasmodic sobbing.

Flint grabbed her shoulders and spun her around so she couldn’t see Strongheart. “He’s dead. Let’s go.”

“Just let me touch him one last time. I need to—”

“No, Sora!”

Flint flung her forward into a shambling trot … just as a last breath escaped Strongheart’s lungs.

Instinctively, White Fawn leapt back, and Flint jerked his war club from his belt and whirled around as though to defend her.

The world seemed to slow down, every moment dragging by … .

As though it didn’t belong to her, Sora watched her own hand reach for the stiletto tucked in Flint’s belt, pull it free, and plunge it into his throat. Blood gushed from the wound.

From somewhere far away, she heard White Fawn scream.

Flint swayed on his feet, blinked, then laughed softly as he touched the blood draining down his neck. He shook his head in disbelief. “Sora … you always surprise me.” He staggered and dropped to his knees.

“Flint!” White Fawn ran to him. She pressed her hands over the hole as though to stop the blood, and cried, “No, no, no! You whore! What have you done?”

Flint coughed and toppled backward, his body twisting in impossible contortions while he wheezed like a drowning man. The entire time he was writhing, he stared straight into Sora’s eyes. Stared at her until his body began to relax, and his limbs ceased twitching.

When he finally lay still, White Fawn stumbled to her feet, breathing hard. “You killed him. You killed my Flint.”

She turned toward Sora, and her gaze dropped to Sora’s hand.

Sora looked down. She’d forgotten she still held the stiletto.

White Fawn glanced at the war club tied on her belt and seemed to be calculating whether or not she could untie it before Sora was upon her.

“Don’t do it,” Sora warned. “I don’t want to have to kill you!”

“You? Kill
me?
”

Screaming in rage, White Fawn leapt for Sora, knocked her to the ground, and grabbed the hand that held the stiletto. While they rolled across the muddy shore, grunting, struggling for the upper hand, White Fawn shrieked, “Snipe! Osprey! Where are you? Snipe!
Osprey!
” She looked dazed, on the verge of madness.

Sora landed a fist to White Fawn’s temple and, momentarily stunned, the woman’s grip on the stiletto eased. Sora ripped it free and stabbed White Fawn in the chest. Her fear-charged muscles couldn’t seem to stop. She stabbed the woman over and over and over …

Until a man’s hand reached out of the darkness, grabbed hers, and forcibly stopped her.

In terror she fought against him, screaming, not even bothering to look at his face.

“Chieftess!” Lean Elk said as he knelt at her side and tugged the stiletto away. A tall man with dark, oddly inhuman eyes, he wore a brown shirt. “She’s dead.”

“No, no, sh-she might not—”

“She’s
dead.
I give you my oath.” He tossed the stiletto into the forest, then looked her straight in the eyes and said, “I killed the other two men, but there are more Water Hickory warriors coming. Please, we have barely enough to time to get away.”

He pulled her to her feet and stared at her. “Did you hear me, Chieftess?”

An ache grew in her heart, as though she were, once again, being sucked down into that gigantic black whirlpool that led to the Land of the Dead. Somewhere deep inside her, a voice kept repeating,
Strongheart is dead, Strongheart is dead, Strongheart is dead.

On weak legs, she walked to the tree where he was tied, and gently lifted his head. Through blurry eyes she stared at him, remembering the tenderness of his touch, his smile, the warmth in his eyes. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the fabric over his shoulder. Barely audible, she wept, “Forgive me. Forgive me for needing you so much.”

“Please hurry, Chieftess.” Lean Elk gestured to the trail, then turned and trotted into the forest.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then released Strongheart and forced her legs to move, to follow Lean Elk.

SHE’D BEEN TROTTING THROUGH THE FOREST FOR OVER four hands of time when her legs gave out and she stumbled and almost fell before she caught herself. “Please, Lean Elk,” she called, “give me a few moments.”

He stopped and turned. Silhouetted against the dark oaks, he was almost invisible. “Of course, my Chieftess, but we mustn’t stay long.”

She sank to the ground, and Lean Elk pulled his ceramic canteen from his belt and carried it over to her. As he removed the wooden stopper, he said, “Drink a little, but not too much.”

She took the canteen and sipped it. The cool water burned a path down her raw throat. “Thank you.”

He knelt in front of her, and his gaze took in her trembling limbs. “You know I wouldn’t be pushing so hard if it weren’t necessary, don’t you?”

“Yes. I know.” She took three more sips and handed the canteen to him. As he drank, she asked, “How did you know I was in Forbidden village?”

“Matron Wink. She told me to run fast, but she knew only that you were somewhere north of Minnow Village. It’s a miracle I found you as quickly as I did.” He gave her a small proud smile. “I should have known you wouldn’t really need me, my chieftess.”

Wink.

She had always been there during the darkest moments of Sora’s life, loving her, fighting for her with blind, passionate loyalty against Flint and against Sora’s mother and so many others, even battling their own clan when necessary.

She pulled her shoulders back and said, “What’s happening in Blackbird Town?” When he tried to avoid her gaze, she ordered, “Look at me. I asked you what was happening at home. Tell me.”

Reluctantly, he answered, “When I left, two days ago, Matron Wink was in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

He hesitated, and it occurred to her that Wink had probably sworn him to secrecy.

She said, “It’s all right, Lean Elk, you can tell me. She would want you to.”

He nodded, but swallowed hard before he said, “Our matron summoned me in the middle of the night. She had just ordered the death of Red Raven, and—”

“Good, the little weasel was a traitor. What else?”

“Elder Moorhen had just been murdered.”

Sora blinked. Moorhen was a cranky, evil old woman, always plotting behind Wink’s back. Had Wink finally had enough? “Who killed her? You?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No. I swear it. I don’t know who the assassin was.”

Her hands clenched to fists as she gazed out at the forest. Starlight draped the branches like handfuls of gleaming pewter
scarves. While Wink might be cleaning house, eliminating her adversaries, Sora didn’t think so. It was too dangerous to kill the elders of a rival clan. Wink wouldn’t make such a mistake. Unless she’d had no other choice.

She wouldn’t do it unless she believed the entire Black Falcon Nation was about crumble before her eyes. Is it?

It was as though her shattered reflection-soul suddenly coalesced, the pieces melding together into a perfect whole. She could see everything with a strange clarity.

She rose on shaking legs. “Let’s go home.”

He nodded, got to his feet, and led the way up the trail.

She swiftly broke into a trot.

For the first time in over a moon, she knew exactly where she was going and what she had to do.

DOGWOOD PETALS, BLOWN FROM THE TREES BY LAST night’s ferocious wind, covered the ground and bobbed across the vast expanse of Persimmon Lake like tiny boats.

Rockfish watched them from where he sat on a log bench at the edges of the chunkey field. Birch and Wigeon sat to his right and Wink to his left. Everyone wore their finest clothing. His own shirt, a saffron-colored garment covered with whelk-shell fetishes, glistened like a rainbow.

After Matron Birch had organized the chunkey game, people had come from everywhere to attend the feast in honor of Chief Long Fin. Birch, wisely, had specified that the contest would be between Bald Cypress Clan and Shoveler Clan, but warriors from the other clans lined the edges of the field.

A cheer went up, and Rockfish looked in time to see the spear arcing downward toward the slowly rolling chunkey stone. The spear landed right next to the stone as it toppled.

“Bald Cypress earns another point!” Birch said proudly.
“Two more points and we’ll win this game; then we can uncover the stew pots and feast.”

Wigeon said, “You’re not going to win. We are. You’re just ahead of us for the time being.”

“Well, we’ll see about that.” Birch grinned at Wigeon.

Rockfish almost groaned when yet another dignitary from a distant village came forward and knelt to touch his forehead to Wink’s sandals. She looked utterly exhausted, her round face sunken and pale. Rockfish thought he recognized the dignitary, but wasn’t sure.

The man said, “I grieve with you over the loss of your son, High Matron. All the people of Slipper Shell Village send their condolences.”

Slipper Shell Village, of course. He’s from the Sandhill Crane People.

Wink smiled and put a hand on his head to signal him to rise. “The Black Falcon Nation thanks you, Chief Mangrove. I thank you.” She gestured to the game. “Please, enjoy yourself.”

He rose, bowed, and walked away.

Matron Birch leaned sideways and told Wink, “Don’t worry, you’ve seen almost everyone now.”

“Thank the gods. This gauntlet of sympathy is almost too much to bear. I wish I—”

Wink stopped so suddenly that Rockfish turned to look at her. Her hand had risen to her throat, clutching it as though it ached, and he could see the tears well in her eyes.

He grabbed her arm. “Wink, are you all right? What—”

In an instant, she threw off his hand and was on her feet, running.

Rockfish shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun. Two people had just rounded the curve in the trail and were headed for the plaza. Both the man and woman wore filthy rags, and long braids hung over their shoulders.

Birch said, “Probably latecomers to the feast.”

“Dressed like that?” Wigeon said. “I hope not. It’s disrespectful.”

As the two women ran into each other’s arms and their joyous cries rose, Rockfish’s wrinkled face slackened.

“Oh, blessed gods, it’s Sora!”

He leaped to his feet.

BOOK: It Dreams in Me

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