Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear
It Wakes in Me (23 page)
WOOD FERN DREW HER DOE-HIDE CAPE OVER HER SHOULDERS and leaned on her walking stick. Ten paces away, outside the front door, Wink’s voice was strident, arguing with the guards posted there.
It wouldn’t be long now.
She sighed and slowly made her way across the chamber to sink down by the fire. The warmth eased the pain in her joints. She dipped herself a cup of dogwood berry tea, and sat back to enjoy it.
Wood Fern had taken her fourth sip when the voices grew louder and she heard people marching up the hall. Wink’s steps pounded out authority.
“Wood Fern?”
“Come in, Matron.”
Wink ducked beneath the curtain with young Lean Elk, and Wood Fern grimly examined him. He took up his position by the door.
“I’m too late, aren’t I?” Wink said.
“Oh, yes, much too late. By now, it’s over.”
Wink closed her eyes and seemed to be silently screaming at herself for not having realized the truth earlier. When she opened them, she asked, “Why the elaborate story about the jade quarry and the Scarlet Macaw People?”
“A diversion. I knew it would keep you busy.”
“Yes,” Wink nodded. “It did.”
Wood Fern took another long drink of her tea and held the cup in both hands to warm her aching fingers. “Besides, I was hoping the war party would actually find the Scarlet Macaw People and be wiped out in the fighting.”
“That would have really been a feather in your hair, wouldn’t it? You could have blamed me.”
Wood Fern smiled. “Oh, I’ll get that feather anyway. By dawn people will be carrying the news up and down the trails. Everywhere, people will rejoice and say ‘Look! Water Hickory alone was brave enough to wipe out the enemies of the Black Falcon Nation and free the hostages. Justice has, at last, been done.’” She lifted a crooked finger and aimed it at Wink. “And they will ask, ‘Why did Water Hickory Clan have to do it alone? Where was Matron Wink when the Loon People stole our gathering grounds? Where was Matron Wink when Blue Bow took innocent villagers captive? Where was Wink when the Loon People captured Chieftess Sora? Why didn’t she do something?’”
“Blessed gods, you’ve just started a war with the Loon People. Don’t you know that?”
“You’re being theatrical. I told Chieftess Sora more than a half-moon ago that we’d have to kill them to retain what was ours and rescue our hostages. The Loon People have been a thorn in our bellies for winters. It was time to put an end to it.”
Wink bowed her head. She must be thinking about how simple the plan had been—give your opponent an advantage,
buy off an enemy war chief, create a diversion to give you time to prepare your attack.
buy off an enemy war chief, create a diversion to give you time to prepare your attack.
“Did Flint know?”
Wood Fern chuckled. “No. He’s truly trying to help his former wife. He’s a pathetic case, isn’t he?”
Wink’s shoulders sagged. She suddenly looked weary.
She started to turn away, to leave, but hesitated. “Was it Far Eye who killed Blue Bow? Or another of your warriors?”
“It was Far Eye.”
“And who killed Far Eye?”
“That”—Wood Fern cocked her head—“I do not know. I assumed you’d killed him.”
Wink’s hand shook as she lifted it to smooth away a graying black lock that had fallen over her forehead. “No. It wasn’t me.” In a tormented voice, she asked, “Don’t you care how many of our people are about to die?”
Wood Fern earnestly nodded. “Yes. Which is why you would be wise to use the big war party you’ve assembled, and turn it instead against the Loon Nation. We must strike them fast and with overwhelming numbers if we are to win quickly. A long, drawn-out war is of no use to anyone.”
Wink’s face went stony. She walked away. As she passed Lean Elk, she nodded.
Just before Wink ducked through the door, she heard the assassin’s stiletto strike flesh—once, twice. Wood Fern’s aged body hit the floor with no more noise than a feather falling.
It seemed to take an eternity before the gasping stopped and Lean Elk stepped beneath the door curtain. He slipped his stiletto back into its sheath and looked at her, waiting for instructions.
“I want you to find War Chief Clearwing. Tell him to meet me outside as fast as he can. We have to stop this before it gets started.”
“What about the chief? Should I wake him?”
She rubbed her cold arms and softly answered, “No. I’ll do that.”
As silent as mist, Lean Elk strode down the hallway.
Wink took her time. She felt hollow. More than anything in the world she wished Sora were here. Wood Fern hadn’t instructed her warriors to kill Sora, had she? The possibility shook Wink to her bones.
“Blessed Black Falcon,” she prayed, “let her be safe. Let her come home.”
When she finally ducked out the front entrance, the mound top was covered with warriors. Lean Elk stood a short distance away, speaking with her new war chief, Clearwing. He was medium-sized man with a square face and serious eyes. Down in the plaza, a crowd had begun to gather.
Clearwing broke away from Lean Elk and hurried to meet Wink. As he bowed, he said, “Lean Elk said you wished to see me?”
“Yes.”
She motioned for him to follow her and headed to her own mound, where they would have the privacy to talk.
The fragrance of wet cornfields rode the wind, bathing her face. She breathed it in and looked out across Persimmon Lake. The animal bones on the roofs of the commoners’ houses gleamed as though coated with liquid silver.
“Matron?” Clearwing asked in a soft voice. “People are beginning to ask questions. What should I tell them? What are we going to do?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
She would not, as Wood Fern had suggested, use the war party to destroy the Loon People. But perhaps she would use it to guard Blackbird Town from the inevitable attacks that loomed on the horizon. Then she would begin the painstaking
process of trying to mend the rift Water Hickory Clan had torn in the nation.
process of trying to mend the rift Water Hickory Clan had torn in the nation.
“Matron?” Clearwing said. “We’re not going to war with Water Hickory Clan, are we? There is some talk—”
“Not if I can stop it,” she replied. And through a long, tired exhalation, she repeated, “Not if I can stop it.”
FLINT THRASHED THROUGH THE HANGING MOSS WITH Strongheart close behind him.
“Are you sure you saw her?” the priest asked.
“I think so. I just caught a glimpse, but I’m almost certain it was her.”
As the flames rose from Eagle Flute Village, the rainy forest became a wavering shadow play of amber and black. The screams had died down a hand of time ago. Now only the whimpers of crying children echoed.
“What of the captives?” Flint asked.
“One of the survivors said he saw them run away with the fleeing war party. Feather Dancer was with them.”
Flint shoved aside another curtain of moss … and saw her.
Sora sat on the ground, leaning against a fallen log. She wore a red war shirt that was much too big for her, and had a belt pouch snugged around her waist. Her black hair clung wetly to her shoulders.
“Sora?” he cried.
She looked up with tear-filled eyes, and her mouth opened as though with words too terrible to speak.
Flint ran to her and gathered her in his arms. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m here.”
Strongheart knelt at her side, and seemed to be examining her for injuries.
Sora wept, “
I did it, Flint. I—
I remembered when I was … running … . I saw it. I killed my sister. We were arguing. She shouted at me that I’d killed her father, and she hated me. I hit her with my oar!”
I did it, Flint. I—
I remembered when I was … running … . I saw it. I killed my sister. We were arguing. She shouted at me that I’d killed her father, and she hated me. I hit her with my oar!”
A sad expression came over Strongheart’s face. He nodded, let out a breath, and walked away to gaze at the hideous orange halo that swelled over Eagle Flute Village.
Flint could not imagine what he must be feeling. His face showed no anger or hatred. He was watching the flames of his world fade as a man would helplessly watch a loved one die, wrenched with the knowledge that he could do nothing to stop it.
“Flint?” Sora’s head trembled.
He brushed wet hair away from her beautiful face. “What is it, Sora?”
“The five days …”
“What about them?”
Tears ran down her cheeks.
She choked out, “I—I may have killed White Fawn. I keep seeing images … .”
The confession made him smile. He crushed her hard against his chest and started to rock her in trembling arms. “I know you killed her, Sora. I know. I know.”
AT DAWN, STRONGHEART SAT ON A MASSIVE OLD OAK stump, his elbows braced on his knees, looking out at the remains of Eagle Flute Village. The pale blue light outlined arrow-riddled bodies and strewn belongings. Many of his friends, cousins, aunts lay among the dead. Sparks continued to rise from the smoke-blackened chaos and blink out in the misty rain that had been falling all night.
He whispered, “I hear you.”
Ghosts roamed the village. He could feel them. Every time another smoking lodge collapsed, he heard soft, pitiful voices, as if the dead continued to live in a nightmare world where the attack still raged, where the fire still roared, and they were running, running, never to escape.
He almost didn’t hear the soft steps that came up the wet trail behind him.
Strongheart turned slightly to look at Flint. The man had a dazed, frightened expression on his face.
Strongheart said, “You shouldn’t have left her alone.”
“I didn’t have any choice. She ordered me to find you.” His gaze scanned the burned village. “Why did you return? This is dangerous. We must go. Now.”
“Yes,” he said with a tired nod, but didn’t rise.
Wind whispered among the trees, whirling the smoke high into the cloudy sky. Loon villages a full day’s walk away would be looking up at it. They’d probably already dispatched warriors to find out what had happened here.
Flint said, “I just … I can’t quite believe my clan would do something like this.”
Strongheart hesitated a moment, then rose to his feet. A sprinkle of raindrops glistened on the hood and shoulders of his cape. “It’s not your fault. You could not stop what you did not know about.”
Flint hung his head and shook it. “No, but I should have known. Water Hickory Clan has always considered itself better, wiser, than the other clans. I fear that that arrogance is about to prove fatal. In the near future, many more of my relatives are going to die.”
“Perhaps Matron Wink can negotiate a truce with the Loon People. If she surrendered the disputed gathering grounds it might be a good first step—”
“Her actions would cause civil war among the Black Falcon clans. After everything Water Hickory Clan has gone through in the past moon, everyone they’ve lost”—his gaze clung to the dead Black Falcon warriors who lay in the village plaza—“they would see it as the supreme betrayal. Wink is going to need all of the help she can get.”
“Do you wish to go help her?” Strongheart asked in a curious voice. Flint had sounded like he longed to go to her. “Or finish Healing the woman you love? If it’s the latter, we must find a safe place to work.”
Strongheart had spent most of the night rocking Sora in his
arms, feeling her body shudder with tears that seemed to have no end. In the darkest moments, she’d looked up at him with a yearning that tore his souls.
arms, feeling her body shudder with tears that seemed to have no end. In the darkest moments, she’d looked up at him with a yearning that tore his souls.
“You love her, don’t you?” Flint demanded to know.
Strongheart noted Flint’s blazing eyes and the way he’d clenched his fists at his sides, then he met that hot glare and softly said, “She needs you right now. Not me. And you need her.”
Flint’s words were tight with jealousy. “Yes, she does need me. I’m glad you realize it. You have to find out what’s causing her illness. That’s all. Do you know?”
Strongheart tilted his head. “I think a ghost person is sending evil dreams that drive away her reflection-soul. That’s what the Midnight Fox is.”
“Who is the ghost person?”
“Probably her sister. I suspect that after she was murdered, she did not go to the Land of the Dead.”
“She remained on earth to take revenge?”
“Most likely.” Again, he asked, “Will you stay and help me Heal her?”
Flint straightened. He hesitated for several instants before he said, “I left her once before. I won’t do it again. Not until I know … for certain …”
“Finish that sentence.”
Flint swallowed convulsively. “For many winters, I believed she could be Healed. I tried so hard, you cannot imagine. Then I was certain she couldn’t be Healed. I came to the conclusion that the kindest thing I could do for her was to end her struggle. I owed it to her. And to our people. But …”
“You couldn’t do it?”
“No.” Flint turned and walked up the trail into the trees.
Strongheart had to hurry to catch up. He gave Flint a speculative glance. “That’s why you left?”
Flint stopped and glared at the water that ran down the trail.
Ash and bits of charcoal darkened the trickle, swirling to create oddly beautiful patterns. “I’m a coward, Priest. It’s a hard thing for a man to admit, especially to himself.”
Ash and bits of charcoal darkened the trickle, swirling to create oddly beautiful patterns. “I’m a coward, Priest. It’s a hard thing for a man to admit, especially to himself.”
Strongheart searched his tormented face. “I think it may be harder for a man to forgive himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You blame yourself for White Fawn’s death, don’t you? And Skinner’s death?”
Flint stood rigid for several long moments, as though his world were crumbling beneath his feet, and he didn’t know what to do to save himself.
Strongheart waited for an answer, but when it never came, he said, “Why weren’t you there in the forest watching the night Skinner died?”
“You wouldn’t understand. You don’t know her well enough. If she had seen me—”
“At this moment, I’m more concerned with knowing you. Where were you?”
Flint’s legs started shaking. He braced a hand against a palm trunk. Birds flitted among the fronds. Their sweet songs filled the morning. “Stop trying to Heal me, Priest. I’ll do that myself. In time.”
Flint strode away. Raindrops falling through the branches spun a glittering veil across the path ahead of him.
Other books
The Sum of Our Days by Isabel Allende
CITY OF THE GODS: FORGOTTEN by Verne, M.Scott, Wynn Wynn Mercere
The Masked Truth by Kelley Armstrong
Hungry Like a Wolf by Warren, Christine
Day of the Damned by David Gunn
The Anti-Social Behaviour of Horace Rumpole by John Mortimer
Keeping What's His: Tate (Porter Brothers Trilogy Book 1) by Jamie Begley
In Silence Waiting by McCormack, Nikki
Such Men Are Dangerous by Stephen Benatar
The Green Ticket by March, Samantha
