People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past) (23 page)

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

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Kakala tossed the dregs of his tea into the fire and stood up. “Go back to your hides. You’re of no use to me.”

Goodeagle stood, his eyes moist, and walked away.

Keresa studied him across the distance. The man sat by the fire, staring at the flames while he rocked back and forth.

W
indwolf rolled to his back and stared at the door curtain. Wind Woman breathed against it, making it sway. It would be dawn soon. A pale blue gleam lit the world outside.

He hadn’t slept well. Goodeagle had filled his Dreams. All night long, vestiges of old and abiding friendship had vied with hatred. Even now, when he closed his eyes, he could see Goodeagle’s smile, filled with warmth and friendship.

What did I do to you, Goodeagle? What did I do to hurt you so much that you’d
—

Voices rose outside, and he heard people moving around Headswift Village, going about their morning duties. The smell of fish cooking drifted in with the wind.

He threw off his hides and got up.

It was time to face the village Elders.

They weren’t going to like what he was about to tell them.

Twenty-eight

A
s Windwolf walked through one of the warrenlike passages, dawn light streamed between gaps in the boulders overhead. It dappled the silt-laden gravel at his feet. From the smooth surface of the rocks—they looked as though they’d been polished—he suspected these tunnels had once been filled with ice. When the ice melted, the boulders had collapsed on top of each other, forming the maze of passages.

Men’s voices echoed down the tunnel. He walked toward them, rounded the bend, and saw War Chief Fish Hawk looking up at a big gap, perhaps a body length across. Two men stood on the boulders above, peering down.

Windwolf called up to them, “When you’re finished, cover it with branches and dirt.”

Fish Hawk said, “I pray this works.”

“It will work. Just make sure you can trust every warrior you place at these critical spots.”

Fish Hawk let out a breath. “I will. I’m still not convinced—”

“Windwolf?” Skimmer said.

He turned and saw her wending her way up the tunnel. Was this the same woman? Dipper must have given her clean clothing. The
front of her foxhide cape was open, and he could see a green dress beneath, painted with soaring white seagulls.

When she got closer, she looked up at the gap and asked, “What are you doing?”

He gestured to the gap. “We don’t want Nightland warriors to cast darts through these gaps.”

“Or climb down,” Fish Hawk added. “So we’re covering them.”

Skimmer frowned at the men on the boulders above, then said to Windwolf, “May I speak with you?”

“Of course.”

On the other side of the gap, the tunnel narrowed, until it was just barely wide enough to walk through without turning sideways. He led her through it, and into another pool of dawn light, another gap they would have to fill.

A curious stinging sensation invaded his stomach. He glanced up at the gap again, and wondered if—

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said. “I know you’re trying to prepare the village.”

“It’s all right. What did you need?”

She appeared tired, as though she hadn’t slept well. Long black hair clung to her face, framing her dark eyes and straight nose.

“Ashes told me something this morning, and I thought you should know about it.”

“What is it?”

As though suddenly chilled, she pulled up her foxhide hood. “She and Silvertip spoke in the middle of the night. The boy told her that he’d had a Spirit Dream the night before his Aunt Mossy was killed.”

Windwolf folded his arms, listening impatiently while he glanced at the gap and the narrow portion of the tunnel. “And?”

“In the dream, Silvertip saw Raven Hunter swooping down over this village, his black wings blotting out the sky.”

He shifted his weight to his other foot. “Are you saying you think maybe the boy is a Spirit Dreamer? That he saw the future?”

“It just worries me. I think these people should leave here before it’s too late.”

“I’ve tried. They won’t listen.” He frowned up at the gap again. “Besides, I thought you didn’t believe in Wolf Dreamer and Raven Hunter?”

“I—I don’t.”

She fumbled nervously with her cape ties, pulling them closed, but not bothering to lace them. Just watching her obvious discomfort made him uneasy.

“Was there something else?” he asked.

She stepped forward and whispered, “He mentioned Keresa.”

He frowned at her for several moments. “Kakala’s deputy war chief?”

She fixed him with a look that made his shoulder muscles contract.

“Is there something I should know?” Some undercurrent of emotion had stirred the depths of her voice. He couldn’t quite figure out the source. “You were her captive.”

“I never saw her up close.”

He waved a hand. “Well, I don’t know where to begin. First of all, thinking about her gives me a stomachache. Once upon a time, she and Bramble were friendly. They liked and respected each other. Secondly, I’ve often thought she might be the real talent behind Kakala’s raiding strategies. Why do you care so much?”

Almost breathless, she said, “Silvertip heard her name repeated over and over in a great black wind that overwhelmed Headswift Village.”

He grunted softly. “You’re definitely a believer. You just don’t want to admit it.”

She ignored the accusation. “What could that possibly mean?”

He pointed to himself. “You expect me to answer that question? Go find a holy man. I’m just a warrior.”

She took a couple of nervous paces, her hair flashing with a bluish fire when she passed through sunlight.

“Why does it matter, Skimmer?”

She brusquely waved a hand to silence him while she thought, and he lifted his brows. The only other woman who’d ever made him feel like a subordinate was Bramble.

Finally, she stopped and said, “May I ask you one last question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you think happiness or suffering is more prevalent in the world? Does it depend on where you are? In some parts of the country is happiness on the increase?”

Almost mesmerized by her eyes, he responded softly. “I don’t think so. Suffering seems to be increasing everywhere I’ve been.”

“Oh …”

“Why did you ask?”

Tears glittered on her lashes. “You called me a ‘believer.’ I’m afraid I may be. Just not in Wolf Dreamer.”

She turned and started to walk away.

Windwolf called, “Don’t forget. In less than one hand of time, I want you, Dipper, Ashes, and Silvertip safely hidden in Dipper’s chamber.”

“I remember,” she said without turning, and strode away down the tunnel. The last glimpse he had was a flutter of her foxhide cape as she disappeared into the darkness.

The Destruction

I
huddle in the darkness, heart-stopped, breath-stopped, waiting to hear his whisper.

A Spirit of immense beauty, with a soothing voice and the power to convince frail humans of anything, he is also too beautiful to be real.

My heart aches from staring at the eerie shimmering blackness with mortal eyes.

“Soon, very soon, the first motions of the destruction will begin,” he murmurs.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Disdain all those for whom your presence is a comfort and a blessing. Embrace those who see you as a fool.”

“But … I don’t like being treated as a fool. Why
—”

“Because it will teach you to listen to the fool within: the man who loves too much, who believes too deeply, the man who shatters at a single harsh word. That man, Ti-Bish, is the only one who can lead his people through the hole in the ice. Without that fool, we are all lost.”

“Including you?” I softly ask.

Raven Hunter’s wings flash like black lightning, and thunder booms through the icy wilderness.

I shudder.

Almost inaudible, he breathes, “Especially me.”

Twenty-nine

O
n his belly, Kakala sneaked up over the pile of boulders and scrutinized the village nestled in the rocks above him. Keresa slid up beside him. Dawn’s lavender gleam sheathed Keresa’s beautiful face and reflected in her hard eyes.

The morning was cold, mist hanging in pockets. A drizzly rain had fallen that night, turning into slushy snow before the clouds fled off to the east. Ice rimed the stone, making footing treacherous.

Not the best time to attack a hostile village.

“What do you see?” she asked.

“Nothing that looks like the kind of trap we laid for Windwolf at Walking Seal Village, that’s for sure. Goodeagle is as crazy as a head-struck goose.”

The entire hill was a mass of tumbled rocks, gravel, and scrawny spruce trees. Why would anyone wish to live here?

“Those must be the Sunpath People.” Keresa pointed to the cluster of hastily thrown-up lodges at the foot of the slope. They looked like little more than broken branches leaned together and covered with ratty hides.

“Yes,” Kakala answered. “If we send a handful of our warriors after them, they should run west, away from the village.”

“And they’ll probably keep running.”

“If they’re wise, they will.” Kakala squinted against a fierce gust of wind. His bearhide cape flapped around him. “Remember: Tell our warriors they are not to kill
any
Sunpath People.”

Her mouth quirked. “What if Sunpath warriors are casting darts at them?” She arched an eyebrow. “Can we wound them?”

“Yes, we can wound them.” He chuckled. “We want them spreading the news that Headswift is destroyed, remember? So that Silt hears, and turns back.”

Keresa heaved a sigh. “Assuming Karigi hasn’t already stopped them.” She paused. “Are you
sure
that changing your orders to have him come here was a good idea?”

“We came expecting a trap. Where is it?”

She shook her head, looking nervous.

Kakala gestured to the village. “Very few people are out in front of the rockshelters. Why?”

“It’s still early. By midday, people will be everywhere.”

“Then let’s be about this. If three tens of our warriors hit the Lame Bull People fast, we can drive most away. That will make it easier to corner the rest.”

She didn’t say anything.

He scanned the valley, examining every possible place the fleeing survivors might take refuge.

Keresa’s eyes narrowed, and Kakala’s jaw muscles jumped at the look she gave him. They’d been arguing for moons now, debating the rights and wrongs of the curious orders they’d been getting. And just now, he could see that same rebellious gleam in her eyes.

“What are we doing, Kakala?”

“I’m trying to stay out of the cage for good. I’m not sure what you’re doing.”

“The Lame Bull People have never done anything to threaten us. Yet we’re here to kill them.”

“Some will survive. They always do.” But his heart sided with her words.

She shook her head, and her long black braid sawed across her shoulder.

“I don’t like this any better than you do, Keresa.”

She hesitated for so long it set his teeth on edge. “ … I know.”

“The sooner this is over, the sooner we can go home.”

She gave him a measuring look. “Home? To what?”

She slid down the rocks and trotted out to meet the warriors who waited at the base of the boulders.

Kakala scowled at her back.
What I would give to just turn around and leave this place.