People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past) (41 page)

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

BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)
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W
indwolf sat on the hides before his fire, occasionally throwing branches onto the dwindling flames to fight the early-morning chill. The gray stone walls and high ceiling seemed to suck all his warmth away, leaving him bone-cold and weary.
He couldn’t explain it, but he sensed something growing in the dark silence—some malignancy without form.
He cursed under his breath. One night with Keresa, and suddenly, for the first time since Bramble’s death, he realized he had something to lose.
He stared at the fire, and then back to his bedding, imagining her there, seeing her smile up at him.
Windwolf lowered his head to his hands and massaged his forehead. He longed to send for Keresa, to start west for the Tills and a new life; but he couldn’t just walk away from the people here. Without him, there was no telling what the Nightland warriors might be able to do. One tiny error and Kakala would be out of his cage and killing Lame Bull and Sunpath children in a frantic bid to save himself from the cages.
Voices came from the trail outside, and he heard someone running.
He was on his feet headed for the door before he’d even realized it.
Fish Hawk called, “Windwolf?”
He threw the door curtain back. It was still mostly dark. The last of the Star People twinkled overhead. “What’s wrong?”
Fish Hawk caught his breath—he’d obviously run flat-out to get here. “Our scouts just reported in. There’s a runner coming.” While he sucked in a breath, a momentary flash of relief went through Windwolf. Silt, sending word that he’d reached the Tills. Then Fish Hawk finished, “He’s definitely a
Nightland
warrior.”
Windwolf’s jaw clenched. He said, “Relax. Follow the plan. Notify the refugees. They know what they must do. Tell your men to get dressed. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Yes, War Chief.” Fish Hawk took off at a fast run, careening down the hill toward the Sunpath camps.
Windwolf let the curtain fall closed … and leaned heavily against the stone wall.
Kakala, tell me you value your hide as much as I suddenly do.
 
 
G
oodeagle lounged on the floor, head propped on his hand, watching Kakala and Keresa. They knelt on the opposite side of the chamber. The thin veil of dawn penetrated the rocks over their heads and cast a pale blue tracery across the floor. They were drawing in the dirt at their feet, whispering to each other. Plotting their escape.
A chuckle shook him.
The fools thought they could escape.
All around him warriors talked about their families, wondering if their wives and children were safe. The plans they made remained blissfully free of references to the cages when they finally returned home.
Goodeagle wiped his mouth with the back of his filthy hand. Since the deaths of his parents when he’d seen ten and four summers, he’d never had any family … except Windwolf. Windwolf and the friends who’d fought and hunted beside him those many summers. An ache built in his belly and climbed into his chest.
He glanced back at the tunnel they’d opened between the chambers. He ought to crawl back through to his own chamber, but two rocks covered the entrance. It was Kakala’s order. They
always
rolled rocks over the entrance, coming or going. Kakala didn’t want the guards above to know how many warriors he had in here. Since it was too much effort to roll them aside by himself, he stayed put.
Kakala said to Keresa, “If you’re right that he only has a handful of real warriors and a gaggle of children playing at being warriors, we might have a chance if we …”
His voice went too low for Goodeagle to hear, but Keresa nodded and said, “We’ll have to wait until he lowers the ladder again and hope he only has a few guards posted.”
Goodeagle laughed; it was such a desperate sound that everyone turned in his direction. He said, “That moment will never come, Deputy. He will always have more warriors than necessary posted around this chamber. The greatest threat to his plans lies in here.”
“But the last time I was out I saw only—”
“Of course you didn’t see them,” he said. Then, as though speaking to a child, he leaned toward her and continued in a condescending voice, “He will never let you count his warriors. That would give you an advantage he doesn’t wish you to have. If he’s let you see ten warriors, he has three tens, maybe four. The instant you think you know what he’s doing, Deputy, you are dead.”
Keresa started to comment, but the rocks overhead grated shrilly. She hissed, “Goodeagle, get back to your own—”
He and two other warriors leaped to shove away the boulder that covered the entry to the next chamber. They moved it just enough for one warrior to slide through … then dawn light poured into the chamber as the rocks above them were rolled aside. Goodeagle and Mong froze, using their bodies to block the entrance.
Keresa shot Goodeagle a knowing glance, but kept her face blank.
Windwolf stood silhouetted against the dark blue sky—and looked Goodeagle right in the eye.
Goodeagle’s heart stopped dead in his breast; he dared not even to breathe. He saw the instant recognition. Windwolf’s expression hardened—painful remnants of old friendship mixed with hatred and silent questions of “why?”
Then Windwolf’s gaze turned emotionless and passed to Kakala.
Goodeagle sank back against the wall, forcing himself to take deep breaths while he pretended to stare at the floor.
If Windwolf knew, why hadn’t he …
Blessed gods, he—
he’s counting on me. He needs me.
“Kakala, Keresa,” Windwolf ordered, “we have a problem.”
K
akala dragged himself to his feet and held up a hand, shielding his eyes against the gleam that poured in. He counted four warriors with war clubs in their fists.
Standing above, looking down, Windwolf carried a dart.
“What do you want, Windwolf?”
“Both of you.”
The tall man’s jaw was clamped so hard, his entire face seemed skewed. Whatever this was, wasn’t good. Kakala straightened. “What for?”
“My scouts just reported that there’s a runner coming.”
“And you need my help to talk to a runner?”
Windwolf used the point of his dart to motion to every warrior in the chamber. “It’s a Nightland runner. I need all of you on your feet. Hurry. We haven’t much time.”
Kakala nodded to his warriors and said, “We’re hurrying. Don’t get nervous.”
His warriors glanced at each other, obviously thinking the same thing he was—that this might be their chance. Keresa subtly held out five fingers, meaning “There are five of them.” He nodded. Granted,
Windwolf’s people had weapons, but if the right opportunity arose …
Kakala gestured for his warriors to climb the ladder first. All the while, Windwolf stood rigidly, eyes glued to Kakala’s every movement. Only when Keresa passed by him did his gaze shift. He glanced at her with a softness in his eyes.
Kakala climbed out last … and walked straight into three tens of warriors with clubs and nocked atlatls. Keresa bowed her head and smiled wearily.
Kakala grimaced. “What are we doing?” He took another look at the warriors, seeing no more than ten adults among them. Some looked as if they were hiding wounds. The rest were women and children, but each seemed to know how to hold a weapon.
Windwolf gave him a piercing look, almost pleading. “First, order your warriors to follow my directions.”
“Why?”
If I ordered a sudden rush, we could probably break that pitiful bunch of warriors, seize enough weapons to make a real fight of it.
More to Kakala’s warriors than him, Windwolf said, “Working with me does two things. First, it saves your lives, and perhaps the runner’s as well. Second, it gives us a chance to keep you out of the cages.” In a louder voice, he said, “Do you understand?”
Kakala looked back at his warriors, who shot questioning gazes in his direction. He turned to Windwolf. “You could just kill the runner.”
A faint smile crossed the man’s lips. “Nashat will
know
the rumors are true.” He gave Kakala a challenging look. “You help me; I help you.”
“Outside of keeping out of the cages, is there a reason I should?” He shot another measuring look at the pitiful band of warriors, women, and children.
“No games, Kakala. We don’t have time for it. You choose: back in the hole, and I kill the runner, or we work together to find a solution that leaves everyone breathing, and with a future.”
“We await your orders, War Chief Kakala,” Keresa said formally. She managed to keep her expression wooden, but he could see the anguish behind her eyes.
She’s leaving the choice to me.
In that instant, his soul swelled with heartfelt appreciation. If she would do this for him, he could do no less for her.
“We do as War Chief Windwolf instructs! No tricks, no foolishness.
That is my order,” Kakala shouted loudly enough for the rest. To Windwolf he said, “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“You’ll meet the messenger in the ceremonial cave, where everything will look perfectly normal.”
“All right.” Kakala started walking. His warriors followed. The Lame Bull warriors surrounded them with their darts knocked.
Windwolf matched his pace to Kakala’s. “Let’s discuss your conduct.”
“I think I know how to act with another Nightland warrior.”
“One wrong word, one suspicious move—if you blink too quickly, Kakala, I’ll do what I have to do. But I’ll keep you alive to the last. Do we understand each other?”
Rage flared, but he controlled it. “We do.” Then he asked softly, “Keresa, too?”
His shot went home. He saw the scream behind Windwolf’s eyes.
“I die with my warriors,” Keresa said stiffly. “No favors.”
Kakala and Windwolf locked gazes, each taking the other’s measure. A silent tug-of-war ensued.
Keresa noticed, averted her head, and made a
phiisst!
sound with her lips.
Then Windwolf broke the gaze, almost laughing. Softly, he said, “I want you to ask the runner one question for me.”
Kakala squinted suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Ask him if anyone has reported the location of my warriors.”
The question seemed to have a special importance to Windwolf.
By Raven Hunter, he doesn’t know.
Kakala laughed. “And to think I’ve been worried—”
Windwolf’s muscular arm slammed Kakala painfully against a boulder. His warriors started forward.
Keresa shouted, “Keep your places!” Then in a lower voice, “Windwolf, that isn’t necessary.”
To Kakala’s surprise, Windwolf backed off, saying, “Just ask him.”
“Of course,” Kakala responded mildly. A seed of hope lodged in his breast, quickening his breathing. If Windwolf didn’t know, they could be days away. Or dead.
He shot a quizzical look at Keresa, who lifted her eyebrows in a shrug.
Windwolf took a deep breath, remarking, “Keresa’s right.You bring out the worst in me.”
In a voice too low for Keresa to hear, Kakala said, “We don’t have to like each other, but if this goes bad, you will make sure Keresa is safe?”
“Kakala,” he said with a sigh, “I am a flawed man. For reasons I do not fully understand, I even want you safe.”
They walked around the base of the rockshelters, and passed through totally empty Sunpath camps. Every person was gone. Their belongings lay strewn in front of the lodges as though dropped by fleeing people. A few dogs skulked unhappily through the garbage, sniffing and growling at anything that moved.
“Where are all the—?”
“Keep walking,” Windwolf said.
Kakala looked at him with new appreciation. “You’ve known someone would be coming.”
Windwolf shot him a sidelong look. “And you didn’t? Holding an entire Nightland war party is big news.”
Kakala sighed.
I’ve been so busy keeping my people together and worrying about the cages, I haven’t thought about those parties of Sunpath People headed west. Not all of them would have made it past Karigi.
“You irritate me,” Kakala muttered. Then he laughed, more at himself than anything else.
“Good,” Windwolf replied. Then he gave Kakala a serious look. “When I capture Karigi, you can have what’s left of him when I’m through.”
Kakala narrowed an eye. “When I take you back to the Council, I might let your bindings slip when we see him.”
“Keresa told you about the Dreamer’s vision?”
“The flood coming? Yes. She seems to believe it.”
“So do I.” Windwolf rocked his jaw. “But for the death, suffering, and misery, it makes our war appear even more insane.”
“Assuming your Dreamer is correct.” Kakala shrugged. “The Guide has been promising to lead us back to the Long Dark for a long time, now. It doesn’t seem to ever happen.”
“Maybe he serves the wrong Spirit.”
“Or yours does.” Kakala arched an eyebrow.
From behind, Keresa said, “Have either of you thought that perhaps they are both right? Raven Hunter wants to take his people into the ice, just as Wolf Dreamer wishes his people to flee to the Tills in the west?”
“Perhaps,” Windwolf agreed.
They strode up the trail toward the ceremonial cave near the crest of the hill.
Kakala’s eyes widened when he saw that every high point around the village had a red-shirted warrior standing on it. He grimaced. “So that’s what you did with the shirts you took from my dead warriors. It might work. If the runner doesn’t look too closely.”
“After you speak with him, I want you to order him to run straight back home.”
“What reason shall I give?”
“You have a message for the Nightland Elders.”
Kakala exhaled unhappily. “What is it?”
“You’re still hunting down some of the survivors, but upon your return you will personally be bringing me back alive as a present to the Elders.”
Kakala studied his hard expression. “I will?”
“Just tell him.”
“Windwolf?” Keresa asked in surprise. “By Raven Hunter, do you know what they’ll do to you?”
Kakala stared in open shock. “Nashat will order you tortured to death.”
“No,” Keresa hissed. “Windwolf, you do not have to do this thing for me! Have you lost your mind?”
“Probably,” Windwolf said gruffly.
When they reached the ceremonial chamber, Windwolf gripped him by the arm. “Order your warriors to sit down in a circle around the fire and start having a delightful conversation.”
Kakala roughly shook Windwolf’s arm loose, walking out into the room. “You heard him. I want you to look tired. Think of this as the first rest we’ve had in a long time.” He met their eyes, letting his stare bore into Goodeagle’s. “Are you with me?”
“Yes, War Chief,” they shouted in unison.
Kakala nodded.
He ignores Goodeagle, acts as if he doesn’t exist. Is there something I can use here?
His warriors sat, delighted to find a skewered elk haunch slowly roasting. They dipped themselves cups of warm tea from the bag on the tripod and started whispering to each other.
Windwolf jerked his chin at his own warriors, and they slipped into the shadows of the cavern’s walls.
Windwolf eased back to Kakala’s right, hiding behind the lip of the cave, but his dart point stabbed uncomfortably into Kakala’s kidney. He said, “Don’t forget:Your warriors’ lives are at stake.”
Kakala shot a glare over his shoulder. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“That is a fascinating discussion we’ll save for another time.”
Kakala pulled himself straight. Forgetting where he was, his head struck the stone. At the impact he almost passed out. Trembling, he fought the urge to cry out. His warriors noticed. They looked at him breathlessly, some obviously worried that he was too ill to handle things. It made his gut ache as badly as his head.
Keresa’s hard eyes assessed the Lame Bull warriors, then shifted to Kakala. “Are you all right?”
Kakala nodded, and in the calmest tone he could muster, said, “We’ll proceed just as though this were a casual conversation with a runner from the Elders. No heroics, or our friend Windwolf will order his warriors to kill us all.”
Windwolf said to Keresa, “Deputy, when the runner arrives, I would appreciate it if you would walk out and greet him.”
She gave him a wary look. “I’ll make him feel right at home.”
I would appreciate?
Kakala looked back and forth between them, seeing the worry and concern in their eyes.
Oh, Keresa, what have you gotten yourself into?
On the hilltop across from the ceremonial chamber, the guard waved a hand.
“He’s coming, Kakala. Are you ready?” Windwolf asked in a strained voice.
“As ready as I ever am when I have to answer ridiculous questions from the Elders.”
A small round of nervous laughter went through his warriors, just as he’d intended. They all knew how much he hated clan politics.
“All right, Keresa,” Windwolf said with a sigh. “He’s running up the trail.”
She stepped over to stand beside Kakala, looking down at the runner.
“Homaldo?” she called, and lifted a hand. “What are you doing here? Where are the others? What happened to you?”
“We thought the fight was lost, got cut off from the rest of you,” he called back, and pounded up the trail grinning.

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