People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past) (47 page)

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

BOOK: People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past)
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T
he village cooking fires blushed color into the towering lava cliff and gave the cold evening air a pungent smoky fragrance.
Ecan hurried along the base of an old lava flow that stuck out of the side of Fire Mountain like a low shoulder. He was just east of Salmon Village, where the trees gave way to a basalt cliff.
He kept glancing over his shoulder as he hurried along the dark trail. Cycles ago chunks of stone had cracked loose from the sheer cliff and tumbled down to create a wind-smoothed garden of boulders. These in turn provided a home for brambles of raspberries, currants, and, where the water seeped, cranberries. As night deepened, the place turned black and foreboding. Angular sections of basalt overhung the trail like monsters bent on hearing his passage.
Paintings covered the rocks. At the tops of the tallest boulders, white spirals glowed in the pale winter moonlight. Lightning bolts zigzagged out from the spirals and punctured the red hearts of wolves and bats.
When the path entered a stand of firs, it became pitch black. He could barely see two paces ahead, and slowed, letting his fingers glide along the porous rocks.
The sweet smell of moss seeped from the cave hidden in the boulders ahead. He placed his feet with care. In summer, the cave provided a cool haven, but in winter, the moisture turned to ice.
Ecan stepped around the last turn. The old lava tube resembled a dark womb cut into the cliff.
He stopped at the mouth of the cave. “Are you here?”
His voice echoed, coming back to him sounding tense and edgy.
No one answered.
“Wind Scorpion sent me.”
Nothing.
He ducked inside and blinked at the utter darkness. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew the cave stretched three tens of hands across and two tens high. A steady stream of water dripped from the ceiling and splashed into a small pool in the rear.
The scent of moss bathed his face.
Ecan braced his back against the entry. The stone fetishes in the bag tied to his belt clicked with his movements. He could feel them, hear them, whispering with excitement.
Since Dzoo had told him about the assassins Cimmis had sent to kill his boy, he’d been able to think of nothing else. His son’s face and laughter filled Ecan’s every waking moment. He
had
to do something. No matter how much it cost, or—
Someone breathed in the rear of the cave, near the pool.
Fear tickled the base of Ecan’s throat. His hand dropped to the stiletto on his belt. “Show yourself.”
A form moved in the darkness, no more than a stirring of shadows.
“Wind Scorpion sent you?” The voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.
“I am—”
“I know who you are, Starwatcher.”
A tall body moved forward, gradually changing from a black silhouette to a gray apparition. He wore an obsidian-black cape decorated with red coyote tracks. The head remained deeper in shadow, and at first all Ecan could see were the eyes, gleaming with an unnatural light. As the apparition took another step, Ecan’s breath caught in his throat.
It had to be a mask, but in the darkness, he would have sworn he saw a huge coyote’s head perched atop a human body.
“Why would Wind Scorpion send you here?” the breathy voice asked.
“I asked if he knew who Cimmis might send to murder my son. He told me that if I came here, I might find someone who would be of service.”
A long silence passed. Then the breathy voice took on an eerie sibilance. “I shall have to have a
talk
with this Wind Scorpion.”
The shiver of fear ate through Ecan. He was used to inspiring terror, not experiencing it.
The masked figure stopped opposite Ecan and gazed outside at the starlit boulders. “You must be desperate to have called upon me, Starwatcher.”
“I
am
desperate.”
“What do you want?” The coyote mask with its white teeth, pointed ears, and furred brows shone when he turned.
“I have a job for you.”
“Indeed? How will you pay me? My fees are exorbitant.”
Ecan took the bag from his belt and held it out to the dark figure.
The eyes behind the mask fixed on the bag. “What is it?”
“Open it and look.”
The second Coyote’s hand touched the bag, he stopped, as if frozen. “Where did you get these?”
“It doesn’t matter, but I assure you, they are fetishes of great Power. With them—”
“I
know
what they are!” The voice boomed now, undertones laced with anger.
“Where did you get them!”
“The Singer, Pitch, had them.” Ecan tried to swallow his fear and failed.
“Fascinating.”
Ecan waited, locking his knees to kill the weakness in his legs. Coyote remained as he was, still holding the leather sack, his head cocked, as if listening to the voices.
“My son—” Ecan began.
“Yes …” The voice seemed to come from far away.
“Will you save his life?”
A pause. “You take great chances, crossing Cimmis this way.”
Ecan said nothing.
“I see into your soul, Starwatcher. What else do you want?”
“A small favor.”
“Really?” the voice mocked.
“Our people are moving to Wasp Village. Supposedly as a rebirth of our Power.”
“But you and I know that is a lie,” Coyote added.
“Yes, to survive we need to be closer to the resources in Raven Bay. From there we can exterminate the Raven villages closest to us before raiding villages offshore. But that isn’t what concerns me now.”
“You want me to kill Cimmis and Astcat.”
Ecan shifted. Gods, how did he know?
Coyote continued. “Then, with you as the new chief, and the Council aging and dying, you will be the leader of the North Wind People. Who will be your great matron?”
“Astcat’s daughter, Kstawl.”
“Who is a child, easily intimidated to do your bidding.” Coyote laughed. “How soon do you want them dead?”
“Within days of our arrival at Wasp Village. Not before. It wouldn’t be wise to create a hole in our leadership before the village moves.”
“You are smart, Starwatcher. But what if the Raven People succeed in defeating Cimmis’s forces before you get there?”
“I must take that chance.”
“What if I could assure you that Rain Bear’s alliance was nothing more than a nuisance? Would that be worth something to you?”
A premonition ran up Ecan’s spine. “It would be worth a lot.”
“How much?”
“A great deal.”
“Ah,” the hollow voice breathed out. “When this is all over, I want Rides-the-Wind, Evening Star, Singer Pitch, Rain Bear, and most of all …
Dzoo.
”
“Consider them yours.”
Coyote chuckled. It sounded like brittle bones rattling in the wind. His black cape seemed to breathe, filling with air and letting it out.
A
stcat stepped out of her lodge and set two packs beside the door. Throughout the day slaves would be collecting the North Wind People’s last belongings and carrying them down to the plaza to bundle them up for tomorrow’s journey.
On the lava cliff high above, she heard Ecan chanting,
“Come Old Woman Above, be on your way to the Dark Place.”
A veil of ground shell swirled through the cold air and swept down across the village plaza where the slaves cooked breakfast. The sweet aromas of roasted lupine root and boiling oysters rose.
Just as they did every morning, people in brightly colored capes bowed to the east before they slowly returned to the warmth of their lodges. A few stopped to speak to their neighbors.
Watching this familiar ritual made her soul ache. Long moments passed as she tried to remember, to place the sights and sounds deep in her souls. She would never see it again. The North Wind People would be on the trail before dawn tomorrow. This was the last day she would be able to placidly stand and look out over the shining majesty of Fire Village at sunrise.
“A pleasant morning to you, Great Matron,” Ecan said as he entered through the gate on his return from the cliff. He had plaited his obsidian-black hair into a single long braid. Shell, polished copper nuggets, bone, and stone jewels flashed on his wrists and around his throat.
“Good morning, Starwatcher.You delivered a beautiful prayer this morning.” She looked into his eyes, seeing the cunning gleam of what? Triumph? She had never liked him.
“I see you’re ready.” He gestured to the packs.
“I’m ready for the trip, Starwatcher. Not for what leaving here will entail.”
“Well, if our plan works, it will be the last battle. The Raven People will be broken for good.”
Wind Woman whipped her cape about her frail legs. “For good? Do you really think we can deal them such a devastating blow?”
He smiled. “Well, let us say they will be no more trouble during our lifetimes. Everything is being handled. The great chief has left nothing to chance. A signal fire last night informed him that Rain Bear’s pathetic alliance is on the move.”
Cimmis had been planning this for moons, working out every possible permutation, every last detail of the timing—who was friend, who was foe, who
might
be a foe. But there were so many factors he could not anticipate. Exactly
when
would Rain Bear attack and
where
?
She blinked.
Already on the move?
Why hadn’t her husband said something? Or had he, and her soul had been loose, flitting about like a bat when it should have been paying attention?
“Thank you, Starwatcher.” She turned to peer about.
“Er, you are more than welcome, Great Matron.” He seemed confused over what she would thank him for.
“My husband was sending four warriors to carry some things. Where could they be?”
Ecan glanced at the packs. “Four warriors, for these?”
As she started to speak, she caught herself. By the Spirits of the night, was she that doddering? She took a breath. “Oh, I need not bore you, Starwatcher. I’m sure you have important things to do.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands.
Her litter was behind the door. But even if he’d seen it, he wouldn’t suspect. No one would. Not even her husband, who thought he had planned for everything.
 
 
T
he first sliver of sun glimmered on the eastern horizon. As Old Woman Above carried the glowing orb through the thin layer of clouds, yellow light lanced across the mountain slopes, falling in golden ribbons on the treetops.
Pitch had been rudely pulled from Dzoo’s lodge before he even had the chance to relieve himself. He was prodded past the Council Lodge, and up the path that led to Cimmis’s lodge. Slaves watched them pass with wide eyes.
“Where are we going?” Pitch asked the guards as they shoved him from behind.
The younger man prodded him with his spear. “Just keep moving.”
Pitch had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. From the instant he’d left Sandy Point Village, he’d feared being interrogated by Cimmis, or Ecan, or both. He wondered what it felt like to have someone cut a slit through his abdomen, reach inside his living body, and pull out a length of intestine. He knew that people screamed for hours as loops of their guts were slowly roasted. The sizzling sound was said to drive one mad long before pain and thirst could kill.
They halted before Cimmis’s lodge, and the guard announced, “He is here, my Chief.”
“Bring him.”
One of the guards pulled the door flap aside and gestured for Pitch to duck under. He stood blinking to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim reddish glow cast by the fire. A hissing sound came from the middle of the room. He tried to focus on it, and saw a black form shift.
Cimmis knelt beside the fire with a large basket, a plain wooden bowl, and two dozen spears resting on the floor beside him. He wore a knee-length buckskin shirt, and his gray hair hung loosely about his shoulders.
Cimmis said, “Come over here.”
As Pitch walked across the floor, Cimmis removed the lid from the basket, and the hissing grew louder. He reached inside, grabbed at something, and drew out a writhing snake.
Pitch jumped back.
Cimmis held the rattlesnake behind the triangular head, but its long body twisted as it wrapped around Cimmis’s arm. The tail made a constant angry shishing.
“Sit down. We must talk.”
Pitch forced a swallow down his tight throat and squatted. His hide cape spread across the hard-packed floor.
Cimmis deftly hooked the snake’s fangs over the lip of the bowl and worked its jaws to drain the venom. As the fluid trickled out, he said, “Who is the traitor?”
Pitch stared at him. “What traitor?”
“The man who carries messages between Dzoo and Rain Bear. He’s very clever. I almost had him twice, but he slipped away.”
Cimmis stood and dropped the snake back into the basket. Wild hisses and furious rattling rose. The basket rocked. How many snakes were in there?
“Ecan thinks it’s Red Dog.”
“I don’t know Red Dog.”
“No?” Cimmis smiled. “Well, perhaps he goes by another name when he is in your village. He’s an old warrior, gray-streaked black hair, bent nose. About this tall.” Cimmis held up a hand. “Have you seen him?”
“There are ten tens of refugees there. I can’t know them all.”
“Yes, I’ve heard the camps around Sandy Point Village are very large, and more people arrive every day, don’t they?”
“They do.”
He had the terrible feeling this was all staged, like the spring Kelp Dances. Cimmis knew the answer to every question he asked.
The old chief lifted one of the spears from the floor and dipped the obsidian tip into the poison. “I’m debating which of you to kill.”
Confused, Pitch asked, “Who? Me or this mysterious Red Dog?”
“I’ve already given orders to have Red Dog killed the moment he sets foot inside the palisade. I mean you or Dzoo.”
“Why should you kill either of us?”
Cimmis smiled, laid his spear aside to dry, and picked up another. “Because I don’t like being betrayed. Killing you sends a message to Rain Bear. Killing Dzoo sends a message to the Raven People.”
He dipped the spear and rolled it in the venom.
“Personally, I think it would be far wiser to keep both of us alive. It’s a bad decision to kill the messengers—one that, like that snake there, might turn around and bite you unexpectedly. It not only makes people reluctant to talk to you, but it invites retaliation. And someday, Great Chief, you really might want to send an important message.”
Cimmis pulled the spear from the bowl and blew on it to dry it faster. The wet tip glittered. All he had to do was plunge that into Pitch’s flesh.
Pitch tried to keep his voice reasonable as he continued, “Nor would I kill Dzoo. She is beloved by a great many people, both North Wind and Raven. Harming her might ruin your last chance for peace.”
Cimmis nodded. “From the viewpoint of the Raven People, Dzoo
is probably a more valuable hostage, but you are Rain Bear’s son-in-law. Will he make more concessions to get you back, or Dzoo?”
“Rain Bear? Make concessions?” Pitch laughed.
Cimmis propped his spear on his drawn-up knee, studied the basket, and grabbed out another snake. More hissing could be heard. “I’ve seen Rain Bear risk an entire war party to rescue one warrior. One friend. He will bargain.”
“Then you are wiser to bargain for two rather than one. Any Trader can tell you that.”
He gave Pitch a measuring glance. “Here is the choice I must make: As much as I would enjoy killing Dzoo, I know how important you must be to Rain Bear. Even if he doesn’t die fighting the next few days, I want to punish him for making this alliance. Your death would do that. He would blame himself.”
Yes, he would. Pitch felt his guts sink. With all the courage he could muster, he said, “If you decide to kill one of us, kill me.”
Cimmis held the rattlesnake up level with his head. Pitch couldn’t help but note the same flat stare in their eyes. “Since you are noble enough to offer yourself in Dzoo’s place, I shall kill her. Now for the rest of your life you can blame yourself for not saving her.”
Pitch balled his fists, a sensation of panic rising within him as he blurted, “Kill her, and you’ll die for it!”
Cimmis gave him a sidelong look as he ran a finger across the writhing snake’s head. “Oh, why?”
“Because … Because she is under the protection of the witch Coyote!”
Pitch saw the color drain from Cimmis’s face. In that moment, the man was truly afraid. He almost dropped the rattlesnake as he replaced it in the basket.
“Go,” Cimmis ordered hoarsely.
As Pitch scrambled to his feet and ducked out the door, his legs were charged. The guards stepped in behind him as he blinked in the bright sunlight. A numb sensation began in his head and spread through his limbs. The shaking didn’t start until Pitch was halfway down the trail.
Then it struck him like a palsy.
Blessed gods, what have I done?

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