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

People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past) (48 page)

BOOK: People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past)
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R
ed Dog knelt in the rocks east of Salmon Village, watching people walk back and forth before the firelit palisade. Matron Kaska’s lodge stood to the south of the palisade in a nest of interconnected lodges. If he sneaked in they’d certainly assume the worst and kill him as a spy.
He climbed to the top of the lava outcrop. Cold wind stung his face. From this vantage he could see the village clearly. Rather than being circular, like Fire Village, the lodges were arranged in a large square around a central plaza. Several interconnected lodges nestled together on the south. Those were Kaska’s.
He scanned the uneven ground between his perch and the palisade and counted seven guards—three along the trail and another four scattered on high points. Which meant there were probably another twenty he couldn’t see. There would be many more inside, stationed along the path that led to the matron’s.
He stepped down into the dark shadows cast by the boulders. Fifty body lengths away, he spotted a guard on the talus slope. Short and pudgy, the man was turned away, gazing toward Salmon Village.
Voices carried on the cold night air: infants laughing, different strains of conversation, dogs growling. Deep in the belly of the village, someone played a drum. The beautiful rhythm drifted down the mountain like butterfly wings.
“Hallowed Ancestors,” he hissed to himself, “this is something only a foaming-mouth dog would do.”
He hung his atlatl on his belt and trotted up the trail toward the guard.
The warrior saw him almost immediately and yelled, “Halt! Who are you?”
“A messenger!” Red Dog spread his arms wide. “I carry important information for Matron Kaska!”
“What is your name?”
“Red Dog. From Fire Village.” He continued up the low rise to where the guard stood. The man had shoulder-length black hair. He’d seen perhaps eight and ten cycles, but had the wary look of a seasoned warrior. He gestured with his stone-headed war club. “I know you. Walk toward the village. I’ll take you to the war chief.”
The trail curved to the south of the palisade. Red Dog had to bend his head far back to see the guards who stood looking over the lip of the twenty-hand-tall wall. They watched him pass in silence, their eyes occasionally glinting in the light of the Star People.
The guard took him not to the main gate, but to a smaller side gate he’d never been through before. It opened behind the interconnected lodges where Matron Kaska had her quarters and held her village council sessions.
“Walk to the middle lodge, and remember, since you’re not expected, you’ll be watched by two tens of guards.”
“I understand.” Kaska wasn’t taking any chances since Gispaw’s death.
Red Dog passed through the gate and ducked beneath the door hanging the man indicated. The sight that met his eyes stunned him. He had seen Salmon Village many times from outside, but he’d never been allowed into the matron’s lodge. Magnificent painted shields lined the walls. He saw Cougar and Mink, Wolf and Grizzly Bear, and many other sacred animals.
“Walk,” the guard ordered.
“Forgive me, it’s just that … these are the most beautiful shields I have ever seen.”
“Yes, they are. The matron painted them herself.”
Red Dog glanced over his shoulder at the man and continued walking.
“Go through the rear door.”
When he ducked through, he entered another lodge, and a rich fruity scent filled the air. It took him a few moments to identify it: blue paint made from dried blueberries. The painter crushed the
berries and mixed them with fat; the sweet fragrance smelled intense.
“Don’t move,” the guard ordered.
Red Dog heard soft calculated steps and turned to see Sand Wasp coming up behind him. The long scar across his forehead looked oddly pale in the light. He had a dangerous look about him, as though it wouldn’t take much to push him to kill.
“Hello, Red Dog. I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
“I’ve covered so much ground my legs feel like they are made of wood.”
Sand Wasp examined Red Dog carefully, noting the atlatl and bone stiletto on his belt.
“Take his weapons.”
“Yes, War Chief.”
The guard relieved Red Dog of his atlatl and stiletto, then untied his belt pouch and removed it. Finally, he patted Red Dog down. In the process he found the other two stilettos Red Dog kept tucked in his black leggings. He laid them all in a pile beside Sand Wasp’s feet.
“Can’t you find a pretty young girl to do that?” Red Dog groused. “That way I could enjoy it, too.”
“He is ready, War Chief,” the guard said as he rose.
Sand Wasp’s eyes narrowed. “Thank you, Banded Eagle. You may return to your post. I will conduct the messenger to the matron.”
“Yes, War Chief.” The guard bowed and marched down the corridor.
Sand Wasp waited until he could no longer hear the man’s steps. “Who sent you back so quickly?”
Red Dog whispered, “Rain Bear.”
Sand Wasp’s gaze bored into Red Dog’s as though searching for any hint of treachery.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” He narrowed an eye. “You hired me!”
Sand Wasp swallowed as if something were stuck in his throat. Then he smiled weakly. “Lies within lies, old friend. Treachery, double-dealing, no wonder I’m not sleeping.”
“It will be over soon.”
Sand Wasp’s eyes were full of promise. “Yes,” he said simply as he led Red Dog into the matron’s lodge, “it will.”
A woman called, “What is it, War Chief?”
“I bring a messenger, Matron.”
“You may enter.”
Sand Wasp walked up and pulled the door hanging aside.
Red Dog stepped into the lodge, Sand Wasp close behind, and looked around in genuine awe. More painted shields covered the walls, but these were even more extraordinary: glorious half-animal and half-human gods Danced around the walls as though alive. He could almost hear eerie voices coming from their open beaks and muzzles.
“I see you have had a safe, if fast, trip, Red Dog,” Kaska greeted.
Their last meeting had been at night beside a spring not far outside the gates. Red Dog had never really seen her up close in the light. A tiny, slender woman with a delicately beautiful face, she looked to have seen perhaps two tens of summers.
“I carry word from Rain Bear, Matron.”
“Yes?” She stepped forward, concern in her soft dark eyes. “You saw him? Gave him my message?”
“He wants you to bring up the rear of the procession. Be ready to pull your warriors off near the signal point at Whispering Waters Spring.”
Impulsively she reached beneath her cape and smoothed her fingers over her belted stiletto. After what had happened to her mother, he didn’t blame her for going armed.
“Is that all?” Kaska asked.
Red Dog carefully laid out Rain Bear’s battle plan, squatting to re-create the map Rain Bear had drawn for him. “So, there it is, Matron.”
Her red-and-black cape hissed as she walked across the floor. “I thank you for your service, Red Dog. Are you heading back to Rain Bear tonight?”
“No, Matron.” He winced as he stood on his aching legs. “I am making one last desperate attempt to rescue Dzoo and the young Singer Pitch.”
Her dark eyes fixed on his. “That may be very dangerous. Given that Fire Village is packing for the move, your absence has surely been noted, and commented on.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “I have lived for a whole turning of seasons because of
Dzoo-noo-qua
. Now that the pieces are being cast in the final game, I must be there for her.”
Kaska placed a small hand on his shoulder. “You need to know that my spies tell me Cimmis has ordered your death.”
He gave her a gap-toothed grin. “Then I had better hope I’m not caught before I’m done.”
She clapped her hands. “Sand Wasp, provide Red Dog with a bag
full of rations. Then have one of our warriors escort him to the trail.”
Sand Wasp nodded. “This way.”
Red Dog took one last look at the shields—he swore their eyes followed him—before he ducked beneath the hanging.
Once outside, Sand Wasp called, “Banded Eagle?”
The guard instantly ducked under the hanging and ran across the lodge. “Yes, War Chief?”
“Please see that this man is provisioned and escorted back out the side gate.”
Banded Eagle bowed. “Yes, War Chief.”
 
 
S
and Wasp watched Red Dog disappear beneath the far door hanging, then softly said, “He is gone, Matron.”
“Come and speak with me.”
Sand Wasp entered her lodge and stood stiffly, waiting for orders. Her perfect triangular face had gone tight with worry.
She searched Sand Wasp’s face, as if the answers lay there. “What are we going to do? Cimmis has ordered me to have our warriors march near the front of the procession. What excuse can I give for marching in the rear?”
“We leave before dawn tomorrow. He will not wish to alter his plans. Not this close to our departure.”
“No,” she said softly, and her brows slanted down over her dark eyes.
He could see her thoughts whirling, trying to decide. “This plan of Rain Bear’s, is it a good one?”
She nodded, staring down at the squiggles Red Dog had drawn in the dirt. “Well, we are committed, then. May Gutginsa bless us with luck.”
Sand Wasp said, “Matron, perhaps it is time—”
“No, not yet,” she said softly, and bowed her head. “I’ll tell our most trusted warriors when the time is right. But not yet, Sand Wasp. The longer they know, the longer they have for second thoughts. Cimmis and the Council would pay a matron’s ransom to anyone who would betray us.”
“Yes,” Sand Wasp agreed absently, “at least that much.”
“I will assign warriors to spread the word just before we reach Whispering Waters Spring.”
“Yes, Matron.” He stood stiffly, jaw clamped.
“Is that fear I see in your eyes?”
“Yes, Matron. Betrayal is a frightening thing.”
 
 
R
ed Dog yawned, barely aware of his breath frosting on the cold air. The night was like charred sap: thick and black. He carefully skirted the trail that led from Salmon Village up the mountain to fire Village. If guards were out, he had to hope the inky blackness would hide him.
Gods, he was bone-weary, his thoughts thicker than matted buffalo wool. He plodded on, one weary step after another. His hips, knees, and ankles ached. Tomorrow would be the beginning of the end.
He had taken this last trip without the permission of either Cimmis or Ecan. Kaska’s warning that Cimmis had ordered him killed hadn’t come as a surprise. It was a miracle that he’d gone undiscovered for this long. But how was he going to get past the gates, overcome the guards, and sneak Dzoo and Pitch out?
If only he could clear his head for a moment, shake the terrible need to sleep from his body for one more day.
“There you are, old friend,” a familiar voice called from the trees at the side of the trail.
Red Dog stopped, peering into the shadows cast by a lonely stand of firs. “What are you doing out here?”
“Caught me one of Rain Bear’s spies. Want to see?”
One of Rain Bear’s spies? Which one? And, more to the point, what was he going to do about it? This close to the beginning of the attack, it could mean disaster.
Red Dog stepped into the shadows, blinking in the inky darkness. “I can’t see a thing. Let’s drag him out onto the trail where—”
The whistling war club came out of nowhere, catching Red Dog full on the side of the head. The blow flashed yellow lightning behind his eyes. He heard as well as felt the bones snapping as his head recoiled from the force.
BOOK: People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past)
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