Child of the Dead (26 page)

“You were wearing this when we found you,” Running Deer said. “I had forgotten.”

A moment of irritation flashed through the mind of Gray Mouse.

“You took it off?” she demanded.

“Yes, child. You were covered with sores around your neck and shoulders. I took it off so that you could heal. I saved it for you, but then I was sick.”

Mouse’s anger cooled slowly.

“I had always intended for you to have it when you were older,” Deer went on. Her eyes seemed to look back into the past. “The years have flown … You
are
grown now.”

There was a vague sense of familiarity as the girl took the pendant in her hand. It was part of the answer. The rest was out there, just out of reach. Carefully, she recovered her composure.

“Thank you, Grandmother.” She placed the thong around her neck and again felt a familiarity as the beaded circle swung gently against the front of her dress. The soft skin that held the beads had a musty smell about it, mixed with the smoky odor of the tanning fire. Even after all these years, the scent stimulated memories of her childhood. Fragmentary thoughts, fleeting and dim in the cobwebby recesses of her mind. She could almost put the scene together, but not quite …

In a way, the finding of the pendant was even more
of a frustration. Somewhere out there, someone must know the answers she sought.

She asked anyone who might know, at every opportunity.

“Yes, I remember them,” a Grower woman told her. The Southern band had paused to trade for corn and beans and pumpkins on the way to winter camp. “It was ten seasons ago, maybe. They had come from the north. We heard later that they died from the spotted death. Too bad. And they were your people? You are not of these, the Elk-dog Nation?”

“They found me. I have been raised by a grandmother of these. But now I seek my own.”

“Yes. Well, I know no more. Those who died came from the north.”

“Does this design mean anything to you?” Mouse asked, lifting the pendant to show.

The woman looked long and hard. “I do not know,” she admitted. “I have seen one like it, maybe.”

“And this hand sign?” asked Mouse desperately.

She gave the almost forgotten sign, preceding it with the sign for nation. “
The nation of
…”

The blank look in the eyes of the Grower woman told the story. The sign was completely unfamiliar to her.

“I saw it then, maybe,” the woman admitted, “but I do not know. My heart is heavy, but I cannot help you.”

G
ray Mouse was restless as she thought over what she had learned. Her information was still quite scant, but that only made her more determined. The beaded pendant dangled at her breast, a taunting reminder that there was much that
could
be learned if she only knew how.

But there was an excitement in it now, a challenge that seemed mixed with the thrill of the season. The migrating geese high overhead, the hurry of squirrels storing nuts, the Moon of Falling Leaves. The restlessness would continue, she knew, through the strange influence of the Moon of Madness. There were times when she considered leaving the security of the lodge that she shared with Running Deer to follow her quest. These times did not last long, of course. To follow the call of the geese would take her search in the wrong direction. She must search to the north, not the south.

It was in that way that a plan began to form in the girl’s mind. In the Moons of Awakening and of Greening, the geese would be moving again. This time, their call
would
be to the north, the direction in which her quest pointed. And had not Singing Wolf himself suggested a quest for her?

She realized that this was not what the holy man had had in mind. He had been thinking of the more traditional vision quest to be undertaken by a young
person. Usually by the young men, but there was nothing to
prevent
a woman of the People from seeking visions.

Mouse’s quest would be different. The search quest, which usually required travel to unknown places, was far less common. Many times it was a result of the vision quest. The vision would demand a journey to accomplish a specific purpose. Such a quest was told of in the story of Horse Seeker, a young man of the People. He had been called to a faraway place by a vision of a great horse, the Dream Horse. That was long ago, but there were still those among the People who pointed with pride to horses whose blood was that of the almost supernatural Dream Horse. True or not, the story was a part of the tradition of the People.

The quest of Gray Mouse was to be different. It was demanded not by a vision, but by a need to know. The entire situation was different, she thought. Different from any in the history of the People, because she herself was different. More and more the idea kept nudging her.
These are not my people
. The need to find her own was growing within her, and the plan began to take shape.

The timing had been decided by circumstances. The quest would be to the north, so it would happen in the spring. All things would move northward then. The retreat of Cold Maker, the migration of the geese and the buffalo, the sun, the greening of the grass … Even the People would be moving a few days’ travel to the tallgrass prairie of the Sacred Hills for the Sun Dance and the summer camp.

That would be the time. Her plan must be completely secret, or they would try to stop her. But the Sun Dance … yes, that would be the time. There was always such excitement then, such confusion, so many distractions.
Aiee
, if she handled it well, she could be gone a day or two before anyone missed her at all. The thought was quite satisfying. She would begin to assemble the things she would need and prepare for her departure in the moons ahead.

Supplies would be acquired during the first spring hunt. A few days’ rations of dried meat would be easy to prepare and conceal. A horse … she already had a
good horse, a gift from Beaver Track, her uncle. Beaver had always seen to it that his mother was supplied with horses for her needs. Running Deer seldom rode now, but Mouse had no doubt that Grandmother could if she wished. And with the horses of Running Deer, there grazed two that were set aside for Gray Mouse. One was a stolid old pack horse, the other a young gelding. She would not need the pack horse.

With her plan in mind, Mouse began to ride more, sometimes riding on a small hunt with some of the young men. This was not uncommon among the People. A young married woman with no children might accompany her husband on a hunt. Or a single woman seeking a man … What better way to catch the eye of a young bachelor? Her real motive would not be suspected, and she could condition both herself and the horse during this autumn and winter.

This part of the plan proved to have one thorny problem. Dark Antelope became her constant companion. Ah, well, she could contrive a quarrel when the time neared, to make him back away. There was a pang of guilt, but she firmly pushed it behind her. She must not let a thing like this dissuade her from her purpose.

Autumn suddenly became winter with the first probe of Cold Maker into the camp of the People. A heavy frost blackened vegetation and there was a thin crust of ice along the edges of the stream one morning. It was apparent that the season was changing. The morning was sunny, but all through the day there was a steady flutter of leaves from the elms, willows, and sycamores. Most of the nut trees had already shed their summer garments. In a day or two only the oaks would retain their leaves.

Mouse always hated to see the change in the oaks, from bright reds and yellows to a dull dry brown. That would mark the oak thickets for most of the winter until the buds of new leaves pushed last year’s stems free.
No matter
, she thought. This season, such changes marked the passing of time, and brought her nearer to her quest.

Winter dragged on, nothing unusual. In open weather some of the young men trapped for furs. That had not been a tradition of the People until a generation ago, it was said. The corning of the French traders had brought changes. It was possible to trade furs of good quality for many things. Metal knives, fire strikers, powder and lead for the thundersticks that were now coming into common use. Fully half the lodges now boasted a musket.

Bad weather, usually only a few days at a time, meant activity of a different kind. Friends would gather for a smoke in one of the lodges. The pungent fragrance of tobacco mixed with a variety of other plants would fill the lodge with a bluish haze as the pipes passed from one man to the other.

In some of the lodges there was gambling. The stick game and the rolling of the plum stones were popular among the young men. Usually, however, Mouse and Running Deer would join the lodge of Singing Wolf or Beaver Track, listening to the stories of the visitors while Cold Maker howled outside. In this way, the winter was finally over, and Gray Mouse began to look forward to the excitement of the plan which lay ahead.

The swelling of the buds, the tiny sprigs of green under the melting snow, held a special meaning for Gray Mouse this season. These things heralded not only the Awakening but the season in which she would begin to carry out her plan, her personal quest.

Days seemed to pass at an incredibly slow pace, and the girl tried to conceal her impatience. Eventually the time came to move from winter camp and start toward the summer range.

The Spring Hunt was always a special event. The food of the People had been largely dried meat, pemmican, and dried vegetables from the Growers for several moons. There was a craving at this season, a need for fresh meat.

Buffalo, horses, all animals that graze have a similar need for fresh green grass in the spring. In the Moon of Greening they rush greedily into an area of lush new grass, gorging themselves to replenish their vital needs.
All winter they have eaten dry standing hay and what browse may have been available from low-growing cottonwoods and other shrubs and trees.

The People of the Southern band burned a large section of the dried tallgrass prairie in the Moon of Greening. It was the usual way. Singing Wolf, to whom fell the responsibility for the proper timing of the ceremony, had studied the emerging sprigs of green for many days. There were other factors, too. Direction and strength of the wind, and the feel of the air. A ritual ceremony to verify his impressions … There must be no mistake, because the burning ceremony could be dangerous. Not only was the prestige of the holy man at stake, but the camp of the People as well. A shift in the weather could send the roaring flames in the wrong direction faster than a horse could run.

“Today is the time of burning,” Singing Wolf finally announced.

Selected men of the Bowstring Society proceeded to the chosen area, carrying hot coals in containers of ashes. Those watching from the camp could see the rising threads of white smoke at each point of fire. The air was still, and each column grew as it rose high against the clear blue of the sky, to flatten and spread at some unseen upper level.

The burn lasted for two days. At night the fire, now merged into a single long line of flame, could be seen for a long way. Like a fiery snake, it crawled across the distant hills, a day’s travel to the north. Behind the fire the prairie lay blackened and bare. The fire would burn on until it met with an impassable barrier such as a river or heavily wooded strip along a smaller stream.

But the black surface drew warmth from the returning sun more efficiently. Sleeping root systems far below began to stir and waken. Within a few days the black of the rolling hills was tinged with green, and in another day or two there was no black at all, only the lush green of new, life-giving growth.

Then came the buffalo. The wolves reported the first phalanxes of the great herds as they came from the south, following the greening. It has always been so. When Sun Boy is finally able to drive Cold Maker back to his ice caves in the northern mountains, the cycle
begins again. The return of the sun brings the return of the grass and the buffalo.

And the Spring Hunt. Buffalo, growing fatter as they moved northward with the new season, would provide for the needs of the People. As the animals were starved for the lush green of the returning grass, so were the People in need. Their craving, similarly, was for the life-giving juices of fresh meat. Where pemmican and dried meat may keep one alive through the long winter, there is a hunger that grows. One dreams of the smell of fat hump ribs broiling at the cooking fire, with the rich juices trickling down to drip with a hissing sound on the coals. Or of fresh liver, warm and rich, all the goodness of the new grass concentrated in its powerful medicine.