Child of the Dead (34 page)

“My heart is heavy about your dog,” he ventured.

Tears came to her eyes, the first he had seen. “They killed him?” It was really not a question.

“Yes. I found him. I was tracking you.”

She was quiet a little longer, and finally spoke. “You hit me.”

“Yes. My heart was heavy to do so, Mouse.”

“Then
why?”

“I had told them I bought you. If you belonged to me, maybe they would let me take you.”

“But I wanted to stay. Why did they send me away?”

“I … I am not sure, Mouse. I told them that you are my wife, so they would not want you. They need a maiden …”

“But lam …”

“Yes. That I do not understand. They must have one who has not been with a man. But you …”

“And I have not, Antelope!” Her anger was rising again.

“I know. Or I thought so. But no, that is not important … to me. No, this does not sound right.”

Her eyes were flashing now.

“Wait, Mouse. You know
why
they seek a maiden?”

“Yes. To be their Morning Star Princess. I had been chosen!”

“Yes. But do you know the ceremony?”

“Not yet. It would have been told to me!”

“But too late. Mouse, they
kill
the Princess so that she becomes their Morning Star’s bride!”

“That is not true!” she snapped.

“Yes, yes, it is. You were being prepared for that. The Growers back there told me.”

She was silent, and he waited. He had not understood the sequence of events. The priest had said that the girl would be examined, the old woman had returned and announced that Antelope’s lie was truth. The Morning Star Princess was not a maiden, but a wife, and therefore unfit to be the bride of Morning Star. But why would the woman lie?

Slowly, a suspicion began to dawn on him. Women often have an empathy for other women. Might it not be so in this? There must be those, even among the Horn People, who regretted the sacrifice of another woman on the altar of Morning Star. Given the opportunity, might not such a woman use the chance to save the life of a captive girl?

“Mouse,” he spoke carefully, “had the old woman been kind to you?”

“Of course. They all had! It was as I said. I was honored.”

“Yes, I know. But that one, the oldest. She was a leader of the others, no?”

“Yes …”

“And the most kind?”

“What are you asking, Antelope?”

“I am made to think,” he said slowly, “that
she
saved your life. Mine, too, maybe.”

“I do not understand.”

“Nor do I. But … Mouse, when I struck you …”

He saw her anger rise. “I have not forgotten that, Antelope,” she vowed.

“That was to show that you were mine,” he explained.

“But men of the People do not strike their wives!”

“That is true. But many others do. Head Splitters … I thought that it would make the Horn People think that you
are
my wife and let you go free.”

She was silent for a little while, and finally spoke. “It is true? They kill the Morning Star Princess?”

“Yes. I had to hurry to find you, before …”

“You might have been killed, Antelope.”

“But I was not. Nor were you.”

Now her tears started again. “What can I say?” she mumbled.

He placed an arm around her and drew her close. Soon she drew back, dried her tears, and smiled at him.

“So it is over,” he stated. “I am forgiven?”

“Of course, Antelope. I am made to think that I have been very foolish.”

His heart beat faster. “But it is good now,” he told her. “Let us return to the People, and …”

“No!” she stated emphatically.

“What? But you said …”

“I said you are forgiven …” She smiled. “For striking with the whip, saving my life. But this changes nothing. I must find my people!”

Aiee
, he thought.
This is where it started
. He remained quiet for a little while, absently poking at the fire. It was apparent that he had lost. Even though he had managed to save their lives, he had lost Gray Mouse to the call of her heritage.

She pulled the pendant from between her breasts and let it dangle outside the dress where it should be, displayed as a part of her identity.

“Those who made this are my people,” she told him. “I have talked to those who know them. My own people are to the north, and I can find them … learn who I am. Do you not understand this, Antelope?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Not really, Mouse. But I am made to think that you must do this. That I understand.”

“It is good,” she said, pleased.

“Yet there is something that I must do, too,” he said thoughtfully, staring into the fire.

“A quest, Antelope?”

“Maybe. Yes, a quest. That is true.”

‘Tell me of yours, Antelope! You will start back in the morning?”

“No … On my quest, I am made to think that I must help you on yours.”

T
hey sat on their horses overlooking a cluster of lodges along the stream. Gray Mouse’s heart beat faster.

“My people,” she murmured softly.

In the days since they had left the village of the Horn People, everything had seemed to go well. Travel was easy, and the weather continued to be fine. It had taken her a few days to overcome her anger at Dark Antelope for interrupting the marvelous pampering that she had enjoyed as the Morning Star Princess. She had been so completely absorbed in the ceremonial pageantry that she found it hard to believe that the final act would have been her own death.

It was three days before the situation became really clear in her mind. She had ridden glumly, in silence most of the time. It was as if she knew that Antelope spoke truth, but that she was unable to accept it. He had wisely refrained from conversation, except for that necessary for travel and camp and care of the horses. Her anger at the entire situation seemed to descend on Antelope, where it lay smoldering. He had suggested that she might have been drugged to alter her thinking. It would not have been hard to administer some potion in the form of the ceremonial food and drink that she had been given. Such spells were known. Even such a suggestion had angered her. But maybe that was part of the spell.

She had awakened one morning with her mind
clear. She had thought that it was so all along, but
aiee!
The colors of the sunrise, the songs of the birds, the feel of the morning air on her skin, all seemed like a wonderful new experience. She could remember the events of the past days, but dimly, without detail.

She looked over at Antelope, rising sleepily from his robes. With regret, she realized how ungrateful she had been. Most men would have abandoned her, she thought, in response to such treatment. And she had not even thanked him.

“Antelope,” she had said impulsively, “you saved my life.”

He had looked at her, puzzled. He had
tried
to tell her. “Maybe so,” he said simply.

Mouse was too embarrassed to speak of it further, so the awkward silence continued. Even in the joy of being alive, she found it difficult to share, to speak of her new insights into the situation. She had been afraid, she now realized, that Antelope might misunderstand the change in her. He might expect that her return to normalcy would mean that she would abandon her quest. So, rather than face such further misunderstanding, she remained quiet. She did try to behave in a more kindly manner toward him, and he seemed to appreciate that.

They had stopped often to talk with Growers about the people she sought. That was easier as they penetrated into the north country. The pendant that she wore was easily recognized now. Her quest was nearly over.

Then came the day. They showed the pendant and hand-signed their usual question, to receive the long-awaited answer.

“Yes! They are in summer camp, over there.”

“Where? How far?”

“Half a day. Follow the river. You will see their camp. Fifteen, twenty lodges.”

So at last, here they sat overlooking the camp of her people.

“My people.”

It seemed that her entire life had looked forward to this moment. She glanced at her companion. Antelope sat on his horse, studying the scene below. She wondered
what he might be thinking. In fact, Mouse was not certain what to think herself. She had concentrated so long on the quest that she had overlooked the obvious.
Now that I have found them, what do I do next?
she thought, in a sort of panic.

Antelope brought her back to reality. “Are you ready to go down?”

“What? Oh, yes …”

The horses picked their way down the steep trail, shifting their balance, following the turns and slopes by instinct as the riders gave free rein to do so. As they neared level ground at the bottom of the slope, a number of dogs rushed out, barking an alarm or a greeting. Mouse thought for a moment of her own Yellow Dog … She could hardly remember a time without him.

A tall warrior stepped into the trail in front of them, and another joined him. They were armed, but it seemed only a formality. Mouse had the impression that she and Antelope had been under observation for some time, and were probably considered harmless.

“Greetings,” signed Antelope. “We have sought your people … the people of this woman.”

“How are you called?” asked the warrior.

“I am Dark Antelope, of the Elk-dog People. This is Gray Mouse, one of yours.”

Mouse lifted her pendant, which met with smiles and instant recognition. There was also a flurry of talk in an unfamiliar tongue. Not completely so. The syllables had a familiar sound and cadence, but no meaning. She was startled. Somehow, she must have had the idea that she would understand their language, but it was not so. This was a meaningless babble.

“Wait!” she signed. “I do not understand!”

The talk stopped for a moment, and then the tall warrior began to sign.

“How is it,” he asked, “that you say you are one of us, but do not know our tongue?”

She nodded eagerly. “Our band … my parents … died from the spotted sickness. I was small. I grew up with Elk-dog People. Now I have come home.”

The warriors nodded, only half interested.

Antelope reentered the conversation. “We would
pay our respects to your leader,” he signed. “And how are you called?”

“I am Looking Wolf,” signed the tall one. “This is Killer of Owls.” The other man nodded and pointed to a nearby tree. There hung three dead owl carcasses, with flies buzzing lazily around them. A slight shift in the breeze brought a whiff of decaying flesh. Mouse tried not to react. Now she saw that the one called Killer of Owls wore a necklace of owl feet. She had almost forgotten her dread of the owl when she had been a child.

Now the taller man, Looking Wolf, was signing again. “We have no problems with evil spirits when we have Owl Killer here,” he boasted. “Come, I will take you to our chief.”

They wound their way through the camp, with people gathering to stare as they passed. Mouse glanced at Antelope.

“They dishonor
Kookooskoos
, the messenger,” she whispered.

“It is their way,” Antelope said calmly. “No problem of ours.”

The little party stopped in front of one of the larger lodges, and Mouse and Antelope dismounted. A distinguished-looking older man sat leaning on a willow backrest, smoking. He did not rise. Looking Wolf was talking rapidly, and the chief nodded, looking over the newcomers. Then he began to sign.

“Wolf, here, has told me what you have said. You were of the band who went south?”

“Yes, yes,” Mouse signed. “You know of them?”

“Yes, I remember well. Wait!” He paused and spoke to Looking Wolf, who turned and hurried away. The chief began to sign again. “There is a woman here of that band,” he explained. “We will see if you can talk to her.”

Mouse nodded eagerly. “It is good,” she signed. “I am called Gray Mouse. Do you know my name?”

“No, no, daughter. I was not of that band. And you were small, no?”

“Yes, Uncle,” she agreed “That is true.”

“Who is this?” he signed, indicating Antelope. “Your husband?”

Mouse hesitated, and Antelope moved to help her.

“Her almost-brother, Uncle,” he signed. “I hope to be her husband.”

The old man chuckled. “It is good!”

Mouse was looking at the ornament around the neck of the chief. She was almost certain that the shiny black claws were those of a bear. And the robe, thrown over the backrest … She had assumed that it was a buffalo robe, but
no!
It, too, was
bear
.

“Antelope, they kill bears!” she whispered.

“It is their way,” Antelope said calmly.

“What is it?” signed the chief.

“Nothing, Uncle. We were admiring your robe,” Antelope signed.

“Yes,” nodded the chief, stroking the thick brown fur. “A nice fur, no?”

Now Looking Wolf had returned, and spoke briefly to the chief, who nodded.

“I will take you to the woman of your own band,” Wolf signed. “Come!”

They thanked the chief and hurried after their escort. The day was growing short.

The old woman sat beneath a small tree, rocking back and forth and singing softly to herself. A younger woman stood beside her. “This is her daughter’s lodge,” explained Looking Wolf. “Sometimes the mother … you will see.”