It Dreams in Me (6 page)

Read It Dreams in Me Online

Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

BOOK: It Dreams in Me
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“Yes. You said that the dangerous things slip from their hidden chambers and walk around your souls while Flint is loving you.”
She nodded. “That’s the only time I feel safe enough to look at them. In his arms.”
Strongheart put a hand against her hair to force her to look at him and tenderly said, “Then it doesn’t matter whether I think he’s a hindrance or not. You need him here.”
He untied his belt pouch and opened the laces, smiling at her as he drew out a soot-coated tea pot, tripod, and two wooden cups. “What kind of tea do you prefer?”
“I don’t care. Whatever you want.”
A rustling sounded as he searched his pouch and drew out a small leather bag. “While we were walking today, I gathered
several herbs. I hope you like this mixture.” He pulled open the laces and handed the bag to her.
She held it to her nose. “Umm, it smells wonderful. What is it?”
“A variety of blossoms. But I also added some palm sap crystals to sweeten it.”
He picked up the tea pot and went to the lake to dip it full of water. As he walked back, his cape swayed around his long legs.
“Let’s talk while I make the tea.”
“I’d like that,” she said.
“I know Flint is a member of Water Hickory Clan, and that he was born in Oak Leaf Village,” Strongheart said. “But I know almost nothing else about him. Does he have brothers or sisters?”
He poured some of the herbs into the water, then placed it at the edge of the flames.
The question caught her off guard. “I thought you wanted to ask questions about me.”
“Let’s talk about Flint first.”
She gestured uncertainly. “Very well, but there isn’t much to tell. He had three brothers, but they all died before Flint had seen four winters. I don’t think he even remembers them.”
“What about his father?”
“He died just after Flint was born. The entire time we were married, I never heard Flint speak of him.”
Strongheart’s brows pulled together. He laid another branch on the fire and frowned at the flames. “What about his mother?”
“She was a weaver. A good one. She made some beautiful shirts and capes for Flint while we were married.”
“For Flint? Not for you?”
“For Flint.”
Strongheart just blinked. “Is she still alive?”
“I don’t know. After he divorced me, I lost contact with her. She and I never—”
“Chieftess, do you think Flint returned to Eagle Flute Village to meet someone? A member of his clan?”
The sudden change of topics brought a flood of disconnected images: Flint’s face very close to hers … his scent, a combination of woodsmoke and damp earth … the sound of his whispers … .
Strongheart pressed, “Why else would he have returned to the village?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps to tend to the bodies of his dead relatives.”
Strongheart seemed to deflate a little. He sat back on the sand. “I hadn’t thought of that. But it is possible. Eventually, I will return to do that for my family.”
Somewhere in the distance, Thunderbirds rumbled and their calls echoed through the trees. The scent of rain filled the air.
He reached for a branch and prodded the fire again. Flames leaped around the pot. “Perhaps my grief has clouded my perception of him.”
She curled her legs around her hips, and gazed out at Sassafras Lake. Evening had blushed color into the windblown waves, turning them a pale purple. “Strongheart, I want you to tell me the truth about something. Will you do that?”
The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. He looked as though he was afraid she would ask him a question that he dared not answer at this stage of her Healing, but he said, “Yes. I will. What is it?”
“What’s wrong with me? Can’t you find my reflection-soul and bring it back to my body?”
“It’s more complicated. I think you have a ghost sickness.”
“A ghost sickness?”
“Yes. A ghost person is sending you evil dreams that drive away your soul. That’s what the Midnight Fox is.”
“Evil dreams? Like the dream about the Red Hill?”
“Yes.”
She mulled that over. “Who is the ghost?”
“I don’t know. I need to talk with you more. There are questions I must ask, and I haven’t been able to.”
“Because of Flint?”
Strongheart’s mouth tightened. “He thinks he’s protecting you. He won’t let me get very close.”
She lifted her head and found him studying her with glistening brown eyes. “He’s always been jealous. And it’s getting worse.”
“Yes. I know.”
In warning, she said, “You’ll have to be very careful, or he’ll—”
“Hurt us.”
She nodded.
As the evening deepened, the hoarse cries of night herons filtered through the trees.
“Sora, I have something that might help me to determine if it’s a spell or a ghost sickness, but I’ve been waiting for the right time before suggesting it.”
She waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t she asked, “What is it?”
He reached for his belt pouch and pulled out a small red bag. “This is a special tea. It …” He appeared to be thinking about how to describe it. “It opens a doorway.”
“A doorway to what?”
He swiveled around to face her. “I put this bag in my belt pouch just before the attack on Eagle Flute Village. I was bringing
it to you when—when I found the warriors who’d been guarding you.”
“Black Turtle and Snail. The men I murdered.”
“I think that’s the wrong word, Chieftess.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. You heard what I told Flint this morning. I don’t think you murdered Black Turtle or Snail, or many of the people you’re accused of murdering, including your father and your sister. Your father killed himself. All of the others, except for perhaps White Fawn, either died accidentally, or you killed to protect yourself.” He placed another stick on the flames and leaned forward to blow on it. “You’ve been able to recall so few details about White Fawn’s death I have no way of knowing what really happened.”
“What about Short Tail?”
He cocked his head uncertainly. “I don’t know yet.”
Her eyes blurred. All of her life she’d been told she was a murderer. She’d grown up believing it.
He held up the red bag. “I haven’t given this to you yet, because it’s dangerous. I believe it may drive away the Midnight Fox, but I’ll need to watch you. The proper dose varies from person to person.”
“It’s a Spirit Plant,” she said in a disheartened voice. “I hate Spirit Plants.”
“It’s a combination of swamp cabbage root and ground thorn apple seeds. Not only is it a pathway for understanding illness, it’s the best cure for the Rainbow Black.”
Even from here she could smell the bitter odor wafting from the bag. “It must taste bad.”
“Fortunately, not as bad as it smells.”
She smiled. “Brew it. I … I’ll drink it.”
“Soon.” He tucked it back into his pouch. “When Flint returns. I’ll need his help.”
“Do you think he’ll give it? Or just argue about whether or not it’s the right thing to do?”
With a disheartened sigh, he said, “Oh, a little of both, I imagine.”
FEATHER DANCER DREW BACK THE DOOR CURTAIN ON THE Matron’s House and looked out across the dark plaza of Blackbird Town. “You go first, Matron. I’ll be right behind you.”
Wink stepped out beneath the eaves and watched the rain sheet out of the night sky. She couldn’t see farther than twenty paces, but her gaze instinctively moved to the seven mounds that composed the heart of the town. The only light that penetrated the downpour came from the Chieftess’ Mound, in front of her, where the eternal fire burned.
“I hope the others are already there,” she said as she flipped up the hood of her black feathered cape.
“They should be. You were wise to instruct each person to arrive at a different time. The Priest’s House is the one place in Blackbird Town where people might go at any time of day or night.”
As he gazed into the darkness, the white ridges of scars that covered his face rearranged into anxious lines.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s as black as boiled pine pitch out here. If there’s an assassin waiting for me, he’s not going to see me any sooner than I see him.”
Feather Dancer pulled his war club from his belt. “The difference, Matron, is that he, or she, knows you have to walk out of this house sometime.”
She gave him a halfhearted smile. “If he succeeds, make sure Sea Grass is next, will you?”
He nodded gravely, and she strode out into the rain, heading for the stairs cut into the face of the Matron’s Mound. Wind whipped her cape around her legs.
They descended the stairs and started across the plaza. Ahead, she saw the faint glimmering of Persimmon Lake and the dark outline of the Priest’s Mound.
Being out in the open, even in this drenching rain, made her spine tingle. If she hadn’t already, after tonight, Matron Sea Grass would almost certainly hire an assassin to eliminate not only Wink, but every other clan matron in the Black Falcon Nation who voted with Wink.
As she hurried by the Chieftess’ Mound, Wink’s heart ached. She missed Sora desperately. For more than twenty-five winters, Sora had comforted, guided, and advised her. In the worst of times, she had laughed away Wink’s fears and straightened reality for her. Right now, she needed Sora more than she had ever needed her in her life.
Gods, Sora, I pray you’re safe.
Feather Dancer’s steps padded less than one pace behind her as she climbed the steps of Priest Teal’s mound. When they neared the doorway, a faint orange gleam penetrated the rain, and the elaborate paintings that decorated the clay-plastered walls came into view: life-size images of dancing Birdmen, mountain lions with the feet of eagles, and coiled snakes with human smiles.
The Priest’s House was separated into two chambers. In the front, there was a small chamber with a sleeping bench, fire hearth, and other essentials, but there was a doorway in the rear that opened into the charnel house, the place where Teal prepared the dead for the journey to the afterlife. Row upon row of clean dry bones rested on the wall shelves. Tucked into ceramic pots, or wrapped in cloth bundles, they represented the last remains of centuries of elite rulers. Wink frequently came here, as did every other matron, to seek advice from her ancestor’s eye-souls, the souls that remained with the bodies forever.
She stopped in front of the door curtain. “Teal?
A hoarse old voice answered, “Come, Matron.”
Ducking beneath the curtain, she found him sitting on a mat before the hearth, sipping a cup of tea. Three other people sat around the fire: her son, Chief Long Fin; Matron Birch from the Bald Cypress Clan; and Matron Wigeon from the Shoveler Clan. Both old women had gray hair and shriveled faces. Birch clutched her walking stick across her lap. Her son looked frightened, as though he suspected she was about to initiate civil war between the clans and nothing he said would make any difference.
“Thank you all for coming,” Wink said as she untied her black cape, shook the rain from it, and hung it on one of the pegs by the door.
“None of us has any choice in the matter, do we?” Matron Birch said. She wore a beautiful tan dress scalloped with freshwater pearls.
“No,” Wink answered. “I don’t think so.”
Priest Teal leaned forward and gestured to the one unoccupied mat on the opposite side of the fire near Long Fin. “Please join us, High Matron.” His bald head and age-bowed back reminded her of a plucked bird.
“Thank you, Teal.” As she crossed the floor to the mat, Wink smoothed her hands over her plain black dress.
Feather Dancer inspected the room and walked to the rear of the house, where he drew back the door curtain to the charnel chamber to look inside. While he completed his search, Wink studied the life-size images of the gods that danced around the walls. Teal seemed to paint a new one every winter, and now a crowd of divine eyes gazed down upon her.
“May I pour you a cup of tea?” Teal asked.
“Yes, thank you, Teal.”
He had a sunken skeletal face and white-filmed eyes that glowed eerily in the firelight. He dipped up a cup and handed it around the fire to her.
She took it and smelled the sweet aroma of prickly pear fruit wafting up with the steam.
Feather Dancer ducked beneath the curtain, nodded to Wink, and took up a guard position by the front door.
“All right, let’s begin,” Wink said. “Let me remind you that we should all keep our voices down in case any spies sneak up outside.”
“I would like to cast my voice first,” Wigeon said. She sat up straighter, and her sparse gray hair shimmered with the amber hue of the flames. She wore a coarsely woven white dress that hung over the skeletal frame of her body. The knobs of her elbows resembled knots beneath the fabric. “After our last council meeting, I think it’s clear we must do something now, before it’s too late. Water Hickory Clan may have disobeyed the council on several occasions, but I believe their actions are correct. We must destroy the Loon Nation.”
Wink had expected something like this. Wigeon hated the Loon People. More than one moon ago, she had voted to make war on them for capturing eleven people from Oak Leaf village
who had “trespassed” upon gathering grounds claimed by the Loon Nation—grounds that had, in fact, belonged to the Black Falcon Nation for generations.
“I disagree,” Matron Black Birch said, and pounded her walking stick on the hearthstones. “Their actions constitute treason. Water Hickory Clan should be Outcast from the nation.”
Long Fin said, “Matrons, I think—”
“Birch, be reasonable,” Wigeon interrupted. “None of our villages will be safe until we’ve defeated them once and for all. Can’t you see that?”
“Perhaps, we should—,” Long Fin tried again.
“What I see, Wigeon, is that your soul is off wandering in the forest somewhere,” Birch said. “We would all be better off if we gave the accursed gathering grounds to the Loon People, made peace, and went on with our lives. I don’t want my grandchildren dying in a war. Do you?”
Wigeon clenched her fists, as though she longed to strike Birch for calling her crazy. “The situation has escalated to the point that the gathering grounds have become irrelevant. We should—”
“We should have Outcast them a long time ago! You’ll recall that
I
voted to do that exact thing. The reason we’re in this position now is because the rest of you were cowards.”
Wigeon bristled, and Wink held up a hand to halt the argument. “I have new information that I would like to share.”
Everyone turned to her.
Long Fin’s young face tensed, as though he was upset that no one would let him speak. Inwardly, she sighed. He was proving to be a poor chief, but he’d seen just sixteen winters. She kept praying he would improve. At least he had worn a beautiful cream-colored cape, painted with intricate red and yellow geometric designs. Copper bangles ringed the hem. He looked chiefly, even if he didn’t act it.
Wink said, “Chief Long Fin and War Chief Feather Dancer will stand as my witnesses. They were both there during my interrogation.”
“Interrogation?” Wigeon arched an eyebrow.
“Yes, three nights ago, I questioned Red Raven. He—”
“That little weasel,” Wigeon said. “What could he have told you of any value?”
“Probably a very great deal,” Birch defended. “He’s Sea Grass’ spy.”
“Matrons, please let me finish.” Wink held up both hands this time, trying to calm the situation. “I had heard, as you had, that Red Raven was the person who found Chief Short Tail’s body at Eagle Flute Village. I had him brought to my council chamber to discuss what he’d actually seen, and he admitted to me that he’d gone there to deliver a message to Short Tail.”
“What message?” Birch demanded to know. “Was it from Sea Grass?”
Wigeon’s lips pressed into a tight line, but she kept silent, waiting for the rest.
“Yes,” Wink said, “he was supposed to deliver a message to Short Tail that his next target was Fan Palm Village.”
“Another Loon village!” Birch exploded. “Instead of Outcasting them, we should have them all publicly hanged in the plaza!”
“Wait!” Wigeon shouted. “What makes you think Red Raven was telling the truth? He’s a well-known, and very skilled, liar.”
Wink nodded. “Yes, I know he is, but I think he was telling the truth. War Chief, what did you think?”
Feather Dancer stepped away from the door and into the firelight before he responded, “I have questioned many expert liars, people with more reasons to lie than Red Raven had. I
think I am a good judge of such men. It is my opinion, Matrons, that he was telling the truth.”
Wink turned to her son. “Chief Long Fin?”
“I think he was too afraid to lie.”
Wigeon and Birch glanced at Feather Dancer, suspecting the reason Red Raven had been afraid.
In a low voice, Birch said, “So … Sea Grass was going to defy the council again. What do you think of that, Wigeon?”
She crushed the fabric of her white dress in her hands. “It disappoints me. She promised me that Water Hickory Clan would wait for the council’s approval before attacking another Loon village.”
“It’s obvious to anyone with a resident soul that she doesn’t care about the council’s approval.” Birch banged her walking stick again. “We should at least hang
her.
”
Priest Teal, who’d been silent through the debate, at last spoke up: “Matrons, this crisis must be resolved. For every single person that we lose, the Loon Nation will lose twenty. Rather than continuing to cast blame, it seems to me you should determine who is the aggrieved party and offer them compensation.”
“But Water Hickory Clan will say that they are the aggrieved party,” Wigeon pointed out. “The gathering grounds belonged to the Black Falcon Nation, and it was members of their clan who were taken hostage—”
“I think Teal is right,” Wink said.
Birch cocked an ear to hear her better. “Are you suggesting a course of action?”
“I am. If Water Hickory Clan wishes to wage its own secret war against the Loon Nation, perhaps the rest of the Black Falcon Nation should take sides.”
Silence descended like a granite curtain. The only sounds
were the pounding of rain on the roof and the crackling of flames.
Birch gave Wink a sly look. “What makes you think they will agree? They hate us.”
Wigeon shook her head as though completely lost. “What are you two gobbling about?”
Long Fin glanced around the circle, examining each woman’s expression. When his gaze returned to Wink, he whispered, “Mother, it’s too dangerous.”
For the first time, Birch glanced at the doorway, then leaned forward to hiss, “He’s right. We’ll have to send a peace emissary first, and we can’t use any of our own people. You know that, don’t you? Sea Grass will be keeping track of every warrior we have.”
Wink nodded. “I have an outsider in mind.”
“An outsider? How can we trust an outsider?” Birch clutched her walking stick in both hands.
“Well, he’s an outsider with an interest in the well-being of the Black Falcon Nation.”

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