It Wakes in Me (6 page)

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Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

BOOK: It Wakes in Me
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She craned her neck to see the young man over the heads of the crowd as he stepped out of the largest house in the village. Almost twice the size of Strongheart’s house, the chief’s residence stood four body lengths tall and eight across. Horned Owl wore only a leather skirt and held …
her ceremonial celt!
Her mouth fell open, and Strongheart said, “Yes, I know that belonged to you.”
“Where did Horned Owl get it?”
“Flint gave it to him.”
Angry confusion filled her.
Tattoos covered Horned Owl’s skin, spiraling across his face like tightly coiled serpents, then winding around his arms, chest, and legs. He had a supercilious air about him. As he waved to call up his guards, the movement seemed exaggerated, almost comical. Four men stepped forward to surround him.
She started to ask a question, but her voice faded when the Loon war chief, Grown Bear, stepped out behind the new chief, followed by Flint.
A mixture of anger and longing filled her. Tall and muscular, Flint had seen thirty-two winters, but his long hair was still black, his handsome face with its chiseled features unmarked by the wrinkles of most men his age. A crude but attractive cape adorned his broad shoulders—clearly a gift from the Loon People. Made from woven hanging moss and decorated with circlets of abalone shell, it shimmered wildly in the pewter gleam that streamed through the magnolias.
Five very beautiful young women exited and stood behind Flint. They smiled shyly, as though proud to be near him.
As she had once been.
“Are those the young women being offered to Flint?”
Strongheart nodded. “Yes. I suspect he will accept all five as his wives. It will increase his prestige in our lands.”
Chief Horned Owl turned, saw Sora standing outside Strongheart’s lodge, and his eyes narrowed. He stalked across the village toward her. Flint said something to his future wives, who nodded. As he rushed to follow Horned Owl, the women sat down in a circle and began whispering excitedly. Grown Bear brought up the rear, accompanied by the four guards the young chief had motioned to earlier.
Strongheart whispered, “I’ve told him you are sick, not evil. That you have no memory of the murder. Do not make me out a liar, or we will both regret it.”
“I
don’t
remember it. Because I didn’t do it.”
She squared her shoulders as the crowd parted, leaving a pathway for the young chief, who tramped down it like an executioner with orders to carry out.
About her height, he had dark brown eyes and a sharply pointed narrow nose. He stopped before her, and the crowd went as quiet as the hush before a hurricane. They seemed to be waiting to see if he would strike her dead.
“Did you murder my father?” he demanded to know in a high, boy’s voice.
Sora stared straight at him. “Truly, I don’t know. I remember almost nothing from that night.”
Flint shouldered through the crowd and stood behind Horned Owl. After fourteen winters of marriage, she knew his every gesture, every expression. Beneath that serene exterior, his guts were knotted up. He gave Strongheart a desperate glance.
Strongheart said, “Matron Wink’s messenger told me that she is very ill, my chief. She needs our help. If our people will allow me to—”
“Silence!” the youth ordered. “I haven’t even decided if she
will live through the night, let alone if I will allow the Loon People’s greatest Healer to cure her! Why should I? She killed my father!”
Strongheart bowed his head and softly answered, “Our people are wise and kind, my chief. I think they will be generous.”
Sora gave Strongheart an askance look. How cleverly he’d reminded the new chief that the decision was not his, but his people’s.
It seemed to humble Horned Owl. He turned back to Sora and lowered his chin. “Ordinarily the Loon People do not kill those who are ill; instead we work very hard to cure them. Death is only considered if the sick person cannot be cured and continues to harm others. We—”
“Then our peoples have similar beliefs, Chief Horned Owl. We gather the sick person in our arms—”
In the shrill voice of an angry child, he shouted, “Do not ever interrupt me again or I will send your pretty head back to Matron Wink in a net fishing bag!”
Sora just stared. Was he that politically inept?
Horned Owl continued, “Your former husband, the hero Flint, has told me a great many things about you. He says that my father is not the first person you have murdered. He says that in order to become chieftess you drowned your older sister, who by all rights should have ascended to the chieftainship after your mother. He also claims that when your mother, Chieftess Yellow Cypress, disagreed with you about a decision to go to war, you shoved her over a cliff. Did you kill your own mother?”
Her face flushed. What was Flint doing? Trying to help her or get her killed?
“I don’t remember killing anyone.”
Strongheart added, “I have examined her, my chief, and I believe she’s telling the truth. She does not remember because
her reflection-soul isn’t home when the killings happen; it’s out wandering the forests.”
Without taking his eyes from Sora, Horned Owl asked, “Can you find her lost soul and bring it to her body?”
Strongheart gestured uncertainly. “I don’t know, but I would like to try.”
Flint stepped forward and said, “If Strongheart Heals her, I assure you the Black Falcon Nation will be very grateful. They will shower the Loon People with wealth, my chief.”
The youth’s dark eyes gleamed, as though he could already see the bright fabrics, woven buffalo wool capes, and exotic Trade items. “As you know, Chieftess Sora, my people are poor and hungry. Not more than a moon ago we discovered eleven Black Falcon villagers stealing food from our gathering grounds. We captured them and have been working to come to a fair agreement that pays us for the damage they caused, but your people have been arrogant. You, yourself, were supposed to meet with my father twenty days ago to negotiate the release of the captives, but you never came. Your war party camped outside our village and an ugly man named Walking Bird came in to negotiate the release of hostages. You didn’t come. You disgraced my father.”
Twenty days ago? Blessed gods, she didn’t remember it at all … .
She said, “I’m here now. I will discuss any arrangements you think are fair.”
Horned Owl imperiously waved a hand. “Take her to the Captives’ House. We will decide her fate tomorrow.”
Strongheart took Sora’s arm, said, “Of course, my chief,” and led her away through the whispering crowd. Two warriors followed close behind them.
The Captive’s House stood at the eastern edge of the village surrounded on three sides by the shallow marsh. Mist had begun
to curl and twist through the tall reeds. As Dusk Girl spread her gray hem over the land, insects crept from their hiding places and climbed upward in a glittering haze.
They neared the house—perhaps four body lengths across—and Sora heard voices, a child crying, then a woman speaking in a soothing voice. Six guards encircled the house.
“Don’t try to escape,” Strongheart said when he stopped before the door. “There are many warriors posted around the village. They have orders to kill you immediately if you try to run.”
Sora looked up into Strongheart’s brown eyes and said, “Will you come for me at dawn tomorrow?”
Wind fluttered black hair around his troubled face. “Yes.”
He untied his cape, removed it, and draped it around her shoulders. “Here, you’ll need this.”
Startled, she asked, “Why?”
“You are a captive of the Loon Nation, Chieftess. You are about to experience many things you have never experienced before.”
AS HE PULLED ASIDE THE DOOR CURTAIN, STRONGHEART leaned close to her ear to whisper, “Remember, there are spies everywhere. Don’t say anything you do not wish our chief to know.”
Sora hesitated for an instant, wondering why he would warn her; then she ducked into the Captives’ House, and silence fell like a stone blanket. The scents of urine and stale sweat were strong.
She looked around. Her eyes needed time to adjust, but she could see the vague outlines of people sitting around the circumference of the walls. Weren’t they allowed to have a fire to cook and warm them? Two large pots sat along the wall to her right, probably for human wastes.
“Feather Dancer?” she called.
From the rear, a tall shadow rose. “Chieftess?” He sounded surprised, as though she’d just awakened him from a sound sleep. “Blessed gods, we feared they’d killed you.”
“Not yet.”
The house burst into whispers, and people began to stand up.
“Chieftess Sora!”
a young woman exclaimed. She pushed forward until she could see Sora clearly; then tears filled her eyes and she fell to her knees to kiss Sora’s sandals. “The guards told us you were dead! They said Horned Owl had ordered you tortured and killed. None of us ever expected to see you again!”
She placed a hand on the woman’s dirty hair, and it was like lighting a flame for moths. From everywhere, people rushed forward and hands reached out to touch Sora’s garments, arms, feet. She touched as many as she could reach.
A din built, people weeping and asking questions:
“Chieftess, my five-winters-old son was with me when we were attacked. He was not captured. Is he here? In the village? Did they tell you about him?”
“Chieftess, there’s a war party coming for us, isn’t there?”
“ … my daughter survived. I saw her run away! Can you tell me if she made it back to Oak Leaf Village?”
“Chieftess—”
“I don’t know, I’m sorry!” she called. “Truly, I haven’t been in the Black Falcon Nation for days. Some of your relatives did make it home safely, but I have no information about specific people. Flint is here. Perhaps he knows. I’m sure he’ll visit with you soon.”
“Flint … Flint is here?” His name passed through the house like the hiss of a flame.
A middle-aged man came forward and knelt just out of her reach. He had filthy gray-streaked black hair and desperate eyes. Wrinkles incised his forehead and carved deep grooves around his mouth.
“Chieftess, please, I am Cold Spring. My wife was wounded during the fight. They took her to Strongheart to be Healed.
Our guards said you were also taken there. Is my wife still in his house? Did you see her? How is she?”
Sora had seen no one else, which meant the woman had probably died. Hadn’t anyone told this man about his wife’s fate? Were the Loon People so cruel?
“I was not in Strongheart’s house for long, Cold Spring. I woke, ate a few bites of stew, then guards came and ordered me outside. There could have been ten people there that I did not see. I’m sorry.”
He sighed and quietly receded into the darkness.
As her eyes adjusted, she saw the cold fire hearth in the middle of the floor and the wood stacked beside it—and there were children, two girls and three boys. They sat together to her right, staring at her with wide eyes. One girl, who’d seen perhaps twelve winters, had her arms wrapped tightly around her drawn-up knees. She was biting her lower lip as though to keep words locked in her mouth. A pretty child, a long black braid draped the front of her tattered red-and-blue cape.
“My soul is happy to see you alive, Chieftess,” Feather Dancer said, and worked his way forward.
When he stood in front of her, she could see his heavily scarred face. The white ridges of tissue gleamed in the faint light penetrating around the door curtain. He’d tied his long black hair back with a cord. Blood, old and brown, streaked his cape.
Concerned, she pointed to it. “Are you well? Were you injured?”
“Flint struck me in the head with a club to keep me from fighting Grown Bear’s war party.” An undercurrent of suppressed fury roughened his voice. “My souls were jarred loose for a time, but they’re back now. I’m well enough.”
Sora glanced down at the people kneeling around her feet. They stared up at Feather Dancer in shock and anger.
An old white-haired woman growled, “Why would Flint do that? He is my cousin’s son. He would never—”
Sora interrupted, “I also have many questions for my war chief. I give each of you my oath that I will speak with you in the days to come, but right now I must hear Feather Dancer’s words.”
People murmured to each other as they moved back to allow her to pass. She gestured for Feather Dancer to walk with her to the rear of the house.
“I count only ten people, Feather Dancer. We heard they’d taken eleven hostages,” she said and sat down. The thatched wall felt cool against her back.
Feather Dancer crouched to her left. “Cold Spring’s wife was the other captive.”
Every eye was upon her. She studied their gaunt faces. In addition to the five children and Cold Spring, there were three women and one young warrior who wore his injured arm in a sling. Blood darkened his shoulder bandage. They resembled mice hiding in a hole from a wolf.
“You’ve been outside?” she asked.
Feather Dancer nodded. “They come for us every morning just before dawn. They’re clearing fields for crops. We chop the trees down and cut out the brush and palmettos.”
“How long have we been here?”
“Two days.”
The news flustered her. The sleeping potion must have been very strong to keep her shadow-soul away for so long. She swallowed hard. “What are their defenses like?”
“The Loon Nation is frightened, Chieftess. They have warriors behind every tree and in many of the branches to watch over the trails.”
“If we all work together, is there any chance we can escape?”
He shook his head. “No. They are too many, and we are too few. They’ll just shoot us down.”
Sora studied his defeated expression. “What if we created a diversion that required every guard in the forest to fight off an incoming war party? We could flee while they were occupied, couldn’t we?”
Feather Dancer looked up skeptically. “Do you have a secret army hiding in the forest that might create such a diversion?”
An unnatural hush fell over the house. The people seemed to be holding their breaths to hear every word she and Feather Dancer said.
“No,” she answered with a tired sigh. “But I’ll figure something out. If I live long enough.”
“When will they decide your fate?”
“Tomorrow, I think. The new chief has called a village meeting at dawn. I should know by midday.”
Feather Dancer glared at the floor for a time. “What about Strongheart? Has he agreed to Heal you?”
He’d said the word “Heal” as though it were a curse. Feather Dancer clearly did not believe she was sick, and she recalled that on the journey he’d repeatedly accused Flint of plotting her downfall.
“Strongheart told me that Wink had sent a runner to ask if he would be willing to Heal me, and he’d said yes. But he also told me that, since I’m accused of killing Blue Bow, he’s uncertain if he can now keep that promise.”
Unpleasant thoughts danced behind Feather Dancer’s dark eyes. The white ridges of scars that crisscrossed his face twitched.
“What’s wrong?” she softly asked.
“Things are beginning to make sense. Matron Wink told me we were taking you to Priest Long Lance in the far north, but if
she’d already sent a runner to Strongheart she knew we were going to be captured by Grown Bear.”
Sora swallowed hard. “You think she was working with Flint to make sure we were captured?”
He seemed to be pondering that dire possibility. “Did Strongheart say when the runner arrived?”
“No.”
“But he obviously arrived before we did. That means our matron must have dispatched him a day or two before we left Blackbird Town.”
“Or a moment or two,” Sora defended.
“Believe what you wish, Chieftess.”
“If Wink wanted me captured, why did she order you to accompany Flint? She could have simply sent me off with Flint and saved the life of her very valuable war chief.”
A half-smile turned his lips, but it wasn’t pleasant. “Perhaps I am not as valuable as you imagine.”
“What do you mean?”
Feather Dancer sat down cross-legged and looked around the dark house. As evening settled outside, starlight etched a narrow silver line around the doorway. “By now, her son, Long Fin, has already replaced you as chief of the Black Falcon Nation. Would you want a man loyal to the old chieftess to stay on as your son’s war chief?”
She leaned back against the thatch wall; it rustled. “No. I wouldn’t.”
“It would seem that our matron found a very clever way of getting rid of both of us.”
Sora pulled Strongheart’s cape more tightly around her. The night breeze shoved the door curtain; a chill entered the house along with the rich green fragrance of the marsh.
“None of this makes sense,” she whispered. “Long Fin
was next in line anyway. It was inevitable that he would become chief after I was gone. Why would Wink wish to rush that?”
His gaze moved around the house, studying each captive’s expression. “There are two reasons a person betrays a friend, Chieftess: love and wealth.”
“You mean someone paid her?”
He gave her a strange look. “You don’t recall the controversy over the jade?”
“Jade? What jade?”
He clenched his jaw. “Ten days before Blue Bow was lanced through the throat, his war chief, Grown Bear, came to Blackbird Town with a beautiful jade brooch. He said that he and a war party had paddled south along the coast for sixteen days, where they’d met the Scarlet Macaw People, who claimed they’d give him boatloads of jade if Grown Bear would only send a large war party to help them kill the quarry’s owners.”
Memories crept back, a thin tendril at a time. “Yes, I—I recall some moments of the council meeting about the jade. The elders were split. Wink voted against me. She wanted to send warriors after the jade.”
“Yes. At this very moment, I suspect she’s assembling a vast war party to do just that.”
Sora shook her head. “I don’t believe it. It’s too dangerous. She’s smarter than that.”
Cold Spring walked across the floor and knelt before the fire pit. He pulled a stick from the woodpile and began dragging coals from beneath a thick bed of ash. They must have saved the morning coals, hoping they would flare to life when they returned from their work. He arranged kindling over the coals and blew on them. Ash puffed and swirled in the starlight like
frost crystals. The man repeatedly glanced at Feather Dancer and Sora, but said nothing.
Sora scanned the house, looking for blankets, water gourds, pots of food.
“Are they feeding you?” she asked.
“They feed us thin corn gruel in the morning and give each of us one water bag to drink while we work. That’s all.” He tipped his chin to the fire pit. “We’re only allowed ten sticks of wood per day, so if we wish to stay warm during the night, we can’t light the fire until well after dark.”
“No blankets? Not even for the children?”
He shook his head. “We have five capes for eleven of us. We try to sleep two people beneath each cape. Three of the children sleep beneath one cape.”
Exhausted, she massaged her forehead. “Blue Bow told me the captives were being well-treated.”
“For captives, we
are
being well-treated.”
Ten winters ago, Feather Dancer had been captured and tortured by the barbarian Lily People. He’d lasted eight days. Finally, when his captors thought him too weak to oppose them, he’d risen up, killed his guards, and fought his way through the village to escape.

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