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

People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past) (38 page)

BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)
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“
W
hen you bore each of your children, Mother, it was a painful experience, wasn’t it?” Silvertip lay back on his thick mat of hides and stared at the firelight playing on the soot-coated rocks above. He could hear the din outside where warriors guarded the entrance to the great chamber. But for them, the room would have been chaos as people tried to get to him.
“Of course,” Dipper replied, stroking his hand with loving fingers. She glanced uneasily at Ashes, who squatted to his left, her war club perched on her lap.
“All that pain, and blood, and fluid.” He smiled. “In the end, was it worth it?”
“Of course, Silvertip! How can you even ask that?”
“So that you will know that creating a new life, be it a person, or calf, or chick … or even a people, is difficult and painful. For everything, Mother, there is a price.”
Ashes nodded soberly, watching him with her now-possessive eyes.
“But why should you—”
He waved Dipper’s protest away. “There is no second-guessing Power, or the Dance of the One.”
The growing sounds of the crowd indicated some sort of disturbance. He tucked the Wolf Bundle tightly against his left side, feeling the warmth, the rhythm that beat to the time of his heart.
“Make way!” Fish Hawk ordered. “The next person who tries to spit on her will get a taste of my club!”
Dipper’s head turned as silhouetted forms blocked the entrance.
“I’ve brought her, Silvertip. Just as you ordered. But I’ll say again, I think it’s a bad idea.”
“Thank you, War Chief.” Silvertip sat up, feeling weak, but somehow rejuvenated. “Come closer, Keresa.”
The woman walked hesitantly, squinting in the darkness. Fish Hawk stood close behind her, his war club half-raised to strike at any false move the warrior woman might make.
“You!” Dipper gasped, starting to rise.
Silvertip tightened his grip on her hand. “Mother! No!” He forced Power into his voice. “You will sit,
and listen
!”
Dipper blinked, nodded, and sank back to the floor.
Keresa stopped just beyond the bedding, her surprised eyes recognizing him. “How are you feeling?”
He smiled at her courage. “Very tired.”
“Why did you send for me?” She stood tall, head back, her matted long hair falling around her shoulders. He could see the resolve coursing through her like a glowing light.
“I wished to thank you.”
A slight frown marred her forehead. “Do not expect an apology.”
“You need not apologize for serving the needs of Power, Deputy. You could not have played your part better.”
“You
wanted
to be killed?”
“There is no greater gift than the one you gave me. Come, sit.” He released Dipper’s hand. “Mother, if you would make room for my guest?”
Reluctantly, Dipper scuttled off to the side, her eyes burning with threat as she watched the Nightland woman seat herself.
“You’re saying … what? That Power planned this all?”
Silvertip looked into Keresa’s controlled features. “You served my purpose well.”
“Your purpose?” Keresa asked cautiously.
“I had to die to be reborn. The proof of the lesson lies all around us. The cycle of life and death and life is the heartbeat of Power.
Yet, distracted by our physical needs, we see, but do not understand.”
“I don’t—”
“I first heard your name in a Dream, Keresa. One that I did not understand.You are the Wind, Mother of Legends. Kakala is the Fire, and Windwolf is the Water. Together, you act upon the earth.”
He watched her eyes narrow the way they would if she were listening to mindless babble. “I see.”
Silvertip smiled. “Why is it that you, Mother of Legends, who have so much trouble believing in anything, cannot even believe in yourself?”
He could see the confusion in her eyes. “Mother of Legends?”
“Believe in yourself, Keresa. Step out, and place that first step on the trail to your destiny. Stretch your arms wide, and gather the winds.”
She peered closely, trying to see his eyes, wondering, no doubt if the pupils were the same size.
“I am quite well, thank you.” He reached out, taking her hand. At the touch, she stiffened, expression shocked.
When he released her, she might have been frozen, stunned. Her eyes had lost focus, as though her vision was swimming.
When she finally blinked and steadied herself, he said, “I asked you here to thank you for helping me to find the One. As a warrior, it will be counter to everything you believe, but to surrender yourself is to achieve victory.”
“You’re right. I … I don’t understand.”
“You will wish to see Windwolf when I am finished with him.” He looked up. “Fish Hawk, would you escort Keresa to the war chief’s chamber? And when you pass through the crowd tell them they are making way for the Wind.”
“Of course, Silvertip.”
Keresa had trouble standing, as though her legs wobbled beneath her.
 
 
W
indwolf peered up in the gathering gloom. The trail was a mass of humanity. If Karigi attacked now, they would kill themselves trying to get down the steep hill.
“Make way for the war chief!” Fish Hawk shouted. “Make way for Windwolf!”
“Windwolf!” The awe, the sudden silence, unnerved him. He climbed carefully through the press, people squeezing aside to make room. Some reached out, touching him, as though he were something precious.
When he could take no more, he turned on them. “What are you doing? By Wolf Dreamer’s breath,
get back to your camps
! Go! Now. Or so help me, I’ll have warriors clear this whole trail!”
“But the Dreamer?” one old man cried. “He’s here!”
“And when he’s ready to address you, he will!”
They wavered, watching him expectantly.
He pulled his war club, waving it. “I said,
go
!”
As if herding ground sloths, he bullied them off the steep trail, balking only at the few who cowered before him, willing to take a blow rather than leave their precious Dreamer.
“Wolf Dreamer bless you,” one of the guards at the top said. “We’ve been hard-pressed to keep them back.”
Windwolf rubbed his face. “How can you blame them? They’ve lost everything, and now, suddenly, they have hope.”
He ducked inside to find a fire, the pungent odor of spruce smoke thick in the air. He walked back, nodding to Lookingbill. The chief still looked confused.
Gods, aren’t we all?
Ashes sat, her war club on her lap, one hand holding Silvertip’s. She nodded severely as he walked up. When he looked into her eyes, it wasn’t to find a girl. Her captivity, the terrible events in the pen, and the subsequent flight had burned childhood away.
“Windwolf, thank you for coming.” Silvertip was seated, his back to a roll of hides.
When Windwolf looked into the boy’s eyes, it was to receive a second shock. Something glowed behind that young face, as if the Power were flowing freely through his body.
“I have been talking with some of the refugees. Karigi has a larger force than I thought. We may not have as much time as I had hoped.”
“No, we do not,” Silvertip replied. “Our people must leave by the quarter moon.”
Windwolf settled himself wearily, sighing with relief at the soft hides. “You saved that boy’s life this morning.”
Silvertip frowned. “I didn’t know it would be so draining.”
“Ashes told me most of the story. Your Vision about the ice, is it true?”
Silvertip nodded, then glanced at Windwolf. “That you accept Power so easily is unusual.” He smiled. “No questions?”
“Hundreds of them. If we survive this, I’ll have time to ask each and every one.” He paused. “When will you order the people to head west?”
Silvertip’s eyes seemed to lose focus. “Soon.”
“Then this really is the end of our world?”
“As we know it. Raven Hunter waited, let us fall into the Dream. Now it is his time.”
“So he has won?”
Silvertip reached out, touching the back of Windwolf’s hand. His skin seemed to crackle like rubbed fox fur. “You don’t understand Power, War Chief. Is day more Powerful than night? Will winter destroy summer? They are equal but opposite, order and chaos, harmony and creativity; they ebb and flow, ultimately opposed, and forever invincible.”
“Then, how do we choose?”
“Balance,” he said, reaching out with his other hand to take Ashes’. He looked at Windwolf. “You know the answer, War Chief.You—of all people—have finally found the balance.You are a creature of compromise. Most of all, you dislike extremes. Karigi, you would kill. Kakala, you would save.”
He looked up. “Save, how?”
“That is for the Wind to blow.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You are Water, War Chief.”
“Water?”
“Without you, there can be no life; all would be drought and death. And, as you will see, unleashed, there is only flood. Balance is so elusive, and so important.”
“And Kakala?”
“He is the Fire.”
Windwolf took a deep breath. “Of course.” He frowned.
“Yes?” Silvertip prompted.
“It’s easier when I don’t have to look at you. I am unsettled to hear wisdom granted to so few Elders from a mouth so young.”
“Opposites crossed, War Chief. As you know so deeply in your soul. Male and female, enemies to lovers … Raven Hunter and Wolf Dreamer.”
“Fire and Water.”
“You have plans to pursue, War Chief.You may go.”
As Windwolf stood, Silvertip added, “I must warn you, nothing comes without a price. What will you pay?”
He swallowed hard. “Haven’t I already given enough?”
K
eresa drew her buckskin cape more tightly around her shoulders and paced Windwolf’s chamber. Three guards stood outside the entry. She could hear them talking quietly. In the distance, the happy squeals of playing children rose.
Her soul might have been in turmoil after her visit to the boy Dreamer, but her wits hadn’t deserted her. She heard plenty, about parties headed west, the Tills, and preparations to leave Headswift Village. Rumors were already passing that the Dreamer would order it.
What does that mean for Kakala and our warriors?
She rubbed her face, remembering the pulse of energy that had run from Silvertip’s touch through her body: a sensation of peace and harmony.
Mother of Legends? The Wind? To surrender is to achieve victory?
She shook it off, trying to think. Windwolf’s atlatl and quiver were not leaning against the wall where she’d seen them before. His bedding hides lay tangled, as though he’d risen quickly.
Where are you? What’s happened?
She walked over and extended her hands to the small fire. The scent of boiled mastodon meat rose from the bag hanging on the tripod. She
considered helping herself but decided against it. Instead, she took the opportunity to thoroughly search the chamber. Not that there was much to search. Overhead, a crack between the boulders created a smokehole. Wisps of blue smoke clung to the high ceiling before being sucked out.
She picked up one of his moccasins and sniffed it, finding his scent. “You’re being a fool.” She cast the moccasin down. “Sniffing old shoes, by Raven Hunter’s balls! How could you have let this happen?”
But she hadn’t
let
it happen; it just had. She was supposed to be a hard-eyed, ruthless warrior. She had no ability to pretend to be vulnerable. No, she had to
be
vulnerable.
She’d been shocked that Windwolf had responded to her the way he had.
And I responded to him.
She sank down to the hide in front of the fire and drew up one knee. The sooty shadows clinging in the corners wavered in the fire’s glow.
Silently, she cursed herself. She could imagine the amusement in his eyes, as though he were watching her. And behind that lay a warm caring.
“You need a man who is your equal.”
Kakala’s words echoed within her.
“Reach out and gather the Wind.” She snorted. “I’ve drawn a storm.”
Karigi was coming. Refugees were fleeing westward toward some stronghold in the Tills. If Karigi arrived, Windwolf would attempt to barter his captives. Karigi would accept, but only to parade them through the Nightland villages in disgrace before locking them all in the cages. She didn’t have much time for pleasant feelings of self-pity.
She slipped a hand beneath her braid and massaged the back of her neck, easing the tension in the muscles. How could this happen now when everything she’d ever cared about in her life was in danger? They had to escape. And they had to capture or kill Windwolf.
Voices rose outside. Windwolf’s deep voice said, “Fish Hawk, I need you to speak with young Silvertip. He will want to address the people. We have to prepare to leave Headswift Village.”
“Yes, War Chief.”
Footsteps pounded away.
When Windwolf ducked beneath the door curtain, she stared at him through tortured eyes.
 
 
W
indwolf stood uncomfortably before the door.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he clenched his hands into fists. She sat by the fire in the center of the chamber, dressed in her buckskin cape with long fringes. Her braid hung over her right shoulder. Through the lacing on her cape he could see her war shirt beneath.
“Forgive me for not being here when you arrived. Karigi has been very busy. More refugees poured in just a short time ago.”
“Which band this time?”
“Moon Rock.”
He watched her expression. Her soul must be following the same trails his was, tracing Karigi’s path. The deputy was attacking the southern Sunpath bands, pushing people north toward Headswift Village.
Windwolf quietly walked to the opposite side of the fire. “What’s Karigi doing?”
“Clearing the southern territories so that the Sunpath cannot follow the Nightland People to the paradise of the Long Dark.” She shrugged unhappily. “Or so we were told.”
“Doubts, Deputy?”
“Too many to count. Your Dreamer told me to trust myself, to be the Wind. I’m that, all right. Blown every which way.”
He fought the urge to step forward and hold her again, to soothe her doubts.
No, she is still Keresa. Get too close, and she’ll split your head open with a rock.
The chamber smelled of fat-rich meat. He hadn’t eaten yet this morning. His stomach growled to remind him.
“Fish Hawk told me you no longer wished to be my go-between with Kakala. I’d like to know why.”
She crushed the fringes of her cape in nervous fingers. He watched with amusement as she said, “Kakala is feeling better. You should be meeting with him. He’s the war chief.”
“We met last night. Somehow we get on each other’s nerves.”
“It’s because you are both so alike.”
“Really?”
She smiled. “You’ve seen buffalo bulls? The big dominant ones? They swell up, step lightly around each other, and then one makes a sound like
Phiisst!
and they both go at each other.”
He folded his arms and stood silently, thinking. She expertly evaded his gaze, pretending to have found something fascinating on the floor.
Windwolf absently studied the way the shell beads on his moccasins reflected the firelight. “Keresa, let’s be honest. We both know the reason you want me to deal with Kakala.You haven’t been able to kill me.”
“Is that what you think?” she asked sharply.
He reached to his belt, plucking a long stiletto shaped from a sliver of bone. This he tossed at her feet.
She looked away quickly, but not before he caught the buried desperation. Shaking her head, as if angry with herself, she stood in a whirl of fringed cape and strode toward him.
He was on his feet in a heartbeat. “More doubts, Keresa?”
“If not Kakala, then pick another warrior. Degan would be good.”
In the dusty radiance of the firelight, her eyes glinted.
“No.”
“Why not?” she demanded.
“I want you.” Gods, could he say it more clearly?
“You don’t … You confuse me.” She stalked away. The fireglow cast her shadow like a huge beast on the far wall.
“Keresa, talk to me. We don’t have time for useless games. Tell me why—”
“You are such a fool.”
He started to say something, but decided against it. Instead, he propped his hands on his hips, hoping she’d finish that thought and enlighten him. But she clamped her jaws.
A malevolent gleam filled her eyes. “You know, in that position, I could kill you with one swift punch to the throat. You wouldn’t know you were dead until you hit the floor.”
Uneasily, he glanced down, seeing the bare floor where the stiletto had lain. “I appreciate the warning.”
“You should. Two days ago, I wouldn’t have given you one.”
“Two days ago you wouldn’t have needed to.”
She exhaled hard, flipping the stiletto into her fingers from where she’d palmed it. “I wish … I wish desperately that you were the monster I used to believe in.”
“The Dreamer says I’m a compromise.”
“Well, he says I’m the Wind, whatever that means. And you’re Water.”
“I heard he asked to see you.”
“He wanted to thank me.”
“For trying to kill him?”
“For getting the job done, according to him.” She shook her head. “He touched me. It was … dazzling.”
“What else did he tell you?”
“That surrender was the way to victory.”
“I think,” he said softly, “that to be a good Dreamer, you have to speak in riddles?”
A warm, worried expression strained her beautiful face. He walked over to her. The fire cast a yellow glow around them. Keresa observed him quietly. Flickers of gold glimmered in her eyes.
“I heard talk of a great flood. That Headswift Village is to be abandoned.”
“Silvertip says this place is going to be washed away.”
She suppressed a shiver, and he instinctively lifted an arm to drape it around her shoulders. When he realized what he was doing, he glanced down at the stiletto in her hand. After two or three agonizing instants, she took a small step forward and eased into his arms.
He pulled her close and let himself drown in the fragrance of her hair and the feel of her breasts against his chest. A hot tide flooded his veins. “Keresa, neither of us can afford—”
“No.” She looked up at him, and he saw desire and something more in her eyes, soft, fearful. “Between floods and Karigi, we may not have much time. Kakala, himself, said that it might be short … and miserable in the end.”
“Kakala said that?”
“He’s my friend, Windwolf.” She smiled wearily. “My only friend in the world.”
“And I am …”
“I don’t know yet.” She shook her head lightly, as though denying some inner admonition. “But I think I want to find out. Who knows?
Maybe after we get past this attraction, we’ll decide it was a bad decision.”
He closed in upon himself, hiding. Her words echoed around the chasm in his soul, swirling, images of Bramble flashing.
“Don’t. Don’t need me. Don’t care about me. Just … don’t.”
“I think it’s too late.” She took a deep breath, stepping back to remove her cloak. “I suppose it’s time to put my foot squarely on the path to destiny.”
“The path to what?”
“I don’t know. Something the Dreamer said.” She pulled her war shirt over her head, flipping her braid back to stand naked but for her moccasins. “Kakala says I need a man who is my equal.”
Windwolf’s breath came in short gasps as he fixed on her body. “He does?”
“So,” she asked brazenly, “do we do this with you on your back … or me on mine?”
 
 
A
s the fire burned low, they lay twined in each other’s arms beneath his hides. Her forehead pressed against his chin, while her long hair flowed over his chest and arm. He stroked her naked back slowly, letting the silken texture of her skin soothe him.
“You asked about freedom,” he murmured. “I think it means being free to fight with all your heart without ever expecting—”
“You mean being free to die for your people, don’t you?”
She lifted her head, and he gazed into her eyes. They shone now with a strange warm light.
“There is no greater freedom than that.”
She lay her head back down and nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. “Hallowed Ancestors, I think I’m beginning to understand the Sunpath nation.”
She’d said it with such a tone of reluctance, his breathing went shallow. “Sorry you stayed?”
“Not at all. I’ve never been so comfortable with a man.You weren’t even timid when it came time to touch me.”
“Where’s the stiletto?”
“Within easy reach.”
“Maybe that’s why I dared not disappoint you.”
“You didn’t.” She snuggled closer, resting her long thigh over his belly. “Assuming you can get the people out before Karigi comes, what are you going to do with my warriors?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Your Council doesn’t give me many options. Kakala can’t go back without a victory to clear his name. I can’t let him have one because it means having my people killed. We can’t take them with us. Too many people hate them. They’d be rushed with sticks, stones, anything at hand to repay them for dead relatives and the pain they’ve caused.”
BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)
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