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

People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past) (44 page)

BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)
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W
hat have I become? Who have I become?
Skimmer sat in the darkness, her back to the contoured wall of Ti-Bish’s chamber. She had placed a folded hide to both cushion and insulate her back from the ice.
She felt Ti-Bish shift, his head cradled on her lap. Her fingers carefully smoothed his hair, running strands of it between them the way she had once done with Ashes.
“Are you still alive, Daughter?” she asked the darkness.
“She is.”
Skimmer heard the voice from the Raven Bundle, could feel its pulsing warmth.
“Where is she?”
“Headed west, toward the Tills.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I have no reason to lie.”
“Oh? You have Ti-Bish believing he can lead the Nightland People up an icy river to find paradise.”
“And Wolf Dreamer led your people to believe that through peace, and the search for the One, they, too, could find paradise.”
“We were fools.”
“That is the lesson you needed to learn.”
She heard the shift in his voice, and looking through the darkness, thought a darker shadow moved in the room. She could feel the change in the air on her cheek. “So, what are you going to do? Let all those people climb into that hole, splash around, and wash out as corpses?”
“No. The Dream, my Dream, is about to die. The bargain is struck. Opposites crossed. I have taken from Wolf Dreamer; he has taken from me. I have given him his Dreamer; he has given me mine.”
“And what comes next?”
“The struggle begins again. It is the nature of creation.”
“Why struggle?”
“Why not just live in the One?”
“Because it becomes stagnation. It leads to weakness and death.”
“You begin to understand.”
“So all that is left is war and struggle?”
“Until you met Ti-Bish, what did you have?”
“Hatred and rage.” She smiled at the darkness. “And I still have it.”
“Good.”
A pause.
“But you now have something to go with it.”
She frowned, and then nodded, aware of the spark deep in her breast. “Hope.”
“My mistake … I failed to anticipate the Power of it.”
“You should have listened to your Prophet. Ti-Bish is full of it.”
“Ti-Bish is not my Prophet.”
“Spirits take me, if it’s Nashat, I’m going to burn your bundle.”
“Oh, no.”
The soft voice sounded amused.
“Nashat cares nothing for Spirit Power. He lives only to serve Nashat.”
A pause.
“I sought a Dreamer who
believes
but has a strength of soul and dedication. Someone who would offer his life and happiness to a cause he believed in. My Dreamer had to
understand
down to the soul’s core why the One, tranquility, and order were flawed, like tool stone riddled with cracks.”
“Have you looked closely at Karigi?”
“Karigi is too much like Nashat.”
She saw the darkness shift, felt movement in the still air.
“Come. Let me show you something.”
“I’ll wake Ti-Bish if I get up.”
“He sleeps more soundly than he has since he was a child. He loves you with all of his heart.”
She carefully lifted his head, slipped to the side, and eased it to the hides. Standing, she followed, oddly aware of his black presence. To her surprise, she could sense the corridor, as though her soul reached out and touched the ice walls, could feel the twists and turns in the passages.
“It’s as if I can see in the dark.”
“It is my gift.”
“Do you give such gifts often?”
“
As often as you do.”
A pause.
“You have given the greatest gift to Ti-Bish. He has loved you for a long time.”
“He once said that lying with me would have dire consequences.”
“It was your final decision.”
“And that means … what?”
“Pleasure, creation, fertility, love, and sharing. The balance of harmony, peace, and order. To seek the One is to deny the needs of the flesh.”
She wound around a sharp twist, the tunnel leading upward. It took all of her concentration to scramble over a fallen boulder.
“I should have felt guilty. My husband isn’t that long dead.”
“You have survived a lifetime’s worth since Hookmaker’s death. You have learned a valuable lesson.”
“All I have learned is that moments can be precious.”
“Come. Climb up here.”
She frowned. “That looks steep. What if I fall?”
“You won’t. The water has washed just so, leaving stones exposed that will hold your weight.”
She watched the dark shadow rise, felt puffs of air, heard the flapping of wings. Then, following her instinct, grasped a protruding stone and levered herself up. How long she climbed was hard to assess, but finally she struggled out, amazed to find herself in a narrow valley between masses of jumbled ice. A trail of gravel, stone, and silt showed where meltwater had run before a crack drained the runoff away.
“That takes you to tundra. Trust me, you need only follow it.”
“My way out?” She turned back, seeing a human form, a great black-feathered cape falling down from his shoulders. His face, achingly handsome, seemed to glow with the same radiance as the
waters in Ti-Bish’s hidden lake. He watched her with knowing dark eyes.
“Raven Hunter?” She placed one hand to her heart, the other dropping to the bundle tied to her belt. She could hear it Singing, as if with tens of tens of voices.
He extended a dark wing, pointing off to the east. “The crack is opening there. When it goes, it will wash most of the Thunder Sea south. Imagine slapping your hand into a puddle, but on a much grander scale.”
She stared off to the east, aware only of jagged spires of the ice rising toward the night sky.
Raven Hunter’s other long wing unfolded and extended to the west. “There, a moon’s travel to the west, the ice dam has given way. That was the quake you felt in Ti-Bish’s chamber. The huge lake it held back is already washing everything before it. When you find the others, you will need to hurry south. Once past Lake River, find high ground. You will be safe.”
“But what about the people?” She stared out to the south, seeing the distant high point that marked Headswift Village.
“Ask Wolf Dreamer. He’s the one who is supposed to be merciful.”
She heard the change in his voice, but when she looked back, it was to see a dark form flapping up into the night sky.
 
 
T
hey heard the unearthly Singing of the Ice Giants—like tens of voices Singing slightly different notes—long before the trail ran down the rugged tundra to the Thunder Sea. But there was a new sound today, like bones cracking deep inside the Giants. Occasionally, the earth trembled.
Kakala glanced behind him, watching his warriors follow in a winding line.
At least they’re alive.
He noticed Goodeagle at the rear, and glanced speculatively at Windwolf. The man pointedly ignored his old friend, acted as if he didn’t exist. And that, Kakala realized, tortured Goodeagle even more than outright looks of disgust would have.
Keresa led them through the maze of boulders that littered the
shoreline. To his left, the massive peaks of the Ice Giants rose like gleaming white shark’s teeth. Icebergs floated in the deep blue water. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes and, in the far distance, thought he saw bull boats out on the sea, people fishing, or hunting seals.
Keresa had been keeping up a steady pace, just fast enough, but not too fast to drain Kakala’s strength—though his head had been pounding nauseatingly all day.
Kakala tried not to stare at Windwolf. The red shirt the man wore irked. He kept wondering which of his dead friends it had belonged to. Somehow, the war club, stiletto, and darts the man carried didn’t seem as menacing anymore. Even the warriors accepted the presence of an armed enemy, and one by one, they had been sidling up to Windwolf, making introductions, almost anxious to talk to the legend they had hunted, fought, and hated for so long.
The grudging respect they showed each other came as a revelation.
But for the Elders, and their insistence on war, we would have been friends.
“It’s not much farther,” Kakala said. “One hand of time, maybe.”
“I know.”
The closer they got to the Nightland Caves, the harder Windwolf’s expression became. This afternoon, his square-jawed face might have been carved from wood, and the statue set with glittering stone eyes.
The path curved around to the bizarre side of the Thunder Sea, where drifting icebergs had grounded offshore and melted into strange shapes. They resembled a forest of dirty half-human monsters. As Father Sun descended in the west, sunlight reflected from the ice sculptures with a fringe of opalescent fire.
“Let me stop, just for a moment,” Kakala said. “I need to drink.”
Keresa nodded, panting. “How’s your head?”
“Feels like a Sunpath warrior split it in two.”
The faintest of smiles flickered and died on Windwolf’s lips.
The rest of the warriors dropped into squats, conserving their energy, taking the time to sort through their packs. The pickings in Headswift Village had been lean after the grand exodus.
Kakala dropped to his knees by a large pool of fresh water
spawned by the melting icebergs that had come ashore. He dipped up water with his hand. As he drank, he watched Windwolf and Keresa trade desperate glances. Their longing brought a pang to his heart. He remembered sharing the same with Hako, two cages down.
And the way that ended ruined my life.
Kakala wiped his wet hand on his pants leg. “Gather around. We have planning to do.” The old familiarity of his warriors gathering, the looks of anticipation in their eyes, brought a surge to his heart. “All right, my warriors, here’s the situation: We must assume that Homaldo found Ewin, since we didn’t see his ugly, fat warriors drifting into Headswift Village. That being the case, he is probably off to the west somewhere, running straight home with Homaldo. He may even beat us there, which means the Council will hear directly from him that all went well at Headswift Village.”
They grunted assent.
Kakala narrowed an eye at Windwolf. “We owe a debt to Windwolf. He could have killed us. The Lame Bull and the refugees were most anxious to pay us back for our attacks.”
Another grunting of assent.
“My warriors do not leave debts unpaid.” He walked around, looking them in the eyes, one by one. “Many of you know that I have often disliked the orders we have received. You know that I often warned Sunpath villages to expect people seeking refuge after our attacks.”
The grunting was muted this time.
“This is the situation: Nashat is going to try and use Sunpath slaves to carry our possessions through the ice to the Long Dark. He is doing so in violation of the Guide’s direction that no Sunpath should follow us, bringing their beliefs about Wolf Dreamer to soil the Long Dark.”
He got worried looks in return, and nodded. “Yes, you see the problem. We all know that Nashat, for reasons I can only guess at, changes the Guide’s orders to suit himself.”
Sour chuckles erupted.
“I would cast one stone to knock several birds from the sky at once.” He ground his fist into his palm. “So, my warriors, here is what we are going to do. Just at dusk, we will approach the slave compound.
As high war chief, I will order the guards to leave, to return to their villages for the purpose of packing their belongings, or, if they’ve done so, to ensure that their belongings are carried to the Nightland Caves in preparation for leaving.”
BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)
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