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

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BOOK: People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past)

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Rain Bear’s right hand involuntarily clenched into a fist, as though tightening around the handle of his war club. “Pitch, you said you thought Dzoo knew the man. Recognized him?”

“I think so.”

“But she didn’t mention a name?”

He shook his head.

Rain Bear pulled the bag of obsidian fetishes from his belt pouch. They clicked together. “Matron, Coyote offered these in exchange for Dzoo.” He poured them out into his palm, where they glittered in the firelight. “Have you ever seen anything like them? Who makes fetishes like this?”

“Blessed gods,” Evening Star whispered. When she reached out to
touch them, her fingers brushed Rain Bear’s palm, and a tingle went through him. “They’re exquisite. I don’t know anyone in the North Wind villages who has the skill to knap these. And believe me, if he existed, I would know of him. Every clan elder would be vying for his work.”

Rain Bear poured them back into the bag and tossed it onto the hides at Pitch’s feet. “Why does he want Dzoo? To force her to do his bidding? Is it something she owns?”

Evening Star shook her head. “If he wanted any of her belongings, he could just kill her, search her body, and take whatever he wished. It sounds like he ordered his warriors to take her alive.”

Roe added another branch to the fire, and sparks flitted and crackled as the wood caught. As she sank back onto the hides at Pitch’s side, she said, “Perhaps he just wants her, Father.” She glanced curiously at Evening Star, sitting so close to him. Gods, was it that obvious?

Evening Star, however, seemed oblivious; she smoothed her hand over Stonecrop’s fine black hair. The little boy smiled in his sleep. “Coyote would not be the first man to desperately want a woman. Especially a woman of Dzoo’s beauty and reputation.”

Rain Bear muttered in assent. Faces appeared and disappeared on the fabric of his souls, men he had known who would have killed to possess the woman of their dreams. Some of them had indeed killed—or been killed—in that pursuit.

Rain Bear added, “A man desires most that which he has touched.”

Pitch’s expression made it look as if the very act of breathing hurt. He squeezed his eyes closed for a few instants. “Coyote went to Broken Sun and ordered him to turn Dzoo over, but chief Antler Spoon was too afraid to go through with it.”

“That’s why he gave Coyote the sick woman who resembled Dzoo?”

“Dear gods,” Evening Star whispered. “Was he mad? Didn’t he realize Coyote would find out he’d been tricked?”

Rain Bear said, “What became of the sick woman?”

Pitch wet his lips. “Coyote killed her—and he did terrible things, Rain Bear. Cut out her eyes … her breasts.”

Rain Bear glanced at the bag. “Antler Spoon is a fool. He should have gone to Dzoo the instant Coyote contacted him.”

Pitch’s thin face had gone pale. He peered at Roe with fever-bright eyes. “They’ll never do anything like this again. Dzoo … she has already seen to that.”

Evening Star’s full lips twitched. “In a way that was most convincing, I will wager.”

“She convinced me,” Pitch whispered. “Not that I’d have ever crossed her to start with.”

“Is there anything else we should know?” Rain Bear asked.

Pitch gestured weakly. “She said that in the end, she and Coyote will Dance together. Does that mean anything to you?”

Evening Star stiffened. “Then, she thinks she must face him?”

Pitch gave her a blank look. “That was my impression.”

Evening Star nodded as if to herself. “That, more than anything, leads me to believe that Coyote is real. Which sends shivers down my spine.”

“Well.” Rain Bear gently lifted Stonecrop from his lap and handed the boy to Roe. “We should be going. I’m sorry I had to disturb you tonight, Pitch. I know you’re weary and hurting.”

Pitch nodded, face going slack.

Rain Bear bent to kiss Roe’s cheek, then ducked out the entryway into the cold white light of the Star People. Wolf Spider and Hornet straightened. Evening Star remained inside, talking with Roe about the poultices.

Rain Bear motioned for the guards to walk a few paces away. In a low voice he asked, “Has anyone tried to get close to her?”

Wolf Spider nodded, and strands of shoulder-length black hair slipped over his round face and turned-up nose. He was the older of the two guards, two tens and two summers. “Yes, my Chief. One of her kinsmen came to see her this morning, just before Roe arrived. You said we should use our own judgment, so we asked Evening Star if she wished to see him. She did.”

“Who was he?”

Hornet stepped closer. At nine and ten summers, he had the look of a much older man. He wore his long hair in a bun at the base of his skull. “He’d just arrived from Tortoise Shell Village. He said he wished to offer his respects. He seemed harmless. Evening Star spoke with him briefly, and he left.”

“What did they discuss? Did you hear their conversation?”

“They spoke about Matron Naida. The man offered his condolences, and asked when Evening Star would assume her duties as the new clan matron.”

“What did she answer?”

“She told him that with the current Council, and Chief Cimmis’s opposition, she did not know if that was possible, but that she would consider it.”

Evening Star ducked out of the lodge. As she walked forward, her long braid swayed and glinted like polished red obsidian.

Rain Bear whispered, “As more refugees flood in, more people will wish to see her. Be cautious. The best assassins are the ones who look harmless.”

Wolf Spider and Hornet nodded simultaneously, and Wolf Spider said, “Upon my life’s debt to you, he’ll have to kill us first.”

Rain Bear matched Evening Star’s step as she approached, and led the way toward their lodges.

Wolf Spider and Hornet flanked them.

Evening Star didn’t say a word until they’d made five tens of paces. “You think Coyote is one of the North Wind People, don’t you?”

“I think Coyote is Ecan.”

“It’s possible, but I don’t think so.”

Firelit lodges crowded the meadow, and the soft sounds of voices drifted on the wind. He noted the positions of the guards where they stood in the trees or crouched behind boulders, almost unseen.

“Who else would be bold enough to try to buy Dzoo’s life? And who else could afford such a wealth of obsidian fetishes?”

She gazed up at him with those stunning blue eyes. “Someone who wants to devour her soul, to dominate her and turn her to his evil purposes.”

He almost missed a step. “Or someone who fears her?”

She tugged her cape closed at the throat and hesitated before she answered, “Fears her because she might be the only Healer Powerful enough to destroy him? Perhaps. But I think his desire is more, that it is a thing driven by lust and obsession.” She smiled bitterly. “It is only recently that I have come to understand how that can motivate a man.”

“Is it possible that Ecan just recently discovered the witch and his fetishes? Perhaps from the rumors you heard? Maybe even through Kenada?”

“Very possible, but don’t be too hasty. There are other North Wind elders who would be more than happy to have a witch on their side.”

He considered that, thinking of Old Woman North and the stories of her endless visions that seemed to make less and less sense.

“Your daughter is unsure of what to make of me.”

“How so? Your status among us should be apparent.”

She lowered her voice. “I think she is more concerned about our relationship.”

“Our … ?” He struggled to keep both his voice and heart in check. “No, I’m sure you’re mistaken. If Roe were concerned, she would simply—”

Hornet shouted
“Halt!”
and trotted forward, his spear lifted, preparing to cast. Someone moved in the dark trees ahead.

Rain Bear pulled Evening Star behind him, shielding her with his own body. “Who’s there?”

An old man wandered the dark shadows cast by the trees, hands held high. Gray hair and stringy beard blew about his oblong face, but nothing could hide the Power that lived in his dark eyes. In a reedy voice he cried out, “Pray the gods, do not kill me yet. At least until I have warmed my bones. Then you may skewer me like a packrat in a berry basket.” He paused before adding, “Chief Rain Bear”—he bowed respectfully—“I come in peace.”

Evening Star cried, “Rides-the-Wind?”

Hornet backpedaled hurriedly.

Rain Bear gaped.
“Rides-the-Wind? The Soul Keeper?”

The old man squinted as though he couldn’t see their faces in the darkness; then he strode forward in a ragged swirl of hides and enveloped Evening Star in his arms. “I’m so glad to find you safe. When I heard you’d escaped, I feared the worst.”

Hornet swung around to face Rain Bear and hissed, “How did he get past our guards? He should have been stopped!”

“Yes, yes. For now, find someone to clean out the storage lodge behind mine—most of the food’s been eaten anyway—then send a runner to my daughter asking her to bring food, blankets, and anything else she thinks might help.”

“But Great Chief,” Hornet protested, “he’s the most Powerful of all the North Wind Seers.”

“Yes, and now he’s here.”
The gods alone know why.

As Hornet hurried away, Rain Bear turned to find the old man’s glittering eyes fastened on him like a falcon’s on a field mouse.

“I’m here, Chief Rain Bear,” he said calmly, “because you need me.”

Seventeen

P
itch was sitting up when he drifted off to sleep. His head lolled on his lax neck. He jerked back—and pain shot through his abused arm, burned across his shoulder, and hammered his fatigued and fevered brain.

At his pained cry, Roe asked, “Pitch? Are you all right?”

He blinked, seeing her across from him where she wiped Stonecrop’s bottom with dried moss. She held the gurgling little boy by the ankles as she swabbed, then threw the soiled moss into the fire, where it smoked, caught, and began to burn.

“Just trying to get comfortable,” he lied. There was no such thing when a man’s arm was raging and fever laced his mind with floating visions. Even now he could hear the faint cries of Coyote’s fetishes, and wondered at the malignant Power that filled them.

“Would you like another cup of tea? It will help to keep you warm during the night.”

“Please. I’ve been dying of thirst all evening.”

Roe dipped a wooden cup into the tea bag and brought it over.

Pitch took it and, for an instant, saw his reflection in the dark liquid. His beaked nose made him resemble a bird of prey. The mellow tang of dried cranberries rose. He took a long drink and rested the cup on the buffalohide covering his belly.

“There’s something I didn’t tell Rain Bear.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure what it means … if it means anything.” The teacup trembled in his hand.

She watched him silently, waiting for him to find the words.

“When I first touched the obsidian fetishes, I heard a voice.”

She frowned and slid closer to him. “A voice?”

“Yes.”

“Whose voice?”

Wind Woman’s chill fingers reached through the entryway and stroked Pitch’s body. He set his tea down and tugged the buffalohide up to cover his naked chest. “I don’t know. A man’s.”

Roe filled a wooden cup for herself and rested it on her drawn-up knee. For several moments, her gaze fixed on their son. “Did the voice sound like anyone you know?”

“No.”

She turned toward the bag that lay like a painted egg in the dark brown buffalo hair. “Why would a man’s voice be in the fetishes?”

Gods, why hadn’t Rain Bear taken them with him? Pitch looked at the bag, and he swore he could
feel
the obsidian creatures moving beneath the leather, as though waking from a long sleep.

“It’s as if someone breathed his soul into one of those fetishes, Roe.”

She watched him carefully. “Witches steal souls and breathe them into objects. Is that what you think happened? This man was captured by a witch?”

“I don’t … I need to speak with Dzoo about it. She has more experience with these things. She is closer to Power.”

“Dzoo will be occupied for a few days at the Moon Ceremonial.”

Stonecrop let out a small cry, and Roe tucked the hides around him where he nestled in his bed. The infant made an annoyed sound, then fell right back to sleep.

As Pitch watched her, fever rippled his vision; it was like seeing the lodge from underwater. His body, hot and burning, felt as if it floated up off the floor. The fetishes whispered to him from inside their bag. His gaze riveted on the leather, and the red coyote tracks seemed to Dance across the dark surface.

“What’s wrong?” Roe asked.

Pitch tipped his head, trying to hear better, and whispered, “I hear him. He’s weeping. As though …”

“As though what?”

The voice sounded pathetic, desperate. “I don’t know. I … I
need to find a holy person. Surely if I can’t speak with Dzoo, there’s someone in the village who will understand what … who … is calling.”

“Roe!” someone shouted from beyond the door.

“Yes?”

“Chief Rain Bear has sent for you! Someone has arrived. It’s the Soul Keeper Rides-the-Wind, can you imagine?”

An image flashed in Pitch’s mind, as if he could see the old man’s sharp eyes burning into his very soul. Was it his imagination, or did he hear the fetishes whispering greedily?

T
sauz sleeps wrapped in a warm blanket made from a dall sheep’s hide. One side is covered with the bristly thick hair, the other, closest to his skin, is painted with a single peering eye. Despite the quiet night, the Dream tightens its grip … .

T
wisting spirals! One of yellow-white light, the other of smoky darkness. They meet and wrap, twisting around and around, as if in a Dance.

Tsauz watches them turning, writhing, as Power drums in the distance. From the surrounding haze, he can sense Mother’s presence, her fire-blackened face just beyond his perception, her melt-glassy hair, streaking her charred scalp.

“Are you ready, boy?” a voice asks from the darkness.

“Mother? Is that you?” But the voice doesn’t sound like Mother’s. It is deeper, hollow, as though echoing from over a great distance.

“You are like Halibut,” the voice tells him, “about to be yanked from the safety of the depths. Can you breathe outside of your familiar water? Or will you lay flopping, gasping, your eyes protruding from your head while your heart slows? Will your flesh become dry and cracked?”

“I don’t understand!”

A low rumbling begins in the distance, and the twin strands of fire-yellow and char-gray wind ever more tightly about each other like spun cord. Fire and soot, they wind into a stiff pillar that reaches high into the night sky.

“If you wish to speak to me, you will have to ride the lightning, boy!” The voice booms now.

Fear, palpable, beats and claws inside him like a frightened and trapped animal.

“Seek me, if you are brave enough. I will tell you how to save your world.”

As if pulled tight, the rope of fire and smoke bursts into a whirlwind of chaos. From the middle of it, a single great eye stares into Tsauz’s frightened soul. The gaze is painful, and he tries to cower, only to feel a stab of light, like a lance, burning him away, searing, charring, and he is dying. Dying in fire, the way Mother—

A
hard hand clamped over Tsauz’s mouth.

The familiar scents of the lodge swelled in his nose: the grassy odor of the sleeping mats, musty leather, the smoke of the fire. He tried to scream as he was dragged from the warm hides,
“What—”

“Hush!” Father ordered, “We must leave now.”

Tsauz nodded, and Father released him. Tsauz could hear Father moving, his clothing rasping, and then moccasins slapped onto his chest. “Put them on. Hurry!”

He fingered the familiar leather and bent to pull them over his cold feet. “Why, Father? What’s wrong? Isn’t it still dark?”

“Be quiet!”

Tsauz heard Father ease his way to the lodge flap. He seemed to be listening to the sounds of War Gods Village: snoring and coughing. A baby whimpered.

“Where’s your cape, my son?”

“Here, Father!” Tsauz groped and found it where he’d left it.

“Put it on. We have to go!”

Tsauz swung the painted deerhide cape around his neck and rose uncertainly to his feet. “What’s happening?”

Father’s fingers dug into Tsauz’s shoulders, his voice as brittle as a dry fish bone. “Listen to me! You must do exactly as I say. Don’t think about it.
Just do it.
Do you understand?”

Tsauz nodded.

“Come with me.” Father grabbed Tsauz’s hand and tugged him out of the lodge into the cold darkness.

“Father, where’s Runner? Runner? Runner, come!”

Father’s hard hand clapped over his mouth. “I said
quiet
! He’s probably sniffing around the trees. Forget about him.”

Tsauz tripped over a stone and fell. Father jerked him to his feet.
In the process, Father’s hand slipped off his mouth. “Father? Runner is my only—”

“Don’t make a sound.
Not another word!
”

He held tight to Tsauz’s hand and forced him to run as fast as he could. Every time Tsauz tripped, Father hauled him to his feet, hurting his shoulder, and they ran again. The strong scent of fir pitch and whale oil came to his nose. Tsauz took a deep breath. His people used the mixture to make fires that burned hot and fast.

The footing grew treacherous as Father dragged Tsauz onto steep terrain. Rocks kept turning underfoot, and Father literally jerked him along. Tsauz bit his lip, aware that Father’s terse breathing boded ill should he speak. Fear began to beat bright within him.

Father shoved Tsauz down on a cold slab of rock and ordered, “Slide back. This is a small rock shelter.”

Tsauz backed awkwardly into the wet and gritty womb. Cold stone bit into his back. The tight hole was just big enough to hold him. He stared blindly at Father, waiting for him to slide in, too. There didn’t seem to be enough room. “Father, is this big enough for both of us?”

“I want you to stay here. I have to return to the village.”

“Please find Runner for me. He’s so little: he wouldn’t have gone far.” Tsauz reached out and grabbed a handful of Father’s cape. “Please! He’ll be so frightened without me.”

“Yes! Yes! Now, listen to me.
Don’t move.
” Father spun around. He stopped breathing, listening to the winter night. Then he whispered, “I’ll be back for you as soon as I can.”

“No, please!” Tsauz started to crawl out of the rock shelter. Father’s hard hand pushed him back as Tsauz whimpered, “Please, don’t leave me! Tell me what’s happening? Where’s Runner?”

Father shoved him so hard his head cracked on the rock. Tsauz stifled the cry of pain, knowing it would only make Father madder.

“Warriors are coming, Tsauz! Do not move. I have to fight, but I’m coming back for you, I promise!” A pause. “Now, don’t move. I’m covering your hole.”

The rock made a hollow knocking sound as Father settled it into place. The grinding and clunking continued as Father placed other rocks over the opening. Tsauz could feel the cold radiating from the rock. He reached out, running his fingers over the gritty surface.

“My son,” Father whispered. “No matter what happens, I need you to know how much I love you. Never, never forget.”

“I won’t, Father.” Sobs pulled at Tsauz’s windpipe.

Father’s steps sounded as he hurried back across the unstable hillside.

Then silence settled.

Too terrified to breathe, Tsauz sat perfectly still, listening for Father’s steps.

“Runner?” he whined softly.

You are like Halibut, about to be yanked from the safety of the depths. Can you breathe outside of your familiar water?

The words echoed in Tsauz’s memory.

BOOK: People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past)

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