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

People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past) (49 page)

BOOK: People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past)
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As his swimming vision cleared, he realized he was on the ground, unable to move.
The last thing he saw was the faint outline of a giant coyote’s head against the sky.
“Dzoo is mine, you silly fool. All mine.”
The words barely penetrated the ringing in Red Dog’s head as his vision faded to gray.
“
S
oul Keeper?” I whisper.
“Yes, I’m here.”
I breathe, “I … I’m afraid. I don’t want … to die.”
I no longer have the strength to open my eyes, but I know night is falling. The light that filters through my eyelids is dark gray. I’m almost used up. For the past hand of time, I’ve felt myself going cold inside, like an ember slowly fading to ash.
Wind Woman sweeps across the beach and flaps the Soul Keeper’s cape. I listen as he resettles himself.
“There is a very old story,” he begins, “about Wolf and Coyote in the Beginning Time.”
I take a deep breath and let the words flow around me. There are tens of such stories. Which one does he want me to hear?
“In the Beginning Time, no one died. They ate a plant called the Everlasting Flower that kept them alive. Coyote’s brother, Wolf, said, ‘I think people should die, but rise after two days.’ Coyote disagreed. He said, ‘There are too many people in the world. I don’t want people to rise. They should die forever.’”
“Coyote … won,” I say.
“Yes, he did. But when Coyote’s only son grew ill, he panicked. Coyote ran like lightning across the world searching for one single blossom from the Everlasting Flower.”
My soul must be climbing out of my body, because I do not recall this version of the story. I say, “Did he … find it?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, he did.” The Soul Keeper’s voice is grave. “Magpie told him about a cave where the last flowers grew. Coyote ran hard and fast. The cave sat at the foot of a mountain. When Coyote entered the cave, he heard a buffalo’s startled grunt; then the animal moved, and the fetid odor of rot filled the cave. Coyote trotted deeper, and he saw the flowers growing at the edge of a still pool. Bright and silver, like Sister Moon’s flesh, they glowed in the darkness.
“As Coyote rushed forward to pluck one of the blossoms, a hideously diseased buffalo stepped out of the shadows. It was all but a skeleton. It could barely stand. Hair hung like filthy rags from its rotting hide.
“‘What happened to you?’ Coyote asked.
“Buffalo said, ‘Do not pick that blossom.’
“‘But I must. My son will die forever if I don’t.’
“Buffalo wobbled toward Coyote on rotten legs. ‘I ate those blossoms when I was a calf.’
“‘But how can that be?’ Coyote asked. ‘You look like you might die at any moment.’
“‘Yes,’ said Buffalo in a deep, rumbling voice, ‘but I won’t. I should have died tens of seasons ago and gone to the House of Air to graze green meadows with my Ancestors. But I am condemned to live in this world. All of my family and friends are long dead. No living buffalo will talk to me. I am a rotting carcass to them. I rot a little more every day, without the hope of death.’
“Coyote backed up a step, his yellow eyes wide. ‘Are you saying that the Everlasting Flower grants eternal life, but does not rejuvenate the body?’
“The moldering buffalo nodded. ‘It just prevents death.’ He hung his massive head and heaved a sigh. ‘I pray every day to Buffalo Above to grant me the peace of death, but it never comes. So, I stand here to warn others of the cost of the Everlasting Flower.’”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. If I’d been Coyote, I know very well what I would have done.
I say, “I would have … grabbed it … and run.”
“Yes, I suspect most parents would. But what a supreme act of selfishness—condemning a son to live forever because you cannot bear to lose him. How do you think your son would feel when you died? Do you think he would praise your name? Or curse you?”
I understand the lesson.
Does the old fool think I’m no smarter than a common rock? He’s telling me I should stop struggling and look upon Death as salvation.
It is so difficult.
My soul keeps wandering through memories of things I’ve done … . Bad things.
How can I believe that salvation awaits me?
I manage to get enough air to ask, “Will you … Keep … my soul?”
He does not answer for a time, and I know he must be thinking of what people will say. They will condemn him. Maybe even kill him.
He hesitates before he says, “I have not decided.”
A swelling emptiness sucks at me.
C
immis stumbled in the night. He bit off a curse as he looked up at the cloudless sky. The stars reminded him of foam on the sea.
Odd, he hadn’t had a poetic thought for cycles.
He sniffed the cold air, but only smelled his musty cloak, heavy now with the clinging smoke from the Council Lodge. He had spent the last hand of time in the stifling interior going over the final details with White Stone. Time after time they had sketched the organization plan into the dirt.
He had worked it down to a fine system, the warriors going from lodge to lodge, waking the occupants, sending them down the trail in just the right sequence so that everyone moved in an orderly fashion.
Oh, to be sure, there would be grumbles in the predawn darkness, and people would stumble and fall, but by first light, they would be well on the way to Salmon Village. With any luck at all, by the time Rain Bear beat, flogged, and cajoled his Raven rabble into position, it would be to find nothing left but their tracks.
And Rain Bear could attack all the tracks he wanted.
Unless, of course, he tried to keep his unwieldy force together and surrounded Wasp Village. With starvation on the land, that had as little chance for success as rain falling upward.
Cimmis made a face as a stitch of pain shot through his hip. Gods, and he had to walk for the full day tomorrow. Or at least try to. If his warriors had to carry him, it would shame him.
As he approached the lodge, he stopped, staring thoughtfully at the high domed shape. Tomorrow night, it would be vacant, dark and cold within.
He laid a gentle hand on the bark wall, feeling the moss and lichen that had grown there. Here, he had lived most of his life with Astcat, risen with her to the pinnacle of authority. Inside these walls his daughters had been born. Here, too, their young son had choked on a plum pit and died.
“It is so hard to leave it all behind,” he said softly.
“Father?” Kstawl called, worry in her voice.
He bent, wondering what terrible thing had befallen Astcat, and ducked inside.
In the fire’s red glow, he could see his daughter waiting by a steaming stew hanging from its tripod. Automatically, he glanced at Astcat’s bed, only to find it empty.
“Where’s Mother?” Kstawl asked. “You know better than to keep her so long at the Council meetings.” Her eyes had fixed expectantly on the door behind him, as though awaiting her appearance.
Cold, like a curling breaker, washed through him. “She’s not here?”
“I thought she was with you!”
Cimmis blinked, stepping across the lodge to stare dully at her bed. Her favorite robes were missing. He turned, expecting to see her small bag of ornaments resting in its place, only to find the dirt bare.
“Merciful gods,” he whispered. “We have to find your mother! She may have wandered off, gotten lost.”
She pointed to a basket, its contents covered by a wicker lid. “A man brought that not more than several fingers ago. He said it was for you.”
Cimmis, an incipient panic rising, lifted the lid. In the dim interior, he could just make out Red Dog’s blood-streaked face, the matted hair gluey with gore, the eyes half opened.
“I do not tolerate betrayal,” he murmured. “Gods, we’ve got to find your mother. Quick. Go wake White Stone. I want this village turned upside down!”
 
 
A
s Rain Bear walked through the darkness, his bones had a rickety feel, and he kept stumbling over little irregularities in the rocky surface.
The tension in his muscles reminded him he wasn’t a young man anymore.
Overhead, the stars were gleaming in a frosty wash across the sky. They cast just enough light that Rain Bear could see the outlines of their camp. His warriors were bundled in their blankets, most snoring fitfully. For some, exhaustion vied with anxiety about the coming battle. For the rest, fatigue momentarily had the upper hand.
In my next life, I’m going to be a simple hunter.
Hunters, he figured, got more sleep than chiefs did.
He rubbed his gritty eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if doing so would squeeze the weariness from his head. It didn’t.
He turned faltering steps toward his flickering fire where it glowed near the middle of their camp, and was surprised to see Evening Star sitting on his robes. She had a long stick that she used to play with the flames, lighting the end, then lifting it until the yellow tongues died before poking it back into the coals.
“I’m surprised that you’re still awake.”
She glanced up, shot him a radiant smile, and shrugged. “I knew you had to make one last inspection. I thought I’d see if you wanted company tonight?”
He glanced out at the slumbering warriors.
Her lips turned up wryly. “It’s not as if they didn’t already guess. Besides, we’ll stay dressed. If I’m half as tired as you look, neither one us will have the energy for anything but sleep.”
He nodded, loosened his cape, pulled off his moccasins, and climbed under the thick buffalo robe beside her.
For long moments, they held each other, the combined warmth of their bodies leaching the misery out of his bones and muscles.
“We made better time than I thought we would,” she said.
“We got a break in the weather. If it had been snowing, we’d have covered half the ground.”
She tightened her hold on him. “Will we make Whispering Waters Spring in time?”
“I think.” He filled his lungs and tried to exhale the tension inside him. “So many things could go wrong.”
“For Cimmis as well,” she reminded. “It’s up to the gods.”
He reached up, running his fingers along the curve of her soft cheek. “If we live, will you be my wife?”
She hesitated. “You’re a Dreamer.”
“As long as I can Dream you.”
She smiled, and he felt the foggy warm sensation of sleep creeping through his soul.
Yes, enjoy this. If you know nothing else, it’s that you have this one moment of bliss. After tomorrow, you may have nothing but eternity.
BOOK: People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past)
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