People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past) (55 page)

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

BOOK: People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past)
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D
espite the pain Cimmis smiled to himself as his litter swayed. A runner had arrived with word that the great matron was waiting in Wasp Village. A weight, like a huge stone, had lifted from Cimmis’s chest. He still didn’t know why she had gone on ahead, but by Old Woman Above, she was safe.
From his perch atop his swaying litter, he watched as the remains of his party wound through the last stand of firs and into the clearing. In the growing dusk, he could see the welcoming palisade of Wasp Village just ahead. The gates were open, warriors standing at them, spears in hand.
It was over. They had made it. Though White Stone had only made a quick count, it seemed that some seven tens of warriors were missing after their final fight with Rain Bear. But given the extent of the rout, most of them would come trickling in through the night, jesting and waving trophies taken from the dead.
As he studied the meadow before Wasp Village an idea came to him. “White Stone?”
His war chief dropped back to walk beside the litter. “Yes, Great Chief?”
“I’m thinking about setting a row of poles on either side of the trail here. Tomorrow, I want you to send a party of warriors out to cut the heads off the dead Raven warriors. We’ll stick a head atop
each of the poles. It should create quite the stir among the Raven villages, don’t you think?”
White Stone gave him a sober look, and asked, “Are you all right, my Chief?”
“A little dizzy.”
White Stone shot a speculative look at the slave village just to the north of the village gates. “It might not be such a bad idea after all.”
Cimmis smiled as White Stone trotted back to his advance guard.
Behind him, the Four Old Women chattered like ruffed grouse in spring. The young Singer, Pitch, marched with his head down, a dazed look in his eyes. Yes, well, his head could join the others.
Dzoo, perhaps to no one’s surprise, was missing. Slipped away like smoke.
Let her enjoy it. In the end, I’ll send Coyote to bring her back
.
Ecan walked like a man in a trance, his eyes slightly out of focus. The expression on his face was that of a man who had unexpectedly rounded a forest turn and found himself eye to eye with a spring-starved grizzly.
Cimmis blinked, dizzy again. He took a deep breath, feeling oddly light-headed. Touching a hand to his wadded cloak, he found it saturated with blood.
“Set me down. Starwatcher! Bring me your cloak.” As great chief, he wasn’t going to make his grand entry dripping blood like a beheaded rabbit. Besides, the time had come to put Ecan in his place.
The warriors lowered him gently to the ground. Ecan stepped over, eyes dull. He hardly seemed aware as he slipped off his snowy cloak and handed it to Deer Killer.
Cimmis winced as Hunter and Deer Killer untied his belt. Swiftly, efficiently, they wadded Ecan’s white cloak and bound it tightly to keep pressure on the wound.
When they were finished, Cimmis beckoned. “Ecan, a word please.” He placed a hand on the Starwatcher’s shoulder when the man bent over him. “Well, we are here. The Raven People have taken not one but two defeats, and we have flushed all of our adversaries.”
“We have indeed,” Ecan agreed despite the distance in his eyes. “I assume that I can bargain for the return of my son now.”
“Bargain?” Cimmis smiled in a fatherly way. “I don’t think you have the talent for it. You’re not good at making deals with people. You don’t seem capable of reading their true souls.” He shrugged. “The way I heard it, you’d bargain away your future for a sack of stone trinkets.”
The color drained from Ecan’s face.
If he placed Ecan’s head on the first pole outside the gate, he wouldn’t have to walk so far to see it. Better, he could place a wager with White Stone as to how long it would take for the flesh to melt away from the bones.
But who should I appoint as the new Starwatcher?
When Ecan stumbled back, the strength seemed gone from his legs. Cimmis chuckled and shot a glance behind him. The silly old women were preening in their litters, arranging their jewelry.
Four paces in front, White Stone was staring pensively at the distant Wasp Village gate, as if worried. Cimmis squinted at the clouds blowing in from the west. What did White Stone have to worry about? It wasn’t like the storm was going to catch them out in the open.
“Yes, War Chief?” Cimmis gestured toward the gate.
“Nothing, Great Chief, just a feeling. As if something terrible is about to happen.” He smiled. “Are you comfortable?”
“Oh, quite. Everything is finally in place.”
 
 
Y
ou are a dead man!”
Dzoo’s words echoed inside Ecan’s hollow soul. So, too, was his son. He’d seen that in Cimmis’s eyes. No matter what happened, the boy was going to die.
Without his cloak, Ecan felt the chill as he stepped away from Cimmis’s litter. The great chief was talking light-headedly with White Stone while the Four Old Women attended to their appearances. The rest of the remaining warriors lounged and chatted about the battles, their talk filled with animation. The threat was vanquished, and the time for bragging had arrived.
“You’d bargain away your future for a sack of stone trinkets.”
Coyote had betrayed him.
Ecan threw his head back and looked up at the dark clouds rolling down upon them from the sea. Lightning flashed. Distant thunder rolled.
It would come in the night, silently, without warning. The next morning someone would go to wake the tardy Starwatcher—only to find Ecan’s mutilated body lying in his blood-soaked bedding.
How did it come to this?
He felt at his belt, but had no weapon. He turned, seeing Kaska, surrounded by her guards.
Is that how I want to go?
But perhaps there was still a way to save his son and perhaps save himself.
No weapon.
He crouched, cupped his hands around an angular piece of basalt, and lifted. The stone loosened in the damp soil, then peeled free.
Ecan lifted, savoring the head-sized stone’s weight. He turned, took two steps, and raised the heavy rock high.
“For my boy,” he said softly.
Cimmis had just looked up, his eyes going wide. Ecan slammed the stone squarely onto the great chief’s chest.
He heard the thump, the cracking of ribs, the gush of air blown from the old man’s throat. The expression of shock and surprise gave way to a rasping gasp as Cimmis struggled for a breath.
It took a moment of stunned disbelief before Ecan realized what he’d done. He was still staring into Cimmis’s eyes when a voice whispered,
“Run”
.
Ecan leaped Cimmis’s litter, pelting full tilt through the following warriors, shoving slaves out of his way as he raced for the screen of fir trees. It was a blind flight, spurred by panic. He had no idea where he was going, how he was going to escape.
He had just reached the trees when White Stone’s spear impaled him from behind. The force of it staggered him, and an odd tingling chill like spearmint mixed with the sharp pain.
C
oyote carried Dzoo into the winter-bare alders and gently laid her on a pile of old leaves. Her long red hair, matted with sticky blood, spread across the leaves in glistening waves. She looked serenely beautiful. He touched his fingers to the side of her head, feeling to make sure the skull wasn’t broken. Then he raised his fingers to his nostrils and savored the coppery scent of her blood.
He’d deliberately pulled his blow, hitting her only hard enough to temporarily cause her soul to fly. She would wake soon. She had to, because he wanted to look into her eyes when he took her.
He ran his finger down her jaw and could barely contain himself. The need within him was alive, a palpable presence that churned in his guts and bones.
He bent down and nuzzled his cheek against hers, then whispered in her ear, “Are you ready? We are together at last.”
He’d waited so long for this that he feared he might rush and ruin it. But it was getting dark, and a storm was breaking. He didn’t wish to do this in the dark while rain pelted their naked bodies, so he had to hurry.
He held out his shaking hands and flexed his fingers several times; then he reached down and untied the laces of her cape. When he threw it back, he saw the beautiful crimson dress she wore. The shell beads that covered the bodice winked and glimmered in the flashes of distant lightning.
She was limp as he lifted her and slid the dress from her smooth pale skin. Carefully, deliberately, and with great tenderness, he arranged her on his cloak. Rolling her dress, he made a pillow for her head, and then like an artist painting a shield, he stretched her matted hair out so that the red tresses lay like rays of sunlight on the dry leaves.
Fighting to still his trembling, he massaged her full breasts. At the touch of her smooth warm skin, an electric sensation flushed his veins. He ran his palms over the curve of her ribs, down the dip of her waist, across the bone in her hips to the flat above her pubis. His fingers traced the downy softness of her curly pubic hair. He bent down and filled his lungs with the scent of her womanhood.
He ripped off his war shirt and stared down at his stiff penis where it jutted out from below his muscular belly. Need, like a fire, burned inside him. His erection had become a tingling ache as he positioned himself between her muscular legs.
He whimpered as he lowered himself onto her. His fevered penis slipped along the inside of her thigh, and he gasped at the point of ejaculation.
You’re going too fast! You’ve Dreamed this ten tens of times! You are supposed to savor her! Use your tongue to taste her before you—
Dzoo opened her eyes.
His face was less than a hand from hers. He was panting as he thrust his fingers into her and opened her to his manhood.
She didn’t struggle, but rolled her hips back ready to receive him. Her dark luminous eyes began to drink his soul. She must have wanted him as badly as he’d wanted her.
“Are you ready?” he whispered huskily.
She was dry when he forced himself inside; her eyes widened slightly.
Gripping a handful of her red hair, he took it into his mouth. He could taste her blood; it stoked his desire even more. He sucked at her hair and thrust as hard as he could. Her legs were rising, tightening around him. He should have removed her leggings! Then it would only be her skin against his sides, across his back.
By the gods! Yes! Yes!
He felt the tingling sensation building at the root of his penis. She was watching him, a gleam in her eyes, a faint parting of her lips as she anticipated the explosion of his loins.
His whole body convulsed with each jetting of his seed inside her.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her reach for her legging. Then her pale hand lifted …
F
rom the platform within Wasp Village’s walls, Evening Star stared in amazement as Ecan plucked a head-sized stone from the ground and crushed Cimmis’s chest. She watched White Stone start at the sight, barely hesitate, and then race in pursuit of the fleeing Starwatcher. She saw the war chief’s arm whip back as he sent a spear flying after Ecan. Gods! Had she just witnessed what she thought she had?
In confirmation, the North Wind party broke into shouts and began running back and forth in confusion. White Stone turned back, bellowing orders, and the litter bearers bent over Cimmis. From her vantage inside Wasp Village, Evening Star could see Cimmis’s legs as he writhed and kicked in pain.
She glanced at Sleeper, himself gaping in disbelief. He asked, “Should we attack them? Even with our five tens, there could be no better time. They’re disorganized, stunned.”
“No.” She shot a quick glance at the lodge closest to the gate. “Stick to the plan. Be patient.”
He nodded, looking unsure.
She glanced back across Wasp Village. At the far end she could see ten of her warriors surrounding the two lodges where they had confined Tsak and his warriors. Here and there she could see her people prowling, swinging their axes or cradling spears as they ensured the rest of the villagers stayed put in their lodges.
She remembered the stunned look on Tsak’s face as she stepped up and pressed a bone stiletto against his throat. Even as the Wasp Village warriors had begun to understand, Sleeper’s warriors had surrounded them, sealing their fate. Rather than die, all but a handful had surrendered. The bodies of those who had not lay hidden under a cover of sea-grass matting.
Turning her attention back to Cimmis, she could have predicted what happened next. His warriors packed him up on the litter and charged for the gate. As they neared, they cried, “Make way! Make way for the great chief! He’s wounded. We need help!”
Sleeper climbed nimbly down the palisade, dropping to the ground. “Let him in! And then let the Four Old Women in. After that, try to close the gate with the warriors outside.”
Evening Star leaped to the ground as Cimmis’s litter was borne through the gate and carried to the Council Lodge. As the four bearers lowered it to the ground, she gestured, sending several of her warriors to surround them.
The four bearers looked up in astonishment as Evening Star stopped before them. “We have no wish to kill you. If you wish to save his life, you will surrender your weapons and walk peacefully to that lodge.” She pointed to the large storage lodge where Tsak and his warriors waited under the vigilant noses of Dogrib’s warriors.
“I say we do it,” the first muttered as he took measure of the hard-eyed warriors surrounding him. The others nodded, tossing stilettos and war clubs to the ground.
As they were being led off, the Four Old Women were being ceremoniously borne through the palisade. Evening Star shot a glance over her shoulder in time to see Sleeper’s men roll the gate closed in White Stone’s face.
Angry shouts broke out as the North Wind war chief howled in protest.
Then Rain Bear emerged from the lodge where he’d been hiding. He shot her a smile, but looked haggard, still breathing hard from his long run. His body remained sweat-streaked and filthy. An ugly bruise had swollen and discolored his left shoulder. She watched him climb painfully up the rickety palisade. He cupped his hands and shouted, “We have Cimmis and the Council! You will disband, surrender your weapons, and leave this place!”
“Rain Bear?” White Stone cried in dismay.
“It’s over. We have won.”
The shout caught everyone by surprise. Not only that he could do it, but that a man with a crushed chest could muster the volume.
Cimmis shouted,
“Attack! Kill them all!”
 
 
W
hite Stone waved his men back, Cimmis’s order ringing in his ears. Attack! His chief commanded.
“Assemble here!” He pointed to the grassy flat just out of casting range from the palisade. “I want someone to run to the forest for a log! Not a rotten one that will splinter on impact, but one that will take that gate down!”
Ten of his warriors turned on their heels and left at a run for the distant stand of firs.
White Stone paced back and forth. Everything was out of control. He shot a glance at the masking trees behind them. Ecan was hit; he was sure of it. Some part of his soul insisted that he send warriors to hunt the Starwatcher down. Sense told him he needed all of his strength here.
He studied the Wasp Village palisade again. No way around it—this was going to be a bloody affair. His people would die on the way to the gate. With Kaska’s forces, he had enough warriors to storm it, but once inside? Who knew how many capable fighters Rain Bear had behind him.
Rain Bear? He was supposed to be fleeing southward around Raven Bay. How in Gutginsa’s name had he gotten into Wasp Village in the first place?
 
 
K
aska stood as her guards set her litter down and went trotting up to join White Stone’s assembling warriors.
She blinked in amazement. No doubt about it—that was Rain Bear’s silhouette above the palisade. No one could mistake his voice as he warned White Stone not to attack.
She pushed her way forward and stormed up to the war chief. “You’re not seriously thinking of attacking, are you?”
White Stone gave her a cold glare. “My chief has given me an order.”
“It will be a bloodbath!”
“Then it will be a bloodbath, but those are my orders!
I have sworn to obey my chief!
”
She could see he didn’t like it, but a lifetime of obedience ruled him where sense should have.
“Is this what we’ve made ourselves into?”
She turned, taking stock. Her warriors stood to one side, shooting uneasy glances at her, White Stone, and the Wasp Village palisade. Unlike White Stone, they certainly didn’t have any illusions.
She hurried forward, fully aware that she had little time before White Stone had her either killed or silenced. She lifted her hands to the storm-filled twilight and shouted, “My warriors, listen to me! It is time for you to choose!”
Her men knew something had gone terribly wrong. They must be confused, frightened. Would they obey her?
Kaska stabbed a finger at Banded Eagle. “You are now my war chief. Prepare to lead our warriors against the people who murdered Matron Gispaw!”
Banded Eagle’s eyes glowed. He whirled around and shouted, “Follow me! For the matron! Let’s teach these fools a lesson they’ll never forget!”
“Prepare!” Kaska shouted as she took a position beside Banded Eagle. She would live or die with her warriors.
“Kaska!” someone shouted.
“Kaska! Kaska!
Kaska!
” her warriors began to shout. She raised her arms in time to rhythm.
“Kaska! Kaska! Kaska!”
White Stone was staring, astonishment writ large on his face. One by one his warriors began to shift behind him, some almost dancing away as they realized the seriousness of their situation.
“Come on,” Kaska growled under her breath. “Give up. Can’t you see? It’s over.”
White Stone stood rigid, his back arched. Then he sagged and made a weak gesture to his warriors, calling, “It’s over. They have won.”
Kaska stood tall and straight, trembling, praying, wondering if she had just saved her people, or condemned them.

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