People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past) (8 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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R
ides-the-Wind, propped by his walking stick, carefully made his way down the slick trail that wound along the rim. Below him, the cliffs dropped away, ragged rock supporting green patches of moss and winter-bare currants. Fog tufted the shoreline one hundred hands below him, and far out on the water, dugout canoes rose and fell, riding the waves with the grace of dolphins. If his sense of direction was right, Capped Finch Village lay just ahead. Because of the terrain, he could not see it yet, but he smelled the sweet fragrance of their alder fires.
The trail dipped, and Rides-the-Wind had to pay special attention to the damp moss-covered stones. He took them one at a time, propping his walking stick, lowering his foot, and propping his stick again. At his age, the slightest fall could mean a broken bone, and despite his Healing powers, that could mean death.
Since his meeting with Red Dog, the Spirits had been disturbing his sleep, plaguing him with peculiar Dreams. He had seen lightning flash around him, and heard a voice whispering in the darkness. A man’s voice, rich, raspy, and full of menace.
“Power is loose,” he muttered under his breath, and glanced up. A cow and calf elk vanished into the dense brush that skirted the black timber.
Something wasn’t right. Rides-the-Wind could feel it on the wind. An old evil, malignant and insidious, drifted on the breeze.
The source of it baffled him. He could almost suspect a witch was
loose upon the land, but where? As a Soul Keeper, he knew most of the Dreamers, Healers, Soul Keepers, and Soul Fliers. He knew who had trained whom, and what their skills and talents were. But beyond that, there were the stories, the rumors that seemed to trot up and down the trails of their own volition.
“If you need to make a girl love you, see so and so.” “If you want to contrive a man’s death, contact you-know-who.” “Unlucky in gambling? This man will provide a charm.” And so it went. People liked to talk about witches. Better yet, witches liked to be talked about. How else did they ply their craft?
Rides-the-Wind had heard many such rumors in the time he had been away from Fire Village. Each time he ran one to ground it turned out to be a midwife skilled in the use of herbs, or some old man with more imagination than skill.
No, he was looking for a man—and yes, he was sure it was a man—driven by obsession. Ecan, of course, had come to mind early, and despite his brave words to Red Dog, Rides-the-Wind had no illusions about the danger the Starwatcher presented. Ecan, however, was concerned with political prestige and authority, not the ways in which Power could be turned to evil.
When Rides-the-Wind looked up from the treacherous footing he glimpsed a young man trotting through the wind-sculpted grove of spruce trees where the trail rounded the brow of the hill. Beneath his elkhide cape, the young man wore the long red leather shirt of a Sandy Point warrior.
He continued edging down the trail until he reached the last rocky step, then sat down, propped his walking stick across his lap, and waited. The pack on his back felt like a sack of stones. He shifted it to a more comfortable position and studied the ferns that sprouted from every crack in the rocks. Delicate and lacy, their fronds glistened with dew.
Below the cliffs, where the water poured into the sea, the beaches had been cut back, the rocks scoured clean. The water appeared murky. Every drainage that ran to the ocean was flooded and had been for three sun cycles. No wonder the salmon no longer swam up the rivers to spawn. No wonder the numbers of mussels and clams had dwindled to the point that a woman was lucky to be able to collect enough in a moon to feed her family a single supper. Even the terns and gulls had declined. He could count on one hand the number of terns wading in the surf below.
“Hello!” Rides-the-Wind lifted a bony hand in greeting as the youth trotted closer.
The youth lifted a hand in return, but the smile died on his lips when he recognized Rides-the-Wind. The Soul Keeper wasn’t like other people. He was a revered elder of the North Wind People—a man of great mystery and Power. It was tiresome.
The youth glanced around as though looking for another trail, but seeing none, plodded forward. Long black hair whipped around his shoulders.
“Pleasant morning to you,” Rides-the-Wind began. “Have you traveled far?”
The skinny youth halted five paces away and gave Rides-the-Wind a wary scrutiny. He had a narrow beaked face with soft brown eyes, kind eyes. “I’ve been running for a day, Soul Keeper. I’m on my way to Antler Spoon’s village.”
“Well, then, you should be there by nightfall. You’re from Sandy Point Village, aren’t you?” He gestured to the youth’s shirt.
“I am called Pitch, of the Sea Whistle Clan.”
“You are married to Roe, are you not?” When Pitch nodded uneasily, Rides-the-Wind added, “I know of you. A young holy man.You are of Chief Rain Bear’s family. He has a reputation as a peacemaker.”
Rain Bear often angered his people by giving far more in negotiations than he received. They didn’t seem to understand that in these perilous times, that was the reason they were alive and their village intact, not a burned heap of rubble. Rides-the-Wind had never met Rain Bear, but he’d admired him for many winters.
“A peacemaker? Yes, in the past.” Pitch shifted uneasily. “We have received word, however, that Ecan comes to make war.”
“War?” Rides-the-Wind arched his bushy gray eyebrows. “I have been away for a time, tracking the stars. Please tell me what’s happened.” At Pitch’s obvious hesitation, he added, “I understand your reluctance, but I bear your people no malice. On my soul, I seek only to know what I might be walking into.”
The youth sighed and plopped his butt on a boulder. Sweat beaded his hooked nose. “All I can tell you is that we received news that Starwatcher Ecan is about to attack Sandy Point Village.”
Rides-the-Wind stroked his long gray beard. “I don’t understand. Why would Ecan do that? Rain Bear always faithfully delivers the tribute he owes Fire Village. Ecan has no reason to attack.”
Pitch seemed to have relaxed a bit. “I agree, but that’s what the North Wind woman, Evening Star, told Rain Bear. He can’t ignore it.”
Rides-the-Wind clutched his walking stick hard. “I heard that young Evening Star had escaped. Did Rain Bear grant her sanctuary?”
“Yes. She came looking for Dzoo, but when she discovered Dzoo was gone, she asked for Rain Bear’s protection—which he gave in exchange for information.”
Rides-the-Wind let out a relieved breath. “At least she’s safe.”
Pitch looked skeptical. “For the moment, but no one likes it. Why did she come to us? Harboring her is dangerous. If Ecan didn’t have a reason to attack before, her presence might just goad him to now.”
“You’re suspicious of her, are you?”
“Of course,” he said, half angry. “Why would a North Wind matron, even an escaped captive, come to us with these tales? Things she supposedly overheard her guards saying.”
“You think she’s trying to trick you?”
“Elder, in these days of treachery and deceit by the North—” He suddenly realized what he’d been about to say to the Soul Keeper. His thin face flushed.
Rides-the-Wind smiled. “No, young Pitch. She’s an honorable young woman who just saw her husband and two-summers-old daughter slaughtered before her eyes. I can’t guarantee the accuracy of her information, but I’m sure she is faithfully reporting what she heard.”
Pitch made a soft skeptical sound and rose to his feet. “I had better be on my way. A pleasant day to—”
“You said she was looking for Dzoo?”
“I have been sent to bring the Healer back to Sandy Point Village, Elder.”
“Then you should be about your business. Travel in safety, young Pitch.” Rides-the-Wind propped his walking stick and struggled to stand up. “We shall talk some more when you return to Sandy Point Village.”
Already started up the trail, Patch whirled, his brown eyes huge. “We—we will?”
“Yes. If Rain Bear will permit, I would like to spend a few days in your village. Perhaps we’ll be neighbors.”
“Neighbors?” Fear and dismay edged his voice.
“Yes. Why? Does that concern you?”
Pitch didn’t even try to act casual. “Why, Soul Keeper? Among us, I mean.”
Rides-the-Wind gingerly took a step down the trail. Over his shoulder he said, “Something is coming, Pitch. I need to have counsel with Chief Rain Bear.”
“Counsel?” A hostile tone lay in Pitch’s voice.
Rides-the-Wind didn’t look back as he called, “About how to keep the wind from whistling through his chest.”
T
he forest had not yet given up the night’s numbing cold. Frost glittered in the towering fir trees and covered the beach. Even Mother Ocean seemed to have frozen in place. Her waves washed the shore in soft, quiet strokes.
Rain Bear pulled his otterhide cape closed at the throat and followed the trail through the crowded refugee camps. Behind him, Dogrib carried a net bag full of crabs they had collected from a trap. One of the camp dogs had died, and Rain Bear had used the carcass to bait his crab trap in a tidal pool. He would use the remains to catch crabs until it was exhausted. Today’s catch wasn’t much, but they were going to need every scrap of food given the unending trickle of people limping in from the northern villages.
Dogrib shook his long white hair back and muttered, “Our lookouts say Ecan’s war party is two days to the north. What are we going to do?”
Rain Bear glanced at his war chief. Dogrib’s unusual pale skin had reddened with the chill, and a somber weight lay behind his blue eyes. “We must speak with the other war chiefs. See what they say. Then, we’ll decide.”
Rain Bear took the southern trail through the Orphan Village camp where people, filthy from days of fighting on the run, hunched over their breakfast fires. Some were boiling strips of bark and fir needle tea—their only source of sustenance. A constant staccato of
coughs peppered the air. They cast longing glances at the bag of crabs visible through the netting.
“I don’t understand any of this, Rain Bear. Why would Ecan attack us? We paid our tribute. Did Evening Star give you any reason?”
“No.”
“Then why do you believe it?”
“I’m not sure I do. But I can’t very well afford to ignore her warning, can I?”
As they passed another group of villagers, conversations halted; then awed whispers broke out and heads turned, following them.
“Is it true?” A young warrior staggered to his feet and called to Rain Bear. A bloody bandage wrapped the right side of his head. “Is Starwatcher Ecan coming?”
The weary people around him whispered and glanced fearfully at the surrounding forest.
Rain Bear lifted his hands reassuringly. “His war party is two days away. Our scouts are keeping a close eye. As we receive more news, we’ll send runners to notify every chief.”
The man nodded as he sank back to the log where he’d been sitting.
Rain Bear started to walk away, but an old man’s frail voice stopped him: “Where is Dzoo, Chief? Why isn’t she here to protect us?”
At the sound of Dzoo’s name, quiet descended. People stared wide-eyed at Rain Bear.
He turned and saw the old man standing in front of his makeshift lodge—little more than deerhides sewn together and draped over a cord strung between two trees. He resembled a knotted twig. White hair straggled around his gaunt face.
Rain Bear replied, “Dzoo is away on a Healer’s journey, Elder. I have sent Singer Pitch to fetch her home.”
The old man heaved a tired sigh. “How long do you think it will take?”
Dzoo was legendary. A creature of darkness and moonlight, she moved silently through the shadows like a hunting wolf, Healing, praying with people who had lost everything. It was said that she could read the future in the patterns of sea foam. Some considered her a living Spirit, others, a god.
Rain Bear added, “She promised to help Matron Weedis with the preparations for the Moon Ceremonial at War Gods Village. I’m sure she planned to be home by then anyway, but perhaps my son-in-law can persuade her to return sooner.”
Her name passed through the camp like the hiss of rain:
Dzoo …
The old man squared his bony shoulders. “I brought my people here because I believe in her Power, Great Chief. I will feel better when she walks through my camp.”
Rain Bear nodded sincerely. “As will I, Elder.” He looked around at the ragged people. “War Chief Dogrib will leave this catch of crabs with you. Please, Elder, see to it that they are distributed as far as they will go among the most needy.”
Dogrib unslung the net bag and offered it to the old man. “We should go, my chief. We dare not be late.”
They continued along the path, stepping over roots and rocks to the makeshift lodge set up at the edge of the clearing. One guard and three attendants already stood outside. They watched Rain Bear’s approach with narrowed eyes.
It was an old warrior’s ritual. No chief wished to arrive first and be made to endure the dishonor of waiting for his opponents, so he sent in his guards ahead to search the makeshift lodge and surroundings. When all was ready, the guards signaled so that all chiefs arrived at the same time.
A scar-faced warrior ducked out of the lodge and lifted a hand.
War Chief Talon appeared through the trees, his chin up, his old eyes like daggers. Red images of mountains and soaring eagles decorated his hide cape. He had seen four tens of summers, and wore his white hair twisted into a bun at the base of his skull. Abalone shell hair combs kept it in place. Two slaves followed him, both Elderberry People caught while raiding the southern coastal villages. He turned to his guard. “Make certain that no one comes close. We do not wish to be overheard.”
“Yes, War Chief.”
Talon warily scanned the camp, gave Rain Bear a hostile glance, then ducked under the lodge flap, leaving his guard and slaves standing outside.
Dogrib entered next. When he reappeared, he nodded to Rain Bear and took up his place two tens of hands from the lodge.
Rain Bear ducked through the doorway, stripped off his cape, then untied his weapons belt—which held his deer-bone stiletto and stone-headed ax—and dropped it beside the door. After the clear cold air of the forest, the heat from the central fire felt stifling.
Winter hides from bull elk covered the floor. Poles had been raised to create a framework to which fir boughs were lashed. Rain Bear took a position opposite Talon and nodded to the other occupant.
Sleeper, war chief of Deer Meadow Village, sat cross-legged, a
martenhide cape over his shoulders. He placed a hand to his heart in greeting. Sleeper might only have seen two tens and five winters, but gray already touched his temples. Rain Bear returned the greeting, then looked at Talon.
“I thank you both for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”
Talon settled himself on the hides, unlaced his cape, and let it fall from his broad shoulders. “Well, I couldn’t stay away. I’m tired of all the whispers.”
“As am I,” Sleeper said. “Have you asked the North Wind woman to come here?”
Word of both her presence and her warning had spread very quickly.
Rain Bear placed his palms in his lap. “No. I felt these were matters best discussed between Raven People. If we deem it necessary, I will ask her opinion on our decisions.”
“Do you believe her?” Talon narrowed his crafty eyes. “Is that why you granted her sanctuary?”
Rain Bear considered. “Let me put it this way: I don’t disbelieve her. Given what has happened to the northern villages, I can’t take the chance that she is mistaken.”
“But, why?” Sleeper demanded. “You’ve paid the tribute to Astcat and the Council. Much to our mutual disgust, and at no little risk to yourself and your reputation, I might add. Why would they alienate you, of all people?”
“I don’t know.” Rain Bear glanced from face to face. “I’ve heard, though, that Matron Astcat has lost her soul. Perhaps they have all gone a little mad.”
He reached for one of the wooden bowls near the roasting stick. The stick had been arranged perfectly, propped up with stones so that the large chunks of meat cooked slowly right at the edge of the flames. Rain Bear slipped several chunks of elk off the stick into his bowl. “Please.” He gestured to the others. “We have had many long and sleepless nights. Eat.”
Bowls clacked as each man stripped the steaming meat from the skewer.
Talon turned, and his white hair gleamed orange in the fire’s glow. “All right, Rain Bear, we’re here. What do you wish to tell us?”
Rain Bear set his bowl in his lap to let the meat cool. “There are three matters I wish to discuss. The first, of course, is what to do about White Stone and Ecan if they appear tomorrow.”
Talon’s sharp old eyes glinted. “After what they’ve done to us, I say we kill them on sight.”
“Starwatcher Ecan is a holy man,” Sleeper said; reverence tinged his voice. “He has the right to pass if he intends us no harm.”
Talon bit a hunk out of the steaming elk tenderloin. “I owe him no such courtesy, Sleeper. He lost all worldly rights when he burned my village.”
Sleeper’s mouth tightened into a white line, and Rain Bear could feel the tension building. They had been adversaries for so long, clan against clan, village against village; it was difficult even to speak without rancor, let alone about killing the great Starwatcher Ecan.
Calmly, Rain Bear asked, “If we allow him to pass, Sleeper, what should we do to assure our own safety? My scouts report he is traveling with over ten tens of warriors.”
Sleeper’s expression darkened. “If Ecan comes in peace, I say that we take the opportunity to speak with him. Perhaps we can arrange a meeting between our chiefs and Cimmis.”
Talon grunted and bolted another mouthful of the tender meat. “You may do as you wish, but I’m taking my warriors and setting up an ambush. If the ancestors smile, perhaps we can kill him and his entire war party.”
Sleeper grimaced. “An ambush would be foolish. And unnecessary. This is now the largest village on the coast. Including refugees, we have almost two times ten tens of people here. Out of sheer desperation, they would tear Ecan’s warriors to pieces. He knows that.”
“Does he?” Talon asked with a vague smile.
“He’s not dimwitted,” Sleeper insisted.
“Really? I’ve heard he’s an imbecile.”
Rain Bear leaned forward to warm his hands over the flames. “I think we should be more concerned about his assassins than his war party.”
Talon nodded. “Now there we agree. It is far more likely that he will send his Wolf Tails to pick off our elders one by one. Curse them. They seem to be able to slip through our defenses like field mice.” Talon ripped another mouthful of meat and stretched out on the thick hides.
Rain Bear grimly lifted a piece of elk and tore off a bite. Grease coated his lips. The taste was rich and satisfying. For many moons, he’d denied the existence of the Wolf Tails, believing Cimmis too smart to take such foolish chances. Now, however, after hearing some of the stories circulating, he had to accept their existence.
Talon twisted to look at Rain Bear, and his abalone hair combs glistened. “Grinder, war chief of Salmon Village, told me that he had
two tens of guards around Matron Gispaw’s lodge, and when he went to check on her the next morning, he found her lying in her bed with her head missing.”
Sleeper added, “I heard a similar story from the war chief of Sea Lion Village. He said he found his headless matron, Kirzo, leaning against the wall of her lodge with a teacup still clutched in her hand. That’s why we must try to speak with Ecan. This has to stop.”
“I will speak with Ecan,” Rain Bear said, “if we agree that is the way. But I think we should consider another alternative.”
“What?” Talon asked.
The meat had started to warm his empty stomach. He glanced at each of them and said, “An alliance.”
Talon’s brows lowered suspiciously. “An alliance? With Ecan? Are you mad?”
“Not with Ecan. An alliance between our villages.”
Talon grunted suspiciously and gave Rain Bear a defiant look. “My people do not trust yours, Rain Bear. We’ve raided each other’s territories for cycles. They won’t agree.”
“None of our villages can fight Ecan alone. That should be obvious by now. At most we each have a few tens of warriors. If we join forces and put our warriors under the command of one person—”
“Who? You?” Talon asked defensively, and sat up. The wrinkles across his forehead deepened. “You’ve always argued against war.”

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