Shadow Valley (34 page)

“There!” Leopard Paw called. Almost as quickly as the alarm was spoken, a snarling Mk*tk charged out of the night.

Instead of clambering forward and attacking the Mk*tk as individuals, giving their opponents the chance to slaughter a man and move to the next, each Mk*tk found himself confronted by a pair.

As they had practiced, Frog and Leopard Paw fought side by side, Frog to the left and Paw to the right. Jabbing and thrusting, Frog drew a slash in response, while Paw thrust up into the exposed armpit.

The Mk*tk roared and turned as if swatting an offending fly, while Frog
slashed at the tendons behind his right knee. Another roar, but this one of confusion, as they drew the Mk*tk’s attack back and forth between them, until he buckled.

Snarling, Paw drove his spear into the bunched muscle beneath the Mk*tk’s ribs, then wrenched it out with a cry of triumph.

Without pausing to celebrate, they turned to help their fellows, only to find that the Mk*tk were retreating.

Fire Ant was blooded along the left side of his chest, but his spear was red halfway through. “That … is not like them,” Frog’s brother said. “The last time, when they came for me, they attack and attack, and kill and kill. This time we kill two, and they run. I have never seen them withdraw.”

“No,” Frog said. “After our first battle, south of Great Earth, they ran. There were three of us for every one of them, and they learned we could kill them.”

“How many of them are there?” Snake asked. “Do we have enough?”

“I do not know,” Frog said. “I would give anything to know.” In truth he knew that that was one question to which they were likely to receive an answer.

Out beyond the valley’s rim, Flat-Nose squatted, waiting to hear what his men had to say. He had hunched like this since dusk, staring off into the desert. It was now near midnight.

“What happened?” he said. “How many of them are there?”

“Ten tens, I think,” Brave Tortoise said. “Many old ones and children. We have more fighters. And each of ours is worth a hand of theirs.”

Flat-Nose gave a short, somber laugh. “They are stronger than we thought,” he said. “I have woven my death song. I see it in my dreams: I end here. I sing it for you. Whoever lives, sing it to my children, that they might sing it. That God Blood might be pleased and take me into His belly.”

He sang them the song, and they listened, that they might sing it to Flat-Nose’s many children. And they marveled at its beauty and at the simplicity of the request he made of God Blood:

To die killing.

To kill, dying.

That was all. And for the children of God Blood, that was enough.

Fire Ant sat on a round, flat rock near the crackling fire. His people huddled in family knots, waiting for the end.

Stillshadow lay above him on her new sitting stone. Sleeping? Awake? Dying? He didn’t know. But his dreams had been … troubling. He saw the death of everything he loved, everything he knew, and for the first time, truly understood what he had done.

Fire Ant bowed his head, and cried.

His mother, Gazelle Tears, and his wife, Ember. His sister. His brother. Now all would die. Because of what he had done.

Because of him. He had led their greatest enemies directly to the heart of their greatest hope.

He cried.

“Hear me, Brother,” Ant said, after his tears had dried.

“What would you say now?” Frog said. “What words? I know you hate me. I know you wish my death. I suppose that your own life is a small price to pay for such a sight.”

Ant set his chin strongly, but his voice betrayed his grief. “Hear me, please, Brother,” he said. “I look out at your children. My nephew and niece. All that is left of us. And now I see I have been a fool.”

Frog doubted the evidence of his ears. “A fool?”

Ant nodded. “This is my doing. All. I never hated you. I hated Sky Woman, and wished you to step aside. My people will die, because I wanted the Circle. Because I believed I was more than a man. I know now I was
wrong. I am a man. A foolish, foolish man. Now my mother and sister and you … all will die. And I am the cause.”

Although a cool wind stirred the leaves, Frog doubted if that was the cause of his brother’s trembling. “Brother …” Frog said.

Ant held up his hand, shushing Frog. “I heard them sing of me. Watched the women dance my death. I was the one who returned from the mountain! Returned from the dead! I knew that my grandchildren’s grandchildren would remember my name.”

“Brother …” Frog repeated. He had never seen pain like this on Ant’s face. Not when Ant had lost his wrestling match with brother Hawk. Not even when faced with betrayal by Frog. This was something different, like a man standing on the branch of a falling tree.

“A man must face the truth of what he has done,” Ant said. “I am many things, but I am a man.” He gripped Frog’s hand hard enough to hurt. “You never were false. I was so surprised that you lied about what happened on the mountain. Why?”

“Many love you. It would have hurt them to hear the truth.” He paused. “It would have hurt me most of all.”

Fire Ant released his grip. “You could have led our people. You should have had that chance.”

Frog could say nothing.

“I look at you … and your woman. Great Sky Woman. And I see something I have never seen.”

“What is that?”

“I think … I see what Stillshadow and Cloud Stalker must have been, when they were young. I never understood the way you think. You led us to a new home and proved the myths a lie. You are the best and wisest among us. And Sky Woman?” He shook his head. “I never understood the dream dancers. And now I know that it does not matter if I understand. And that, I know too late.”

“Not too late,” Frog said, clasping his brother’s shoulders. “Just in time.”

To Frog, it seemed that most of the tribe had fallen into a kind of sleepwalking grief, keening and moaning around their cookfires, saying goodbye to one another as if already convinced Father Mountain had demanded their bones.

His uncle Snake sat with a knot of other hunters around the central fire, the orange-red light lapping at their faces, the shadows flattening their expressions into pictographs, fragments of genuine human emotion.

“I have thought,” Frog said, sitting beside him. “There may be something we can do. We can run and hide. Or stand and fight.”

“Is there something else?” Uncle Snake asked.

“We can trap them. As we trapped the giraffes.”

“In the same way?”

“And in the same place.” Frog squatted, drawing a circle and a curve with his fingertip. “Here along the western wall is the canyon,” he said. “If we flee, but we leave a trail, we could trap them
here”
—he touched the ground— “and could have the high ground if our men were
here.”

Snake peered at the scratching and shook his head. “They are not long-necks. We can’t use fire to drive them.”

“No. We will have to
draw
them,” Frog said.

“With what bait?” asked Leopard Paw.

“Living bait. Some of us will have to wait there.”

“They will think ambush,” Snake said. “They will never believe it.”

“They must,” Frog said, slamming his fist onto the ground. “They have to. What else—”

“They will believe,” T’Cori said, “if we bait the trap with the one thing that they would never expect.”

He stared at her, at first uncertain of her meaning. Then he understood. “You cannot mean …”

“Listen to me,” she urged. “The thought did not come to me until you spoke of giraffes. Stillshadow dreamed of women with long, spotted necks. And now I know what it meant.”

“What are you saying?” Frog’s mind spun. What insanity was this? This was no time to speak of dreams!

“That the only bait that would work would be something no Mk*tk would ever expect. And there are only two things of this kind: women and children. We will not use children,” she said.

Of course not children. But if not children, then …

Then …

Father Mountain. No.

He thought to protest, but the stone in her eyes left no room for argument or doubt about her intent. They had lost a hand of men in the first skirmish. Including Fire Ant’s men, they had four tens of hunters who could fight. Not enough.

“Any who did this thing … would not survive,” Ant said.

T’Cori shrugged. “What matter? What matter the risk? If we do not act, we die. This way, some of us may live.”

Frog narrowed his eyes. No. No. No matter his trust of T’Cori, he could not even contemplate such a possibility. At the very best, it was insanity. “You know that the Mk*tk would look at a man, or men, and know it was a trap.”

“But women …” T’Cori said.

Sister Quiet Water made a keening sound, her eyes so hot they looked like glowing rocks. She rocked back and forth, arms wrapped around her knees. “Please. Give me the chance,” she whispered. “I would kill them all.

“Every night,” Sister Quiet Water went on, “I prayed Father Mountain would send someone. Or that I would find death, as Fawn Blossom and the nameless one did—” she paused. “As I thought T’Cori had. There was no end to my pain. Then I find that T’Cori was sent strength to save herself. That, and a rescuer in Frog.”

“And He sent Fire Ant, for you,” Frog said.

“Too late, Frog,” Quiet Water said. Her face softened when her eyes met Ant. “Sweet Fire Ant. You tried, didn’t you? And look what happened. So it is too late for me. I don’t know where that girl went. But if I could not live as I wished, perhaps I can die as I choose.”

“My heart cools,” Frog said. “I have no words for you. I have been to the
mountaintop, seen the gods.” He shook his head in amazement. “But never have I seen courage such as yours. If we can find another way, I ask you to find the strength to live. But if we cannot… I gratefully accept your sacrifice.”

“Better to die saving one’s people,” Fire Ant said, and seemed to Frog to be more … more
Ant
than Frog had seen since before their days upon the mountain.

At the west end of Shadow Valley was the narrow canyon they called Giraffe Kill. It was wide at the mouth and in the middle narrowed sharply before opening once again. There, they would make their stand.

There, surrounded by sun-bleached bones, the two hands of Ibandi who had volunteered to be living bait spent their last moments together. Several were young women: T’Cori and her sisters, Morning Thunder and Flower, and a few others. Some were old and tired. Tired of running, tired of fear. If their bodies could make good bait, so be it.

And six were the best fighters that Frog had trained, Leopard Paw among them.

Snake had chosen to stay as well, and nothing Frog said could dissuade him.

Young Bat Wing begged to join them, but Frog held the boy, hugging him close. “Medicine Mouse will join you,” he whispered. “Be a brother to him. Grow strong. Teach him to hunt.”

Bat Wing sniffled and nodded his head. Frog ruffled his hair and pushed him away, swatted his bottom and waved as, crying, Bat sought safety.