Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear

It Dreams in Me (5 page)

BOOK: It Dreams in Me

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RED RAVEN GLANCED AT THE TWO GUARDS POSTED ON EITHER side of the door, then looked around the large chamber. Thirty paces square and constructed of upright logs more than four times the height of a man, it was a beautiful place, a place that befitted the status of the matron of the Water Hickory Clan. Torches cast a flickering yellow gleam over the painted rawhide shields that hung along the walls, each representing a sacred event in the history of the clan.

He wandered around looking into the crushed shell and jet eyes of the long-lost heroes depicted on the shields. There was Skyholder, the Creator, holding a water hickory sapling in his left hand and a rock in his right hand. The rock cast a long shadow across the painting, pointing westward. After he’d created the world, Skyholder had flown down from the stars to inspect it. There was no nighttime, because he hadn’t created it yet, so it was always dawn. He started in the far east, creating rivers, oceans, mountains, and planting trees as he went. His favorite tree was the water hickory—or that’s the version of
the story his clan told. However, if he’d happened to be in the Bald Cypress Clan’s Matron’s House she would have said it was the bald cypress tree. The two things no one argued about were that Skyholder’s favorite animal was the duck known as the shoveler, who helped him create the world, and that he was led across the land by the shadow of the rock, which always pointed due west. That’s how the four main clans of the Black Falcon Nation came to be named: Water Hickory Clan, Bald Cypress Clan, Shoveler Clan, and the Shadow Rock Clan. For as far back as anyone could remember the clans had bickered over which was Skyholder’s favorite clan. Personally, he thought …

Red Raven jumped when the door curtain to the council chamber was drawn back.

Sea Grass—matron of Water Hickory Clan—hobbled across the council chamber toward him, followed by her ever-present personal guards. The old woman had her white hair twisted into a bun on top of her head. Her thin face and beaked nose looked sallow, as though all the color had been leached out, but her clothing was extraordinary. She wore a deep blue dress decorated with several hundred small circlets of polished conch shell that flashed in the torchlight. Both guards wore plain brown knee-length shirts, but a variety of weapons adorned their belts: stilettos, knives, war clubs.

“Matron,” he said, and bowed to her. “It is good to see you looking so well.”

“Stop patronizing me and sit down,” she ordered.

“Of—of course, Matron.” He sat on one of the four log benches that framed the central fire hearth.

Sea Grass grunted as she eased down to the bench opposite him and held her hands out to the fire. Her fingers looked more like translucent claws than parts of a human body. Her guards took up positions a short distance away.

“High Matron Wink has been on a tirade,” she said, wasting no time. “I’ve had to do some fancy talking to convince the Council of Elders not to outcast Water Hickory Clan from the nation. Thank the gods that Matron Wigeon is a scared rabbit, or no one would have been on my side. As it was, we were lucky. Chief Long Fin abstained from the vote, leaving the council divided: Wigeon and I against, Black Birch and Wink for.”

Red Raven made the appropriate
tsk tsk
sound. “It sounds terrible, Matron. I can see you’re in a difficult position, but what does that have to do with me?”

Her old eyes blazed. “Matron Wink knows more than she’s saying. I want to know where she heard it from.”

Red Raven straightened in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I mean”—Sea Grass gave him the evil eye—“that two nights ago, one of my spies saw Feather Dancer drag you out of your blankets and escort you to Matron Wink’s house. What did you tell her?”

Red Raven wet his dry lips. His nose had begun to twitch, as it always did when he was nervous. “Nothing, Matron. She questioned me, of course, but I swear I told her nothing. At least, nothing important.”

She pointed a crooked finger at him. “If you lie to me once more, I’ll have your heart cut out and left bleeding on the floor. What did she ask you?”

He glanced at the guards. He had to tell Sea Grass enough information to satisfy her, but not so much that she’d carry out her threat. “She told me that she’d heard I was the one who found Chief Short Tail. I don’t know how she knew it, but she did, and she—”

“You’re such a braggart, by the time you left my chamber, everyone for three days’ walk knew it. What else did she say?
And for the sake of the gods, stop twitching your nose! It’s infernally annoying.”

He swallowed hard. “She wanted to know about the woman I’d seen in the forest before I discovered the body.”

“And?”

“I told her almost nothing! She wanted to know what the woman looked like, and I said it was dark, I couldn’t really tell, except that she was tall and had long black hair.”

Sea Grass’ wrinkles rearranged into worried lines. “Did you tell her why you’d gone to Eagle Flute Village?”

“Of course not! What do think I am, a traitor?”

She stared at him as though trying to decide if she should just kill him now and get it over with, or question him further. “Did Wink ask any questions about Short Tail?”

“No.”

“None? She didn’t even slyly mention the fact that he’d openly opposed me over the Eagle Flute Village attack?”

Red Raven cocked his head. “I don’t think she knows about it, Matron.
I
didn’t even know about it.”

Sea Grass folded her clawlike hands in her lap and seemed to be thinking about that. “All she did was ask about the woman?”

“Yes, Matron. She asked me if I’d recognized her. I told her no, it was too dark. Next she asked me about the woman’s voice. Had I ever heard it before. I told her it did sound familiar, but that I hadn’t actually recognized it.”

Sea Grass rubbed her jaw. “I wonder …”

“Wonder what, Matron?”

She gave him a look that would have silenced the gods. “Never interrupt me.”

Red Raven clamped his jaw.

“Wink has been desperate to find Chieftess Sora. She’s sent
out so many search parties I’ve lost count. They’ve found nothing, of course.”

The way she said “of course” made Red Raven think she had known they wouldn’t. Perhaps because the high chieftess was dead. That’s what everyone thought. Speculation ran rampant that she’d been burned alive in one of the lodges at Eagle Flute Village, or shot down during the battle and eaten by wolves—as was her just due. After all, the chieftess had murdered Matron Sea Grass’ son, War Chief Skinner.

It was an embarrassing event. Matron Wink’s nephew, Far Eye, had found War Chief Skinner lying dead in the forest beside the chieftess. Clearly Skinner had tried to kill her; his fingers were still wrapped around her throat. Apparently, the chieftess had managed to slip poison into Skinner’s cup and when he’d started to feel it, he’d attacked her.

Sea Grass had been hysterical over the death of her only son. She’d wanted revenge. It was customary for the victim’s family to claim the life of the murderer, or a member of the murderer’s family; it was the Law of Retribution. But everyone knew that Sea Grass would never get her hands on the high chieftess of the Black Falcon Nation, and out of respect, Water Hickory Clan could not claim another member of the Shadow Rock Clan—mostly because they were the ruling clan.

As a result, Sea Grass had never been fairly compensated for the loss of her son—a fact that Sea Grass mentioned whenever she was negotiating with High Matron Wink, trying to get her to make concessions that benefited Water Hickory Clan.

Sea Grass clenched her jaw for several moments before she said, “What else did Wink ask you?”

“Nothing, Matron. That was all. She wanted to know about the woman, and after I told her everything I knew, she let me go.”

Sea Grass’ eyes narrowed. She aimed that crooked finger at him again. “You’d better be telling me the truth.”

“I am! I give you my oath!”

“As if that would convince me,” Sea Grass said caustically.

“Well, Matron, what else can I say?”

The smile that came to her wrinkled lips made him wish he hadn’t asked that question.

Sea Grass waved to her guards. “Leave us alone. I wish to speak with Red Raven in private.”

The guards left.

Sea Grass glowered at him for so long that Red Raven’s heart almost climbed out of his throat. When she wanted to, she could look like one of the evil Earth Spirits who roamed the forests in search of fresh human meat.

“I knew the story you told me when you returned from Eagle Flute Village was a half-truth, but it didn’t matter … until now.”

In the most innocent voice he could muster, Red Raven said, “Matron, truly, I don’t know what you mean. I am your most loyal—”

“Stop it, or I’ll call my guards back in and have them puncture your lungs.”

He went silent.

She continued, “Rumor has it that High Matron Wink has organized a secret meeting with the other clan matrons, a meeting to which I am not invited. What did you tell her that led her to such desperate action?”

Red Raven squirmed. He couldn’t help it. He felt like a bug skewered with a cactus thorn for a child’s amusement. “The high matron can be … very persuasive … .”

Her thin white eyebrows pulled down over her beaked nose. “
What
did you tell her?”

He had to think fast or he would not walk out of this chamber alive. “Something that I—I did not tell you, Matron. I was too afraid to tell you.”

“Yes?”

He glanced around the chamber before hissing, “I saw a man, Matron. I didn’t know him. He came out of the trees, breathing hard, saw the woman, and said, ‘What are you doing here? I told you I’d take care of it!’”

“What did the woman say? And I want every word,” she said precisely.

The story poured out of his mouth: “She said, ‘He defied our matron. He deserved more than just death.’”

A small satisfied smile came to Sea Grass’ wrinkled lips. “And?”

Red Raven hesitated. Even though this was a version of the truth, it still might get him killed. “The man said, ‘Now there won’t be anyone to tell our clan matron I received her message.’”

Sea Grass’ eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me that part?”

“Matron”—he wiped his sweating brow on his sleeve—“I wasn’t sure it was him, and I didn’t want to call out and have an enemy arrow stick in my back. That’s why I told you I hadn’t seen him and … and why I couldn’t deliver your message.”

Her old voice went low and ominous. “But you could have.”

“
If
I’d been sure it was him! I wasn’t!”

She seemed to be mulling that over. “What did Wink say when you told her this part of the story?”

“She asked me what the message was, and I said I hadn’t delivered it. Which you know is true, Matron.” The acrid smell of his own sweat was becoming overpowering. He added, “Then she asked me if I knew the man. I said,
truthfully,
that I did not.”

Sea Grass’ gaze drifted over the chamber, as though contemplating every possible permutation of the high matron’s thoughts. In a voice so soft that Red Raven suspected she didn’t realize he could hear her, she said, “But Wink knew who the man was. Of course she did. Who else could he have been? This very instant she must be trying to fathom what I’m up to. Which means …”

Her gaze came back to Red Raven. His shoulders knotted, as though they could already hear bow strings being pulled tight. “You may still be useful.”

Relief flooded his veins with such intensity he sagged forward on the bench. “Command me and I’ll be on my way, Matron. I’ll do whatever you wish me to.”

“Yes,” she said with a cold smile. “I know you will.”

AS MOTHER SUN DESCENDED TOWARD THE WESTERN HORIZON, an iridescent copper gleam suffused the forest, shimmering from the magnolia leaves and falling across the trail like shattered bits of amber.

Sora shoved another low-hanging branch aside and continued up the trail behind Flint and Strongheart. No one had come this way in a long time. For most of the day, they’d been hacking and ripping at the overgrown shrubs and vines that blocked the trail. Often, they’d just given up and found a way around.

She gazed up at the green canopy. It had been a silent trip, each of them focused on getting out of the Black Falcon Nation, but as dusk settled upon the land, Sora could tell that solace was about to end. Ahead of her, Flint and Strongheart walked side by side. Flint kept sneaking glances at Strongheart, who pretended not to notice.

Finally, Flint said, “Is the story about the Meteorite People true?”

“Which story?”

Flint turned to scowl at the tall slender holy man. “What do you mean ‘which story?’ The story about you calling down the Meteorite People to crush a village elder you didn’t like. I heard they found a grand total of six pieces of the poor man.”

She couldn’t see Strongheart’s face, but she heard him sigh. “I did dislike him, but I did not call down the Meteorite People who struck him.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know. The gods, perhaps.”

“Hmm,” Flint said in a disbelieving voice. “What about the soul-flying stories? It is said that you can send your soul flying to attack your enemies.”

“Who says?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

As though he hadn’t heard, Flint said, “A Trader told me there was a very disagreeable clan matron in the south who saw you soul-flying. Her family found her the next morning with her guts hanging out of her mouth. Apparently she’d vomited them up.”

“Did it occur to you that she may have been so disagreeable a member of her own village stuffed the entrails down her throat and blamed me to escape the wrath of her relatives?”

“Are you saying that all of the stories about your Spirit Powers are false?”

Strongheart stopped in the middle of the trail and stared at him. “You’re not afraid of me, are you, Flint?”

Flint spread his legs as though to brace himself against a Spirit attack. “Of course not. I wouldn’t have brought Sora to you if I’d been afraid of you.”

“Nor would you if you’d thought the stories were false.”

They walked in silence again for a few paces before Strongheart said, “Now, may I ask you some questions?”

Flint gave him an askance look and stopped again. “What about?”

Strongheart stopped beside him. “Did you know Chief Short Tail would return to Eagle Flute Village?”

Flint’s jaw dropped open. “Of course not. How could I have known?”

“I thought perhaps you were waiting for him.”

“Is your soul out wandering? That’s insane!” Flint replied in irritation.

“I can’t fathom any other reason you would have returned to the burned village—except to meet someone.”

“Are you accusing me of conspiring—”

“With your own relatives?” Strongheart interrupted. “Yes, I am. Were you?”

Sora strode forward, shouldered between the men, and said, “I’m tired. I would like to reach Sassafras Lake before it’s completely dark—which is not going to happen if you two keep stopping in the middle of the trail.”

As she marched ahead of them, they fell into line behind her. Flint grumbled what sounded like a taunt beneath his breath. Strongheart did not respond.

As they walked through the cool shadows of the magnolias, Strongheart said, “Forbidden Village is just up ahead. Why don’t you let me lead the way, Chieftess?”

Sora slowed her pace. As he passed by her, he lightly brushed her arm with his hand; it was a comforting pat, nothing more, but …

Flint grabbed her arm and pulled her backward so hard she almost lost her footing. He allowed Strongheart to get twenty paces ahead before he whispered, “When he goes to sleep tonight, we should slip away.”

“I don’t want to slip away.”

“He’s been trying to Heal you for a quarter moon. I was wrong to bring you to him. He isn’t Powerful enough to Heal you. Let me take you north to Priest Long Lance. I studied with him. I know he’ll remember me and agree to Heal you.”

“Many people consider Long Lance to be a witch.”

“He’s a very great Healer. He taught me everything he knew about Spirit Plants and Healing techniques,” he said, but she sensed there was more to it, some deep undercurrent of emotion that she couldn’t define. His grip tightened, as though if she refused to go away with him he would drag her against her will.

“No, Flint.”

Strongheart had followed the trail around a dense briar and disappeared. A thread of fear wound through her, as it always did when he was out of her sight.

She pulled her arm away from Flint and tried to catch up with Strongheart.

“I love you,” Flint called. “Why won’t you come with me?”

“I can’t, I—”

He ran, grabbed her shoulder hard, and whirled her around to look at him. “Is it because you love him?” His voice was hateful.

“Flint, for the sake of the gods, stop this! Can’t you see that every time Strongheart touches me the Midnight Fox cowers? It knows he can kill it. I must give him more time.”

“Are you saying you don’t love him?”

“I’m saying I believe he can Heal me.” She shoved his hand away and continued walking.

Beyond the briar, the trail cut across a grassy meadow and opened onto the shore of Sassafras Lake, where bald cypresses flourished in the deep green water.

She didn’t see Strongheart and started to …

The hair on the back of her neck suddenly prickled, and her
eyes instinctively drifted to the right. Amid a weave of massive moss-covered trunks, she glimpsed Strongheart’s face. He seemed to be staring at something in the distance.

“What’s he looking at?” Flint asked.

“I can’t tell.”

As she walked forward, Forbidden Village came into view. It must have been beautiful at one time, long ago, before the forest had overgrown the thatched lodges. Now, the vine-covered ruins scattered the lakeshore for as far as she could see.

“Strongheart?” she called.

He turned, and the shadows cast by the trees crisscrossed his round face like charcoal filigree. His hooked nose seemed longer, his bulging eyes huge. He tucked a lock of black hair behind his ear and pointed to an overgrown lodge ten paces away. Saplings had sprouted in front of the doorway. “That used to be my home, when I studied with Juggler.”

Flint stepped forward, glanced at it, and said, “Well, nobody’s been here for a long time. The old man must be dead.”

Pain flickered in Strongheart’s eyes. “Yes, or moved on.” He went to kneel in front of the lodge’s doorway, where he pushed away the saplings and peered inside. After several heartbeats he said, “All of his belongings are still here. Every pot rests in the same place I remember. I wonder what happened.”

Sora winced at the hurt in his voice. He might just as easily have said,
I wonder if he was sick and needed me, and I wasn’t here.

Flint kicked at a moss-covered pole that had once been part of the lodge frame. “Who cares? He’s gone, and this is no place for us. Let’s leave before it’s too dark to travel. I still think we ought to stay close to Oak Leaf Village.”

Evening light penetrated the branches and illumined the clouds of membranous wings that moved through the trees, glowing with a faint lavender hue.

Sora knelt beside Strongheart. Inside the lodge, she saw a row of pots sealed with boiled pine pitch on the rear wall. A frown lined her forehead.

“That’s strange,” she said. “Why haven’t the vines filled this lodge and covered the pots?”

In a reverent voice, Strongheart answered, “Juggler’s Power is still here, keeping them at bay. Every night he used to breathe part of his souls into these walls. Do you feel him?”

Sora
did
feel something; it was like downy cotton being rubbed against the skin, warm and soft. “I think so.”

“He was a good man,” Strongheart said as he rose to his feet. “I pray that he died quietly, without pain.”

She looked up at him and saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes before he turned away. It surprised her, until she realized that Juggler must have been like a father to him after the deaths of his parents. He’d probably been looking forward to seeing his old teacher.

To Flint, Strongheart said, “We’re staying here. Tonight we’ll camp on the lakeshore; then tomorrow we’ll begin rebuilding Juggler’s lodge.”

“What!” Flint objected. “I’m not staying here. This place is an overgrown ruin.”

Strongheart went to a nearby dead tree and began cracking off the lowest branches, gathering dry wood to make their supper fire.

Sora rose to help him, but Flint said, “Don’t tell me you’re going to put up with this? You’re the high chieftess of the Black Falcon Nation! You should be lying on a bed of soft buffalo-hides with a dozen slaves tending your needs, not here in this … this … moldering old village. You need better care. You need a great Healer.”

She held his gaze. “I have a great Healer. Leave if you want to. No one is holding you here.”

“Blessed gods!” he hissed. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to turn you against me!”

His jealousy was progressively getting worse, turning to hatred.

Sora walked to another tree and began cracking off dead branches, cradling them in the crook of her left arm.

Flint thrashed away through the brush. When she turned to look, he was gone.

“Don’t worry,” Strongheart said. “He’ll be back. He loves you.”

“Does he?” A hollow ache expanded in her chest, as though listening to Flint had eaten out her insides.

“Yes. And you love him.”

She hesitated for an instant before replying, “I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember.”

Strongheart gave her a sad smile and went to lay his branches in a clearing near the water. As he arranged the kindling over a nest of dry leaves, he said, “Come and sit by me. Let’s talk.”

She carried her branches over, placed them on the pile with his, and sat down cross-legged on the sand. The earthy scents of evening had begun to filter through the forest. Out in the middle of the lake, a fish jumped. Silver rings bobbed away after the splash.

“You must be tired,” he said. “We had a long day.”

“I am tired, and hungry.”

“Me, too.”

He removed his firebow from his belt pouch and placed the tip in a punky piece of wood. As the bow spun, the soft wood began to smoke. He dumped the embers onto the dry leaves and blew on them. In less than fifty heartbeats smoke rose from the leaves, and fire crackled to life. He rearranged the kindling,
making certain that the flames licked at the wood, then sank down beside her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “about all the arguing.”

“You think Flint’s presence is a hindrance to my Healing, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer for a time. He just watched the last remnants of sunlight sparkle on the lake. “You once told me that his presence made you feel safe. Is that still true?”

Beautiful memories of lying with Flint in fragrant spring grass, loving each other all day long, filled her. She could feel his touch as clearly today as she had eighteen winters ago.

“We’ve loved each other since we were fourteen winters. Though I’ve lived the past three winters without him, he’s never been out of my thoughts. I—”

“That’s not what I asked you,” he gently reminded.

“No, I—I know that.” She uneasily studied her hands. “Do you recall the conversation we had about the ‘dangerous things’?”

BOOK: It Dreams in Me

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