People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past) (16 page)

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

BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)

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K
akala and Keresa stood at the edge of the spruce belt, their eyes fixed on the fantastic shapes of the Ice Giants filling the northern horizon. Father Sun had just risen above the gleaming surface of the Thunder Sea like a bloody ball. He shot a gaudy red light across the ice floes, like liquid fire. The bergs jutted up, casting long shadows over the water.

The crimson light bathed the high spikes of the Ice Giants, contrasting with black shadows and thick fog that glowed with a dark pink.

Keresa shivered at the sight. The sky had taken on such odd colors of late. Was it a sign that their world was about to die, as some rumormongers insisted?

She glanced at Kakala. “I wish you would not do this thing. There is no reason we can’t all continue in our search for Windwolf.”

Kakala looked down at his darts. The long shafts hung from his left hand, slim and deadly, their stone points catching the weird red of the morning sun.

He sighed wearily and said, “The Council must know of this new alliance between the Lame Bull and Sunpath. No matter what the consequences, we still serve our people.”

“But,” she wondered, “do they still serve us?”

He shot her a warning look.

“I’m serious.” She narrowed her eyes, staring out at the purple tundra that separated them from the Nightland villages. “We owe our loyalty to our people. We accept their orders, and die—like Maga—trying to the best of our ability to fulfill them. You have won victory after victory, broken the will and spirit of the Sunpath People. And now, because you do not bring Windwolf’s head, they will punish you?” She shook her head. “This is not right.”

“We don’t know that they will punish me.” He gave her his reasonable look. “I will explain the situation to them.”

“They will say that you do not serve the Guide’s Dream. That Power has forsaken you. Somehow, the blame will be placed on your head.”

He raised his right hand in a calming gesture. “Perhaps they are right.”

She gave him a wide-eyed stare of disbelief. “That is absurd!”

“Karigi has already told them that we have begun warning villages, allowing time for the women and children to escape. That does not sit well with Nashat.”

“We already have too many slaves to feed as it is.”

He gave her a warm smile. “When Karigi is made the high war chief, do not use that tone of voice with him.”

She glowered at him.

In reply, he said mildly, “Keresa, all we can do is see this thing through. We each have our responsibilities.”

“I will
not
serve Karigi.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand. Having won everything, I have a feeling, deep in my gut, that we are about to lose it all.”

“We
won
everything because of
your
leadership, War Chief.
You
were the man who planned it all; it was your skill and courage that led the way for our warriors to destroy the Sunpath People. If the Guide’s prophecy comes true, it is because you cleared the way.”

He smiled, reaching up, running his fingers down the side of her cheek. “You have been a good friend to me, Keresa. I did nothing. It was us. Together. The warriors know the truth. They take your orders because they know without you, none of this would have happened.”

Words choked in her throat. She looked away, watching the strange red light play across the Ice Giants. The fog had turned orange now.

“If they put you in a cage …” She swallowed hard. “Well, it won’t be long.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m coming after you.”

S
kimmer followed Windwolf as he wound his way through the brooding spruce trees that rose like spears above the old moraine. In the hollows, willows lined the now-dry pools, snow clinging to the shadows. Brown grass lay flat on the ground, waiting to send the first shoots up from the soil. Patches of roses, and old wilted stems, rasped on their moccasins.

Through the trees she could see the odd red morning light. Exhaustion lay like stone in her muscles. Her mind wandered, replaying bits and pieces of her life, all disjointed and fleeting.

Windwolf! How did I happen to find him, of all people?

She glanced at his broad back, the leather of his war shirt tight around his muscular shoulders, bunched where his belt snugged it around his slim waist. His long darts hung ready in his left hand, his atlatl in his right.

She had been a young bride, just married to Hookmaker, when the Nine Pipes band went to war with Windwolf and Bramble. They had fought bitterly over a border dispute—and lost.

Mine was one of the most strident voices speaking against an alliance when Windwolf and Bramble first proposed it.

Now she shook her head. How petty it had all been. Her people had defeated themselves long before the first Nightland war party came slipping down from the north.

The irony of it wasn’t lost on her. It had only taken the death of her husband and the corpses of the dead women in the pen to make her understand.

They walked in silence for another two hands of time. Then Ashes started to stumble from exhaustion.

Skimmer said, “We need to stop for a while. My daughter has to rest.”

Windwolf’s gaze went to Ashes, and he seemed to be examining her, judging her level of exhaustion, probably trying to determine how much farther he could push her.

He said, “All right. You two sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Ashes glanced uncertainly at the tall man. “Can we trust him, Mother? He’s Windwolf!”

She whispered back, “This time he fights the same enemy we do. Let’s try to sleep.”

Skimmer thankfully lowered herself to the ground. Ashes curled up with her head in Skimmer’s lap. In moments her daughter’s breathing changed to the deep rhythms of sleep. Exhausted herself, she leaned her head back against the gritty rock and studied her old nemesis.

“Are we safe?” she whispered.

Without turning, he said, “You sleep, too.”

Skimmer glared. “Can you speak without giving orders?”

He turned to look at her, hesitated, then said, “Not very well. Forgive me. Let me try again. We’re not safe. Not for an instant, but I’d rather not tell you that. I’d rather have you get as much sleep as you can so that when the time comes, you can both run.”

She let out a breath. “I understand. I’m grateful for your help.”

He pointed at Ashes, who shifted in Skimmer’s lap. “What’s her name?”

“Ashes.”

“Quite a little girl. She bit me when I tried to drag her out of the rocks last night.” He pulled up his sleeve, showing a red crescent of tooth marks.

“She didn’t mean it. She was just—”

“Oh, yes, she did. You didn’t see the satisfied gleam in her eyes at the sight of my blood.”

“She was frightened.”

“So was I.” He spread his feet and propped his darts close at hand. “Are you thirsty?”

“Yes.”

He untied a gut water bag from his belt and handed it to her.

In a sleepy voice, Ashes said, “I don’t like him, Mother. He killed our people.”

“Sleep, Ashes. We might have to run again soon. Do you want a drink?”

Ashes gave the man a distinctly unflattering look, then buried her face in Skimmer’s cape, said, “No,” and closed her eyes.

The corners of his mouth tucked in a suppressed smile. “She’s perceptive.”

Skimmer closed her eyes, fighting exhaustion. Images flashed, and for one terrible moment she was back in the pen, hearing the snapping sounds of stone against skulls.

She jerked her eyes open, but couldn’t find her voice. Then croaked, “No! Please! I …” She shivered, hands shaking. Saw movement, and tensed. Only to recognize him. And remember. “Windwolf!”

His bushy brows lifted. “The last time a woman said my name like that, I had to dive for cover. And I hate running battles.”

She tried to lift the bag for a drink, but her hands were shaking and she sloshed the liquid over her sleeve before it could touch her lips. She kept hearing the people in the enclosure screaming his name. Gripping the bag in both hands, she lowered it to the ground. “What are you doing here? You should be out protecting one of our villages.”

“I was returning from scouting the Nightland villages. I thought maybe I could get past the guards and kill the Guide. They had too many warriors at the cave mouths, so I gave it up. Then, heading back, I stumbled onto Kakala’s warriors. I was actually hoping for a chance to drive a dart into Kakala’s back when he finally got around to presenting it to me,” he said sternly. “But in the process I happened to find you.”

“Me?”

“Or was that someone else I found last night trying to stumble into Kakala’s camp?”

As his words sank in, she felt light-headed. She lifted the gut bag again and drank several swallows. When she handed it back to him, she asked, “How did you manage to find Kakala?”

“I followed his trail after he attacked Headswift Village. It seems the Lame Bull People have finally caught the Nightland’s attention.” He studied her carefully, taking in the gore that matted her hair, eyes lingering on the bloodstains. And, by the Wolf Dream, he couldn’t have missed the stench of death that clung to her like sap.

“Then Lookingbill is finally going to fight on our side?”

“He’s going to try.”

Tears suddenly burned her eyes. She turned away so he couldn’t see her face.

In a gentle voice, he said, “I pray Wolf Dreamer helps him. He’s going to need it.”

“Don’t talk to
me
of prayers,” she hissed with more violence than
she’d intended. “Tell me where your warriors are. They’re the only thing that can help us.”

His eyes narrowed. “I thought you were a believer?”

“Only a fool would believe in Wolf Dreamer after what I … The things …” A pause. “Fools … we’ve been fools.” She blinked away tears, aware her hands were shaking again.

Spirits, please! Not now! Come on, Skimmer, keep yourself together.
She knotted her fists, clenched her jaw, muscles rigid.

He watched her with knowing eyes, and then looked northward toward the glittering bulk of the Ice Giants. Red light burned in the high jagged ice peaks. “Yes, but I like fools. On the other hand, I agree with you. The only reliable shields our people have are their weapons, the strength of their bodies, and the skill of their hands.”

“And the hatred that keeps us going.”

His tall body was silhouetted against the red sky’s gleam. The crimson light framed his oval face and made his eyes look like black empty sockets.

He didn’t say anything for a time; then he came down the slope and knelt in front of her. “Lookingbill’s daughter was recently murdered. I don’t know how well he will be when we arrive. He—”

“Murdered, by whom? Nightland warriors?” Her tumbling soul fixed on that, desperate to concentrate on anything that didn’t remind her of horror.

“Lookingbill told me that his family is cursed. Apparently many of the women in his family have been murdered. Keep that in your heart when you speak with him. He’s worried sick about his last daughter, Dipper.”

What is one more dead woman?
But she said, “I will.”

A gust of wind flapped the hem of his war shirt. “Lookingbill also told me that you had a plan to kill the Guide. Is it true?”

“Oh, yes.” Here finally was something to live for.

“How did you plan to do this?”

Do I trust him?
She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m too tired to think. I’ll tell you when we reach Headswift Village.”

He ground his teeth in frustration. “All right then, at least tell me why the Guide is so obsessed with you.”