People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past) (4 page)

Read People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past) Online

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

BOOK: People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past)
3.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“What is this place?”
“This is the land of the Long Dark … the place you heard of in stories told by the Elders.”
“The land Wolf Dreamer led the people away from so long ago?”
Fear slipped away like elk’s winter coat in spring, and Ti-Bish flew wild and free, darting and diving after Raven, who flipped over onto his back and plummeted straight down toward a long-horned buffalo.
Raven alighted on Buffalo’s hump. Ti-Bish hesitated, aware of Raven’s mocking eye as he backed air, and dropped worriedly onto the buffalo’s back. The thick fur compressed under his taloned feet. The animal’s massive shoulders rolled up and down as it walked through belly-deep grass.
Raven said, “Buffalo shows you the way. Just as I have. If I’d flown here, to the Long Dark, where there is plenty to eat, I wouldn’t have needed to scavenge the shell midden, and you wouldn’t have had to kill me. My life is a gift. Use it to grow strong so that you can guide our people back to this paradise.”
Ti-Bish burrowed down into Buffalo’s thick fur and sighed. Had he ever enjoyed anything so warm and soft? In the distance, he saw mammoth calves running and trumpeting, playing in the starlight. Caribou stood in ponds, moss hanging from their antlers; and high overhead, crimson waves of light rolled across fluttering curtains of green and blue: the brilliant fires of the Monster Children’s war that never ceased.
“This was ours once,” Raven said. “Before Wolf Dreamer led our people through the ice. But you can lead them back.”
“I can?”
“The world is changing. People are turning on each other. Even the Ice Giants moan and wail.You must not fear the conflict, but embrace it, for it will strengthen the people.” Raven was watching him with a knowing eye. “It will be difficult, and many will call you a fool.”
“They already do.” He hated being known as the Idiot.
“You must only believe.” Raven paused. “Finally, you must seek out Nashat.”
“He hates me. And I’ve only seen him once since he returned from the south.”
“He will lead the Nightland Council soon. He will understand your value. And, finally, you must have him bring the Sunpath woman known as Skimmer to you. Only through you will she believe in me.”
“Skimmer?” His heart warmed as he remembered the Nine Pipes woman who had shared her food with him.
“She is my legacy, Ti-Bish. The future of the Dream.” The world seemed to shrink, growing ever smaller. “And you must be good to her.”
The last thing Ti-Bish remembered was Raven’s gleaming eye. The sensation was as if he were falling into it. Dropping into an endless darkness …
FIVE WINTERS LATER: MOON OF THE MELTING SNOW
W
hat is the difference between madness and inspiration?
Deputy War Chief Keresa pondered that as she crouched before her group of warriors. She was tall, with long black hair braided behind her head. She clutched a slim atlatl in her right hand; a long war dart was nocked in the throwing stick’s hook. Using the stick as a catapult, she could launch the dart with enough force to drive it clear through a man. A thick bearhide vest snugged her chest, its tight fit accenting the swell of her breasts. She wore hunting pants belted at the waist where her war club hung. Tall moccasins rose to her knees.
The trap they were about to spring might be the way to finally break the Sunpath People. She glanced back at the Sunpath traitor, Goodeagle, who had dropped a sudden shining opportunity into their very laps.
She hated the man. The revulsion was instinctual. Something was wrong about him. Perhaps he was just too pretty to measure up to her opinion of what a man should be.
She turned her attention back to Walking Seal Village where it lay
in the hollow below them, and wondered again if this was crazy. But many of her notions and actions were considered strange. Not many women dedicated themselves to war, but she had learned early on that her soul was different, perhaps more male than female. She had always preferred the hunt and the arts of war to those of the camp, cooking, and the care of children.
She glanced across at Kakala, high war chief of the Nightland People and her best friend. His body was squat and thickly muscled, the face marred by scars that draped over his round cheeks and flat nose. He had risen from disgrace and despair to become the Nightland People’s greatest warrior. Despite being hard-used by life, fate, and the war trail, those piercing brown eyes would soften on those rare occasions when he let his true soul shine through. He was tough, and deadly in war, and the warriors who followed him worshipped the very ground he trod.
Today, even Kakala looked worried as he shot wary sidelong glances at the traitor. Behind him, his warriors seemed to have no such misgivings, but crouched in the snow, atlatls and darts ready. Their wolfish eyes betrayed the lust for battle.
Keresa considered that as she raised her head past the snowcapped ridge and looked at Walking Seal Village. But for the smoke rising from the hide-covered lodges, it might have been abandoned. The winter-bare oaks around it lent the place a forlorn look—as if oaks could feel sorrow that Deputy War Chief Karigi and his warriors waited in the great ceremonial lodge.
A poisoned bait in the center of the trap we’ve laid.
Cocking her head, she could hear voices from below, some shouting happily: noise to make things appear normal. But would canny old Windwolf fall for it? She shot another uneasy glance at the traitor.
Is this really what you wanted, Goodeagle?
The traitor crouched, looking anything but eager. His too-pretty and sensitive face did little to conceal the anxiety plaguing his soul. At the moment, his dark eyes were fixed on the snow before him, pouting lips working. The jaw muscles behind his smooth cheeks kept knotting like frantic mice. Lines of worry incised his normally smooth brow.
Yes,
she thought,
you’d better torture yourself over what you’ve done.
She glanced back at Walking Seal Village, aware that her own soul was in turmoil. She had always liked Windwolf, enemy that he had become. They had been friendly, if wary, adversaries before the coming of the Guide and the rise of Councilor Nashat.
She glanced down at her slim hand where it clutched the atlatl. In days past—before the Guide—the Nightland, Sunpath, and Lame Bull Peoples had coexisted for the most part. War had been different then, consisting of raids that arose over petty grievances, or boundary disputes. Generally, after each side had proven its valor, peace would be brokered by a third party, Trading would occur, and a mutually satisfactory conclusion would be negotiated between the warring bands.
Then Councilman Nashat had embraced the Guide, and her world had changed. She remembered the laughter and amusement when Nashat first brought the Guide out to address the summer gathering. People snickered and laughed behind their hands, wondering what foolishness the Idiot would spout. He’d been the butt of jokes for years, only to leave, wandering the land like a lost dog, scavenging for scraps left by other peoples.
Then Nashat had brought him back, treating him not only with honor, but insisting that he address the four clans of the Nightland Peoples.
The laughter and jeers had only lasted for moments after Ti-Bish began to speak. Something in his eyes, in the awed pronunciation of his words, had captivated the audience. He had spoken with passion and belief, as he related a vision given to him by the Spirit of Raven Hunter himself.
She had sat amazed, glancing skeptically at the people around her. The Guide’s lilting words—delivered with such conviction—had even swayed her soul. She might have believed herself, but for a chance glance in Nashat’s direction.
The Councilor had no ears for Ti-Bish or his vision; he had been fixed on the people, his eyes gleaming with a delighted satisfaction, a cagey excitement betrayed by his cunning expression. Nashat kept knotting his fist, almost shaking it victoriously, the way a warrior would after a perfectly executed raid.
Then, at the end, when Ti-Bish finished, and before the people could crowd around, Nashat had bundled the man up, and hurried him away to the ice caves, claiming Ti-Bish needed time to think, to ponder, and commune with Raven Hunter himself.
That evening had changed everything. Four days later, the Council—composed of the four clan Elders, including Nashat—had called for war.
For two moons now, Nightland warriors, fueled by the Power of
Ti-Bish’s vision, had waged war on the fiercely territorial bands of Sunpath People. It had been bloody, relentless, and increasingly savage.
And now we are here, about to spring this trap.
She felt a wooden dullness around her heart. After this, there would be no going back. This wasn’t about valor, or glory, or defense; it was about the cold-blooded murder of a potential adversary.
The oaks surrounding the village hunched like old men under the heavy mantle of snow, their branches drooping as if in defeat. The thin streamers of smoke rising from the lodges seemed tired and resigned.
“I don’t like it,” she whispered loud enough for Kakala to hear. “Windwolf should have been here by now.”
Goodeagle almost winced, pain on his face.
Kakala shot a sidelong glance at Keresa. “He will come. When he does, he will walk right between our jaws.”
She was watching Goodeagle as she replied, “Windwolf can smell a trap as well as we can.”
Goodeagle stiffened, swallowed hard, and shook his head, as if to will away any misgivings.
Kakala sighed, saying softly, “Karigi’s warriors are hidden in the town. There’s nothing to give us away. Even if Windwolf suspects … he thinks his wife is down there. You know how he feels about Bramble. She is the center of his world. The man we both know will do anything to get her back.”
Keresa rolled her lip between her teeth. Could anyone love that much?
She thought about Kakala. He was her best friend. They trusted each other implicitly, and she would do anything to protect him. When he had appointed her his deputy war chief several years back, there had been winks, whispered insinuations, and even ribald jokes—all uttered behind her back, of course. But she and Kakala had never looked at each other with lovers’ eyes. The death of Kakala’s wife, Hako, stood between them like a great stone.
Is that what really keeps us apart?
She frowned, wondering at the odd distance between them. No two people that she knew were as close, sharing fires, jokes, thoughts, and worries; but sexual attraction led her in a different direction. Her relationship with Kakala was more like a sister’s with her favorite brother.
Keresa returned her attention to the large lodge that dominated the center of Walking Seal Village. It was a huge thing, covered with
mammoth hide. She wondered what Bramble was thinking. By now, Karigi should have had her safely away, guarded for her return to the Nightland caves.
Keresa could imagine the woman, bound, gagged, surrounded by Nightland warriors. She would be shooting frightened glances at her captors, wondering what fate lay in store for her when she faced the Nightland Council. News of her husband’s defeat would be like a hollow darkness torn in her soul.
Keresa experienced a moment of regret. She liked Bramble, had admired the woman’s good nature, mixed with practical expediency. In all of their dealings prior to the coming of the Guide, Bramble had been poised, responsible, and composed. Keresa had studied the woman on those occasions when they had shared an evening’s fire.
I always wanted to be just like her.
But now Bramble was Karigi’s prisoner, and that thought sent a shiver down Keresa’s back. Bramble, cunning enemy that she might be now, was too good to deserve that.
Keresa fought the urge to lift her lip in disgust as she shot a glance at Goodeagle. But for him—traitor that he was—none of this would be happening. She took a deep breath, stilling her disdain for the man.
It was war. The will of Raven Hunter’s vision, granted to the Guide. For whatever reason, Raven Hunter had come to Ti-Bish. His Dream was to return the people to the world beyond the ice. Before the Nightland People could return to that paradise, they had to ensure that no other peoples would follow their path.
Do I believe it?
The question nagged at her. For years her people had followed the path of Wolf Dreamer, seeking order and the elusive quest for the One. As did the Sunpath and Lame Bull Peoples.
Now we are different, serving opposing visions of the Spirit World.
And given the victories that had been so hard-won over the last two moons, perhaps Power actually did favor them.
Windwolf and Bramble had fought cunningly and well. But for the divisions among their own people, they could have won this thing. The other bands, however, wanted nothing to do with raiding, retaliation, and warfare. Their reluctance had allowed the Nightland warriors to overwhelm and destroy three bands piecemeal. Even the traditionally independent Sunpath would begin to understand. Worse, if Bramble—persuasive orator that she was—could make that clear, the Sunpath
might overlook their traditional squabbles to form an alliance capable of withstanding the Nightland onslaught.
To avert disaster, she and Kakala had to eliminate that possibility. Now that they had Bramble, Windwolf was about to pay the ultimate price for his people’s refusal to unite.
“Where
is
he?” Kakala muttered.
Young Maga, one of the warriors behind them, said, “If he has discovered that we have taken Bramble, he has turned and run.”
“No,” Goodeagle said through gritted teeth, “he hasn’t.”
“Who is his deputy now?” Keresa asked.
“Silt.” Goodeagle wiped at perspiration that beaded on his upper lip. “He used to be chief of the Flower band. He called for peace, once. But after you destroyed his village, he bound himself to Windwolf.”
“You have said he’s capable?” Kakala narrowed his eyes on the trail where Windwolf should have already appeared.
“As capable as I am.” Goodeagle swallowed.
“Then,” Keresa mused, “he, too, will come over to us?”
Goodeagle lowered his eyes. Kakala was giving her a chastising frown.
At that moment, shouts carried on the air. Not from the Walking Seal ceremonial lodge, but from the trees where the Ash Clan war chief, Hawhak, had hidden his men in ambush.
Keresa tightened her grip on her atlatl as warriors burst from the trees. She lifted her head, recognizing the characteristic dress of Nightland warriors as they paused, casting darts back into the trees. She saw a warrior skewered through the thigh with a dart. Then Hawhak’s warriors turned and ran.
“We’re discovered!” Kakala muttered. “Forward! The rest of you, cover the retreat! Keresa! Come with me. We’ve got to pull Karigi out of there!”

Other books

Final Curtain by Ngaio Marsh
A Dance of Blades by David Dalglish
Cuts by Richard Laymon
The Tower: A Novel by Uwe Tellkamp
Tilly by M.C. Beaton
Caught (Missing) by Margaret Peterson Haddix
It's in His Touch by Shelly Alexander
The Unmaking of Israel by Gershom Gorenberg
The Bookman's Wake by John Dunning
Ziggy by Ellen Miles