Runestone (2 page)

She hurried away, her head whirling. It was ridiculous, she told herself, to attach so much importance to this chance find. Somehow, it seemed more significant than their impending deaths. She shook her head, confused.

Spirit Walker was not very interested at first, but quickly sensed her urgency. He rose and followed her. Elk Woman had gathered up her child, unwilling to leave him alone, even the short distance away. The four gathered in front of the stone.

“Tell us, Uncle,” Tracker said reverently. “
What is it?”

Spirit Walker reached cautiously to run his fingers over the surface, but quickly drew back, as if the stone were hot.

“
Aiee
,” he muttered to himself. He touched the grooves again, drew back again.

“The spirit here is very strong,” he said, to no one in particular.

“Yes,” agreed Tracker. “I felt it up there, on the trail. Could it be the Old Ones?”

Spirit Walker was slow to answer, but finally shook his head. “No, not them.”

“An older tribe, even?” Tracker persisted.

“No, no. Not
older
. Well, maybe. But
different
. I have never met this spirit before.”

The old man turned to look at them, and his eyes were wide. They were like those of a child who sees a wondrous sight for the first time.

“This is a powerful spirit,” he told them. “I do not know it. But, someone, long ago … he who carved this, maybe…This place was very important to someone.”

“Who, Uncle?” Elk Woman asked.

“I do not know. This is completely foreign to me.”

The others were astonished. Spirit Walker was said to know all things.
Aiee
, if even
he
was completely puzzled…Who was it, then, who stood here long ago in this very spot and struck the rock to make these marks of great importance? Why was the spirit that lingered here one of such power? What was its nature?

Somehow, Elk Woman felt that if she could answer these questions, she would also have beaten the disaster that would soon face them.

“What should we do, Uncle?” she asked Spirit Walker.

The holy man shook his head. In all her life, she had never seen him look so tired and defeated.

“I do not know,” he said. “But, let me pray and ask my guides. Maybe I can learn of this foreign spirit.” He seemed to straighten and become taller, regaining some of his dignity. “It must have been long ago. …” he mused.

Walker feels it too
, she thought.
If we knew more of this carver of the stone
…

They huddled together in the little cave that night. The three of them, that is. Tracker seemed not to sleep at all. Each time that Elk Woman dozed from sheer exhaustion, she would rouse with a start, feeling guilty for her negligence. And each time, young Deer Mouse was sleeping soundly, his face peaceful in the dim moonlight that filtered into the canyon.

Each time, she looked around for the others. The holy man was beside her, his knees drawn up to his stomach in the fetal position. She wondered if his dreams told him anything that would bring comfort in this hopeless situation.

Once she rose to exercise her stiffening limbs. They had not risked a fire, and there was a chill to the night, even though it was late summer. It would soon be the Moon of Falling Leaves, one of her favorite times of the year” She had been married in that season.
Aiee
so much had happened since then. She and her husband, Shoots Far, had each season relished the remembrance of the establishment of their lodge. It had been good. Now, it was over….

She moved stiffly, feeling her way along the path, flexing her knees to restore the circulation. Something moved ahead, and she crouched, reaching for the knife at her waist.

“Sh … sh …” A whisper, from a pace or two away. “It is I, Tracker. Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” she protested quietly. Then the ridiculous nature of both the question and the answer seemed to strike them both.

“What could be wrong?” she asked with a wry chuckle.

“Ah, I cannot imagine,” Tracker rejoined.

He was sitting on a large block of the grayish stone. She wondered if he had been there all night, or if he had been prowling. She approached and sat down on another rock, close to Tracker’s.

“Tell me, Tracker,” she asked, serious now, “is there any chance at all?”

He was silent for a little while.
He has always been quick to show hope before
, she thought. But now, it was time for reality. She realized that he had not wished to cause useless pain to young Deer Mouse. She appreciated that.

“I thank you that we are still alive,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

“It is nothing,” Tracker said quickly. “We do what we must.”

“So, about—”

“Yes,” he interrupted, “I did not answer yet, your question.”

He lapsed into silence again, and she waited, becoming a little impatient.

“Elk Woman, wife of my friend,” he began seriously, “you see how it is. I cannot deceive you, and I
would
not. But yes, while we are alive, there is always the chance to stay that way. The only thing that can take that chance from us is our death, and that has not happened yet. Now, how we use this chance…that is what keeps us alive.”

He paused, and somehow Elk Woman felt reprimanded for her lack of hope.
He is not talking of whether there is a chance, but of how to use it
, she thought.

“It is not yet time to sing the Death Song,” he said bluntly. “If the time comes, we will sing it proudly. But not yet.”

She thought of the words of the Death Song, used many times as a vow to die fighting when the odds were hopeless.

Yet Tracker seemed to have a genuine feeling of hope in this hopeless situation. Well, so far he
had
kept them alive. And what he said was true. The chance is always there until death actually occurs.

No
, she told herself irritably,
it is stupid to think such thoughts. In the morning, it will be over, when the Shaved-heads attack
.

Tracker interrupted her morose thoughts.

“You felt it, did you not,” he asked, “the strange spirit of this place?”

She was startled at his question, yet she understood it. She had lain there in the cave for a long time, in wonder at the carving on the stone slab in the canyon. Here they were, facing certain death (well,
almost
certain), and the scratches on an ancient rock seemed somehow more important.
Why?
What was there about the carvings, about the place, that had seized the attention of them all?

“We all did,” she said quietly. “Did you see how the holy man touched the stone, as if it were hot? What is it here, Tracker?”

“I do not know. The spirit of the place reached out to me
today. It must be a powerful spirit, Elk Woman. The holy man feels it, too.”

“Yes. But does it have meaning for us?” she asked.

Even as she spoke, she realized that it seemed so to her. Again, she was struck by the strange spirit-power that they were all feeling here. The
importance
of the place and the carvings.

“I am made to think so,” Tracker said thoughtfully. “If it does not have meaning for us, at least, it had for the one who carved the marks in the stone. Now, go and get some more sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.”

Yes
, she thought,
a “good day to die
,”

Aloud, she said, “I will keep watch for a while. You need sleep, too.”

Tracker chuckled softly.

“No, you join your son. I am awake.”

Elk Woman realized that it was useless to argue. She rose and made her way back to the cave. Her son appeared not to have moved. Old Spirit Walker muttered a little in his sleep, and she hoped that his night-visions were good.
(Aiee
, how could they be
good?)

She lay down next to her child, and drew her robe around them. Deer Mouse stirred but did not wake. Elk Woman doubted that she could sleep, but hoped to rest. She would need her strength when morning came. She hoped to cross over taking with her the spirits of enough Shaved-heads to make her husband proud. Already, Tracker’s assurance that there
was
a chance of escape was fading in the cold darkness of reason.

Elk Woman wondered, though, about the carver of the stone. What had been his situation, to leave so powerful a spirit behind, to survive through many lifetimes? Was he happy? Sad? Desperate?
Maybe
, she thought as sleep was about to overcome her,
maybe he died here, and crossed over
.

No matter
… Her thoughts became confused, heavy. Maybe she would learn more when they too crossed to the Other Side. Maybe she could talk to him, and discover why the spirit presence was so strong here. She began to dream.

• • •

Strange, frightening dreams they were, linked maybe to the mystery of the place. Dreams of great canoes that held many people, men whose appearance was strange to her. One figure kept turning up in her visions, a tall warrior with white hair like that of an old man. Yet he did not seem old, but young and strong. She knew that it was a dream, even as she watched it, but could not escape it. It was frightening, this night-vision. Especially when the old-young warrior, before her eyes, seemed to change into a wolf who howled as he leaped into a battle to the death with countless enemies.

She woke, startled. Spirit Walker was mumbling again, and she wondered if the holy man was having a similar dream. Maybe Walker would be able to make more sense of it.