Shadow Valley (23 page)

Now there was movement: wolves padded back and forth around the strangers, keeping their distance from the Ibandi spearmen.

“Wolves!” T’Cori said. “Are these the wolf folk? Are those their … women?”

One of the strangers made grunting sounds deep in his throat and pointed. The child jabbered back, perhaps in monkey speak.

The pale ones took their child and left. The wolves walked behind the humans, crisscrossing as they paced back and forth until they were well down the slope and away to the east.

For a day and a half, Sister Quiet Water had walked without sleep, without rest, barely eating. When she needed to make water or defecate, she did. She occasionally paused to drink and fill her drinking gourd, but she gave her bodily needs no more care than that.

Her eyes were fixed on the western horizon. As of now, only a few dimly viewed trees broke the line. But soon, she hoped, she prayed. Soon.

“Mother,” she said, placing one foot after the other. “You call. I come.”

In the hutch where she lay in blindness and chaos, Stillshadow’s mouth curled in a smile. It was good. Everything … was good. She could see everything, knew that good things were coming. And when they did come, Stillshadow, stretched so tightly over the abyss, would finally answer Cloud Stalker’s call and be released from the flesh into the
jowk.

She had known such things with Stalker. Truly, the
jowk
had gazed out at her through his eyes. Their soul vines had gripped each other, their fibers entangled. Soon, she would be with him again, and their love-play would rival that of Great Mother and Father Mountain.

They would make thunder!

She raised her voice, calling her spirit daughter, she who had earned the name Sky Woman.

She heard the sound of hands and knees shuffling across her hut’s floor. Stillshadow sniffed the air. Yes, it was T’Cori.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Our men are hunting here, and the prey is strong. Frog almost died bringing us bounty. If our men take such risk, we must prepare for the day that they risk too much.”

“What are you asking?” T’Cori’s voice was so sweet. She would miss it. Stillshadow reminded herself that the girl was clever, with good instincts. She would have to phrase her request carefully.

“We need to prepare the last gift, in case one of our men is wounded too sorely,” she said. She named a series of plants, including the one called strangleweed.

“Mother …” T’Cori’s voice winced. The girl knew these plants. And knew that this formula would end a wounded hunter’s woes, but they might also end those of an old medicine woman.

Stillshadow smiled. “Do not worry, my child,” she said. “I promised to stay until I am no longer needed. All is well.”

Stillshadow had never lied to the girl. Had never broken a promise. She would need every bit of that authority now.

By the time the new day waned, T’Cori and Leopard Eye were a half day from the main camp, on a mission to gather strangleweed. The life within her seemed heavier with each new morning, but despite that burden, she was happy and surprisingly nimble of foot. It felt almost like returning to childhood, every step a dance, every gust of wind a song. This was what the dream dancers did, and it was comfortable returning to her accustomed role.

Frog had not been pleased by her plans to explore, so soon after their arrival. But it was not a man’s decision to make. She was a dream dancer. Even more, she was Stillshadow’s heir, and it was custom for the head dancer to travel alone for days at a time in the brush, trusting in her own skills and Great Mother Herself to keep her safe. A trip with only Leopard Eye was merely a step in that direction.

So much to learn and see! In the valley’s center, near the largest watering hole stood a gigantic fig tree. Roots as thick as her body burst from the ground in a tangle. Its upper branches buzzed with bees. She had never seen such a tree, and thought it a great and sacred thing.

That morning, Leopard Eye had thrown a fist-sized rock with thrilling accuracy, braining a gray hare in mid-hop. He stuffed it into the leather sack she kept slung around her shoulders, and arched his eyebrows mischievously. “Supper!” he said.

This was a good place. So many birds, insects and plants to learn. And those strange pale-skinned people! Sheltering their child had been the first strong step toward friendship. The Mk*tk had been inhuman, killers who killed for no reason she could understand. The Spider Face’s folk were merely
defending their land and magic water. As sad and disappointing as that was, they had granted the hospitality of a night’s rest.

Sharing was the way of the savannah peoples. And if these new pale strangers lived here … and knew that the Ibandi were protectors of children …

Was there not enough here for all to share?

Every fiber of her being said that it was good.

“Look!” T’Cori pointed at a red and white shrub only a hand’s length high. “Another one. I have never seen anything like it. Birthweed keeps for many moons when dried. This is good, because at Great Earth it is so hard to find. But here, it seems to be
everywhere!”

Leopard Eye nodded. “Sky Woman … we should think of making camp.” He pointed to a trickling stream before them and then to the valley wall at their backs. “This place would serve better than most. It has water and some protection.”

“Then it is good,” she said.

He frowned. “In truth, I do not like being so far from the others. We do not know this valley well. Or, if we must travel so far, at least let us bring more guards for you. You are too precious to us, to our people. We see the same plants within a stone’s throw of our people. Why take this chance?”

T’Cori clucked. “This is how your mother became who she is. She knew every plant. Some are for food. Some are for wounds, stopping bleeding. Some make magic smoke for visions.”

He sniffed at a broken twig and shrugged. “If you say so. I can’t eat it, and I can’t make poison or medicine from it, so I don’t know.”

T’Cori smiled. “That’s all right. That’s why you have me. I will find the berries and plants, and you will carry them.”

“Whatever you say.”

Her grin was pure mischief. “Yes. And as long as you remember that, we will speak together well.”

Leopard Eye bowed his head. “I knew you when you were just a little thing. Before you climbed the mountain.”

“And how is it that you know me?”

He leaned on his spear. “Do you remember the Spring Gathering when we were twelve winters, when a boy kissed you and pushed you into the river?”

She furrowed her brows, struggling to retrieve the memory. It was a good one. “Ah … in fact, yes.”

He puffed out his strong young chest, and slapped it with the flat of his right palm. “That was me. That was Leopard Eye. Paw dared me.”

She was mystified. “Why me?”

“Well,” Leopard Eye said, “we knew Stillshadow was our mother. And we knew you were special to her, but not to Blossom, our sister. Are you still angry?”

“No,” T’Cori said, “but… don’t do that again!”

Leopard Eye’s smile was mischievous. “Which part? The push? Or the kiss?”

Her ears burned furiously. “Either. I’m the mountain’s bride, remember?”

Leopard Eye nodded. “That stops others, but not Leopard Eye. After all, I came from Stillshadow’s body. Even if I was not a hunt chief, I would still be her son. The mountain is not here. Always, I thought you beautiful. I still do. I would bring you meat,” he said.

She gasped. Among her people, this was at the very least a proposition and perhaps even a proposal of marriage, if the woman in question were a bhan of little status.

Outrageous!

“No, Leopard. We will not speak of it.” She paused. Then added, “But …”

“But what?”

“But I’d forgotten you pushed me in the river.”

“But … you remembered the kiss?”

Suddenly shy, she nodded. “The first I ever had. I got pushed in the river a lot.”

“While I live, no one will ever do it again.”

When Leopard Eye stood straight, he was a half head taller than Frog. “You danced for me on Great Earth. Before that day I had never seen your breasts or your seventh eye. When you danced, you danced for no one but me. I fought, for you.” He came closer. “That day you made me a promise. I ask only that you keep your pledge.”

T’Cori forgot to breathe. “What … was promised?”

“Your body spoke to me. It said:
‘If you are Ibandi, if you will fight for us, we will serve you.’
Do I speak truth?”

T’Cori stammered. “We … yes. It is true.”

He squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. “I survived that battle. I claim what is mine.”

“Father Mountain’s child grows in my stomach,” she said hesitantly.

He placed his hand on the smooth, warm curve of skin. “Let me wash him with my own seed,” he whispered. His voice was a thief of thought.

Her
num
pooled in the pit of her stomach, then flew up like a raven, stealing all restraint with it. She groaned.

T’Cori searched for an objection in vain. Her heart betrayed her mind, or perhaps her sex betrayed both.

“There is only one thing I need to know,” Leopard Eye said. “A hunter lives by his word. Does a dream dancer?”

T’Cori felt herself lose the center of her
num
, the warm, calm place from which she made her very best decisions. She had no need to delve more deeply. There was a part of her that thrilled to this fine young hunter’s attentions. He had brought meat. His shoulders and back had been scarred in fighting for their lives and land.

It was not merely a matter of obligation. Despite the life growing within her, she welcomed his root. Her skin warmed, and her seventh eye softened in preparation for his touch. She longed to entwine her soul vine with his. Was she betraying Frog to feel so? To make sex for medicine was one thing, but wasn’t this yearning something else?

Or had her eyes finally opened enough for her to be the dancer her people needed? One with the ability to connect with the
num
, with the living fire of
the jowk
, that it might join with a sick one’s
jowk
to speed healing? Leopard set his spear aside and touched her shoulder. The sensation was like the tingle in the air after a strike of summer lightning.

The ocean of fire. The
jowk. For the first time in months she felt her
num
flare, felt its threads reach out beyond her flesh, her soul vine entwine with this strong young hunter’s.

T’Cori groaned, and her hips rotated in instinctual response. This was like the first bite of a cactus fruit: hot and ripe and almost too delicious to bear.

There by the stream where they had gathered seeds and roots, T’Cori craned her neck back so that her mouth was a breath away from his. His warm full lips caressed the side of her neck. His tongue traced its way along the line of her jaw, tasting her salt. Her fingers assumed a life of their own, caressing his thigh. Such a strong, fine thigh! So accustomed was she to Frog’s legs that it was shocking to feel Leopard’s more corded muscles. So strong was Leopard that Frog seemed almost feminine in comparison. The voice in the depths of her mind, the thing that cautioned her against yielding to her instincts, fell quiet. And the voice that begged her to take him within her body, that yearned to milk his root until he lost control and groaned and thrust against her and made his seed …

That urge strengthened, until it was a roar of wind, a clap of thunder. Until all thought vanished in her driving, urgent need.

Leopard’s clever hands pushed her leather skirt aside and stroked the long, soft curves of her buttocks and legs. With gentle, irresistible strength he lifted her up and found a fallen tree trunk to brace her against.

Steady the breathing. Find the place within. Center.
She babbled these things to herself, trying to keep this from being the personal satisfaction that her body now yearned for. She needed to calm herself, to protect her emotions. After all, she was Frog’s woman….