“Are you ready?” Cornhusk said. “They are almost here.”
Bull Killer put down the arrow shaft he’d been smoothing with his chert spokeshave, and rose to his feet. He turned to look westward. Thick stands of conifers covered most of the island, their fragrant boughs so dark green that they appeared almost black. Through the middle of that vast forest, a tiny tan trail wound. Four people came down it.
Bull Killer touched Cornhusk’s arm, and said, “Are you certain it’s them?”
Cornhusk grinned, showing his missing front teeth. “I just came from speaking with them. I ran all the way to tell you they were coming. I thought you might wish a little time to prepare yourself.”
“Yes,” Bull Killer said, and nodded. “Thank you.”
“Do you wish me to go with you? To meet them?”
His voice came out a whisper. “No.”
Cornhusk inclined his head and trotted toward the villagers gathered in the trees to the north. For almost six moons they had been watching the ghost people build their stone houses on the beach. They had proven to be fierce warriors, shooting arrows that flashed like lightning.
Cloud Giants drifted through the elemental blue sky over Bull Killer’s head, casting shadows across the land,
but warm bright sunlight fell upon the trail where the people stood.
Bull Killer wiped his hands on his knee-length brown shirt, and sucked in a deep breath. Sweat beaded his pointed nose, and soaked the silver-streaked black hair that framed his oval face, and hung down to his broad shoulders.
He was afraid, and he had not been truly afraid in a long time.
He smiled wanly to himself. The last time he’d felt this quivering in his belly he’d been standing before Dust Moon, listening to her tell him he had to leave—he had to give up everything he cared about if he wished to protect the people he loved. She’d told him he would eventually learn to live without Briar—but she’d been wrong. To this day, even though he knew she was dead, he still held her in his arms in his dreams.
He started up the trail to meet them.
A light breeze blew off the ocean, flapping his brown shirt around his long legs. The mixture of the salt air and spruce trees soothed him a little. He had lived here for seven winters, and come to love this northern country, and its people.
As he closed the gap with them, he could see Dust Moon clearly. Deep wrinkles creased her face, and her hair had gone all gray. She wore it in a long braid. Silver Sparrow looked virtually the same, with long flowing white hair, and a beak nose. The slender young woman who walked with them had a lean angular face, as if her features had been carved from a fine golden brown wood.
… He looked at the boy.
And the boy looked at him.
Bull Killer’s eyes blurred. Who would have thought eleven winters ago that a Power child could come from his joining with Briar?
The boy had short arms and legs, and a beautiful round face with lustrous black hair. He wore a dark blue shirt with tiny white spirals across the chest. Much too big for him, it hung to the ground.
Dust Moon bent down and whispered something to the boy, and he stared at Bull Killer with shining black eyes. Dust Moon gave the boy a shove.
Rumbler walked toward him, his steps slow and deliberate.
Bull Killer knelt in the trail, and opened his arms.
A tremulous smile touched the boy’s lips. He broke into a run, reaching out for Bull Killer.
“Oh, gods,” Bull Killer whispered as he embraced Rumbler, and clutched that small body to his chest. “My son, my son, I never thought I would see you.” He kissed Rumbler’s hair. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
“Let’s give them some time alone,” Sparrow said.
Wren nodded, and led the way around them and on down the trail. But after five paces, she turned to look back at Rumbler. He had his chin braced on his father’s shoulder, and a broad smile on his face. He lifted his stubby half-fingers to her, and Wren waved back.
They started down the trail again, and Wren asked, “Where are we going, Sparrow?”
He came alongside her, and put an affectionate hand on top of her head. “Well, there are people down there at the edge of the trees. I see Cornhusk with them, so they must be friendly—”
“So far,” Dust Moon said. “They obviously don’t know Cornhusk very well yet. We’d better get there before they do.”
Sparrow laughed. “Wise idea.”
Wren inhaled the rich scents of this new land. She’d always wanted to be a Trader, but she had never imagined the joy of the journey itself. Over the past six moons, they had walked, or canoed, all day long every day, and she had cherished every moment of it.
“Will we stay here for a while?” Wren asked, and looked up at Sparrow.
He gave her a serene smile. “Yes, at least until Rumbler decides what he wants to do. Why, are you so anxious to be off?”
Wren shrugged. Her hair danced in the warm sea breeze. “I could rest for a while,” she answered. “It’s been a long trip.”
“Yes,” Sparrow said with a deep sigh, “it has.”
As they neared the trees, Wren glimpsed the pale blue ocean beyond. She could hear waves washing the shore.
Cornhusk trotted out to meet them, his ugly face alight. “Come on. Hurry! You won’t believe this.”
“What?” Sparrow’s dark eyes narrowed.
“Just come! I’m not going to tell you, and spoil it.”
Cornhusk gripped Sparrow’s sleeve and dragged him around the crowd of onlookers to a space between the spruce trees that opened onto the beach.
Wren and Dust Moon followed at their own paces. Dust put an arm around Wren’s shoulders as they walked. Wren had come to love them very much. She …
Sparrow halted suddenly, and Wren saw his mouth open. “What … is it?”
Wren and Dust walked around to Sparrow’s right side, and followed his gaze.
A huge broad-beamed boat rocked in the water.
“Look!” Cornhusk said and pointed. “There they are!”
Sparrow turned to his left to peer through the trees, and Wren edged closer to him.
Cornhusk said, “The people here say they are the ghosts of Grandfather Day Maker’s children. Look at the sunshine color of their hair, and their white skin. They look like corpses. See the stone houses they have built! They won’t let anyone get close enough to really look. They’re apparently afraid of humans.”
“Blessed gods,” Sparrow said hoarsely. “Grandfather Day Maker’s children … they’re h-here.”
Dust said, “What are you talking about?”
Sparrow took a step backward, as if preparing to run. “I saw … millions … crying out for help.”
Cornhusk’s smile had frozen at Sparrow’s words. He stood as rigidly as a man on the edge of a precipice, afraid to move.
The quaking began in Wren’s legs and worked up through her body.
They build houses because they are afraid of us … our world is about to end. We have to warn people, before it’s too late … .
“Wren?” Dust Moon said. “Wren! What is it?”
Dust Moon knelt and took Wren by the shoulders, searching her face.
Wren closed her eyes, and let the tears run silently down her cheeks. “Dust Moon … do you remember when I—I told you about the bloody boy?”
“Yes,” Dust answered. Her wrinkled face had gone serious. “You said he was hurt.”
Yes, hurt badly … . Help me, Wren. I need your help.
“Little Wren,” Dust said, “what about the bloody boy?”
Wren opened her eyes and gazed upon the sunshine ghosts as they moved, stacking rocks to make their houses.
She answered, “I finally know what happened to him.”