Sparrow woke in the middle of the night with the elk hide pulled over his head. He lay with his legs curled against Dust’s, and his arms around her. Her head rested beneath his chin. The fact that he’d given up hope of ever holding her this way again made it even more glorious. He lightly kissed Dust’s hair.
“Are you awake?” she whispered sleepily.
“Yes.”
“Should we rise?”
She slid back against him, snuggling into the curve of his body.
Sparrow tightened his hold around her. “Probably. The snow is still falling. If we leave now, it will fill in our tracks.”
But neither of them moved. Dust pulled his arm closer, and Sparrow nuzzled his chin against her hair. The feel of her lithe body tucked against him, the warmth of her breath on his hand, filled him with a sudden anguish.
“Dust?”
“Umm?”
“I’m sorry.”
She turned, and in the light that streamed beneath the elk hide, he could see her eyes shining, her face framed in a glistening bed of silver hair. “What for?”
“I’m the one who wounded our love.”
For a time, she didn’t move, then she said, “Sparrow, there is no unwounded love—”
“No, Dust. Just listen. It was my fault, and I’ve never admitted it. I am sorry. You needed me, and I wasn’t there.”
“Yes, I did need you. Very much.” A pained expression creased her wrinkled face. “Sparrow, do you realize that everything would have been different if you’d just wakened me that night and told me what had happened?”
“Would it, Dust?” he softly asked. “Are you sure?”
Her brows lowered. “I hated you for leaving me alone, Sparrow. But, to tell you the truth, I don’t know which was worse, the hurt you gave me, or the one I gave me. It’s not easy hating someone you love with both your souls.”
Sparrow lowered his eyes. “Do you still hate me?”
She pulled a lock of his hair across her throat, and stroked it. “No, I haven’t hated you for a long time, Sparrow.”
He pressed his forehead against hers. “There are so many things I want to say to you. But they all come down to just one thing: I want to wake up with you in my arms every morning, Dust.”
“Sparrow, I … it will be … difficult. There was a time when I thought my heart would die without you. But it didn’t. It kept beating. The rains kept coming. The wind still blew.” She pushed back, and studied his face. “I love you. But can I depend on you?”
The tone in her voice struck him like a physical blow. He had abandoned her once; she wanted to know if he’d do it again. Sparrow thought about his Spirit Helper, about the needs of the world that often outweighed his own needs … and her needs. Could she depend on him? What if he had another vision like the one about Paint Rock Village, and had to leave immediately to go and
warn the people—and she needed him at the same time? Could he stay with her?
His forehead lined. “I can promise you that I’ll try, Dust. That’s all.”
She turned away, and exhaled hard. “Will you promise me that you’ll tell me what’s happening to you? Or at least send me word that you’ll be away for a time, so I don’t worry my souls loose from my body?”
“If I can, Dust, yes.”
Her eyes examined the underside of the elk hide for a long time, before she turned back to him. “Then I promise you that if we survive this journey I’ll try to trust you again. And if we don’t survive at least we’ll have had this trip. Do you agree?”
“Yes.” He smiled.
“Good, now let’s forget about us, and start thinking about Rumbler.”
Sparrow pulled the elk hide down, exposing their faces to the falling snow. Moonlight gleamed through the thin layer of clouds, reflecting from the lake below. “I don’t know if this storm is going to last much longer. We’d better pack up and start walking. I just wish I knew which direction we should head.”
Dust sat up. “I’ve been thinking about that. Sparrow, when Little Wren broke and ran last night, do you think she could have been trying to draw us away from that shelter?”
She pulled her hair over her shoulder, divided it into three parts and began braiding it.
He held her gaze. “You mean you think Rumbler is still there? Gods, I pray not.”
“Why?”
“That shelter is visible from Paint Rock Village. When Grandfather Day Maker rises, that’s the first place Jumping Badger will look.”
“Then shouldn’t we look first?”
Sparrow sat up. “It’s too dangerous, Dust. There will be guards stationed all around the village, watching for any movement, and they are definitely hunting us. You heard what Blue Raven told the woman warrior last night. About selling Rumbler to us.”
“Yes, that was quick thinking on his part.” She finished her thick braid, and searched the snow for the cord she’d removed last night. As she tied it to the end of the braid, she said, “I certainly misjudged him, didn’t I?”
“Well,” he said softly, “it isn’t always easy to know what people will do when pushed.”
“But it did not even occur to me that he might be willing to sacrifice himself to save Little Wren.”
“He surprised me, too, though I should have expected what he did.”
She pulled the elk hide up to her chin and looked at Sparrow. “What do you mean?”
“What would you have done, Dust? If Rumbler had been accused of betraying his people, and you knew that he believed he had done the right thing, wouldn’t you offer your life for his? To keep that innocence alive in the world?”
A white cloud of exhaled breath condensed before her. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I suppose I would.”
Sparrow brushed the snow from his hair, and his bushy brows drew together. “Dust, we need to start thinking about how we’re going to escape. Thus far we’ve been concerned solely with finding Rumbler. But he can’t be far. We will find him, and once we do, we have to know what comes next.”
Her gaze flitted over the hilltop, skimming the trees, and rocks, trailing down to the lakeshore. A thin band of scalloped sand separated the water and the snow. “You
don’t think the war party will be satisfied with capturing the ‘traitors’?”
“No. At first light, they’ll begin torturing Blue Raven, trying to find out where Rumbler is—where you and I are taking him, and then they’ll be on our trail like a pack of wolves after a wounded deer.”
“But Blue Raven knows we don’t have Rumbler, and even if we did, he has no idea where we might take him.”
Sparrow straightened the hide to shield their exposed feet. When he spoke, he couldn’t keep the fear from his voice. “He’ll lie, Dust. He’ll tell them whatever he thinks they want to hear. Maybe not today, but surely by tomorrow night. And even if, by some miracle, he doesn’t, Little Wren will be watching. When she sees her uncle suffer, she will tell Jumping Badger anything he wants to know.”
Sympathy creased her face. “Poor Little Wren. Sparrow, maybe—”
“Stop thinking about it. The task ahead is difficult enough without attempting to take on an entire war party.”
Dust jerked a nod, and brushed at the snow on the hide. “You’re right. I don’t like it, but I know you’re right.”
Dust shook out the elk hide and began rolling it up.
Sparrow picked up his bow and quiver—he’d slept with them next to him under the hide—and slung them over his right shoulder. Then he reached for their packs. As he handed Dust’s to her, he said, “I know the girl risked her life for Rumbler, but—”
“Every instant we spend worrying about Little Wren is one less instant we will have to think about Rumbler. We have to concentrate, or none of us will make it out
of this. So …” She slipped her pack on. “What is our escape plan?”
Sparrow took the rolled hide and tied it to the top of his pack. “The closest village is Sleeping Mist. If we find Rumbler, I think we should—”
“But they were just recently attacked, Sparrow. Their foodstores may have been raided. They will be drowning in grief. If I were one of the elders there I’m not sure I would appreciate strangers running in out of the darkness and asking me for shelter.”
Sparrow shrugged into his pack, and adjusted his bow and quiver so he could reach them easily. “They have the best reason of all to help us, Dust. They hate Jumping Badger and his warriors more than we do.”
He got to his feet and extended her a hand. Dust took it, and rose.
She picked up her pack, and slipped her arms through the straps, saying, “They may hate him, Sparrow, but are they willing to risk every last surviving member of their village to protect us? That is the question. I wouldn’t be.”
“Well, let’s hope their clan patron is more generous than you are.” Sparrow licked his finger and held it up to the wind. “Wind Mother is gusting down from the north. I’d much rather walk with the wind in my face, than blowing up my back.”
“I suppose it’s a coincidence that it also happens to be the direction of Sleeping Mist Village?”
“No,” he said, and stuck his thumbs in his pack straps. As he started down the hill toward the shore, he added, “Who is the patron there, now? Do you know?”
“We heard that old Mouse Bone was killed in the raid, and that Hungry Owl took his place.”
“His son?”
“Yes, he’s barely twenty-five, but I hear he’s highly respected.”
Dust’s voice grew fainter and fainter. It occurred to Sparrow that she wasn’t following him.
He stopped, and called, “Dust—”
“You don’t have to come with me,” she called back. “In fact, it would be better if you didn’t. That way if the war party sees me, only one of us will be captured. That will leave the other to continue searching for Rumbler.”
He expelled a gruff breath and walked back up the hill. “I’m the one who was a warrior. I know how they think. I’ll check the shelter. But I want you to wait up here for me. Agreed?”
The jagged line that cut down around her right eye pulled tight. “I’ll agree to wait near the shelter. That way I can see—”
“Yes!” He threw up his hands. “Fine. I know that look on your face. There’s no way I’m going to convince you to stay in a safe place, so let’s just go!”
Sparrow trudged across the hilltop and down among the trees. Deep drifts piled against trunks and boulders. He did his best to work around them, but occasionally he sank up to his hips.
They made it to the main game trail that cut across the front of the hill overlooking the ruins of Paint Rock Village. Sparrow stopped for a moment’s rest. Dust came up behind him and grabbed his shoulder to steady herself.
“Do you see it?” she whispered.
“Yes. The shelter is down there. You stay here.”
“I will. Sparrow? Please be careful.” She crouched down behind a pile of deadfall.
Sparrow slowly made his way along the trail. He took three steps, then stopped, surveyed the forest, and listened, before taking another three steps. Snow fell around him, but through the white haze he could see faint crimson
glows near the outskirts of Paint Rock Village … . Fires burned down to coals.
Sparrow scanned the forest. Where would Jumping Badger have posted guards? Probably along the trails coming into Paint Rock. One near Calling Hawk’s pinioned corpse. Another at the opposite end of the village. He didn’t see anyone, but he wouldn’t. Warriors standing guard went to a lot of trouble to be invisible.
Humps scattered the area around the fire pits—snow-covered sleeping warriors. He counted about fifteen people, but there could have been more. The falling snow obscured a great deal.
The closer he got to the shelter, the stronger the scent of smoke became.
Sparrow trudged through the snow to the slender poles leaned against the boulder’s face. They had constructed a snug resting place.
Sparrow whispered, “Rumbler? It’s Silver Sparrow … . Are you in there?”
Only the pattering of snow on the poles answered.
Sparrow knelt and peered through a gap in the poles. They’d thrown dirt over the fire, but some of the coals beneath had survived. A dull red sheen lit the interior. Strips of cloth lay on the hearthstones. Sparrow frowned. He reached in and pulled out the pack that lay against the wall. Dishes clattered. As he slipped the strap over his shoulder, he saw the folded cape on the floor … then the opening in the poles on the other end of the shelter.
She did draw us away. Blessed Spirits, how many times has that little girl risked her life to save Rumbler? While we were chasing her, Rumbler was running in the other direction.
Sparrow rose to his feet and cautiously examined the ground. Any tracks Rumbler had left had long ago filled in with snow. But where might he have gone? Not downhill.
They would have seen him. Not across the face of the hill. Too much deadfall. The only clear path led from the top of the boulder up the hill.
Sparrow squinted, thinking, then headed back for Dust.
By the time he reached her, the snow had diminished to a few big flakes.
Dust stood up, her face shining within the frame of her hood. “Rumbler wasn’t there?” Disappointment laced her voice.
“No, Dust, but I found this.” He pointed to the pack. “And I think I know what happened to Rumbler.”
Dust clenched her jaw, as if steeling herself. “What?”
“There were two openings in their shelter. One on this side, the one we saw Wren dash out of, and one on the opposite side of the shelter. I think Rumbler went out that one right after Wren caught our attention.”
She searched his face. “But where did he go?”
“As best I can figure, up the hill.”
Dust turned and looked, then started back up the trail they’d come down. Sparrow followed her in silence.
When they had cleared the drifts and reemerged on the hilltop a short distance from where they’d slept, Dust stopped and tried to catch her breath.
“Do you think,” she asked, “that they talked about a meeting place?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t have much time after we found them. But they might have. Little Wren must be a smart girl. They managed to avoid the war party longer than most adults would have.”
Dust touched the pack. “This must have belonged to her. It’s too big for Rumbler to carry.”
Sparrow nodded, and let his eyes trace the undulating line of the hill to the spot where he thought the trail from the boulder might come out. “Do you see that grove of pines to the northeast? Down near the water’s edge?”
Dust looked into the wind. Gusts flapped her hood around her face. “What about it?”
“The trail I told you about? The one I think Rumbler may have taken? It would come out on the hilltop just above that grove of pines.”
Moonlight shot through a gap in the lines of the marching Cloud Giants, and ignited the snow. It blazed like blue-white fire.
“Do you think he’s hiding there somewhere?” Dust asked. “Waiting for Wren?”
Sparrow gripped her hand, and led her down the hill. “Let’s find out.”
Freezing, her dark blue shirt and pants soaked with melted snow, Wren leaned against the oak tree, staring at Uncle Blue Raven. He lay on his back twenty hands away, his eyes half-open.
She kept expecting to see him move.
To take a breath.
For a full hand of time after Acorn had found him, and said he was dead, Uncle Blue Raven had moved. His fingers had clenched. His feet had jerked.
A disoriented numbness filled Wren. He must be dead. Everyone said so. But …
She clutched the rawhide strip on her belt.
Elk Ivory sat on a stump a short distance away, a blanket around her shoulders, and her bow across her lap. Wren didn’t know where Acorn had gone. The other warriors, including her cousin Jumping Badger, lay rolled in their blankets, snoring.
She had to think. She knew it. But her brain had stopped working.
Elk Ivory stood up, stretched her back, and walked toward Wren. “Are you cold?”
Wren nodded. She didn’t want to open her mouth. Her teeth had been chattering uncontrollably. She tried to remember to keep her jaw clenched, but sometimes she forgot, and her mangled tongue filled her mouth with blood.
Elk Ivory draped her blanket around Wren’s shoulders, and the warmth struck her like a splash of boiling water. She shivered wildly.
Elk Ivory knelt beside Wren. “You should try to sleep.”
“Elk I-Ivory,” she stammered. “Is—is h-he dead?”
She frowned. “Yes, Wren.”
“But he m-moved. After you s-said he was.”
Elk Ivory sighed. “Sometimes the body doesn’t know it’s dead. It fights. I have seen men’s legs try to run after they’ve fallen. I have seen dead hands reach for bows. But there is no thought behind the movements, Wren.”
“His afterlife s-soul is gone?”
“Yes. I give you my pledge that it is.”
Wren gazed at her uncle, afraid to take her eyes from him for fear that he might blink, or sit up, and prove Elk Ivory wrong.
“Can I go … t-to him?”
Elk Ivory put a hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Wren, he is gone. Do you hear me? It happened very quickly.”
Wren tightened her hold on Trickster’s rawhide toy. “C-can I go to him?”
Elk Ivory looked away and shook her head. Then she rose to her feet, took her knife out, slit Wren’s ankle bindings, and hauled her to her feet. Gripping Wren’s elbow, Elk Ivory led her to Uncle Blue Raven.
Wren looked down.
She saw the gashes in his pants, the blood soaking the
snow in an enormous circle around his legs.
“U-Uncle?” she called.
He didn’t move.
Snow fell on his open eyes, and fell … and fell.
“Uncle?” she sobbed.