Sparrow and Dust Moon left the sandy fringe of the lake, and took the trail up the low rise toward Sleeping Mist Village. The three women working in the plaza hadn’t seen them yet. Early afternoon sunlight streamed through the sour gum and dogwood trees, throwing a patchwork of light over the conical bark-covered lodges. Smoke curled from the roofs. The day had warmed and melted most of the snow. Sparrow counted seven lodges in the clearing, but he could see the dark circles where four more had stood. The burned debris had been hauled away, but the earth held their shadows.
“I wonder how many died,” Sparrow said to Dust, who walked beside him, her long gray braid hanging down the front of her cape. Rumbler trailed a few paces behind.
“We heard that Jumping Badger slaughtered half the people.”
“Then there should be more than three people in the plaza on a warm day like today.”
Dust gave him a look. “Yes. On a warm day like today there should be fifteen or twenty people in the plaza, milling corn, knapping new arrow points, scraping hides from recently killed animals. Where do you think they are?”
Sparrow shrugged uneasily.
They crested the low rise, and five dogs raced from
the village, barking and snarling. Sparrow unslung his bow and waved it at them to keep them back, then he looked at the virtually empty plaza again. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it.
Dust turned around. “Hurry, Rumbler. Let me hold your hand.”
The little boy ran forward in his stiff swaggering gait, his hand out, and Dust grasped it.
Rumbler whispered, “Is something bad happening, Grandmother?”
“I don’t think so, but we aren’t going to take chances.”
Rumbler had removed his cape, and tied it around the waist of his long pale blue shirt. The shell beads across the chest shimmered. “I have cousins here,” Rumbler reminded her.
“Yes, I know,” Dust whispered. “But I want you to stay close to me anyway.”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
The dogs followed them into the plaza, barking and wagging their tails.
One of the women, pudgy and young, perhaps twenty winters, warily rose to her feet. Her black hair had been cut short in mourning. She called, “Who comes?”
Dust shouted, “Dust Moon! Matron of Earth Thunderer Village, and her family. Who are you?”
The woman wiped her hands on her brown skirt, and narrowed her eyes. “I am Redbud, sister of Hungry Owl. Are you alone? Just the three of you?”
Sparrow stopped, his nocked bow down at his side, and scanned the trees. “Yes,” he answered. “We are alone. Are you expecting someone else?”
Like the Faces of the Forest stepping out at dark, dozens of people slipped from behind tree trunks. Each person had a bow or knife, even children barely old enough
to walk. The villagers closed in, surrounding the newcomers. People whispered at the sight of Rumbler, and their eyes widened.
Sparrow released the tension on his bow, and slowly spread his arms. “We mean you no harm.”
Dust called, “This is no way to greet your relatives. We have come to speak with Patron Hungry Owl! Where is he?”
A slender young man ducked from the lodge at the far western edge of the village, straight up the hill in front of them. He wore a red and black striped shirt, and had plaited his long black hair into a single braid. His turned-up nose rode over full lips.
“Forgive us, Dust Moon,” Hungry Owl said as he hurried forward. “We can spare no sentiment these days.” But he embraced Dust Moon and whispered, “It is good to see you. Come. Share the fire in my lodge.”
“Thank you, Hungry Owl. We are probably being followed. You should post lookouts, just in case—”
“We already have lookouts posted, Matron, that’s how we knew you were coming. But thank you for telling me. Please, this way.”
Hungry Owl turned and walked back up the hill. Dust fell in behind, and Rumbler trotted at her heels, one hand holding onto her skirt.
Sparrow walked last in line, nodding to the warriors he passed. Many wore bandages on arms or legs. One had a broad swath of cloth wrapping his right shoulder. Blood dyed the fabric. Their visit must have forced him from his robes.
Sparrow recognized none of them. It had been seven or eight winters since he, Dust, and Flintboy had been here. In his fourth winter, everything had excited and delighted Flintboy. But much had changed. Children had
grown up. The elders Sparrow remembered were gone. Flintboy was gone … .
He ducked beneath the door curtain into the firelit warmth. Buffalo robes covered the floor, and the scent of rose-hip tea filled the air. He knelt beside Dust, across the fire from Hungry Owl. Rumbler sat at the back of the lodge, between Hungry Owl and Dust, his hands on his drawn-up knees, his gaze taking in everything.
Sparrow shifted to a cross-legged position and set his bow at his side.
Pots lined the walls, globular in shape, with round bottoms. Rocks had been wedged around the bases to keep the pots upright. Unpainted, drab designs decorated the clay: checks, raised squares, and the markings from cord-wrapped sticks. In the final stages of shaping a pot, the potter slapped the exterior with the flat face of a paddle. To keep the paddle from sticking to the clay, the paddle was often carved into a checkered pattern, or ribbed with wood. Many people preferred to wrap the paddle with cord. A good potter usually smoothed over these impressions before firing the pot, but these had not been touched. Perhaps the pots had been made in haste? To replace those destroyed during Jumping Badger’s attack?
The fire cast a flickering amber light over the soot-coated ceiling, and wavered from the finely woven baskets hanging on the walls.
Dust slipped out of her pack and lifted her cape over her head, revealing her yellow dress. The fringes on the sleeves danced long after she’d stopped moving. “I’m sorry we frightened you, Hungry Owl. We should have called out before we stepped into the plaza.”
Hungry Owl reached for the dishes stacked beside the fire pit, and pulled out four cups. A cone-shaped teapot rested in the coals at the side of the pit. “We’ve been cautious since the attack. Perhaps too cautious, but we’re
afraid to relax our guard. We have lookouts posted on the surrounding high points. They report any strangers that come near.”
Dust smoothed the frizzy gray hair away from her face. Her braid hung down the middle of her back. “I think that’s wise,” Dust said softly, then added, “I was sorry to hear about your father. Mouse Bone was a great leader.”
Hungry Owl smiled sadly, and started dipping up cups of tea for them. He handed the first cup to Dust. “Just before the attack, he was speaking of you and Silver Sparrow. He could never quite believe that you’d divorced. He said you always seemed inseparable.” Hungry Owl handed the second cup to Sparrow.
He took it, saying, “We are. It just took Dust a while to realize it.”
Dust’s mouth quirked, but she didn’t comment.
Hungry Owl handed the third cup to Rumbler. Awe tinged his voice when he said, “You must be the False Face Child we have heard so much about.”
Rumbler nodded. He took the cup as best he could with his bandaged fingers. “Yes. My name is Rumbler.”
“Rumbler,” Hungry Owl said. “I like that.”
As he filled his own cup, Hungry Owl’s brows drew down over his turned-up nose. “Is Earth Thunderer Village well?”
Dust frowned down into her tea. “As far as we know. We haven’t been there in more than a moon.”
Hungry Owl took a drink of tea, and waited for more. The red stripes on his black shirt shone orange in the fire’s gleam. “We heard that the False … that Rumbler had been stolen during the attack on Paint Rock. How does he come to be with you?”
Sparrow said, “You mean you haven’t heard the story?
I’m surprised. I thought that by now every village for a moon’s walk would have—”
“We have heard a few things,” Hungry Owl interrupted. “But only about Rumbler. A Trader came through two days ago, and said that the Headman of Walksalong Village had cut Rumbler loose, and escaped with him into the forest. We also heard that a war party was chasing this Headman, trying to get Rumbler back.” His gaze slid to Rumbler, then back to Sparrow. “But we heard nothing about you two.”
“Well, our story starts many days ago, when Cornhusk came to Earth Thunderer bringing a message—”
Dust put a hand on Sparrow’s arm. “Let me tell Hungry Owl, Sparrow,”, she said. “The Headman, Blue Raven, sought us out on the trail to Paint Rock Village. He sold Rumbler to us. Right after that happened, Jumping Badger caught Blue Raven. We barely escaped with our lives.”
Rumbler’s mouth gaped at the errors in the story, but he didn’t dare correct his grandmother in front of other people.
Hungry Owl didn’t blink. He asked, “Is the war party hunting you?”
“Almost certainly. We haven’t seen them today, but you should assume that they are behind us.”
Hungry Owl nodded. “I feared as much.” Leaning sideways, he pulled the door curtain back, and called, “Opposumback?”
The man immediately ducked beneath the curtain, and lowered himself on one knee. He must have been waiting just outside. Tall, with broad shoulders, and shoulder-length hair held in place by a braided leather headband, he might have seen twenty-one winters. A long healing cut slashed across his right cheek. “Yes, Patron?”
“I want you to take the elders, children, young mothers,
and all of the dogs into the forest to the Hollow Rocks. Carry plenty of food and water. Tell them they may have to stay there for a few nights. And tell the war leader I wish to see him.”
“Yes, Patron. I’ll go right now.”
“Thank you, Opposumback.”
He ducked beneath the curtain, and voices barraged him with questions. Opposumback shouted answers, and called, “Bigtooth? Find Gull, tell him the patron wishes to speak with him.”
While he waited for his war leader’s arrival, Hungry Owl looked at Dust. “There aren’t many of us left, but those of us who are able will help you protect the False Face Child.”
Dust reached around the fire and squeezed Hungry Owl’s hand. “Thank you. You are a generous leader.”
“No,” Hungry Owl said through a long exhalation. “I am just my father’s son. He taught me well. Someday, I may need to ask your help.”
“When you do, you will have it,” Dust promised.
The door curtain lifted and cold air streamed into the warm lodge, slapping at the fire, and blowing smoke into Hungry Owl’s face. He squinted against it, and waved the man inside, saying, “Please sit down, War Leader.”
Gull crouched between Hungry Owl and Sparrow. Around thirty winters old, he had a heavy brow, with fierce brown eyes and deep lines across his forehead. Silver streaked his long braid. He wore a knee-length buckskin shirt, and pants. “Yes, Patron?”
Hungry Owl held out a hand. “This is Rumbler, also known as the False Face Child”—Gull’s face slackened. He nodded respectfully to Rumbler—“and this is Matron Dust Moon, and Silver Sparrow, from Earth Thunderer Village.”
Gull inclined his head to each of them. “We are honored to have you in our village.”
Hungry Owl said, “They are running from a war party led by your wife’s murderer.”
Gull’s eyes went hard. He looked at Sparrow. “How far behind you are they?”
“A few hands of time. If they picked up our trail, they could be here by dusk.”
Gull grimaced at the flames. “Then we may have time to prepare. Patron, I would like to station scouts along the main trails. If they see anything, they can signal our lookouts.”
“Yes, proceed.”
Gull turned to Sparrow again. “Do you know how many warriors are in this war party?”
“We heard there were twenty. We saw around fifteen.”
“You saw them?” Gull asked. “When?”
“Just after dark last night. Outside the ruins of Paint Rock Village.”
“Paint Rock?” Hungry Owl said. “You were at Paint Rock last night? How did you get here so quickly? You must have walked all night.”
“Most of the night,” Sparrow agreed.
Hungry Owl said, “I should have known. You look exhausted. I will have my sisters prepare food and lay out blankets for you.”
“I don’t think either Dust or I could sleep, but Rumbler—”
“You should try to sleep,” Hungry Owl said. “In a few hands of time, you will wish you had. And don’t fear. Our lookouts will warn us if they spot anyone approaching.”
Gull rubbed his heavy brow. “I promise you, if there
is danger, I will wake you myself. We need every bow we have.”
Sparrow studied the taut lines around the war leader’s mouth. “How many warriors do you have left?”
“Real warriors? Eleven,” Gull said. “The rest of our people know how to shoot, but they are hunters, not warriors. I don’t know if they’ll be able to hit anything when arrows are flying at them.”
Sparrow clutched his teacup. Badly outnumbered. A battle would leave many more of their people dead. The fact left a bad taste at the back of Sparrow’s mouth. Now he wished he’d listened to Dust, and avoided Sleeping Mist altogether. Though he doubted they would have survived on their own. He told Gull, “When you need us, we’ll be ready.”
Gull nodded, and said to Hungry Owl, “If you are finished with me, Patron, I would like to go and prepare my people.”
“Yes, go. Thank you, Gull.”
The curtain swung behind Gull, flashing sunlight across Hungry Owl’s face, gleaming in his downcast eyes. He said, “Our chances are not good, as I’m sure you know. I have one important question. Do you wish to keep Rumbler close to you during the battle, or would you rather hide him in the forest somewhere? I would recommend hiding him. For two reasons: He will be safer away from the battle, and you will be able to fight better if you are not worrying about him. But it is your decision.”
Rumbler lurched to his feet and ran to Dust, wrapping his arms around her throat in a choking hold. In her ear, he whispered, “Grandmother, please don’t make me go!”
Dust grasped his wrist, and said, “We’ll think about
it together, all right? We have time before we have to decide.”
Rumbler gazed at Hungry Owl as if the man had just proposed serving his liver for supper.
“Yes, you do,” Hungry Owl said, “but not much time. Now, I should go and speak with my people. While I am away, I will have my sisters bring you food and blankets.” He rose to his feet. “You really must rest.”
“Yes, we will,” Dust answered. “Thank you, Patron.”
Hungry Owl ducked outside, and Dust gave Sparrow a desperate look.
He could read the tracks of her souls. “Yes,” he said, “I know, but Rumbler’s chances for survival have just improved tenfold. If we hadn’t come here, we—”
“What about Wren?” Rumbler asked. He loosened his hold on Dust. “Can we save her now?”
Sparrow smoothed a hand down Dust’s arm, trying to ease her guilt. She grabbed his fingers and held them.
Sparrow said, “The only way we’re going to save Wren is by fighting to get her back, Rumbler. She may die in the battle, but her chances of living a long and happy life are much greater if we win.”
Rumbler wet his lips, and solemnly repeated, “If we win.”
“Matron Dust Moon?” a voice called from outside. “May I enter?”
“Yes, of course.”
Redbud, the pudgy young woman they’d seen upon entering the village, stepped inside. Her black hair had been chopped off unevenly, leaving gaping holes in her hair. In one arm she carried three blankets. In the other, she had a basket filled with wild-rice acorn bread. She set the basket in front of Dust Moon, then handed the
blankets to Sparrow. “If there is anything else you require, I will be by the village fire pit.”
“We have more than we need, Redbud. You’ve been very kind. Thank you.”
The woman smiled, said, “I wish you a good rest,” then left.
Rumbler sat on the floor between Dust and Sparrow and reached for a piece of bread. Crumbs dropped down the front of his pale blue shirt. The boy ate as if he hadn’t been fed in days, chewing and swallowing as fast as he could.
“Slow down, Rumbler,” Sparrow said. “You can have another one.”
“Yes, but I have to hurry, Grandfather. The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner Wren will be here.”
Sparrow ate a piece, and watched Dust bite into hers. The wild rice added a rich nutty flavor. Rumbler gobbled half a piece more, then took a blanket from Sparrow’s lap and dragged it to the back of the lodge. He finished the bread under his blanket, staring thoughtfully at the shiny layer of black creosote on the ceiling.
Sparrow ate another piece of bread, then rose and walked back toward Rumbler. He spread the two remaining blankets over the buffalo hides, and crawled underneath. His face rested about four hands from Rumbler’s.
Dust remained sitting by the fire, eating slowly while she watched the flames.
Sparrow could sense her apprehension, but they had crossed over the river now. They had to fight, or die.
He closed his eyes, and did his best to rest.
Rumbler brushed the crumbs from his hands onto his blanket, and slid closer to Grandfather Silver Sparrow. Long white hair spread around his grandfather’s face. It looked like a Cloud Giant’s hair. Rumbler wondered if it could breathe. The higher you went on a mountain, the harder it was to breathe. Rumbler had always worried that maybe the Giants couldn’t get enough air. He reached out and touched the glittering white.
Grandfather opened one eye. “Are you all right?”
“Grandfather, can your Spirit Helper come to help us?”
Grandfather Silver Sparrow tilted his head back to look at Rumbler. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened. “Well, I don’t know. I’ll ask, Rumbler, but usually he doesn’t come to me unless I’m on a vision quest.”
“Usually?” Rumbler poked his good finger into the thick white nest. A lot of air lived between the strands. Probably they could breathe.
“I’ve seen my Helper a few other times. But, frankly, I’d rather not have. I awakened once to find him chasing me like a rabid wolf, and I was running for my life.”
“For your life, Grandfather?”
“That’s how it felt.”
“Um …” Rumbler sighed. “Maybe.”
Grandfather Silver Sparrow frowned. “What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”
Rumbler rolled onto his back and slid up until his ear touched his grandfather’s. Smoke wings fluttered around the hole in the roof, batting at each other, trying to get out to fly in the open sky.
“I mean, were you running because he was chasing you, or was he chasing you because you were running?”
Grandfather Silver Sparrow’s bushy gray brows pulled together over his beaked nose. “I never thought of it that way. Maybe I shouldn’t have run, eh?”
“Spirit Helpers are faster than humans anyway.”
“That’s true. He always catches me.” Grandfather put his hand behind his head. “Three or four moons ago, he knocked me flat, and sank his teeth into my spine. I—”
“Stopped running?”
The corners of Grandfather Silver Sparrow’s eyes crinkled. He glanced around the lodge. “Yes.”
“He must have really wanted you to stop, Grandfather.”
Silver Sparrow rolled to his stomach and braced himself up on his elbows, peering down at Rumbler. The Cloud Giant hair fell across the buffalo hide like foam spilling over a waterfall. “Well, he got what he wanted, but he had to take extreme measures, didn’t he?”
“I don’t think you’d better run again. Next time he might leap for your throat, or chew out your eyes.”
Grandfather scratched his ear. “That would be unpleasant. Where did you learn so much about Spirit Helpers?”
Rumbler yawned, a wide long yawn, and pulled his blanket up to his cheek. The cloth had been woven with strips of rabbit hide, and it felt soft and warm against his face. “My mother used to run. The last time she did it, her Spirit Helper leaped on her back, and tore out her windpipe. She told me wisdom was born standing still.”
Grandfather Silver Sparrow stretched out on his stomach and rested his chin on his arm. He had an odd expression on his face.
Rumbler closed his eyes.
Grandfather Silver Sparrow whispered, “I wish you’d told me that two winters ago.”
Rumbler reached out, and patted his grandfather’s hand.
Wan sunlight penetrated the clouds and fell upon the glittering surface of Leafing Lake in veils of fallow gold. The wave crests glowed yellow.
Wren staggered along the sandy shore behind Acorn, her soaked moccasins like clumps of ice around her ankles. They had untied her feet, but a new rope connected her bound wrists to Acorn’s belt. When they’d left Paint Rock that morning, she and Acorn had been at the head of the party, but her stumbling gait had pulled Acorn farther and farther behind, until they now brought up the rear.
Waves washed the shore to her right, pushing and pulling at the sand. Wet pebbles sparkled at the edge of the water. Wren concentrated on following the line of Acorn’s moccasin prints.
Her head throbbed as if her brain had swollen and was trying to burst through her skull. She couldn’t see out of her right eye. Her chest hurt, too. Stabbing pains climbed from her belly all the way up to her throat. His kick must have broken her ribs.
The bulk of the war party stood in a circle two hundred paces ahead, looking at something. Voices rode the afternoon breeze, but she couldn’t hear their words.
Acorn muttered, “What are they looking at?”
Wren had no strength to answer. She shook her head.
Just after dawn, they’d discovered the two sets of adult footprints leading away from the lakeshore and up the snowy trail to the pine grove. She had seen Rumbler’s prints under the tips of the lowest boughs, and thanked
the Spirits that Dust Moon and Silver Sparrow had found him.
But they’d left a trail.
After picking Rumbler up, they’d walked down toward the water. Their steps had vanished the instant they’d stepped onto the sand, but they’d been headed north.
It was enough.
As she neared the circle of warriors, Wren could see a fire pit dug into the sand. They hadn’t used all the wood they’d gathered. Several branches lay beside the pit, and charred grouse bones scattered the bed of ashes.
The tracks left no doubt. Three people had stopped here. One of them was Rumbler.
Jumping Badger walked around the pit, using the staff with the severed head like a walking stick. Matted greasy hair framed his slitted eyes. From the days on the trail, and the reflection of sunlight off snow, his skin had sunburned. The white scar across his throat stood out.
He pulled a stick from the woodpile and dug through the ashes.
“There is no warmth,” he declared. “But here, on the edge of the lake, the wind would have cooled the coals quickly. I say they are no more than three or four hands of time ahead of us.”
Rides-the-Bear grinned broadly. “So we will catch them today.” His ugly triangular face and thin nose bore streaks of soot. Both of his canine teeth had been knocked out many winters ago. Since that time, his two front teeth had inched outward, until now they stuck out like a beaver’s.
“Yes. Late this afternoon.”
Elk Ivory said, “War Leader, I do not think it wise to approach a village we attacked only a half moon ago when they can see us coming. Perhaps we should rest for
a time, eat and drink. Then we can approach under the cover of darkness.”
Buckeye came to stand behind Elk Ivory, adding his voice. “I think that is prudent, War Leader. I was not with the last party, but—”
“But you think you know what is best for the rest of us,” Jumping Badger said in a low threatening voice, clearly upset that Buckeye had taken Elk Ivory’s side. “I think that those of us who have already risked our lives here once know better than you.”
Buckeye straightened to his full height, towering over the other warriors. “I don’t wish to die, War Leader. I don’t think anyone here wishes to. We want to accomplish our goals, and get out with the fewest losses possible. Attacking at night would seem the best way to do that.”
Jumping Badger held the staff high, and called to the assembled warriors. “Buckeye and Elk Ivory think we should sit here cowering in our moccasins until we can sneak into Sleeping Mist Village after dark. What do you say? Shall we act like mice afraid of our own shadows? Which of you is a mouse? Call out!”
The warriors milled around, whispering sullenly, but only Acorn lifted his hand.
Elk Ivory said, “For the sake of your ancestors, Jumping Badger, listen to reason.” The nostrils of her broad flat nose flared. She lifted her pointed chin, and tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ears. “Being wary is not the same as being a coward. The survivors of Sleeping Mist Village must still be frightened and watchful. Do you want us to walk into an ambush?”
“I certainly don’t,” Buckeye said.
“You don’t,” Jumping Badger mocked. “Listen to the great Buckeye. He does not know what he may be facing and already he is recoiling from the fight. How many
warriors do you think Sleeping Mist has, after our attack? Eh? What … ten? Maybe twelve?”
Rides-the-Bear folded his arms over the chest of his dirty buckskin cape. “I would say ten, War Leader. They had no more than twenty to begin with, and I killed three myself.”
“Yes,” Jumping Badger said proudly. “You are a fighter. As is every warrior in your longhouse. If Mossybill or Skullcap were here, they would want to run to Sleeping Mist as soon as possible. To get this over and done with so we could go home to our families.”
Elk Ivory lifted a brow. “That’s why they’re dead. Neither one of them had the judgment Falling Woman gave a mosquito.”
Rides-the-Bear shoved forward with his fists clenched, as if to fight Elk Ivory … until Buckeye stepped alongside her, and drew his stiletto. His massive shoulders rippled with muscles, and his gaze turned deadly.
Rides-the-Bear stopped, took a breath, and stabbed a finger at her. “When this is over, I will settle with you for your insults, old woman.”
Elk Ivory looked at him blandly. “Look around you. All of you! We are at each other’s throats. We are tired, and disheartened over the news about our families. Do you think this is the time to rush into battle? Of course not! We need to rest, and consider how to proceed!”
Acorn dragged Wren up behind Elk Ivory, and said, “What harm could it do to spend a few moments talking?”
Wren sank to the sand at Acorn’s feet, and tilted her head to peer up at Elk Ivory. Until yesterday, she had never understood why Uncle Blue Raven had once loved her so much.
Elk Ivory cares about people. She understands their souls. As Uncle did. She should be war leader.
As Wren looked around the circle, she could see the same thought on the faces of many of the warriors. Jumping Badger apparently saw the same thing. His teeth ground beneath the thin veneer of sunburned skin.
Jumping Badger lifted his staff, and called, “Let us cast our voices! Who wishes to come with me to fight the cowards in Sleeping Mist Village who are protecting the False Face Child? Who wishes to help me kill the False Face Child?”
“We don’t know they’re protecting—” Elk Ivory began.
Jumping Badger shouted her down. “Who will follow me? Which of you is still loyal to the orders of the Walksalong matrons?”
Wren watched as men dropped their heads, shuffled anxiously, then walked like kicked dogs to stand behind Jumping Badger. But several also walked to stand behind Elk Ivory.
After sides had been chosen, Jumping Badger counted the men behind him, and said, “Twelve brave men stand with me, Elk Ivory. You have eight.”
She nodded, but it was a cold gesture. “We will stand with our relatives, as we always have,” she said. “But many fine warriors are about to die, Jumping Badger, and you are to blame.”
“Yes, go ahead and blame me, old woman. What do I care? Just do your duty to your people. We must kill the False Face Child before the rest of our clan dies!”
Jumping Badger turned his back to her, and ran up the beach with a straggling line of warriors behind him.
Buckeye put a hand on Elk Ivory’s shoulder. “Your words were true. I regret that so few people listened to them.”
Elk Ivory looked around at the warriors who had stood with her. “We all cast our voices. Even if we do not like
the outcome, our responsibility now is to help our relatives. Come. Let’s catch up with them.”
Elk Ivory led the group forward at a trot.
Acorn pulled Wren to her feet, and started to follow.
But, wobbly from sitting, her head in agony, Wren’s feet didn’t want to work. She weaved from side to side, staggering uncontrollably, then tripped in one of Acorn’s moccasin prints and toppled to the sand. He dragged her for two paces, and stopped.
Acorn’s mouth tightened, and tears filled Wren’s eyes.
He glanced at the war party, pulling ahead fast, and bent over Wren. The ridge of hair that ran down the middle of his shaved skull shone in the light.
“My head,” she said hoarsely. “It hurts.”
“Little Wren, I cannot carry you. I must have my arms free to shoot my bow. But we also cannot lag hundreds of paces behind the war party. If we’re attacked, you and I will be the first ones picked off. Do you understand this?”
“Yes.”
“What am I to do with you?”
“L-leave me. Leave me here.”
“I can’t do that. And if I tell Jumping Badger that you can’t keep up, he’ll kill you.”
Wren bit her lip, and struggled to her feet, but nausea overwhelmed her, and her knees buckled. She hit the sand retching. She sat there until she could muster the strength to try again. This time, she rose and locked her knees. “I can keep up,” she said.
Acorn searched her bruised face. “Very well, but if you fall again, I don’t know what will happen to you.”
Wren nodded.
Acorn straightened, and started walking.
Wren focused her good eye on the backs of Acorn’s moccasins. Grains of wet sand clung to the leather.
Her entire body hurt. But she couldn’t let herself think of that.
Instead, she thought about Rumbler. About the way he had looked at her the night she’d rolled him onto her cape and dragged him off Lost Hill. About the sound of his cries when he’d found his mother.
And she thought about Uncle Blue Raven.
A thousand winters from now, when her lonely soul wandered the dark forests, she would hear his voice ordering her to lie, to tell people it had been his fault … and the hurt would have nowhere to hide in her ghost’s body.
In the trees to her left, a branch cracked.
Wren pulled her head up.
He moved from tree to tree.
Dancing. Hiding and peeking out. A specter of blood and sunlight flashing between the dark trunks, his face luminous.
The crimson slashes across his chest had become streaks of fire.
His whisper seeped from the sand and sky, I told you, Wren. I told you you would come.