The echoes of sunset blushed color into the mist, giving it a milky pink radiance.
Jumping Badger stopped at the heavily trodden trail that led from the lakeshore up the hill. Twenty or thirty
people had walked this trail today, including the two people from the Turtle Nation and the False Face Child. He held up his staff to halt the warriors behind him. Voices murmured, transferring the unspoken order to those who couldn’t see him in the glittering haze. Feet shuffling to a stop competed with the rhythmic shishing of the waves.
A light breeze blew in off the lake.
Jumping Badger lifted his nose and sniffed the air. The scent of smoke filtered through the fog.
The ghosts had grown bold. One swooped down from the sky and batted at his hair, while another slithered from the ground and clawed at his legs with icy hands. Jumping Badger cried out, and leaped sideways. Claw marks raked the sand where the disembodied hand had disappeared.
“Leave me alone! All of you!”
He hadn’t slept in so long that he kept forgetting things. Only a hand of time ago, he’d ordered Buckeye to bring Blue Raven to him so he could question him. When Buckeye’s mouth had dropped open, he’d realized his cousin was dead.
But not gone. Blue Raven’s carefully placed steps echoed his own, close, less than a body’s length away, and he could smell the man, the odor of torn intestines overpowering. Blue Raven suddenly ran at him, his steps shaking the ground.
Jumping Badger shoved the staff into the ground, and jerked out one of the stilettos made from the murdered baby’s leg bones. Panic seared his veins. He screamed, “You joined the army of ghosts, is that it?”
Voices hissed at him, coming from the waves, and the wind. Laughter and shrieks.
There were so many of them now! Hundreds!
He clenched the stiletto in his sweaty fist. “Well, come
on! Come after me. I’m here! Right here! Let us end this!”
Elk Ivory came up beside him. She wore the heavy buffalo coat. Its lower half, once painted with green hawks, had turned solid black from Blue Raven’s blood. Her eyes bored into him as she gripped Jumping Badger’s shoulder and shoved him backward.
“Have you lost your souls?” she demanded to know. “Or did you just decide to tell everyone in Sleeping Mist that we are here and about to attack them again?”
Jumping Badger blinked and stumbled. The ghosts had vanished. His eyes searched the sand and sky.
Elk Ivory’s fist slammed his shoulder. The nostrils of her broad flat nose flared. “Are you able to lead this attack, Jumping Badger? Do you wish me to—”
“I wish you to shut up, old woman!”
Jumping Badger sucked in a breath. All day she had found things to slow him down, nonexistent tracks in the woods, fire pits days old, snapped twigs and white fox hairs that she claimed must have been left by the Turtle Nation people. Each required attention. Each cost him time.
When all this was over, he promised himself, he would find a way. He couldn’t kill her outright. Not and maintain his position as war leader. The matrons wouldn’t stand for it. He needed a reason. Rides-the-Bear and Shield Maker hated her, too. Together, they would concoct something. Plant evidence of treason in her bedding.
Elk Ivory turned, and her gaze affected him like a blow to the head, numbing his senses. “The village is close,” she said. “What now, War Leader?”
Rides-the-Bear moved up behind Jumping Badger. Sweat beaded his ugly triangular face. He ran his tongue through the gaps created by his missing canine teeth, and glared at Elk Ivory.
In response, Acorn and Buckeye came forward to stand at Elk Ivory’s shoulders. Little Wren, her hands tethered to Acorn’s belt, immediately dropped to the ground, trembling from fatigue. Long black hair fell around her face.
The burly Acorn looked diminutive next to Buckeye. The giant towered over them all, forcing Jumping Badger to look up into his squinted eyes. Two short braids framed Buckeye’s heavily scarred face.
“They can’t see us,” Buckeye whispered, “but they know we are here. Should we abandon the attack?”
Acorn rubbed the bristly ridge of hair that ran down the middle of his head—a nervous habit that irritated Jumping Badger. Acorn said, “Something’s wrong. The dogs should have scented us long before the … the noise. We haven’t even heard a bark.”
“No, we haven’t,” Elk Ivory whispered, and her face tensed. “War Leader, I suggest—”
Rides-the-Bear interrupted, saying, “We should spread out, War Leader, and surround the village as we did last time.”
“No,” Elk Ivory said. “We can’t risk thinning our forces. We don’t know what we might be facing. If we divide—”
“We can cover more ground,” Jumping Badger said. “The weak survivors of this village can’t put up much of a fight, old woman.” He looked up at the masked head of Lamedeer, and frowned. The dead man had been strangely silent for the past few hands of time. The crow’s-head mask shimmered wetly in the diffused light. “I think we should send out warriors in groups of two. That will give us six groups to surround the village, plus one larger group to enter from this trail.”
Acorn tugged on the rope fastened to his belt, and Little Wren glanced up. Misery twisted her dirty face.
“What shall we do with the girl, War Leader?”
The useless prisoner bit her lip, waiting as if for a sentence of death.
Jumping Badger said, “Elk Ivory will guard her.”
Elk Ivory peered at him with dark sober eyes. She knew as well as he that with the girl around her neck, and no warriors at her shoulders, she had meager chances of surviving. Jumping Badger smiled.
Acorn said, “Why can’t we just tie the girl to a tree somewhere, and come back for her later? Wasting Elk Ivory’s skills is—”
“No.” Elk Ivory nodded to Acorn. “Untie the girl. I’ll take her.”
Acorn gave Elk Ivory an imploring glance, but did as she’d instructed, drawing his knife and cutting the rope from his belt. He handed the frayed end to Elk Ivory.
She took it, and tied it to her own belt.
Jumping Badger ordered, “Rides-the-Bear, organize the warriors into groups of two. Once you have them assembled, we will send three groups around to the south.” He demonstrated, drawing an arc with his left hand. “One group, as well as you and Shield Maker, will come with me. The others will go to the north.” He drew another arc. “At my first signal, all southern groups will begin closing in around the village. My second signal will tell the northern groups to move in. If we …”
Laughter. Soft. Insidious.
Jumping Badger jerked around to Lamedeer. “Why are you laughing!” He lunged for the staff and shook it violently. The mask slipped, revealing a grisly hairless scalp and one rotted eye. It peered at Jumping Badger malevolently.
“Answer me! Is something happening that I do not know about?”
The inhuman laughter faded into nothingness.
Behind Jumping Badger, the warriors shifted, and muttered darkly.
He swung around to glower at them, and they backed away. Most pretended to have found something fascinating on the toes of their moccasins.
Rides-the-Bear stood with his fists clenched, glancing between Jumping Badger and the severed head.
Jumping Badger said, “Didn’t you hear me? I told you to organize groups!”
“Yes, War Leader.” Rides-the-Bear hurried away, and Jumping Badger heard him whispering orders.
The mist spiraled in his wake, twisting up and blending with the glittering grayness. Grandfather Day Maker must have sunk below the western horizon. A dusky pall had settled over the shore. The waves lapped more softly. Wind Mother had gone still and silent.
Elk Ivory, Buckeye, and Acorn stood in a knot to his left, staring at Jumping Badger with cold eyes. Little Wren sat with her head down, but he could see the miserable wretch watching him. Hate oozed from every pore of her young body. She would never forget that he had killed her uncle before her eyes. When she got older, Jumping Badger would have to watch her carefully, or he might awake some night with an arrow in his own belly.
Rides-the-Bear trotted back. “We are ready, War Leader.”
“Good,” Jumping Badger said, and his gaze traced the trail that led up the hill. “Dispatch the groups.”
But he did not move. Instead, he cocked his ear to the mist, straining to hear what the ghosts were saying. Their voices had gone almost too soft to …
He screamed, “What are you saying? Tell me!”
The others had gone. Elk Ivory stood with her bow in her hand, her eyes narrowed, as if seeing something in the mist that Wren did not.
Through the thick twilight fog, Wren could feel Rumbler. He hid somewhere close. His souls wavered at the edges of hers, the touch feathery and soft.
Oh, Rumbler, stay hidden. They’re coming.
“Stand up, Wren,” Elk Ivory murmured.
The ropes had cut deep gashes in Wren’s wrists. Pain shot up her arms as she braced her hands on the sand and struggled to her feet.
“I’m r-ready, Elk Ivory.”
Elk Ivory’s head did not move, but her eyes lowered to look at Wren.
Wren stood shaking, her lungs heaving.
Elk Ivory pulled her knife and cut the rope tied to her belt, then sawed through the ropes around Wren’s hands. Wren watched the bloody ropes fall to the ground and looked up in disbelief.
“I can’t protect either of us unless I’m free to move,” Elk Ivory said. “And you can’t protect yourself with your hands bound.”
“Protect … myself? You’re going to let me?”
“Yes, I want you to stay close to me for as long as you can, but if things start looking bad, you are to run.”
Wren wet her chapped lips. “Elk Ivory, why don’t you just tie me up somewhere, like Acorn said. Or—or let me go.”
“I can’t do that.” Elk Ivory exhaled. “Jumping Badger will come back, see my actions written in the sand, and have the reason he needs to kill me.” She
pulled an arrow from her quiver, and nocked it. “But if your tracks part from mine in the passion of the fight, no one will blame me.”
Wren forced a swallow down her aching throat. Had she heard right? Had Elk Ivory just told her how and when to escape?
“I don’t understand … what are you saying?”
Elk Ivory gave Wren a hard look. “And don’t come back, Wren. I know your uncle told you he wished you to go home and become clan matron … but you must trust me that that was bad advice. I tell you this as one woman to another. If you come home people will go crazy, they’ll start asking questions and, someday, the truth will come out.” She tested the tension on her bowstring, pulling it back and releasing it. “I promised your uncle I would do my best to keep you alive. If you wish to help me keep that promise, you will never return to Walksalong Village.”
Wren locked her knees. All the thoughts she’d had of home, the warmth of the longhouses, the soft sounds of people moving about in the morning, their laughter, her grandmother’s voice … gone? All gone?
Wren’s head trembled as she nodded. “I will. Help you keep it.”
Elk Ivory put a hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Then I will tell you when to run. When I do, you mustn’t hesitate. I don’t care what’s happening, what you see, or hear. Your duty is to run away as hard and as fast as you can. You understand?”
“Yes.”
Elk Ivory started to walk away.
“Elk Ivory?” Wren called softly, and the warrior looked at her. “Thank you.”
Elk Ivory’s face remained expressionless. “In a few moons, you may not feel such gratitude, Little Wren. The
road that lies ahead of you will not be an easy one to walk.”
Wren bowed her head, and rubbed her sore wrists to get the circulation going. “At least I’ll have the chance to walk it.”
Elk Ivory studied Wren a long moment, then slipped her knife from its belt sheath and handed it to Wren, hilt first. “You will if you live through this night.”
Wren took the knife, and gripped it tightly.
Sparrow, crouched between the woodpile and fire, could no longer see Dust, or the lodges in the village. A swimming sea of fog separated him from the rest of the world.
He tossed another log onto the fire. Flames leaped and crackled, and the mist gleamed with an unearthly brilliance. He felt as though the Spirits had spun a glittering cocoon around him, encasing him against his will. He reached down, pulled his stiletto from his belt and tucked it into his coat pocket.
The people hiding in the forest must be feeling the same anxiety. They couldn’t see more than three paces in front of them. When the battle came, it would be invisibles fighting invisibles. Warriors would be afraid to move, lest they snap a twig, and catch the attention of an attacker cloaked in mist. Not even the bravest …
Peent! Peent! The sharp nighthawk’s call rang through the trees.
Sparrow silently rose to his feet. He saw nothing. No one. But he sensed movement in the mist. He slowly turned around in a full circle. A few tree trunks slipped through the fog, then vanished again. Less than one hundred hands away Hungry Owl and several of his people
hid behind a snowdrift, but the fog had swallowed them whole.
Peent! Peent!
Sparrow unslung his bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver.
Waiting.