Gispaxloats glanced uneasily at Kitselas. Their small fire had burned down to ashes, and as the first faint light of dawn sent rose colors through the thin high clouds, it was apparent that the great matron’s soul had fled. What was even worse, they were lost. He had no idea where the trail was that they were supposed to take, and without Astcat to tell them, all he could do was stumble on ahead and hope he was doing it right.
Blue Hand and Spotted Arm both sat across the fire, blankets around their waists as they yawned and rubbed their eyes. That didn’t hide the worry as they shot quick glances at the matron.
She lay in her litter just west of the fire, where the evening breezes would drift the fire’s warmth over her. This morning, however, her face was slack, her mouth hanging agape. Drool slipped silver down the side of her chin.
Gispaxloats shook his head, muttering, “What now?”
They had stopped for the night and set up camp in a shallow cove just up from a stream crossing. The location was bounded on three sides by basalt outcrops and partially screened by brush. Thick grass had made for good bedding, and enough snags had been snapped from the nearby conifers to keep the fire going all night.
“We follow our orders,” Kitselas said with resignation as he
watched the old woman’s shallow breathing. “She is the great matron. That’s all there is to it.”
“But it doesn’t make any sense!” Spotted Arm muttered as he stood, watched his frosty breath in the cold air, and then walked into the brush to relieve himself.
“Who cares if it makes sense?” Blue Hand, his younger brother, kicked his blankets off, rose, and followed. From behind the screening of brush, he added, “Kitselas is right. She’s the great matron of the North Wind People. We keep going.”
“Cimmis is going to pull our hearts out of our chests and boil them while they’re still beating.”
Gispaxloats pulled his war bag over, lifted the flap, and stared inside. “There’s enough food here for one breakfast. I say we cook it, eat it, and do as the matron told us.”
“Yes. Let’s,” Kitselas agreed. “We might as well eat it all. I’ve always wanted to die with a full stomach.”
Blue Hand stepped out of the brush and ran his fingers through his hair as he stared at the listless Astcat. “Why did she choose us for this?”
“Because we’re the best.” Gispaxloats tossed more firewood onto the coals. “Kitselas, take that bladder over there and walk down to the stream. Bring me some water. I heard that the great chief always trickles water into her mouth when her soul comes loose.”
Kitselas took the water bladder and stood. “What if the great chief catches us before we can complete the task we’ve been given?”
“Then he’d better find the matron receiving the best of care.” Gispaxloats stared hopefully at Astcat. “I just hope she brings her soul back in time to explain for us.”
Reluctantly Blue Hand said, “Well, let’s get about it. We have the matron’s orders. I’ll build up the fire. You go cut green branches. If she wants a big smoke, we’ll make it so that the whole country can see.”
“Yeah,” Spotted Arm muttered as he stepped out of the bushes. “It’s a toss-up as to who is going to find us and kill us first.”
Do you see the smoke, my Chief?” Young Thunder Boy called.
“What smoke?” Cimmis asked.
Over ten tens of people twisted at once to look back at Cimmis. He felt like he was gazing into a writhing sea of disembodied faces. The North Wind procession resembled a snake with a chipmunk in its belly as it wound down the ridgetop trail. The triangular head of the snake was composed of three people. Immediately behind them, a group of around five tens of warriors marched. A bulbous circle of spear throwers encircled the Four Old Women’s litters. Another group of warriors brought up the rear, and the tail of the snake slithered out behind.
Just ahead of him, the Four Old Women shifted on their litters to see what the commotion was.
Thunder Boy said, “Someone is sending a signal down along the base of the mountain.” He swung around and pointed to the south-west. “You can still see the column of white smoke where the wind has blown it back into the trees.”
Cimmis stepped away from his guards to get a good look at the location. He knew this terrain; every groove and bump was familiar. If Rain Bear was sending the message, he couldn’t be too far from the spire. Probably … there. Less than two hand’s run from Water Storage Plateau.
“Are you sure that was a message and not just some hunter drowning a campfire?”
Thunder Boy swallowed hard. “It was a white plume of smoke, Great Chief. We thought you should know.”
Cimmis turned, beckoning to Wind Scorpion, who walked several paces back. The grizzled old warrior trotted forward.
“Yes, Great Chief?” When Cimmis pointed, the cunning old eyes turned to where the faint white plume of smoke rose over the distant trees.
“Do you know what that might be?”
Wind Scorpion’s eyes narrowed. “A signal of some sort, I suppose. The first thing that comes to mind is that Rain Bear has split his forces. One group is signaling to another. He surely wouldn’t attack here. This ground is too open.”
He gestured down the slope. A fire five summers ago had denuded the slope where the trail followed the ridge down toward patches of trees.
As they walked, Cimmis couldn’t help but glance periodically at the plume of white. It seemed to strengthen, and then diminish, only to be replenished again. It looked to him more like a beacon than a signal smoke. Beacon? For what? For whom?
As if he had overheard Cimmis’s thoughts, Wind Scorpion said, “The threads of Power are being drawn tight.”
As the sun rose ever higher in the sky, Hunter kept shooting wary glances at the witch, as did Deer Killer; but Dzoo had her unblinking eyes focused on Ecan. She seemed possessed of an absolute stillness. With her dark hood flapping around her beautiful face, she looked almost godlike.
“Witch!” Hunter called. “Are you sleepwalking?”
She didn’t appear to hear him.
“I asked you a—”
“Red Dog’s soul is stalking yours.” She said it so calmly.
Deer Killer cried, “Red Dog? No one’s even seen him for days. Word is he ran off to Rain Bear.”
Hunter glanced warily around; the very notion of something stalking his soul chilled his blood. “What makes you think he’s dead?”
“A witch whispered it to me last night.”
“We were guarding you all night. No one came close.” Deer Killer thumped his chest in emphasis.
“I shall miss the two of you,” she said simply. “Give my regards to Red Dog’s spirit when you see it. Tell him I will always honor his memory.”
“That makes no sense,” Hunter muttered, but he kept glancing over his shoulder to see if a ghost was there.
As Dzoo walked, a heaviness lay in her heart. She had liked Red Dog. When Coyote had whispered that he’d killed him outside of Salmon Village, her heart had deadened. She had known that Red Dog cared for her, had seen it grow in his eyes while he healed under her care.
Scoundrel that he was, she would miss his wit, the dogged persistence of his character. He would never have filled the hole left by her Pearl Oyster: She had had one husband, one love of her life.
She could feel Ecan’s presence long before she was aware of him marching up to her.
“Hunter, Deer Killer, leave us.” The Starwatcher made a gesture with his hand.
The guards faded off to each side, leaving a bubble of space around them. Dzoo sniffed, catching the subtle odor of damp moss. “You are tainted, Starwatcher.” She glanced at his pinched expression. “What was his reaction when he laid hands on his fetishes again?”
Ecan missed a step. And recovered, one hand to his breast. “What … what are you talking about?”
She let the faintest of smiles bend her lips. “I’m talking about the bargain you struck with Coyote. Was Red Dog part of it, or was killing him Cimmis’s idea?”
“Cimmis deals with Coyote?” Ecan seemed genuinely surprised.
“Of course. But for a thread of Power, Coyote would have already killed Tsauz and removed him from the complex web we find ourselves in. Curious, isn’t it, that he didn’t kill Matron Evening Star that night in her lodge?”
Ecan was watching her as if she could spin miracles. “Coyote was sent to kill both Evening Star and Tsauz?”
“You owe your son’s life to the Soul Keeper, Rides-the-Wind. Why do you think the old man went to Rain Bear in the first place? It was to save the boy.”
“For which I shall reward him when the time comes.” Ecan seemed suddenly reserved, as if putting new pieces into an old puzzle. “As to Evening Star, I would prefer to deal with her on my own.”
“If he will let you.”
“I control—”
“Is that what you think?” She laughed at the man’s temerity. “What makes you think he would serve you?” She lowered her voice to a hiss. “You’re no doubt congratulating yourself on having drawn him away from Cimmis. Do you really think Coyote would choose to ally himself with a dead man?”
He barked a sharp if unsettled laugh. “You keep calling me that, and my heart keeps beating.”
She shrugged. “Even without your prompting, he would have killed Cimmis and Astcat sooner or later.”
Ecan’s face went ashen. “I would never—”
“You still don’t understand, do you?” She searched his eyes, seeing all the vainglorious arrogance welling behind them.
“Understand what?”
“The reason he took your payment, the reason he’ll kill Astcat and Cimmis in the end. You see the reason he left Evening Star alive is because he needs her to be his matron. When this is all over, he will be great chief!”