Ten

Tsilu

Kwinsi’s bare feet left distinct impressions in the damp sand along the river, but it’s a long time before I finally see him sitting beneath a cottonwood at the edge of the water. Windblown leaf shadows mottle his face.

“There you are,” I call from twenty paces away. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’ve been right here.”

He draws up his knees, hugs them against his chest, and props his chin atop them to grimace at the green water. This pool in the river is so still, reflections of the canyon walls flicker in the depths.

“What are you doing? Come back to the village.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m afraid to go back.”

I trudge onward. On a sandbar in the middle of the river, reeds sway in the cool autumn breeze. They appear startlingly green against the towering red cliff across the roiling water. The air here smells of mud and damp sweetness.

When Kwinsi lifts his head to look at me, his disconcerting brown eyes flare a little wider. “Is there something I can do for you? Or do you expect trivial conversation? I’m not very good at the latter.”

Sunlight glinting off the water sprinkles his strange, expressive face with a veil of shifting golden diamonds. But I see his arms shake where they wrap around his drawn-up knees.

I sit on the sand beside him and gently say, “Don’t be afraid. We all love you. Why are you afraid?”

His mouth purses, as though to speak, but he hesitates, before saying, “The voice in the flame. She’s too strong for me. I—I never knew I was this weak, Tsilu.”

I put a hand on his elbow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You were strong today. You helped people. The air in the pithouse was vibrating like a bow strung too tight until you came in. Laughing relieved the tension. I’m sure people will be able to think straighter now.”

The fear drains from his expression and his whole heart shines in his eyes. “You’re very pretty.”

“I am not.” I laugh. “My face is moonish. My nose is too wide, and my hair is as limp as boiled knotweed stems. But thanks. I appreciate hearing you say that.”

His serious gaze goes over me. “You’ve obviously been looking at your reflection in water. You should look for it in the eyes of others.” Kwinsi reaches out and tugs a lock of my black hair. “Looks different.”

Playfully, I swat his hand away. “New subject. I don’t want to talk about me. Who was that strange man today?”

Kwinsi’s head jerks up and he regards me like a startled child. “What man?”

“The man who sent you screaming from the council meeting. You said you knew him.”

Kwinsi peers thoughtfully at the river where minnows flit beneath the green surface. “Oh, I shouldn’t think so. He was born in the Straight Path nation. I could tell from his accent. I’ve never been there.”

“But you said you’d seen him thirty-five summers ago.”

“Really?” His gaze drifts upward, toward the rim of the red cliff on the far shore. Hawk and eagle nests, made of sticks, fill many of the niches. “That’s a long time. It was a different world, I imagine. Priestess Nightshade was still alive, walking the earth, trailing Spirit Power everywhere she went. She was at her greatest strength back then, you know? If she breathed in her hand and touched you, she could turn you into a slug or send your soul flying to the Star Road.”

Tipping his head far back, he stares hard at the afternoon sky, as though seeing dozens of souls darting around up there.

After a good interval, I say, “Grandfather talks about her on occasion, but I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, yes, she was quite remarkable. Even after Leather Hand locked her in a bear cage, and people came to cast feces and rocks at her, she could…”

“She could what?”

“What?”

“You didn’t finish the sentence. You said Nightshade could … Something. What did you mean?”

Kwinsi leans toward me to peer deeply into my eyes, as though searching for something. “I’m intrigued that you saw him.”

“Who?” I ask in confusion.

“The man with the dead face.”

Kwinsi extends one finger and draws strange geometric shapes in the sand. They remind me of the designs on a serpent’s back. Carefully, as though it matters a great deal, he connects all the shapes into a long pattern, a poisonous snake slithering across the ground, coming toward me.

“Of course I saw him. He was sitting less than four paces from me. How could I have missed him?”

Only Kwinsi’s eyes lift. He stares at me with unnerving intensity. “Well, that is very curious. He’s a legend on the Star Road, but I thought he was invisible here on earth.”

“So you do know him?”

“No. Not at all. But I’ve seen him tracking the shining footprints of the dead across the sky.”

“He tracks the dead?” I whisper.

“And the living, too, as I understand it.”

“The man said he’d come looking for you.”

Kwinsi nods soberly as though now we’re discussing a matter of great importance. “Yes, very likely. When the Blessed Sun’s warriors burned his house down and nothing was left but a pile of ashes, the warriors discovered several tiny clay figurines. They were jumping around like people. He probably wants them back.”

“Well, why would he come looking for you? Do you know where they are?”

Kwinsi suddenly looks vulnerable and very frightened.

As though fearing eavesdroppers, he looks around, then leans so close that our noses almost touch. “Tsilu, please listen to me. You must never ask that question aloud again, it’s too dangerous.”

“But, I want to know…”

Kwinsi leaps to his feet and dusts sand off his bare legs. “Well, thank you for sitting by the river with me, but I must return to the Star Road. I’m very, very busy.”

With frenzied urgency, he erases all the scribbles in the sand, smooths out the grains, and stacks rocks on top of the spot. “Tsilu, why don’t you ask Ahote to paint a slate pendant for you? He’s very good at painting. One of his few gifts. I’ve always admired—”

Frustrated, I say, “Kwinsi, why are you so odd today? Grandfather said he lent you a few Power objects—”

“Yes.” He draws in a sudden breath. As though coming back to this world, he frowns at the yellow cottonwoods across the river, and the lunacy fades from his eyes. After a long hesitation he says, “Please, ask your grandfather about what happened. He knows far more than I do.”

In the sudden stillness, the melodic rattle of the wind in the autumn leaves sounds loud.

“All right, I will.”

Nervously, he licks his lips. “You’re welcome to stay in my lean-to tonight. I’ve laid out blankets for you, but really, honestly, you should return to the Sleeping Place. There’s Power loose on the sunlight. It’ll get worse with the darkness. You won’t be safe in the village.”

“Grandfather will protect us. Don’t worry.”

Kwinsi tucks his hands into his armpits to hide their trembling. “I don’t think anyone can protect me, Tsilu, except maybe the dead. But I’m not even sure of that. I’ve seen my death. She showed me today.”

“Who?”

“The voice in the flame.”

Kwinsi backs away, then breaks into a run, heading north along the river—back to the Star Road, I guess.

Sighing, I watch him go until he’s out of sight.

As I follow my own steps back along the river, I wonder about him. Grandfather says he’s a very gifted young shaman. Like me, Kwinsi is an orphan. Grandfather found him fourteen summers ago. He’d been left in the crook of a branch as an offering to some god, or maybe to an earth Spirit. Grandfather carried him back to OwlClaw Village and gave him to a good family to raise as their son. Kwinsi isn’t the only orphan Grandfather has found over the long summers of warfare and given to people to be loved. I have often wondered why he decided to keep me. And I thank the gods every day that he did. No one could have been a better father to me than he has.

By the time I reach the village, the council meeting is over, and people crowd the plaza discussing the day’s events. Most huddle around the central fire where big cook pots rest in the coals, and other pots hang from tripods at the edges of the blaze. During ceremonials, pots are always kept full to feed visitors.

I don’t see Grandfather, so I start weaving through the crowd, looking for him.