Hiyawento’s head dips in a firm nod. “Yes, you will.”
As he hands my cape to Tiyosh, the man’s expression slackens. He puts it on and smoothes it down as though it is a sacrament, a rare ritual object with a soul of its own that must be handled with great care.
Baji flips up her hood and gestures for me to do the same. I hesitantly comply. All of this … this ruse … makes me feel dishonest, as though I’m pretending to be something I am not.
Baji grabs Hiyawento in a bear hug, and says, “I’ll take care of him.”
Hiyawento hugs her back. “I know you will. I’ll see you soon.”
Baji scratches Gitchi’s ears and gestures to the winding deer trail that leads down the steepest side of the hill, where only a few people are camped because of the slope. “Gitchi, you go first. I’ll guard his back.”
Gitchi looks at her with adoring eyes, then trots out into the starlight.
Forty-seven
Two hands of time before dawn, Baji lay snuggled beneath the blankets with Dekanawida’s muscular arms around her. His soft breathing warmed her ear. They’d run until they’d started stumbling. As soon as they’d made camp at the base of a gray rock wall and crawled between the blankets, he’d fallen into a dead sleep.
Baji, on the other hand, had been staring out at the glistening forest, listening. The intoxicating far-off cry lilted through the darkness. It was especially powerful tonight, calling to her like a lover’s summons, begging her to come. It had grown constant, echoing across the distances, sometimes barely audible, others times so loud it rang inside her as though the callers had their muzzles pressed to her ears.
At such times, Gitchi’s gaze never left her.
The wolf lay close beside Baji, watching her as the campfires of the dead wheeled through the sky high above them. His yellow eyes were alert, attentive to the slightest change in her expression, looking up into her face with keen unfathomable interest. He seemed to be concentrating on her breathing, as though he greatly feared it might cease. Even when she tried to sleep, the strength of the old wolf’s gaze woke her. Each time she blinked and yawned, his tail wagged, and his whole heart shone in his eyes.
Trying not to wake Sky Messenger, she eased her arm from beneath the blanket to scratch Gitchi’s chest, and he sighed in that way that only a contented dog can. As she petted him, images fleeted across her souls. He’d been so small and scared when they’d found him tied up in that bag on the shore of the river outside of Bog Willow Village. She remembered it as though it had happened moments ago.
She, Odion, and Tutelo had heard Gitchi crying, and had followed the sound down to the riverbank. The shore had been strewn with refuse. Victorious warriors with packs of new plunder had cast their shabby old belongings on the ground just before they’d shoved off in their canoes. Threadbare packs and capes, blankets with too many stitched holes, and hide bags filled with who-knows-what, had littered the shore.
As they’d walked, a soft muffled “woof” erupted.
A short distance ahead, a sack wriggled. They’d all charged up the bank and encircled it. At the time, she’d seen twelve summers, Odion eleven, and Tutelo eight summers.
“Hurry, open it and let him out,” Tutelo had urged. “There’s no telling how long he’s been in there. He may be dying of thirst.”
Odion had hesitated, taking a few moments to gently pet the warm body inside. Barks had erupted as the sack had flopped around like a big dying fish.
Baji had taken Tutelo’s hand, preparing to drag her away if the puppy emerged in a flying snarling bundle of fur.
As soon as Odion loosened the laces, a soft gray nose poked up through the opening. The little wolf had wriggled the top half of his lean body out onto Odion’s lap and looked around with bright yellow eyes. He’d seen perhaps four or five moons.
“I’ll bet the puppy was supposed to be dinner.” Tutelo had said as she’d edged forward to pet the puppy’s silken back. “He’s the color of a ghost. Maybe his name was Ghost.”
“Or oki,” Baji had suggested.
Odion and Tutelo had turned to stare at her.
Oki were Spirits that inhabited powerful beings, including the seven Thunderers, rivers, certain rocks, valiant warriors, even lunatics. Oki could bring either good luck or bad. People who possessed supernatural powers—shamans, witches—were believed to have a companion spirit, an oki, whose power they could call upon to help them.
“He definitely has some special power,” Odion had said, “or we’d never have found him. He called us to him. Oki sounds like a good name.”