Now, when she looked up at the sky, she could tell how far north they were. She watched the heavens, studying the changes in the guiding stars, noting how the familiar constellations had shifted southward. No matter what, if she escaped, she could find her way home, pick a path across land or sea. Every day the cold grew more intense—and so did her desperation.
She studied the Khota, always in hope that she could detect some weakness that would allow her to escape.
And if she did, she promised she would never eat the dolphin’s meat again.
A moan, followed by an uneasy laugh, caused her to turn.
The warrior known as Rotten Mouth—because all of his teeth had fallen out—had hung his bare bottom over the edge of the canoe. He had spent most of the morning sweating and vomiting over the side. Now he was experiencing the second phase.
Pearl glanced across to one of the other canoes. Big Toe and White Squirrel were looking a little peaked, too. They had shared Rotten Mouth’s dinner the night before.
Pearl sighed. No, I will never eat dolphin again—and if Rotten Mouth and his friends knew, they’d never eat dogbane again, either.
In Clamshell’s hut, the firelight flickered. The old woman who had once been known as the Evening Star studied the beautifully wrought fabric pack that lay beside the Magician’s blankets. For the moment, her unsteady head had ceased its uncontrollable wobble. She listened, straining to catch something at the edge of her hearing.
She half rose, then placed bony fingers to her lips as she glanced suspiciously at the sleeping forms of her guests.
The old dog raised its head, eyes glowing as they reflected the firelight. It watched as she stood on curiously steady feet and made her way over the sleeping visitors to the fabric pack.
Her fingers traced the patterns of the brightly dyed geometric figures. With a firm resolve, she picked up the pack and carefully retraced her way to the fire.
She didn’t hear the old dog whine and turn away. Ears back, it curled into a ball, as if against the brunt of a coming storm.
With that cowed expression of canine distrust, the dog glanced at the old woman and growled.
Heedless, Clamshell’s age-curled fingers undid the cords that bound the pack together. Eagerly, she slipped the fabric off and unfolded the supple wolfhide to see what lay within … A troubled Star Shell lay on her side in the thick nest of blankets.
Her sleep-haunted cries came only as stifled whimpers, muffled by her clamped jaws and the bedding.
In her Dream, she stood on a rocky plain, windswept and desolate. Overhead, a tortured sky roiled and billowed with twisting black clouds. Wind buffeted her naked body, pelting it with stinging grains of sand and tearing at her hair. She staggered on uneven rocks that bit painfully into her bare feet and hunched against the blasting sand, trying in vain to shield her tender flesh.
As wind wailed and moaned over the cracked and broken ground, it sang in voices known to no human. The howling air smelled of drought and dust. Wicked lightning flashed in the blackness.
Grit blew into her eyes, and she raised an arm to shield her face. The weird lightning continued to sear the sky above her, splitting into blinding strands of jagged light that burst in all directions.
Star Shell fought to cry out, terrified by the forces that surrounded her; but even as she drew breath, the gale tore it from her lungs. She stumbled ahead uncertainly, shrinking against the driving wind. Somewhere she had to find shelter.
Where? In every direction, the sere landscape stretched featurelessly.
And then something caught her eye.
Before her, a white speck could be seen hovering over the rocky ground. Against the blackened sky, it seemed to glow— as if an unseen shaft of light fell upon it.
Star Shell drove herself toward it, half-sobbing as the angular rocks cut and bruised her feet. The wind whipped itself to a fury, blasting her with its full wrath. Barely sheltered by her raised arm, she continued step by staggering step until she cotold discover the nature of the white object.
What she saw amazed her. A beautiful ceramic bowl-floated on the air. She had never seen such a perfectly crafted object— as if the Earth Mother herself might have willed the finest of her white clay to form the delicate shape. No clumsy human fingers could have coiled such a perfect, thin-walled vessel.
Only freshly fallen snow matched the purity of color. Had some Spirit Being crafted this?
The wind died into an eerie silence as Star Shell walked to the bowl and stood on tiptoe to peer inside.
She cried out in delight and pulled back her long black hair to see better. The designs on the inside had been painted with great intricacy and detail, the shapes irregular, the colors brighter than any human-made paints. Within that thin ceramic shell lay the entire world.