The wind was picking up, but he couldn’t care less. “We’d better try to get some sleep, Pearl. Looks like we’re going to need the rest.”
“Which way?” Black Skull rubbed his off-center jaw and gazed uneasily at the endless water.
“South. Look for land.” Otter reached over the side to cup up all the water he could drink. Then he reshuffled the packs and stretched out, holding his blanket open for Pearl to crawl in beside him.
“We made it,” she whispered, snuggling close.
“You saved us again.” He kissed her temple.
“Hmm?” she murmured, eyes closed.
“Your wind trap. It saved us from capture. The wind trap was just enough to make the difference.” When Pearl didn’t respond, he raised his head to look at her. Her chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of sleep.
He tucked an arm around her. “Good idea.”
For the briefest of moments, he was aware of Wave Dancer rolling on the waves. The big canoe seemed more than pleased with herself.
Woodpecker trotted out of the trees as he followed the winding deer trail. Sweat gleamed and accented the rich brown tones of his skin. His muscles rolled smoothly, betraying the power in his shoulders and arms. Robin could read nothing in his wooden face as he approached. Since the killing of the dwarf, things had been changed. Woodpecker might have pulled an invisible blanket between them.
“Nothing,” Woodpecker reported between gasps. “If she’s between us and Starsky, she’s either turned herself into a rock or melted into a tree. We’ve crisscrossed the hills, checked the farmsteads, and inspected the trails. If she’s there, she’s not leaving tracks. Can the Mask enable her to walk on air?”
Robin grimaced as he walked out into the clearing and savagely kicked the humped dirt in front of a woodchuck hole. “So where, then? The Magician wouldn’t have deserted her—and he wouldn’t have left the Mask behind.”
Woodpecker walked close, and Robin could smell the musk of the man’s hot body. “Cousin, I must ask you, is this necessary?”
Robin arched a hard eyebrow. “Necessary?”
Woodpecker wiped the sweat from his face and stared up at the treetops. “This Mask, we’ve sought it for almost half a year now. We’re less than two moons from the summer solstice.
Your warriors are beginning to chafe at the long absences from home.”
“And you, my cousin?”
“A death has been avenged; that ghost can rest easier now.
I would suggest that we take the Magician’s skull back to the clan house, let the crows and magpies strip it clean, and hang it on the wall. Then we can go back to our familial duties.”
“I sense something else.”
Woodpecker gave him an inscrutable look. “Some are wondering if they haven’t lost their luck.”
“Because I killed the dwarf?” Robin glared suspiciously at the warriors who lounged in the shade of the trees. Quit? Had the time come to go home with Tall Man’s skull and allow the ghosts to relax?
No! I was Powerful enough to capture the mighty Magician!
To kill him! I will be Powerful enough to recover the Mask! In his soul’s eye, he could see the high burial mound they would make for him—the whole of it capped with bright red clay to shine in the sun. That mound would be his. It wasn’t just for the present, but for eternity that he struggled—and Star Shell carried the key to that eternity.
I will be buried with the Mask—that all will know the Power and prestige of Robin, war leader of the Moonshell valley!
He reached out to run callused fingers over the smooth bark of a beech. Then he turned, stating, “We will make one last hunt. I want everyone to spread out and search toward the Buckeye clan grounds. If we discover no sign of Star Shell, her daughter, or the Mask by the time we reach the Upper Moon shell, it will be a sign from Power that we should give up.
However, if we do cross her trail, Power will have declared that we should keep searching for her.”
Grunts of assent broke from the warriors, and Robin could see the affirmation in their eyes. No matter how homesick, they would fulfill the will of Power in this business.
The end would come soon.
Forty-one
Star Shell sat across the fire from Pale Snake, studying him cautiously. Why did he seem so at ease? He knew all about her, and more important, about the Mask. How could any human be comfortable in these circumstances?
For their camp he had picked a little wooded oak-and-maple grove on a terrace above the confluence of a reed-and-bulrush filled creek and the sluggish Upper Moonshell. The canoe had been neatly pulled into the willows behind the screen of the rushes, and wild plum growing along the edge of the terrace hid their camp from view. The wispy blue smoke from the fire was effectively disseminated by the leaves overhead. Soft grass covered the ground. All in all, he couldn’t have chosen a better camp.