People of the Lakes(317)

Now, as dawn began to ease the eastern darkness from its hold, Pale Snake concentrated on the images the Mask had shown him. Images of his wife, of his father, and of himself.

To keep his soul from screaming, he forced himself to paddle, rechanneling his fury into the wood and water. He drove himself, heedless of the sweat that ran down to soak his clothing.

He was a man pursued, fruitlessly fleeing the demons conjured in his mind.

To Pearl’s surprise, her soul hovered in a blissful serenity as she used her crow-headed paddle to steer Wave Dancer toward the brilliant orange dawn. She’d lost the shore last night and had veered ever northward, but the swells had seemed to bear them toward their final destination. Still no shoreline appeared, but as long as they were headed toward the northeast, they’d find either the north shore or the east, and then correct.

Otter lay asleep in the blankets in the bow. Black Skull chastised Green Spider for letting the air slip through the wind trap, and the Contrary muttered something nonsensical in reply. Pearl smiled at the exchange.

She surrendered to the wonder of the morning: of Wave Dancer, the canoe’s spirit alive with the rush of wind and water, as if it had found its element; of the warrior and the Contrary, each battling to stretch the wind trap; and most of all, of Otter, her lover, as he slept.

They would all continue because of her. For the first time in her life, she finally understood what it meant to be a woman.

Not to serve her clan, or to comfort her children, or to please her husband. Her role was to preserve the ancient ways and to protect her loved ones, no matter what the cost. She might bear the young and raise the family, but beyond that, she had to be willing to swing a war club with all her heart, or home and family had no chance.

That floating sense of tranquillity expanded, buoying her, instilling a new courage. Every instant she bought for Otter and her friends increased their odds for survival, and in the end, gave her purpose. No matter what pain the Khota inflicted upon her, she would endure.

I can do this, and do it well. In this instance, the advantage would lie with her. She knew what the Khota thought of women.

They would never imagine that her endurance was planned and that by goading them to inflict more suffering, she was winning.

If only there was a way to do all this without the pain. She knew she would scream when they burned her, and whimper when they cut, or twisted, or hit, but that was an admission of the flesh, not of the soul.

You must make the flesh last, Pearl. That is all that matters.

You have to keep yourself alive for as long as you can.

Her soul would be the weapon she would use to defeat the Khota … the one weapon they refused to recognize that she possessed.

Otter awakened from a fitful sleep. He lay curled in an uncomfortable ball, and the warm softness tucked into the curve of his stomach turned out to be Catcher, not Pearl. He stroked the dog gently while he whispered in Catcher’s ear, telling him how much he owed him, how much he loved him, and how Pearl would take care of him and feed him when Otter was gone.

Catcher wagged his tail at the soft, tender sounds.

“You have been my finest friend,” Otter said, his lips against the silky black-and-tan ear. “I’ll look for you on the other side.”

Catcher wiggled, twisting to expose his white-furred belly for scratching at the same time he snuffed and ran his warm tongue across Otter’s cheek.

Otter propped himself on one elbow and became instantly aware of the fatigue that saddled him like packs too heavy to carry. You’II be able to rest soon, he told himself, and the water will bear your Spirit around and around, Dancing as in Four Kills’ Dream. That’s not such a bad death.

Black Skull and Green Spider each leaned out as they held the wind trap. Pearl would be steering, using her paddle to keep them parallel to the shore. To everyone’s surprise, the wind trap had worked, even when the wind changed and blew off of one of the stern quarters. Wave Dancer continued to hold her course, given a little effort with the steering paddle and provided a person didn’t mind the canoe tipping a bit-.

Otter closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the last strands of sleep as they parted from his thoughts. This might be his final awakening. He had no idea of when they would reach the Roaring Water. Maybe today.

He heard Pearl’s laughter, indistinct through the rhythms of wind and water, and he ran his fingers through Catcher’s thick fur. It will be all right. Pearl. The river claimed me in the beginning, perhaps just for this purpose. You and my friends will live, and smile, and share the warmth of the sun.

A man could do worse with his life. Red Moccasins would have healthy children by Four Kills, and that, after all, was still Otter’s blood. The Mask of Many Colored Crow would be safely entrusted to Green Spider’s care and Black Skull’s guardianship.