People of the Lakes(325)

Her effort was paying off. No matter that she panted on the verge of exhaustion, the trees moved past with ever greater speed.

She cast a look over her shoulder. The canoe was closer, close enough that she could hear Robin shouting at her, saying things she couldn’t make out but could imagine. Hate-filled words.

Fear spurred yet another burst of energy, and she sailed past the first of the rocks, vaguely aware that water slid over them, rushing and bubbling. Only then did she look up and see the white water. The soul of the river had turned vicious. Her canoe bucked and jolted through the rapids, shooting ahead as if alive.

Terror ran bright in Star Shell’s blood.

‘ ‘!” Silver Water cried.

“Hold on to the boat, baby!”

Star Shell sighted people on the shore. They’d rushed out of the trees, waving their arms, and—she supposed—shouting.

The big man, somehow familiar, used his whole body to beckon her. Star Shell paddled toward him. Her canoe rose and fell, bucking, dashing, jolting her off the hard hull as it battled the waves and banged on the rocks.

The shore … must make the shore!

Water splashed, soaking her. She fought her way closer. Not far now. The bank rushed past. Not far … When they hit the boulder, the effect was like a mighty fist that ripped her paddle away with a numbing shock that paralyzed her arm.

An instant later, the canoe crashed down into a frothy hole of white water and Star Shell screamed as the current spun the boat end for end, whipping it around, bashing it against rock after rock.

Silver Water’s mouth opened in a frightened scream—a scream that couldn’t penetrate the roar of the water. Star Shell froze in terror, watching as the canoe slammed into a huge boulder that thrust up out of the water.

The jolt sent her flying, up and out, into the pounding rush and violating cold.

“Silver Water!” she shrieked as she broke the surface. “Silver Water! Where are you?”

Star Shell was sucked under, into bubbling, blue-green cold.

She fought, surfaced, floundered, went under again, trying to locate her daughter. When she opened her mouth to breathe, only water entered, and she coughed.

There!

Not more than two body-lengths away, Silver Water flailed the water. Alongside her, the Mask pack floated free.

Star Shell struggled against the overwhelming current, reaching for Silver Water. For the briefest of instants, elation ran like fire through her veins. She grabbed for her daughter’s dress … but the child was whisked away by the boiling current.

In desperation, Star Shell clawed at one of the angular black rocks, her fingers groping along the slick surface. She found a crack and pulled herself up—just far enough to shoot a quick glance after her daughter.

Then she lost her grip, jerked away by the rage of the river, and she felt her body being sucked into the midst of the terrible maelstrom again.





Forty-nine




Pale Snake let the water wash over him as he stared out from behind the curling root that looped down from the bank and into the water.

dling resolutely upriver. Pale Snake exhaled wearily. With careful strokes, he swam back along the curve of the island and waded up onto the beach.

A fish, he thought, amazement at human culpability vying with his torment. He’d done better than he’d hoped for in his effort to buy Star Shell time. Who would have guessed that Robin’s warriors would have been so close to bolting?

He climbed up to where he’d left his packs in the brush and sat down, staring glumly at the bend where the Blue Duck warriors had disappeared.

“I loved you, Star Shell. Not as a sister, but as a man loves a woman.” He twisted water out of his hair and wiped at his wet face. Well, so be it. At least Tall Man had failed in his final endeavor to hurt him.

“I did not commit incest for you, old man. You won’t have that to hold over me when I pursue your ghost in the Spirit World.”

He blinked, startled at the four canoes that had reappeared around the bend. Flattening out on his stomach, he carefully wormed back into the brush, screening himself with saplings.

As they closed, he could tell that these were not Blue Duck warriors; their clothing and hairstyles were different. But they were warriors nonetheless, dressed outlandishly in long yellow shirts and high moccasins. Further, upon reaching the fork in the river, they pulled up speaking in an unfamiliar tongue.

One warrior finally pointed to the west, and with paddles dipping in unison, the slim war craft slid out of Pale Snake’s sight.

He rolled over, rubbing his eyes. Should he pursue?

How? he wondered. On foot? The battle would be long over by the time he reached the fighting.

But he had to try.

Pale Snake stood, tried to brush the dirt, sticks, and leaves from his wet shirt, and dropped his hands in disgust.