“Scavengers, grave robbers, thieves. Sneaky and mean as weasels,” Black Skull answered.
“I gathered that,” she whispered back. “But where do they come from? Near here? Or are they—”
Wolf of the Dead turned on his heel, crying, “Tie the men!
They can watch, for the time being. Then bring the women. And be patient, my warriors. We’ll have our fun, one by one. All will share. First, the women shall entertain us, and then, when we’ve tired of that, we’ll let them watch while the men scream a little.”
“Courage!” Black Skull whispered as two Khota grabbed Star Shell by the arms, shoving her forward to stand before the fire beside the defiant Pearl.
Very well, Star Shell. She glanced at Pearl. Can you be as tough as this woman?
Near a huge maple iree, thirty paces away, warriors brutally shoved Black Skull and Otter to the ground, forcing them to lie on their bellies while they drew up their legs and brought their arms around, tying hands to feet.
The big man, the one with bear teeth in his necklace, smiled at Star Shell. “I will take you first, Serpent-woman beauty.”
She closed her eyes as he ran his hands over her face, “You think you will,” she said. “Just wait—” “No, you wait!” he shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders and throwing her to the ground, where he lay atop her, smiling.
He had pinned her arms at her sides, using one hand and a knee to hold her down. With his free hand, he roughly groped her breasts. “I’ve never had a woman as beautiful as you. Perhaps, when it’s all over, I’ll keep your skull. Hmm?”
Out in the forest, a strange, high-pitched voice began Singing, the notes eerie and accompanied by the trilling of a flute. The Song rose and fell in the gathering evening. Grizzly Tooth had twisted a hand in the leather of her dress, ready to rip out the seams … but then he paused, his head cocked.
Star Shell shot a glance at Pearl, who had been likewise thrown to the ground. Pearl nodded, and together, they collected themselves, each glancing around, ready to run.
“What’s this?” Grizzly Tooth demanded, rolling off of Star Shell before rising warily to his feet. The guards had turned their attention to the forest and were looking back and forth nervously.
“What is that sound?” Wolf of the Dead demanded, lisping through the missing front teeth.
“Power,” Otter called from where he lay bound. “Star Shell called it! We came here for it, and now you may get a canoe-load of it, Dead Wolf.”
Pearl sat up and laughed at that. “What do you think, Khota leech? That we’re alone here? Have you ever heard of Many Colored Crow? We came here to save his sacred Mask! And we’ve got it. Do you think our Spirit Helper would abandon us now?”
Star Shell bunched her legs under her. It had to be the Contrary that Black Skull had spoken of. Raising her voice, she called, “Many Colored Crow! Hear us! A daughter of the High Heads, your children, asks you to come. In my veins runs the blood of your Mask’s makers. Come! Hear me, Many Colored Crow. Come! Dance for us, Many Colored Crow! Come and Dance!”
In the forest, the flute music stopped. Then, to Star Shell’s horror, she could hear Silver Water Singing. She knew those words, knew that Song—and knew where her little daughter had learned it.
Out of the deepening shadows came a whirling, Dancing form, moving to Silver Water’s child-clear Singing.
‘ ‘ God! Spiral, you god of gaudy colors!
Carry the plant upon your back.
Parch the seeds upon the rack.
Rocks like sky are passing by.”
The spinning figure stamped and leaped, its skinny arms outstretched as it capered. In the torrid wash of sunset, Star Shell could see the Mask, the long beak shining, the feathers ruffling around the edge.
And Power. So much Power!
Star Shell started to shake. The Mask might have been gathering all the darkness from the shadowed niches in the forest, collecting it from beneath brush and under rocks, and forming it into a Spirit Being of enormous proportions. Even the trees seemed to bend away as the Mask traveled amongst them.
Silver Water’s crystal voice grew louder, shivering off the branches … “Feathers colored, the dead are laid.
Logs across and dirt is made.
Lazy sloth, in baskets carried—
Sun man, and woman, high are married!”
The pirouetting figure of Many Colored Crow Danced backward, circling, diving down toward the ground, then swooping up as if to shoot skyward.
The Khota warriors stood entranced, their eyes locked on the fearful apparition.
Silver Water’s voice filled the world now, so fresh and sweet, like snowflakes on the tongue.
‘ ‘ a mountain out of dirt.