People of the Lakes(335)
One by one, warriors made up their minds, slipping away, until but ten stood by their leader.
Wolf of the Dead turned to the men who remained clustered around him. He began talking excitedly, gesturing to emphasize his points. Pearl apparently understood the words. Star Shell felt, more than saw, the Anhinga woman move, carefully easing away toward the forest. The Khota had broken into an enraged conversation, shouting at each other, pointing at the Masked figure that cackled as it bobbed and dipped like an intoxicated bird.
Silver Water had changed Songs now, adopting a lilting lullaby that Star Shell used to sing to her when she’d been a baby.
Her daughter looked so beautiful; her long hair had dried to a lustrous sheen that reflected the gold of the building sunset.
When she chanced to turn Star Shell’s way, her eyes shone with an inner light that Star Shell had never imagined possible.
A Dreamer? My little girl?
Many Colored Crow continued to leap and whirl, swaying and dipping his arms like a bird in flight, soaring and diving, apparently oblivious of the Khota.
“Enough!” Wolf of the Dead finally blurted in pidgin. He glared at his edgy warriors. “Of course the Mask has Power!
Can’t you feel it? And look at what it did to your cowardly friends! Chased them away like cuffed puppies! How can you doubt the Mask?”
His warriors stared back and forth uneasily. Wolf of the Dead added, “But I am more Powerful than this Mask. With your own eyes you have seen me turn into a wolf! You’ve seen me rip out the throats of my victims! This Mask is worthy of me!
I shall have it!”
Star Shell felt sick. Pearl had slipped away now. Otter and Black Skull still lay beneath the spreading limbs of the maple.
They hadn’t moved a muscle, bound as they were.
The Khota turned as one to stare at Many Colored Crow.
Wolf of the Dead settled into a crouch, his powerful legs flexed, arms wide as he advanced on the masked figure. His remaining warriors gripped their war clubs and spread out, moving to surround the bizarre bird-man who had started to stumble and laugh joyously as he spun out of control, the black beak of his Mask tipped heavenward.
“Now, southern obscenity, you will die!” Wolf of the Dead screeched in pidgin. “And we will take this sacred Mask for our own. No matter what has happened to our clan, if we have this Mask, we will avenge our families. We will wipe the Ilini from the face of the earth!”
Pale Snake had just waded through a rushing brook that tumbled into the Roaring Water River when he saw the canoes. The four slim war craft had been pulled up like deadly daggers behind a large, fox-headed Trading canoe that lay tilted to one side on the rocky outwash.
Pale Snake scrambled down the rocks, leaving wet tracks on the black stone and bruising the green moss.- Ferns bobbed in his wake. He glanced inside the Trade canoe. Packs, blankets, ceramic jars, and rolls of matting lay within.
Pale Snake turned then and climbed back to the trail, trying to sort out the myriad of tracks that impressed the damp, humus laden earth.
He heard the frantic whine and glanced up. The dog was mostly black, but tan eyebrows and legs contrasted with a snowy-white bib. The dog, looking over its shoulder, whined again, clearly unhappy about whatever it had left behind.
“What’s the matter, my friend?” Pale Snake asked.
“Where’s Star Shell?”
The dog started at the sound, dashing to one side, highly alarmed.
Pale Snake cocked his head. The animal must have been headed back toward the Trader’s canoe, for it surely hadn’t been traveling with the warriors.
“Come on,” Pale Snake called. “I won’t hurt you. I—”
He felt the swelling of Power. It struck him like a kick in the ‘ stomach. The Mask! Someone’s wearing it. He started forward, slapping a hand on his leg. “Come on, boy. Let’s go. Star Shell and Silver Water need us.”
He broke into a run … and saw the dog halt, looking between him and the canoe, clearly torn by the decision. Pale Snake trotted forward soundlessly, ducked beneath low branches and skirted the brush in the trail. In moments, the dog had caught up with him and was running at his heels.
Only by a chance glance to the side did he see the war club.
How had the warriors ‘ it? The weapon lay canted in a patch of rosebushes. He felt the Spirit in it when he closed his fingers over the handle and lifted. Gleaming copper spikes protruded under a polished cobble that had been ground into two deadly points. But so heavy! What sort of man could swing a club like this?
Leave it! You couldn’t fight with it if you had to. But he took it, carrying it in two hands as he hurried forward. The roar of the river was louder now, pounding as white water rushed toward the inevitable falls. He frowned as he listened. Mingled with the rising and falling of water he could hear … music?