People of the Lakes(52)

The warrior redoubled his efforts at the paddle, making the canoe literally skip across the waves. When it became apparent that Three Eagles couldn’t equal his effort, Black Skull swallowed a curse and slowed, using his paddle to steer with as the second boat closed the distance.

How much farther could it be to the White Shell clan house?

Black Skull studied the tree-lined banks with a practiced eye, keeping their craft at least a dart’s throw from the screen of brush and trees. Recesses in the bank could conceal war canoes with ranks of fresh paddlers; therefore, he steered closer to the center of the river when passing such dangers. At other times, he followed the fastest current downstream.

I should have brought four more boats, each loaded with armed men. The Elders, however, had told him otherwise— and part of a warrior’s duty depended on obedience to his Elders.

It was all Green Spider’s fault. Before his return from death, he’d been nothing more than an inoffensive—if skinny—young man with unfocused eyes. He was known to forget where he was and frequently he lost what he was saying halfway through a sentence. He also had a habit of seeing things that eluded even the keen eyes of a warrior like Black Skull.

Granduncle had defined it nicely that night long ago: People are different. But Green Spider’s gaze now chilled Black Skull to the bone, and he had to wonder. If Green Spider would involve him today in something as silly as traveling under-strength through uncertain territory, what would he do in the future?

“Dreamers,” Black Skull whispered to himself. “Trouble.”

At that exact moment, Green Spider grabbed the gunwales of the canoe and craned his skinny body to stare back into Black Skull’s worried eyes. The Contrary’s pupils seemed to expand, enlarging his eyes.

“Salvation, warrior,” Green Spider announced in his absent voice. “The Mask … that’s all that counts.”

“What? What Mask?” >

But by that time, Green Spider’s eyes had lost their focus, and he bent over the side of the canoe to stare at the water passing so rapidly past the hull.

“There!” Old Man Blood cried, pointing at the eastern bluffs.

Relief washed through Black Skull. A plume of blue smoke rose from the forest, marking White Shell territory. Clearing a new field, no doubt. Tawny-walled houses, some thatched, others bark-roofed, dotted the high bluff. At the river, a canoe landing could be seen, with the usual drying racks, beached canoes, and fire pits.

A cry carried faintly to them as someone spied their approach.

Squinting against the sun, Black Skull could make out people— like colored dots—running to the lip of the bluff.

130 Ť Kathleen O’Neal Gear and W. Michael Gear Raising his hand, Black Skull signaled to the following canoe and used his paddle to heel his craft shoreward. With a final burst of energy, he powered the boat toward the landing.

Here, at least, he could commandeer several canoe-loads of warriors—protection for the return journey. And if the White Shell Clan couldn’t provide enough bodies and atlatls, he’d levy some from the Tall Cane Clan, across the river. The Elders and the Dreamer would travel in safety this time— and the Elders could rot before he’d let them talk him out of it.

The dugout canoe jolted—almost tumbling Green Spider backward over the bow—as it hit the shore arid plowed mud for a full third of its length up the beach. The Contrary jumped out and looked around owlishly, while the Elders grunted. Old Man North had slid off his seat, and he cast an angry look Black Skull’s way.

Before the old man could open his mouth, however, Black Skull had leaped lightly into the water, picked up his atlatl and darts, and secured his war club to his belt.

He waded ashore warily, searching the beached canoes and the surrounding brush, ensuring the safety of the landing.

“Warriors!” Old Man Blood” was muttering as he glared at Black Skull. “He’s in your clan, do something with him!”

“What do you expect,” Old Man North cried. “He’s doing what warriors do! Keeping us safe!”

“Safe? I think he broke my back when he drove the canoe ashore! What was he trying to do? Paddle us up the bluff and into the clan grounds? What do we have to worry about, any, way? Green Spider would have seen any danger in his Dream!”

Green Spider’s voice rattled Black Skull to his bones. “We’ll all be murdered here. Five tens of warriors are charging down to kill us even now!” He screamed and scrambled back into the canoe, where he covered his head with his arms.

Black Skull’s heart jumped like a bullfrog in glowing coals.

He crouched, a dart nocked. Warily, he pivoted on the balls of his feet. “Get back in the canoe! Warn the others! I’ll cover your escape!”