But, for her, the morning had been a lie, an illusion of peace and beauty following a night of horrid Dreams of death, blood, and war.
Now, as she trudged down the Holy Road ahead of Tall Man, she could recall that beauty and try to place it into her soul.
Maybe she could draw on that to assure herself that all was not misery and fear. Perhaps, as she walked the familiar way into the Sun Mounds, she could find courage to look forward to another morning like that. One now obscured by the uncertainties of the future.
She glanced back to where the Magician followed in her tracks, his white breath fogging in the afternoon sunlight. His small size confused her, the intuitive urge always nagging at her to act protectively. She had to remind herself that this was a capable Elder, not a child. Tonight it would be deadly cold when the sun went down. If things went wrong at Sun Mounds, it might be the cold chill of death she would feel instead of that of the night.
Tall Man swung along in his rolling walk, his stumpy legs shuffling snow. The two packs bobbed with each step he took.
His wizened expression reflected nothing more than an amused contentment. Did he feel nothing? Was his soul unaffected by the tremors and terrors that ate at hers?
“How can you remain so calm?”
He glanced up at her, his eyes as bright as a chipmunk’s, then stared out over the wide valley. Most of the trees had been cut down here, leaving only a patchwork of forest intermingled with the stubbly fields of farmsteads. Rounded houses stood at the sides of the fields, some with people near at hand dragging in firewood or attending to various tasks. His thoughtful gaze looked beyond, to the dark gray mat of trees that marked the uplands to either side.
“I suppose it’s because I understand too much,” he finally answered. “It’s a good day, young Star Shell. The sun has been bright enough to hurt the eyes as it shines off of the new snow.
Clean, don’t you think? Even the works of humans are muffled by the freshness of the snow.”
This was Goosefoot Clan territory, theoretically friends of the Shining Bird Clan. But as they had passed people, no one had raised a hand to wave or to call out a greeting. A dark shadow might have fallen over the souls here, despite the brightness of the day.
They followed the Holy Road down to the broad expanse of the Moonshell, then turned as the river meandered next to the road. The channel was obscured by snow, the location of the ice marked only by the rushes and river grasses that humped the shoreline.
She could remember the way the river looked in summer, broad, lazy, the current slowed by silt. Out there in the brown waters, young men would be diving from canoes, swimming down to finger the mud for shellfish, and percfiance, for the added bonus of a pearl.
On those hazy days of summer, the banks would be green with growth, the clouds floating serenely. She’d marveled at the Moonshell the first time she’d seen it. Now it only reminded her of the present, of the ordeai to come.
The upright post that marked the transition into Shining Bird territory stood like a sentinel with a lopsided cap of snow. On reluctant legs, she plodded onward, hating the thought of what it meant.
“We’re here. In another hand’s time, we’ll be at the mounds.” And she could see them, the earthworks glistening with fresh snow. Even at this distance, the faint smear of smoke could be seen rising from the clan grounds. Too much smoke for an ordinary winter’s day. A lot of people had congregated at Sun Mounds for something, and she could pretty well guess the reason.
“It can’t come to war,” Tall Man stated simply. “The results would be disastrous.”
“Why do you care so much? Do the High Heads really mind if the Flat Pipe destroy themselves?”
One corner of his mouth turned up wryly. “And who, exactly, are the High Heads? Where do the distinctions lie between our peoples? Think about it, Star Shell. Our peoples have run together like the waters of two different rivers running down the same channel. Can you separate the waters? Over east of here, across the hills and down south of the Serpent River, a lot of High Head clans still exist—but we’ve got Flat Pipe clans in some drainages just as you have a couple of High Head clans here. We marry people back and forth, some following the rituals of High Heads, others of Flat Pipes. In another five or ten generations, will we still be able to tell the difference? Even our languages have grown together.”
She mulled that for a moment. “So if it comes to fighting, High Heads will be drawn into it.”
“You’re part High Head—and you’ve been drawn into it.”
He grunted his disgust. “No, it’s more than that. Think about the way we live. All the clans have their territories, but we still depend upon each other. Sure, sometimes a squabble breaks out—like the time that deer headdress got stolen. The affected clans retreated to their hilltop forts, and raiding parties crossed back and forth, but it was all brought to a stop because it caused too many problems for the rest of the clans.”