People of the Lakes(89)

After long moments, she murmured, “Goodbye, Otter,” then spun and ran away through the crowd.

A dizzy rush of memories swept him. Times they had sat together by the fire, laughing, talking. Moments of shared joy when he’d brought her special presents from faraway places.

The way she smiled shyly at him at some moments, then cast sultry glances at others. Other times: walking hand in hand; canoeing out onto the river; the times they’d set fishing lines, or nets. The fall hunts when they prowled the backwaters, bolas in hand to bring down the wily ducks.

Different visions, woven from imagination and desire—those of a warm house, children, her welcoming arms. The life he might have had with her.

Gone now. Gone.

“Trader?” Black Skull’s gruff voice intruded. “If you stand there much longer, your feet will sprout roots. The sooner we’re off on this mad venture, the sooner we’ll return.”

Otter ignored the warrior and sloshed through the cold water to stow his possessions in Wave Dancer. Green Spider had already seated himself in the hollow between the packs amidships and was talking animatedly to Catcher. The Contrary and the dog seemed instant best friends. Catcher had even allowed Green Spider to scratch his ears, a favor he granted only to a select few.

Otter balanced himself on one of the packs and wrung out his moccasins and leggings-before seating himself in the stern.

Black Skull was in the process of settling himself in the bow, carefully arranging his war darts within easy reach and so that the fletching didn’t get mashed.

“Let’s go!” Otter cried and raised his hand to Four Kills.

Jay Bird, Four Kills, and some others pushed the big canoe off the beach with a grating of muddy sand.

Otter backwatered, then turned the prow into the current. He drove his paddle into the sullen water, forcing the canoe forward.

Black Skull, with consummate skill, caught his rhythm, and Wave Dancer sliced through the chop.

Black Skull was staring back at the bank. “If they don’t get the Clan Elders home safe, I’ll kill every one of them.”

“They’ll all die!” Green Spider crowed as he rearranged himself backwards on the packs amidships. “Each of the Elders, dead … dead … dead … dead. Four deads.”

“Shut up!” Black Skull growled, which prompted Green Spider to chatter on like a happy finch. “Four deads, four deads, four deads, four deads!”

- “Which way?” Black Skull called back over the babbling of the Contrary’s voice.

“Across the river. The current isn’t as strong there.”

Together they threw their weight into the task, angling across toward the far shore. Otter glanced behind him, seeing a whole flotilla of canoes launching in pursuit as the clans followed.

Such an opportunity was. not to be missed. Many of the boats would travel with them until dark before veering off to catch the current and race home.

Otter bent himself to the effort of driving the big canoe on its way. Catcher, perched on the packs, lifted his nose to the wind, sniffing eagerly. His thick black, white, and tan fiir rippled and fluffed as he stood proudly.

“This will be a long, hard walk,” Green Spider proclaimed to no one in general. “My legs . already tired!” Then he picked up his paddle, making a mess of trying to row the wrong way. In the process, he splashed water all over the warrior.

“Fool! I’m going to step back there and break that paddle over your headl”

“Green Spider?” Otter said nervously. “I think that Black Skull and I can do the paddling.” The Contrary paddled all the harder, and Black Skull started to stand up, saying, “That’s it, fool. Paddle a little harder and I’m going to shove that oar down your throat!”

Green Spider promptly laid his paddle down and sighed.

Black Skull growled an unintelligible curse under his breath.

Everything backwards. “Should be an interesting trip,” Otter muttered to himself. But when he looked back, Red Moccasins stood on the shore, her eyes shaded by a slim brown hand.

Leave it. Leave it all behind you.





Thirteen




He wrapped in my blankets, warm, drowsy. On the other side of the dead fire, I sense movement. Swaying … rocking …1 hear feet crunching snow. From far off, across the land, the Mask cries out to me.

Its Power has been restricted, the effect like strangulation.

So … they’ve fled into the brilliant darkness.

It has begun.

Star Shell led the way as they walked through the silent winter night. Myriads of stars dusted the velvet black of the moonless sky, their gleam providing enough illumination to allow them to proceed northward along the Holy Road without tripping or losing their way. Bitter cold ate through Star Shell’s blanket and moccasins. With each step, the frozen crust crunched and groaned, until the very snow seemed to share her wretched burden.