“Then why would you make a mask that you know will bring death?”
Jumping Badger leaned closer to her, his eyes boring into Elk Ivory’s. “Get out of my way. I must find and kill the evil boy before he kills us.”
“And Blue Raven and Little Wren?”
Jumping Badger thumped the staff on the ground. “They are traitors, Elk Ivory, but I do not plan to kill them. The matrons told me to bring them back to Walksalong Village for judgment. That is my plan.”
Jumping Badger stalked toward the crowd around the fire. Warriors backed away. Acorn clenched his fists at his sides and stood his ground, but Elk Ivory could see that he’d started swallowing convulsively.
The hushed conversations died.
“War Leader,” Acorn greeted, “it is good to—to see you. We have been concerned about you.”
Jumping Badger glared at Acorn. “Get ready. All of you! We are leaving immediately. I know where my cousin is going!”
Jumping Badger turned on his heel and, before anyone could mutter another word, let out a shrill war cry, and loped northward, calling, “Follow me!”
“Wait! Aren’t we taking the canoes?” Acorn shouted.
“They are on foot!” Jumping Badger yelled. “Lamedeer has seen it!”
Alarmed warriors reluctantly took up their packs and headed after their war leader, casting worried glances at Elk Ivory.
Acorn walked up beside her. “What do you think about this?”
“I do not know.”
Acorn ran his hand over his bristly ridge of hair, as if to relieve his tension. “Well, perhaps we should try to ignore it. Our task is to obey the matrons’ orders to find Blue Raven, Little Wren, and the False Face Child.”
She considered a long time before saying, “Yes, obeying is not so easy when it means you must follow a man who’s been dead for nearly a moon.”
Acorn’s lips turned up, but the resulting grimace could hardly be called a smile. “Where do you think Blue Raven is headed?”
“I think he’s following Wren. So the better question is, where is Wren headed?”
A gust of wind flowed across the tan meadow grasses and made the trees moan. “Where, indeed? Wren has never been west of Going Wolf Village. She doesn’t know this country. That means she must be following whatever routes the False Face Child tells her to.”
“If so, we have much to fear, Acorn. A boy from the Turtle Nation will know far more trails than we do.”
“Yes. His people move constantly during the spring and summer moons.”
Elk Ivory added, “He may even know trails no one else does. When I had seen nine winters, I used to climb sheer cliff faces to get where I wanted to go.”
“And wrestled any cougars that tried to stop you, I’d wager.”
“Why would I wrestle when I carried a bow, fool?”
He grinned. “I should have known. A skilled bows-woman at nine winters.”
“Not particularly skilled, but arrogant enough to make up for it. I always had faith that I could—” She stopped suddenly.
“What’s the matter?”
“Perhaps that’s the answer.”
“What? Childish arrogance?”
“Arrogance and faith.” Elk Ivory walked around the fire pit to her pack. As she slipped the strap over her shoulder, she said, “The only way we are ever going to find them is if we learn to think like children again, Acorn.”
She broke into a trot, following the war party. Acorn’s steps pounded behind her.
Twenty-Two
Cornhusk bit off a juicy chunk of venison and chewed it. Fat dripped down his chin onto his mangy buffalo coat. He rubbed it in, then gripped the roasted piece of venison in both hands, and grinned at his hosts. They had seated him on a pile of buffalo and elk robes, placed heaping bowls of squash, beans, and walnut bread before him, and kept refilling his cup with soured-corn drink. The stuff tasted vile, but had a powerful Spirit. After only two cups, he’d started smiling at old women!
“I have always had the highest esteem for the people here in Silent Crow Viilage. Your hospitality is unmatched,” he said around another mouthful of venison. He took a swig of corn drink and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “How do you make this drink? It’s marvelous.”
Spotted Frog, the clan patron, belched and smiled. A corpulent man with a bloated face and elaborately braided black hair, he had only two teeth left in his mouth—both in the front on the bottom. Firelight flickered over the sloping roof of the conical house, and shone from Spotted Frog’s greasy cheeks. He wore a magnificent silver pendant cut in the shape of a wolf. Eight people crammed the house around them, quietly waiting for the formalities to end. More people crouched just outside the doorway, cooking supper over the plaza fire, carrying on their own conversations. Cornhusk’s arrival always sparked a village gathering.