People of the Masks(119)
Giant sycamores arched over the trail above them, their branches rustling and creaking with the wind. In the barred and broken moonlight, they appeared to converse with each other, swaying close, then pulling back, making extravagant gestures with their leafless arms.
“I don’t think Blue Raven would allow it, Dust. After all, he’s being hunted by his own people.”
Dust Moon stumbled in a deep frozen track. Sparrow grabbed her arm to keep her from falling, and she staggered against him. They stood there in the trail, looking into each other’s moon-silvered eyes, and Dust could feel his chest rising and falling, and smell the sweat and wood smoke that clung to his elk-hide coat. The familiarity had a curious effect on her, on the one hand salving her wounded heart, on the other making her long to run away. The longer she stood there, pressed against him, the more strength flowed into her veins. His touch had always done that to her. Steadied. Comforted. It hurt to be reminded.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” Dust pulled away. “I just needed a short rest.”
“It’s no wonder. We pushed hard today. Your stamina on this journey has surprised me, Dust.”
To avoid the softness in his eyes, she looked down the trail. “So much for our vigilance. Blue Raven is gone.”
“He’s in the village. I saw him just a few moments ago.” He pointed. “Through the gap between those oaks.”
“I haven’t heard any voices. Do you think that means—”
“The children aren’t there. Probably.”
Her heart sank.
Sparrow turned and continued on down the trail. Dust trotted along behind him, trying to dodge the holes and roots in the trail.
When they walked out into the plaza, Sparrow stopped dead.
Dust put a hand to her mouth.
Moonlight gleamed from over a dozen wolves, feeding upon the bodies. They snarled and barked as the three humans appeared. Several of the wolves tried to eat faster, ripping bones from the chewed bodies, before loping away. They stood at the edge of the forest with their ears up, waiting to see what happened next.
Blue Raven drew his bow, and ran into the midst of the plaza, shouting, “Go on! Get out of here!”
The wolves scattered into the shadows, but their eyes shone like daggers of flame.
Blue Raven walked the line of burned lodges, his bow clutched in his hands.
Dust Moon called, “Rumbler? Rumbler, are you here?”
“No,” Blue Raven answered. “But they were. Their tracks lead up the hill behind this burned lodge, then they come down and head almost due east, toward the shore of Leafing Lake.” He pointed with his bow.
Dust hurried past Sparrow and Blue Raven, veered around the charred remains of the lodge, and climbed the hill to see what the children had found. Moonlight outlined the places where they had lain in the mud, and threw a dusty radiance over the—the corpse.
The face had been burned beyond recognition, the hair melted, or torn from the battered skull. The clothing …
From the depths of her memory, Cornhusk’s voice hissed:
She begged him not to hurt the False Face Child Of fered him anything if he would just let the boy live. But Jumping Badger tore the boy from her arms, threw the child like a sack of nuts to his warriors, and ordered them out of the house. Then Jumping Badger forced Briar down. He raped her while the whole of Paint Rock Village was burning around them! Can you believe that? Jumping Badger astounds even me! Then he clubbed her to death.
Dust reached for the silver gorget and tipped it to the light. The upside-down tree flashed.
Her heart thundered as images of Briar danced through her souls … Briar as a little girl curled in Dust’s lap, laughing … Briar in agony as she gave birth to Rumbler … Briar when she had lived with them, working, talking, asking Dust’s advice about Rumbler’s upbringing … Briar pleading with Dust to take Sparrow back, to forgive him, He loves you so much.
For an instant she could not move.
Then, in a sudden wash of realization, her hand closed around the pendant, and a sob rose in her throat.
Without a word, Sparrow knelt beside Dust and gathered her into his arms.
“Oh, Sparrow, it’s—”
“I know,” he whispered, and stroked her hair. “I’m sorry, Dust.”
She clung to him, shaking, and her eyes traced the path Briar had taken from the burning lodge. “She must have been on fire when she—”
“It doesn’t matter now, Dust,” he murmured in her ear, and kissed her hair. “What you and I must do is to help her son. That’s what she would wish. Rumbler is not here. We must find him.”
Dust tightened her arms around his waist, holding him until she could say, “Help me bury her?”