People of the Masks(147)

The big man’s tight expression eased. “Come. Sit down.” He gestured to the fallen log he’d pulled up beside the fire pit.

Elk Ivory sat down, holding Wren on her lap. “Can you sit up by yourself, Little Wren? Or would you have me hold you?”

Wren nuzzled her cheek against the soft hide over Elk Ivory’s shoulder. Loneliness filled her up until she thought her heart would burst. Uncle Blue Raven was gone. Trickster was gone. Her parents and brother were dead. Even Rumbler …

She forced a swallow down her parched throat, and mustered the strength to say, “H-hold me. Please hold me.”





Thirty-One



Dawn light streamed across the lake, turning it into an expanse of glittering amethyst jewels. Dust Moon and Rumbler sat on the strip of sand between the water and the snow, tending their breakfast fire. The waves had calmed with the coming of morning. They shished and rocked gently, tumbling pebbles and bleached twigs before them.

Dust Moon checked the teapot and cook pot hanging on their tripods at the edges of the flames. They steamed, but not enough. She added more driftwood to the fire. Orange tongues of flame licked up beneath the soot-coated pot bottoms. Cups, bowls, and horn spoons nested near the fire pit. Sparrow had gone hunting right after they’d stopped, about half a hand of time ago, but hadn’t returned yet.

Rumbler sat across from her, his unwavering gaze on Wren’s pack. It rested beside the fire pit, the top unlaced. The corner of Rumbler’s black shirt stuck up through the opening. It had been washed and carefully folded. Dust had searched the pack, found a number of empty food bags and one containing a small amount of cornmeal, but little else.

A thoughtful expression creased Rumbler’s round face.

“That’s your shirt, isn’t it, Rumbler?” she asked.

Rumbler nodded. He drew his legs up beneath the fox-fur cape, and propped his chin on his knees. The white hood that framed his round face made his chin-length hair appear startlingly black. “It was dirty. Wren gave me one of hers to wear.”

The love in his voice touched Dust Moon.

“She gave you that cape, too, didn’t she?”

It had to be. Made to swing around a girl’s waist, it hung to Rumbler’s ankles.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I was cold. Wren took the deer-hide cape for herself. Sometimes, she shivered all night long, Grandmother.”

Dust Moon walked around the fire and sat on the sand beside him. The fragrance of pine-needle tea touched her nose.

“I’m glad Wren took such good care of you.”

Rumbler rubbed his plump cheek against the fur over his knees. On the horizon behind him, yellow lances of light shot across the sky. The glimmers on the lake changed from amethyst to pale yellow. “Wren is my best friend.”

“I thank the Spirits that you found such a friend. By the time we learned you had been captured, and the Walksalongs planned to kill you—”

“Not all of the Walksalongs, Grandmother. Wren’s uncle told his people not to hurt me and—and Wren sneaked me food on Lost Hill.”

Dust pulled a stick from the woodpile to her right and prodded the fire. Sparks flitted and popped. So that’s how he had survived the bitter cold and wind. Hallowed ancestors, if anyone had seen Little Wren bringing a condemned child food, she would have been punished severely, maybe even killed.

A faint lake-scented breeze ruffled the gray wisps of hair on Dust’s forehead.

“Wasn’t Blue Raven watching? How did Wren manage to bring you food when—”

“Wren is smart, Grandmother,” Rumbler said. “At dark, she gathered wood, then she built her uncle’s fire very high, to blind him. She’d crawl through the snow on her belly to reach me. She always wore this cape. It was hard to see her coming, even for me.”

The worship on his face made Dust’s heart ache. She tilted her head. “That took real courage.”

Rumbler frowned at his mangled hands. “She’s brave.”

Dust reached for Rumbler’s hands, and gingerly turned them over. “Did Wren do this, too?”

“Yes.” He slid closer to Dust, offering his hands for her inspection. “Wren sawed the black joints off with her knife. She was scared. But she did it.”

Dust examined the work. “She did a good job, too. The tendons and ligaments were severed cleanly, and she sliced through the middle of the joint. Did she cauterize the wounds—”

“Yes, she—she said it would help to seal the flesh around the bones.” Rumbler wiggled his fingers. “See? It did. Mostly.”

“Yes, I do see.”

The little fingers on both hands remained infected, but Dust Moon would take care of that. She released Rumbler’s hands, and reached for her pack. As she dragged it over, and searched around inside, she said, “Someday Wren will make a great Healer.”