“Mossybill,” Blue Raven said, “did the False Face Child do something to you? Poison you? Wound you? What—”
As if his strength had suddenly failed, Mossybill went limp. His head thumped the floor.
“Mossybill?” Loon whispered. She leaned over him. “Mossybill?”
Blue Raven studied the man’s chest. It still rose and fell. “He’s alive, Loon. Let him rest.”
Tears streamed down Loon’s face, but she nodded. “Yes. Of course.”
Blue Raven rose and went to kneel beside Skullcap, who lay on his side, his black hair shielding his face. To Skullcap’s wife, Pretty Shield, he said, “How is he?”
Young, with a round face, hooked nose, and full lips, she reminded Blue Raven of a bobcat with an eagle’s beak. She’d plaited her long hair into a thick braid that hung over her shoulder. Her blue dress bore the faded red images of Mouse and Vole.
“I do not know, Elder,” Pretty Shield answered. “He crawled into his hides as soon as he entered the longhouse. He has been asleep ever since. I tried to wake him, but …”
Blue Raven placed two fingers against the large artery in Skullcap’s throat. The heartbeat fluttered weakly, but it was there.
Blue Raven let his hand drop. “Let me know if he wakes, or if his condition changes. I must return to my longhouse to take care of the False Face Child, but I want you to send for me if Skullcap starts showing any signs of the same illness that afflicts Mossybill.”
“Yes, Elder, I will.”
Blue Raven rose, took a deep breath, and walked down the length of the house. He ducked outside into a milling crowd of over a hundred. Starflower met him at the door, gripped his arm, and tugged him toward her.
“What is it, Matron?”
“Is he dead?”
“No. He’s alive.”
“And Skullcap?”
“He seems to be sleeping.”
Starflower’s fingers bit into Blue Raven’s arm. “The False Face Child must leave the village. Do you hear me? You must take it away before we are all dead!”
“Where, Matron?” he asked in exasperation. “Where shall I take him?”
Starflower thought for a moment, then blurted, “Stake it out at the roots of the Sunshine Boy! Let the False Face stare up into the golden eyes of its own death!” Starflower whirled to face the assembly. “Hear me! No one must go near him! We will wait until Jumping Badger returns, then we will convene a full village meeting!”
Blue Raven’s veins warmed. The Sunshine Boy was a mutant Spirit, half his body dead, the other half alive. He inhabited an ancient oak south of Walksalong Village. All natural illnesses and deaths came from the Sunshine Boy.
Blue Raven found Acorn in the crowd and gestured for him to come forward. When Acorn arrived, Blue Raven said, “I will get the False Face Child, and take him to the Sunshine Boy. Please gather rope and meet me there.”
“Yes, Elder.”
Two guards had stationed themselves at either end of the longhouse. They stood with their arms crossed over their broad chests, and hatchets in their hands. Bows and quivers draped their shoulders. Grandmother Frost-in-the-Willows had refused to enter the house with the False Face Child inside. Bogbean had come in, ransacked her space for her Healer’s bag, then left at a run.
Wren placed another stick of wood on the fire. The False Face Child sat next to her, his knees drawn up. His black eyes stared unblinking at the low flames. When sparks popped and flitted, he did not stir. He seemed to see nothing.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked, forcing a strength into her voice that she did not feel.
He didn’t answer.
“My grandmother mixes currants with plums and dries them. The tea is tasty.”
Around the winter fires, the elders told stories about sacred dwarfs, but she’d never seen one until now. And never imagined them to be children. In all the stories, the dwarfs were adults doing wondrous deeds, healing the sick, afflicting the wicked, leading their clans to great victories. Could such a small stunted child truly be a sacred being? It didn’t seem possible.
“I know you can talk,” she said. “I heard you earlier.”
Wren inspected his stubby arms and legs. They were half the length of hers, and she wondered why Power had stunted them. Were there things he could do better with short arms and legs? Things that had to do with the Spirits? Wren silently contemplated this. From what Uncle Blue Raven had told her, Power often required shamans to perform tasks that ordinary people found impossible. Perhaps the rope ladder that led into the skyworlds had really narrow rungs? Or maybe the entryway stood only six hands tall?