Wren tapped the False Face Child on the shoulder. When he turned to face her, she said, “I’ve heard there are monsters who ride the backs of the Cloud Giants. Big. ones, with teeth as long as sycamores are tall. My people say that those monsters like to eat holy people journeying to the Up-Above-World. Is that why Power made you small? So you would be harder to spot?”
The boy’s lips parted slightly, revealing his teeth.
“I—I was just wondering,” she said.
Wren picked up a stick and turned over the biggest log in the pit. Sap boiled and sizzled on the underside, and a curious blue-green flame licked up. Wren threw her stick in on top of it.
“What did you do to Mossybill and Skullcap? Shoot Spirit arrows into their bodies to kill their souls?”
The boy turned away.
“I never liked either one of them,” she admitted. “Mossybill used to whip me with willow switches when I was little.” She glanced at his injured wrists. “Did he hurt you?”
The boy looked at her, and she could see the answer in his eyes.
The revelation had a curious impact on Wren. She felt suddenly indignant. The boy had many bruises on his face, but his wrists and ankles looked the worst. They oozed bloody pus.
She pointed. “Did Mossybill tie the ropes that cut you?”
His head moved in a barely perceptible nod.
“He loves ropes,” she said. “I had a friend once, named Marmot. Mossybill found her sneaking some walnuts from his cache—you know, we’d all been out in the grove picking up nuts, and Mossybill had scooped up a big pile for himself. Mossybill took Marmot out into the forest, tied her to a tree and left her there all night. That was during the Moon of Brown Leaves. It was very cold.”
The False Face Child wet his lips, and whispered, “Did she die?”
“No, but Marmot’s parents were crazy with fear that night. They didn’t know where she was, or what had happened to her. Mossybill didn’t tell them until the next morning. He said he’d left her tied to a walnut tree as punishment for stealing.”
“But she—she just took a few nuts, didn’t she?”
“Yes, but her parents were upset with her anyway. That’s why her father didn’t kill Mossybill. It ruined their friendship, though. And poor Marmot. Her hands never worked right after that. She said that Mossybill had tied the ropes so tightly it had damaged her joints.”
The False Face Child raised his hands and flexed his fingers. The wounds broke open and blood trickled down his forearms.
Wren flinched. “When I was five or six, I used to wish the Thunderbirds would whack him with a bolt of lightning.”
Tears sparkled in the boy’s eyes, and he suddenly looked very vulnerable. His mouth quivered.
Wren bravely reached out and took his hand. “Are you sure you aren’t hungry? We have some rabbit stew left from last night. It has dried onions in it, and corn flour.”
Voices rose outside the longhouse, and Wren turned when Uncle Blue Raven pulled back the door curtain and stepped inside. Both guards flanked him. He came straight to Wren and crouched at her side, but his eyes were on the boy. Wind had tangled his long hair, spreading it over his shoulders in knots of gray and black.
“How is he?”
Wren got on her knees. “I think he’s all right, Uncle. I tried to get him to eat or drink something, but he didn’t want to.”
Uncle Blue Raven’s soft brown eyes tightened. “Please, Rumbler, eat something. Quickly, before I have to take you away.”
“Take him away?” Wren asked. “Where to?”
“Matron Starflower ordered that he be staked out at the roots of the Sunshine Boy—”
Wren felt herself pale.
“—until Jumping Badger returns and we can convene a village council meeting. She’s also decreed that no one may go near the boy until that time.” Uncle Blue Raven held out a hand to the False Face Child. “Try to eat something, Rumbler.”
The boy didn’t move.
Uncle Blue Raven rose, walked around the fire, and pulled Rumbler to his feet.
“I’ll return soon, Wren. Please help your grandmother while I am away. You are braver than she is.”
“But Uncle, don’t you remember? I have to … I—I promised …”
Uncle Blue Raven strode past her, and vanished through the door.
Six
Wren’s deerhide cape whispered against the brush as she sneaked down the winding game trail behind Uncle Blue Raven and the False Face Child. Wind Mother had been blowing all day, her frigid breath tumbling old leaves through the cloudy sky, and spitting snowflakes. Hair loosened from Wren’s braid and tangled with her eyelashes. She anxiously brushed it away.