People of the Masks(41)

When Wren stood facing her, Frost-in-the-Willows poked a bony finger into Wren’s chest.

“Stop this lying, girl! Did you run off to play and forget the water bags? Eh? Are they down by the lake? You forgot the bags and decided you needed a good story to cover for yourself. That’s it, isn’t it? You are the most insolent child I have ever known! Get into your bed and cover your head. None of your relatives wish to see your face!”

Wren’s mouth gaped. “Grandmother, it’s not my fault! I—”

Frost-in-the-Willows slapped her hard across the face, and Wren stumbled backward. A red handprint swelled on her cheek.

Blue Raven grabbed his mother’s hand and gasped, “Blessed gods, why did you do that?”

Wren dashed for her bedding. She crawled under her hides, and pulled them over her head.

Frost-in-the-Willows jerked her hand free, and glowered at Blue Raven. “Supper is ready, my son. Come to the fire and eat.”

Frost-in-the-Willows limped away.

Blue Raven felt empty, and exhausted … and he still had duties to perform. Jumping Badger might not wish to speak with him tonight, but Blue Raven wagered that some of his cousin’s warriors might. He knew that Elk Ivory would be honest with him, and at the thought of looking into her eyes, his tension eased.

He frowned at Wren. She lay curled silently beneath her hides.

Blue Raven went to kneel beside her. Softly, he said, “I believe you, Wren. There are many things about the ways of Spirits that mystify me. Will you speak with me more later?”

Her hand crept from beneath her hides, touched his moccasin and quickly retreated.

Blue Raven patted the place where he thought her head must be, then rose to his feet. As he passed Frost-in-the-Willows, he said, “I’m not hungry, Mother. Wren and I will eat later. When she is feeling better,” and he ducked outside into the darkness.





Later, in the middle of the night, he lay awake, his head propped on his arm.

“Mother! Mother, where are you?”

Blue Raven did not know how anyone could sleep with those piteous cries on the wind.

He pulled up his sleeping hides. Long graying black hair spread around him. Wren huddled in her hides beside him. She’d been shaking off and on throughout the long night. She’d been asleep when he’d returned, so he’d eaten while Frost-in-the-Willows repeated her accusations about Wren: “The girl is a liar! She’s always been a liar! Tomorrow you will see. Send someone down to the lake early. You will find the water bags there, I’m sure of it. Your niece just needed an excuse for her impudence!”

It was possible, he admitted it, but he didn’t think so.

The fires had burned down to pits of glowing red eyes, and soft sounds filled the longhouse: a baby nursing, a boy mumbling in his sleep. Two of the brightest of the Night Walker’s lodges shone through the smoke hole in the roof. From the many sleepless nights Blue Raven had spent staring at that smoke hole, he knew their gleams signaled midnight.

“Please, Mother! Please come!”

The cries had started about a hand of time ago. Since then, he’d been fighting the urge to rise. If he defied Starflower’s command, it would shame her, and him, and encourage others to ignore her authority. Clan order would crumble into chaos. But he had to clench his hands to keep them from reaching for his cape and moccasins.

He gazed down the longhouse. No one else even seemed to hear Rumbler.

Jumping Badger’s snores shook the walls, and they irritated Blue Raven more than usual.

Blue Raven had questioned many of his cousin’s warriors. Most had told him nothing. Only Elk Ivory, his childhood love, had confided to Blue Raven that Jumping Badger had been particularly brutal at Paint Rock. He’d ordered his warriors to rape every woman—even the dead—then he’d personally mutilated the bodies of the male children. Elk Ivory had also told him that, on the run home, Jumping Badger had terrified them all. She’d whispered that he had risen every night, gone a short distance away from camp, and carried on long conversations with the severed head of the Paint Rock war leader, Lamedeer. He’d acted as if he no longer knew who he was, or where they were going. At the first hint of darkness, Jumping Badger had insisted that huge fires be lit. No one, not even Elk Ivory, had dared refuse.

A voice whispered, “Do you hear him, Uncle?”

Blue Raven turned. Wren’s lean face peered out at him from a small round gap in her mound of hides. Her eyes had a reddish sheen.

“Yes, I hear him.”

“He must be freezing. I can see my breath, and I’m inside the longhouse. How much snow do you think has fallen?”

“About three hands.”