People had begun to gather in front of Matron Dust Moon’s lodge, all shouting at once.
Sparrow knelt to stir his stewpot. The aroma of venison heart bathed his face. A teapot, cup, and bowl rested at the edge of the hearthstones. His moss tea had been steeping for a quarter hand of time and smelled sweetly fragrant.
Dust Moon’s voice split the night. “You must speak one at a time! I can hear nothing!”
Sparrow glanced to his right. Inside his lodge, Crowfire lay beneath a buffalohide, his lips moving, as they had for two days, in soft, incomprehensible words. The flickering light danced over the youth’s face, accentuating his gaunt cheeks, and the damp, stringy hair that spread around him.
Sparrow had tended his wounds, and given him boneset tea and meat broth, but Crowfire’s fever continued to rage. If it didn’t break soon, Sparrow feared his souls would fly.
“Tall Blue!” Dust Moon called.
The young war leader came forward with his shoulders hunched defensively. Dust Moon said something that Sparrow could not hear, and the war leader broke from the crowd and marched up the trail toward Sparrow. The red and yellow porcupine quills sewn along his leather sleeves glinted.
Sparrow’s wrinkles rearranged themselves into tired lines. He laid his stirring paddle on the hearthstones and propped his elbows on his knees, waiting.
The closer he got the more reluctant Tall Blue’s expression became.
“Good evening to you, Elder,” Tall Blue said as he entered the halo of the firelight. His clamshell necklace flashed.
“A Blessed night to you, War Leader. Will you share my venison stew?”
Tall Blue held up a hand. “Thank you, no. I couldn’t keep anything down.”
“Yes, Dust Moon has that effect on men.”
Tall Blue winced. “I never used to have such frail nerves.”
Sparrow threw a chunk of hickory on the fire, and watched the sparks shoot upward into the cloud-strewn evening sky. “What message are you carrying?”
Tall Blue squatted on the opposite side of the fire. “I have been instructed to ask you if the Paint Rock warrior is well, or if his souls have flown?”
“He is not well. But I cannot answer for his souls. The arrow point in his leg will not come out. I snapped it off even with the bone, and placed a snakeroot poultice over it, but there has been no change. Shadow Spirits have filled the wound. His souls may be inside, or outside. They may be gone forever, or return by morning.” Tall Blue glanced through the doorway at Crowfire, then quickly looked away.
“What?” Sparrow pressed.
Tall Blue shifted uneasily. “This morning Matron Dust Moon said she felt a malignant presence around the village. She feared it might be the soul of the Paint Rock Dreamer, Briar, flying. The hair”—he gestured—“on top of the matron’s head stood straight up. Just like that of a dog when an intruder approaches.”
“Really?” Sparrow said with exaggerated interest. “Well, Dust has a strange new accomplishment. What other feats did she perform?”
Tall Blue added in a hushed voice, “She said a bitter scent rode the wind, like moldering bones.”
“Moldering bones?”
Tall Blue nodded.
Sparrow picked up his paddle and stirred his stew again. It had started to boil. “So, her unruly hair and the odor of the garbage behind the village convinced Dust that Briar was soul-flying. How many people believed her?”
Tall Blue rested his hands on his knees and stared at them as if he’d found something he’d never seen. “Elder, how much longer will you allow the young warrior to remain in your lodge?”
“Until he can tell me himself that he wishes to go.”
“Elder, please.” Tall Blue spread his hands imploringly. “A Trader came through at noon. He said that after Jumping Badger stole the dwarf boy, he hunted down and killed every member of the Paint Rock Clan that he could find. What if he discovers one survived? Do you not think he might come looking?”
“Maybe.” Sparrow shrugged. “But I doubt it.”
“why?”
“Jumping Badger wipes out villages. He’s worked very hard to convince people that he has a special talent for it. Killing one lone warrior would be an insult to his reputation.”
Tall Blue prodded one of the hearthstones with the toe of his moccasin. “Not everyone agrees with you. The entire village is ready to move away and leave you, unless you—”
“Again?” Sparrow shoved his paddle into the stewpot. “What shall I do, Tall Blue? Take Crowfire out and abandon him in the forest? Is that what you wish?”
Crowfire’s tortured voice filled the sudden silence, the words breathy, garbled. Perhaps he’d heard his name and was endeavoring to respond.