People of the Masks(63)

“Well, that’s very interesting, Jumping Badger, but I don’t want any part of this!”

Jumping Badger thumped Cornhusk’s chest with a hard fist. “Then only your wife will be able to recognize the pieces of you I leave behind.”

Cornhusk said, “I’m home so rarely, I doubt even she would recognize them, but I—”

“And don’t try to run off before I’m finished with you.” Jumping Badger’s voice went low. “Understand?”

Cornhusk jerked a nod. “I do. Yes.”

“Good.”

Jumping Badger stalked away through the forest, leaving Cornhusk alone. The Trader wiped his brow on the sleeve of his buffalo coat, vented an exasperated, “Crazy!,” and bent down to watch Jumping Badger through the weave of branches. When Jumping Badger had walked out of sight, Cornhusk slowly followed.

Wren eased down to the snow.

“Oh, Spirits. I don’t have much time.”





Twelve



Blue Raven glimpsed Wren coming down the trail from the hilltop, a bag of food slung over her shoulder. She waved, and Blue Raven smiled. Her white fox-fur cape hung about her like a shimmering mantle. She’d pulled up the hood as a shield against the wind, but a few locks of her long black hair had escaped and danced about her pretty face.

From fifty hands down the hillside below him, Blue Raven could hear a thin cry rise and fall. The sound clawed at him, deep, like a talon buried in his souls.

He sank back against the aged oak trunk. Snow drifted out of the twilight sky in a leisurely fashion, swaying and spinning before alighting on Lost Hill. Though a Cloud Giant hovered above him, most of the sky remained clear. The feathered lodges of the Night Walkers had just begun to appear, popping into existence out over the vast blueness of Pipe Stem Lake.

Blessed gods, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this.

Snow had covered everything except Rumbler’s head. His disembodied face stared unblinking at Blue Raven, the black eyes alive with fear. Over the past six nights, his cries had grown shrill. Blue Raven didn’t understand it. By now Rumbler should barely have the strength to draw breath.

Blue Raven blinked and forced himself to break eye contact with Rumbler. When he looked into the boy’s eyes, fire ran along his bones, crept into his shaking muscles, and became a raging inferno in his heart. The intensity of the pain left him shaking.

He fumbled with his mittens. He kept going over the stories his mother had told him, things she’d heard from old Silver Sparrow himself, about how Rumbler’s father, the evil Forest Spirit, used to whisper to him in his robes at night, and how the Night Walkers obeyed the boy’s commands. Anyone who had ever dared to harm the boy had died hideously—or so people said.

Blue Raven frowned, wondering.

A silver sheen glimmered across the surface of Pipe Stem Lake. People fished on the shore. The catch must have been poor, or by now they’d be back in the village cooking supper. Blue Raven tried to imagine himself at home, wrapped in hides before a blazing fire, talking with Frost-in-the-Willows, telling her the Vigil was over, and they could all sleep again. He wished …

Two small fists, tethered to a stake by a short rope, broke through the blanket of snow, fingers open, reaching.

“Lamedeer!” Rumbler shrieked. He rolled over, and tugged against his ropes, sobbing breathlessly.

Since Rumbler had seen Lamedeer’s severed head on the post in the village plaza, Blue Raven assumed he called to Lamedeer’s ghost. That, or the cold and hunger had taken the boy’s senses.

“Blessed Spirits,” Blue Raven whispered. “Why is this taking so long? It’s winter. The marrow of his bones should be frozen by now.”

Wind blasted the hillside, and Blue Raven turned his head. When he looked again, a white blanket of snow covered Rumbler. Smooth and unbroken, the boy might have never been.

As Blue Raven watched, a huge gray owl leaped from the grove of trees at the crest of the hill, and soared down toward Rumbler. The bird circled, flapped once, then gently alighted on Rumbler’s chest.

As if the sight had cut Blue Raven’s souls from his body, he seemed to float high above the earth, no longer cold, or buffeted by the gale. Graying strands of hair danced before his eyes, but he barely saw them.

The owl flapped its wings, and snow blew from Rumbler’s face and chest. Then the big bird hopped down and perched on the stake which pinned Rumbler’s feet. He hoo-hoo’d once, then silently soared up and away through the falling snow.

Blue Raven whispered, “Stop being a fool. Owls are _ predators. Scavengers. That’s all. The bird probably thought Rumbler was dead and hoped to find a meal. It. must have been surprised when it discovered the boy was alive. It …”