People of the Masks(75)

A wispy flock of Cloud Giants sailed overhead, their bellies shining a rich yellow. Against the blue sky, they resembled tongues of flame. Sparrow reknotted the laces on the gut bag and rested it between them. When he exhaled, his breath frosted. The storm might have broken, but as the afternoon fled, the cold deepened. By the time they met with Jumping Badger, the world would be a frozen monster.

He gazed down at Walksalong Village. “It’s odd, isn’t it? Once, many winters ago, the Bear Nation and the Turtle Nation were one. Now we barely speak.”

“Well, it’s their fault,” Dust said as she handed him two corn cakes. They’d been fried on both sides and he could see the toasted hickory nuts that speckled them. His mouth watered. “They raid us constantly. What do they expect?”

He bit into his cake and chewed slowly, relishing each bite. It tasted sweetly delicious. “It’s more than the hostilities, Dust. We’ve all grown in different directions. They even bury their dead differently than we do.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.” Around a mouthful of corn cake, she said, “They’re savages.”

“Are they? We bury our people in individual graves, placing a few precious items around them that they will need in the afterlife. The Bears strip the flesh from their loved ones’ bones, mix the bones with those of their ancestors, then bury them, and their possessions, in a mass communal pit. They think that mixing the bones assures people will be together in the afterlife.” He took another bite, chewed and swallowed. Whirlwinds of snow bobbed over the hills. “I don’t know that their way is any worse than ours, Dust. We’re both trying to make certain our people are happy.”

She finished her first cake, brushed the crumbs from her hands, and bit into a second. “Well, perhaps, but I still—”

A twig cracked in the forest.

Neither one of them moved.

Then Dust subtly shifted. She murmured, “Behind you, Sparrow. See him?”

He followed her gaze, and saw the man creeping through the trees. Sparrow calmly picked up his bow, eased an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. “Who is he? Can you tell?”

“No, I …” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait. It may be Cornhusk.”

The bald patches of hair on his buffalo coat looked dark in comparison to the glistening fur. Sparrow cupped a hand to his mouth, and called, “Cornhusk?”

The man hurried forward, slogging through the snow. Stringy hair framed his broken nose and rotted front teeth. “Yes! It’s me. Don’t shoot!”

“What are you doing here?” Dust asked. “I thought we were supposed to meet you at the bottom of Lost Hill?”

“Yes, Matron. You were.” Cornhusk stopped, and bent forward to catch his breath. “But Jumping Badger plans on killing you the instant you appear there.”

Dust’s expression turned deadly.

“I swear I didn’t know!” Cornhusk blurted.

“What’s happened?” she asked. “Tell us quickly.”

Cornhusk came forward like a man walking through poisonous vines. His small dark eyes darted from Sparrow to Dust and back again. “The False Face Child is gone. He—”

“Gone?” Tears filled her eyes. “You mean he—”

“Oh, no, he’s not dead! I mean I don’t think he’s dead. He might be, but—”

“For the sake of the ancestors, get to the point!”

“Yes. Certainly.” Cornhusk held up his hands and nodded. “This is what happened. In the middle of the night, Matron Starflower and a woman named Loon came into the longhouse where I was sleeping. They said that Blue Raven, the Vigil Keeper—”

“The Headman of Walksalong Village was assigned as Vigil Keeper?” Sparrow asked.

“Yes. But Blue Raven and the False Face Child are gone. Starflower suspects Blue Raven of treason, of actually cutting the child loose and taking him away. The whole village has gone insane! You won’t believe the things they’re saying down there!”

Dust asked, “What are they saying?”

Cornhusk slowly lowered his hands, as if still worried they might shoot him. “The matrons are discussing how they should kill Blue Raven after they catch him. Burn him alive. Stake him out in the snow. Cut him apart and feed him to the dogs. They aren’t even certain yet that he released the boy! They’re rushing things, if you ask me. And that poor little girl, I can’t imagine—”

“What girl?”

“Oh. Uh—Blue Raven’s niece. Her name is Little Wren. She was to take Blue Raven food and drink twice a day while he kept Vigil. She’s missing, too, and the matrons have decreed that if she was involved in the crime she should pay with her life. Blessed ancestors, the girl has seen twelve winters!”