Tracking him had been like following a three-winters-old toddler. Elk Ivory’s belly churned every time they found one of his campsites.
As they headed for the western tip of Leafing Lake, the nine other war canoes caught up with them, cutting chevrons in the glassy water. Their bow waves rocked Elk Ivory’s boat. Jumping Badger’s canoe brought up the rear. He sat in the prow with the severed head propped before him, while Rides-the-Bear did the work of paddling. An eerie silence possessed their war leader. For the past three nights, he’d said nothing to any of them—though he’d whispered constantly with the rotting head of Lamedeer.
She had heard of such things, of men losing their souls, but she’d never—
“Look!” Buckeye shouted from the canoe that had overtaken them. A canoe lay beached on the sand up ahead.
“Come on, Acorn. Let’s see if we can’t beat them there,” she said.
Acorn nodded, got on his knees, and lengthened his powerful stroke. The canoe darted forward.
Cornhusk waved his arms to the children who sat behind the elders at the farthest reaches of the firelight. The longhouse stirred as people watched Cornhusk. “Come closer, little ones. This is a story for you, too.”
Three little girls edged forward and snuggled into their parents’ or grandparents’ laps. The girl to Cornhusk’s right had long braids that dragged the floor. She tucked her finger in her mouth and leaned back against her grandmother’s chest. The grandmother, Matron Oriole-Soaring-Down, propped her chin on top of the little girl’s head. Short gray hair fell around her cadaverous old face.
Cornhusk surveyed his audience. He’d arrived in Winged Dace Village about three hands of time ago, and done some Trading; then Oriole-Soaring-Down had invited him to her longhouse. If everything went well here, he’d be Trading all night. After hearing this tale, people would be throwing precious valuables at him and asking almost nothing in return.
“Well?” Oriole-Soaring-Down said. “You promised to tell us about Walksalong Village. We have heard much gossip, but I doubt the truth of it. Please enlighten us.”
Cornhusk narrowed his small dark eyes, and hissed, “Listen. Listen, well. This is a tale of great sorrow and woe.”
Bright blue, red, and yellow fabrics shone as people leaned forward to hear better. Beadwork shimmered. Shell earrings danced.
Utter silence descended. Just as he’d intended.
Cornhusk looked into the eyes of those sitting closest to him. “I was there. I left only after the village was ravaged by a deadly windstorm. This is not gossip. It is truth. Terrible truth. It is a tale of a Headman’s betrayal and cowardice. A tale of a little girl’s evil hatred for her clan. I tell you truly, thousands of winters from now legends will be Sung about the Spirits that roamed Walksalong Village during the Winter of Crying Rocks. They will Sing of the wicked False Face Child, and the courageous war leader who captured him, Jumping Badger. They will Sing of the hideous deaths of those who dared to touch the boy. I was there. I saw Mossybill and Skullcap writhing and screaming in agony.”
He paused and scanned the faces around him. No one seemed to be breathing. Even the little girl with the long braids had gone as still as a corpse.
Yes, it would be a profitable night, indeed.
“I saw poor old White Kit’s body covered in blood. The—”
“Kit is dead?” Oriole-Soaring-Down croaked. Her wrinkles deepened. “Is this true? I had heard this, but did not believe. Are you certain?”
Cornhusk nodded slowly for effect. “The False Face Child stabbed her with her own knife, Matron, and then”—he swooped a hand toward the firelit ceiling, and every eye jerked upward—“the boy flew to the rafters of the Walksalong council house like a bird. I heard this from Matron Starflower’s own lips.”
Oriole-Soaring-Down’s mouth tightened in pain. “I will miss Kit. She was a good and kind woman. A fine leader. Go on, Cornhusk. Tell us more about the evil girl and the False Face Child.”
He lowered his voice again, forcing people to bend toward him. “After he stabbed Kit, the wicked boy flapped around the ceiling, shrieking like an enraged eagle. He dove at Starflower and tried to pluck her old eyes out so she could not look upon his face … .”
Moans and gasps filled the house, and Cornhusk held up his hands for silence. In a ringing voice, he said, “You know the stories! The boy’s father is an evil Forest Spirit cast out of the Up-Above-World, and condemned to walk the earth forever! I tell you truly, the boy is even more Powerful than his father. The animals come to the boy’s call, and with a single hand he can pull the Cloud Giants down from the skies!”