He wiped at the trickling sweat on his face, looking back into the past, into that dark room, the moonlight streaming in through the little square window. He could hear the hooting of owls out in the forest, smell the dank water and mud of the Black Warrior. “I had a dream. First Man, Wolfdreamer, came to me. He said, “Who are you, Raven? What have you become?”
“I answered him, “I am the mighty Raven, War Chief for the renowned White Smoke Rising, Lord of the Three Rivers. Before me, all the world trembles, for I am my lord’s sweeping right arm.”
“You are polluted,” the Wolfdreamer told me sadly. “You were born under the sign of the Wolf, and here you are, perverted by the Raven. Look inside, great man, and tell me what you see.” “
Panther wet his lips, staring into the darkness of the sweat house. “So I did, brash and headstrong as I was. What did I, of all men, have to fear? I… I looked inside and saw what I had become.” He shook himself, casting off the dangerous memories. “That night, I argued with my chief. Then I went a little crazy. And later… later that night, I walked away. Told no one I was going. I just walked out of the great gates, across the cornfields, and into the forest. I never looked back. Hungry” dirty, and alone, I traveled north, following the Black Warrior River to the crest of the mountains, and then followed them east, from peak to peak. From them I descended to the lands of my birth. Alone, in defeat and silence, I came home.”
She waited patiently.
“That’s about it.” He smiled grimly at the hot swirling steam. “I went out to my island to find myself.”
“And did you?”
He worked his fingers. The stiffness, of old age had been driven from them by the heat. “Oh, yes. It frightened me to my very bones.” She shifted uncomfortably. “So, why are you here?”
“Because of innocence,” he replied.
“I don’t understand.”
He straightened. “I wouldn’t expect you to. You can’t find yourself until you’ve become lost. In order to see, you must become blind. To seek goodness, you must become evil. To achieve great wealth, you must seek poverty. To be truly free, you must first become a slave.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes all the sense in the world.” He cast a sidelong glance at her. “What about you, Shell Comb? Have you ever looked deeply into your soul?”
He could feel her fear when she said, “Of course.”
“You are a liar,” he told her evenly. “But then, most of us are at heart.”
“I know,” she said, voice low. “But, sometimes it hurts too much to tell the truth.”
Twenty-two
Nine Killer hunkered down on his heels in the snow, watching the clouds scud eastward toward the ocean. The spot he’d chosen gave him a good view of the inlet. On its slate-colored surface, choppy waves marched relentlessly toward the narrow beaches, where they would curl, slap the earth, and die. He rested with his back against an elm, the rough bark scarred by the years and the periodic fires his people used to clear weeds from their fields.
From here he could see over to the far shore with its gray-furred winter forest, but his attention centered on the sweat house and the girl who stood guard before the doorway.
After the Panther entered, Nine Killer had loitered beside Sun Conch, and heard most of what had passed within. Only when Shell Comb had stepped out into the weak afternoon light, her naked body glistening with sweat, did he step self-consciously away. She’d twisted her damp hair into a thick knot and walked out to splash in the cold water just below the lodge entrance.
For the briefest of moments, Nine Killer had let himself admire her lithe body. Those athletic curves would have blessed a woman half her age.
What was it about her that captivated him so? Of all the women he’d ever known, her body, the sultry look in her eyes, attracted him like no other. Was it the way she moved with sensuous grace or the rapt attention with which she listened to a man talk that made her so irresistible? She’d enchanted him more than once when he spoke to her. He’d seemed to fall into her gaze, his heart racing as he became the center of her attention. Then her lips would part the slightest bit, and his senses would swim. As if she could discern his attraction, she’d smile at him, teasing him just beyond his ability to respond.
She’d stepped from the water, dripping and shivering, her nipples taut, and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Only after she’d dressed, caught his gaze on her, and given him one of those flashing smiles, did she turn and walk toward the palisade. At that point, Nine Killer had retreated to the old elm to sit and think.