Black Spike’s face slackened. “Is this the future you see, Elder?” “One of them. There are many futures. I can also see one where the name of Black Spike is hailed as the man who saved the Independent villages from war and devastation through his mercy and wisdom. In that future, you feed your enemies, and forgive them for making a terrible—but understandable—mistake.”
“And then you will discover the real killer of Red Knot?” Black Spike asked. “You are offering us this as a way out?”
“I am.”
“Even if I agree, Nine Killer is another matter.”
“My impression of Nine Killer is that he is a most thoughtful and intelligent man. Like you, he is looking for a way out.”
“Nine Killer is only a War Chief, a tool, Elder. He is here following orders. In the end, you must deal with Hunting Hawk. She sent Nine Killer here, and she has made up her mind that High Fox killed her granddaughter. Do you seriously believe she will agree to peace?”
“I will handle Hunting Hawk when the time comes.” Panther shrugged. “As to what she agrees to, that is her decision. Like you, I can offer her an alternative. She can accept or decline my aid as her conscience wills.”
“And if she throws you out of Flat Pearl Village?”
Panther frowned. “Not even Hunting Hawk would dare to throw me out.”
Black Spike sighed, spread his arms wide in acceptance, and said, “Very well, Elder. Tomorrow, we will hold a feast for Nine Killer and his Flat Pearl warriors.” He paused, nursing his wounded arm to his chest again. “And I will forgive them, and try to make peace with Nine Killer.”
“Good.” Panther clapped his hands. “Now, let me see that arm. I myself will lance’ it and attend to the healing.”
As he worked on the Weroance’s swollen arm, he could feel the old slave woman’s eyes upon him, her gaze gnawing at his soul like a rodent’s teeth. _
Empty Spaces
I do not speak of this with joy. No one has ever known where I am when my eyes seem far away. No one ever will know how much time I have spent wandering that empty space inside me. Pacing the walls of reaching arms, examining the trembling of the locked hands.
Space kept no matter the cost.
For her.
Are not all our lives molded around the empty spaces of arms left open for those we’ve lost?
Tender and tingling. Spaces brimming with warmth and laughter.
But the cost.
Blessed ancestors, the cost.
For five tens and three Comings of the Leaves, I wandered that space, and did not see him. The monster kept his gleaming eyes closed. His colors were mine. His pulse like an echo of my own.
Until one day, seven moons past, when I tried to unlock my hands. At last, I felt ready to let her go. I had kept her prisoner for so long my heartache had gone numb.
I tried to open my hands. I really did. But my fingers had frozen. Truly. I would not lie about this. I struggled, and screamed.
And he opened his eyes.
He must have lain in the walls from the beginning, watching and waiting.
When finally he moved, it was ever so subtly, a waver of the walls as his coils tightened around me like a huge fist.
Now…
All day. Every day. I sit afraid to move, staring into those savage glittering eyes.
Thinking.
There are many stories told around winter campfires, of heroes who slay monsters. Many end the same. When the hero thrusts his lance into the monster’s heart, it falls to the ground, and begins a beautiful writhing Dance. In the throes, it transforms itself into a shining winged god, scoops the hero onto its back, and carries him into the heavens where the hero takes his place with the other gods.
And I wonder.
Is that what my monster is waiting for?
To see me, just once, brave?
Twelve
Later that night, when the star people first began to build their campfires, the call came, as Sun Conch had known it would. She jerked her head up when two of her cousins marched across the plaza toward her. A nervous flutter taunted her belly, but she did not rise from where she sat between Nine Killer and The Panther. She knew what Redbird and Whitesides wanted. They often acted as messengers for her uncle Sawtooth. As they closed on her, Sun Conch squared her shoulders and braced herself to meet them, staring them in the eyes. Twirrs, they had seen seven-and-ten Comings of the Leaves. They wore deer hide capes over their broad shoulders, and had twisted their hair into buns on the left sides of their heads. Both had wolfish eyes, with long hooked noses and full lips. When Redbird grinned, Sun Conch had to will herself not to shiver.
“You are wanted, Sun Conch,” Redbird said.
“I knew you’d be coming sooner or later, cousins. Let me—”