People of the Moon(85)

“Go now,” a gentle voice ordered.

Ripple turned to see a huge being with round head, tube like eyes, and a circle of a mouth. Mud Head! The giant Danced, his feet beating with the cadence of Ripple’s heart. Pointing with a rattle he held in his right hand, Mud Head inclined his head. The intent was clear.

Ripple turned, heading into the gray fog before him. Hollow fear and desperate longing were his only companions.





Horo Mana, the one you know as Cold Bringing Woman, calls. She Dances among the Cloud People, her turquoise-jeweled feet stamping out the hail. She twirls and spirals, bringing darkness, chill, and storm. The katsinas scatter before her.

I watch his souls as they disappear into the mist.

Beware the gods that prowl the Darkness, young hunter. Strangle your fear, or you will have no idea that you are lost until She devours you.





“Will he live, Elder?” the warrior called Yucca Sock asked as they lifted the unconscious hunter’s naked body from the hot steaming waters of the spring. Evening light sent yellow rays to bathe the high mountains around them. It softened the forest-clad slopes of the valley. Even the breeze had stilled, as if pleased to bask in the perfect afternoon.

“I can’t tell yet,” Nightshade replied as she waded out behind them. Her gray hair gleamed in the light. The faded red dress she wore was soaked up to the waist. Her age-lined face betrayed worry and misgiving. She was tall for her age, with spine unbowed, and agile despite her years. “Place him on the grass there. I have sent his souls away. They must decide if they want to return.”

She bent down and continued to rub a gray paste into his temples. “I could feel the fear when his souls spoke to mine. There’s no telling what might be attracted by such powerful fear and longing. Like the scent of blood on the wind, such emotions will draw predators—and he has no guardian.”

“Is it important that he live?”

Nightshade shrugged. “I do not know. We stand in a forest grown thick with old timber. Lightning flashes through the sky. It is up to the gods when or if it will strike.”

“And if it does?” Yucca Sock asked.

“Answer that yourself, warrior.”

She ignored his stricken expression and glanced down at Ripple’s mutilated penis. Water had washed the coagulated blood from the punctures to expose swollen and inflamed tissue. “This must be drained.”

Both Yucca Sock and Firehorn flinched and looked away as her bony fingers took the hunter’s swollen member. Holding it like a slippery trout, she began squeezing pus through the loosened scabs.

“Perhaps it’s just as well his souls are traveling,” she added.

Nevertheless, the unconscious Ripple groaned and gasped as she cleaned the punctures and dabbed on an herbal potion of coneflower, mallow, and crushed sage leaves.

Inspecting his hideously bruised and puffy hand, she said, “Bring me willow splints and thongs for binding. They crushed all the joints.”

“Can you save the hand?” Firehorn asked.

“He will never have the use of it, but it need not end up looking like a claw.”

“And his mouth?” Yucca Sock asked.

“He’ll have one side to chew on. As to the broken teeth, well, the remaining roots will fester and fall out in the coming days. They left him enough teeth in front that he won’t lisp when he talks.”

Firehorn handed her willow sticks cut to length and thin leather laces. He made a face as she straightened the bruised and swollen fingers. The unconscious Ripple stiffened, a cry locked deep in his throat.

“Can you call his souls back if you need to?” Yucca Sock asked.

Nightshade glanced up, eyes dark and large. The effect was like looking into midnight. “I can do nothing for them. They must decide their own fate. When they come back, if they come back, or what they come back as … Well, we’ll just have to see.”

She took a moment to raise Ripple’s eyelids, staring into the rolled-back pupils. Then she leaned forward, sniffing at his breath where it came in shallow gasps. “Very well, place a blanket over him and take him up the mountain to Orenda. I have done all I can for the moment.”

“Yes, Blessed Elder.”

“Time to report to the war chief.” Nightshade turned her attention to the conifers overlooking the hot springs and made a gesture with her hand. Immediately a form detached itself from the shadows where it had been keeping watch. A warrior bearing a round wicker shield and carrying a bow and quiver trotted down the rocky slope on slender legs.

The two warriors beside her glanced meaningfully at each other, gently lifting the unconscious man onto the litter that had borne him thus far. With care they tucked the blanket around his body.