People of the Nightland(119)

He gestured to her ear. “Did you do that for your father?”

“No.” Ashes pulled her hand down, frowned, and looked away. “For Mother. You said she would never be the woman I knew. If I admit that now, it won’t hurt as much later.”

Though she tried to blink them away before he could see, tears filled her eyes.

Silvertip gently said, “I have already come to love that practical way of yours.”

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and gazed down the hill at Windwolf. As he listened to the Elders, the muscles in his massive shoulders corded and rippled beneath his cape. “They must be saying terrible things. Do you think the raiding is going to get worse?”

Silvertip lifted a shoulder. “Karigi and Blackta are soulless.”

To the north a dire wolf barked, then howled. The deep-throated sound echoed through the forests. Moments later another answered. Silvertip listened to them.

“It’s almost time now.”

He had no sooner spoken, than a scream rent the air. He turned, having seen it, just this way. Bear Boy lay sprawled, his war club off to one side. Little Crow stared in horror, first at Bear Boy, and then at his club. He dropped the weapon, crying, “I didn’t mean it!”

Windwolf was on his feet, sprinting. The children that had gathered made way for him, watching as he lifted the boy, staring grimly at the side of his head.

“Help me,” Silvertip said as he started forward. “Keep them from interfering.” He stopped only long enough to retrieve the Wolf Bundle from where it lay on his coat. Then, Ashes, behind him, he walked up to the crowd, calling, “War Chief? I can help.”

Windwolf looked up at him, Bear Boy’s head still cradled on his lap. “I don’t think so, Silvertip. I’ve seen head wounds before. He’s not breathing, and the heart isn’t beating.”

Silvertip crouched, staring into Windwolf’s eyes. “You have asked many people for their trust in the last couple of moons, War Chief. Now I will ask for yours.”

“Silvertip, this isn’t a game. Let me call the Healer.”

“I am here,” he said simply. “Please, lower him gently. Someone, bring a wolf hide to lay his head on. His spirit is still close. There is time to call it back.”

One of the girls hesitantly pulled her wolfhide coat over her head, extending it, then wrapped her arms over her bare chest against the cold.

Silvertip met Windwolf’s piercing gaze with his own, then watched the war chief lower Bear Boy, carefully resting his head on the folds of the wolf coat.

Silvertip bent, looking into Bear Boy’s vacant, half-lidded eyes. Bear Boy’s tongue lolled behind parted lips.

I have seen this look. When I lay dead on the high rocks, before Condor came.

Silvertip closed his eyes, lifting the Wolf Bundle. The Song rose in his throat. He willed his soul into it, digging down into himself, believing, willing the Power to flow down from the Wolf Bundle. He felt it, growing, prickling. Like a warm rush of water it coursed through him, Singing with him, its Song mixing with his.

In that instant, Silvertip felt wings, and he stretched out, the familiar feel of them bringing a brimming ecstasy to his body.

Bear Boy’s soul hovered above the body, dark, frightened, and poised to flee.

Gently, so as not to panic him, Silvertip closed his wings around the Spirit, wrapping his warmth and goodwill around the fear.

“Go back,” Silvertip coaxed. “This is not your time. We are here, loving you, calling for you. Go back, Bear Boy. Your body needs you. Do not fear; you will live. We all need you.”

He could feel the confusion, and curled his wings tighter, willing his love and warmth into the soul.

Slowly, carefully, he eased it down with his mighty wings. Felt it slide back into the body, and pressed down, keeping it there while it seeped into its familiar shell.

“Live, Bear Boy. Breathe. Feel the beat of your heart, and let the blood flow through your veins.”

The gasp came from somewhere distant, as though heard through a thick fog. The sense of rightness swirled around him, and he looked up, seeing the sky filled with color.

“Silvertip!” Windwolf’s barked command broke the trance.

He blinked, almost crying out as he felt the wings slip away. He tried to make sense of the blurry face above him. Windwolf!

“Stay back!” Ashes was saying. “He’s Dreaming! Are you fools? Don’t disturb a Dreamer when he’s sending his soul to the Spirit World.”

“Silvertip?” Windwolf asked again.

“Tired.” He groaned and sat up, the Wolf Bundle warm in his hands. “Bear Boy?”

“He’s alive,” Windwolf told him. “But, I think he’ll have a headache for a while.”