What does that mean for Kakala and our warriors?
She rubbed her face, remembering the pulse of energy that had run from Silvertip’s touch through her body: a sensation of peace and harmony.
Mother of Legends? The Wind? To surrender is to achieve victory?
She shook it off, trying to think. Windwolf’s atlatl and quiver were not leaning against the wall where she’d seen them before. His bedding hides lay tangled, as though he’d risen quickly.
Where are you? What’s happened?
She walked over and extended her hands to the small fire. The scent of boiled mastodon meat rose from the bag hanging on the tripod. She considered helping herself but decided against it. Instead, she took the opportunity to thoroughly search the chamber. Not that there was much to search. Overhead, a crack between the boulders created a smokehole. Wisps of blue smoke clung to the high ceiling before being sucked out.
She picked up one of his moccasins and sniffed it, finding his scent. “You’re being a fool.” She cast the moccasin down. “Sniffing old shoes, by Raven Hunter’s balls! How could you have let this happen?”
But she hadn’t let it happen; it just had. She was supposed to be a hard-eyed, ruthless warrior. She had no ability to pretend to be vulnerable. No, she had to be vulnerable.
She’d been shocked that Windwolf had responded to her the way he had.
And I responded to him.
She sank down to the hide in front of the fire and drew up one knee. The sooty shadows clinging in the corners wavered in the fire’s glow.
Silently, she cursed herself. She could imagine the amusement in his eyes, as though he were watching her. And behind that lay a warm caring.
“You need a man who is your equal.” Kakala’s words echoed within her.
“Reach out and gather the Wind.” She snorted. “I’ve drawn a storm.”
Karigi was coming. Refugees were fleeing westward toward some stronghold in the Tills. If Karigi arrived, Windwolf would attempt to barter his captives. Karigi would accept, but only to parade them through the Nightland villages in disgrace before locking them all in the cages. She didn’t have much time for pleasant feelings of self-pity.
She slipped a hand beneath her braid and massaged the back of her neck, easing the tension in the muscles. How could this happen now when everything she’d ever cared about in her life was in danger? They had to escape. And they had to capture or kill Windwolf.
Voices rose outside. Windwolf’s deep voice said, “Fish Hawk, I need you to speak with young Silvertip. He will want to address the people. We have to prepare to leave Headswift Village.”
“Yes, War Chief.”
Footsteps pounded away.
When Windwolf ducked beneath the door curtain, she stared at him through tortured eyes.
Windwolf stood uncomfortably before the door.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he clenched his hands into fists. She sat by the fire in the center of the chamber, dressed in her buckskin cape with long fringes. Her braid hung over her right shoulder. Through the lacing on her cape he could see her war shirt beneath.
“Forgive me for not being here when you arrived. Karigi has been very busy. More refugees poured in just a short time ago.”
“Which band this time?”
“Moon Rock.”
He watched her expression. Her soul must be following the same trails his was, tracing Karigi’s path. The deputy was attacking the southern Sunpath bands, pushing people north toward Headswift Village.
Windwolf quietly walked to the opposite side of the fire. “What’s Karigi doing?”
“Clearing the southern territories so that the Sunpath cannot follow the Nightland People to the paradise of the Long Dark.” She shrugged unhappily. “Or so we were told.”
“Doubts, Deputy?”
“Too many to count. Your Dreamer told me to trust myself, to be the Wind. I’m that, all right. Blown every which way.”
He fought the urge to step forward and hold her again, to soothe her doubts.
No, she is still Keresa. Get too close, and she’ll split your head open with a rock.
The chamber smelled of fat-rich meat. He hadn’t eaten yet this morning. His stomach growled to remind him.
“Fish Hawk told me you no longer wished to be my go-between with Kakala. I’d like to know why.”
She crushed the fringes of her cape in nervous fingers. He watched with amusement as she said, “Kakala is feeling better. You should be meeting with him. He’s the war chief.”
“We met last night. Somehow we get on each other’s nerves.”
“It’s because you are both so alike.”
“Really?”
She smiled. “You’ve seen buffalo bulls? The big dominant ones? They swell up, step lightly around each other, and then one makes a sound like Phiisst! and they both go at each other.”