People of the Nightland(13)

“Let the Lame Bull fend for themselves!” Silt gripped Windwolf’s shoulder. “For the sake of the Ancestors, do you think Bramble was the only one who needed you? If old Lookingbill kills you, what will we do? Kakala’s warriors have destroyed five bands since last summer! Our women and children spend every day running. If you die, who will lead us?”

“You will, Silt.” Windwolf stared into the man’s worried eyes. “You, more than anyone, understand what has changed.”

Silt stabbed a finger toward the southern pine forests. “There are nine Sunpath bands left—and everyone is sick with fear that they will be attacked next.” He paused. “Windwolf, you’re the only man who has ever been able to create an alliance to protect them.You—”

“You’re as good a war chief as I am, Silt. Better, probably.”

Silt’s gaze turned compassionate. “Bramble’s been dead for two winters.You have mourned her enough.”

Bramble … what did I do to you?

Silt glared at Windwolf through eyes as hard and glittering as stone. “I know you’re hurting, Windwolf. Everyone knows it. Time after time, you have tried to get yourself killed. The warriors who serve you believe in one fact: Power has kept you alive in spite of the risks you take!”

Windwolf waved it away.

Silt shook his head. “Our alliance is a fragile thing. Without your leadership, the warriors will lose hope, drift away. If that happens, what’s left of our people will melt away like a ball of mud dropped into a stream.”

Windwolf closed his eyes for a moment and let his soul drift. Is that why I’m still alive? Power wills it? For what?

When he opened them again, he found Silt standing with his shoulders squared, as though ready for a fight. The long reddish hair on his mammoth-hide cape glinted in the sunlight.

“Lookingbill is the most respected chief among the Lame Bull People,” Windwolf said. “I don’t know why he called me, but perhaps he wishes to join us in our fight against the Nightland People. I must find out.”

In a low voice, Silt said, “You never answer me honestly. Don’t you think I know what this is really about?”

Bramble. It always came back to Bramble. Tiredly, Windwolf said, “Please, Silt. Just … let me go.”

“Only if I can go with you, to guard your back. You need—”

“No.”

Silt stared at him, eyes measuring, worried. “Why don’t you let me take you somewhere else? You could rest at Sky Dog Village. It’s far to the west, on the border of Southwind lands. They’ll never find us there. I’ll send a message to Blade that we’ll be gone for ten days. She can handle any trouble—”

He shook his head. “No. With me gone, our people need you. That is your responsibility. My duty is to find out what Lookingbill wants, and we both know …” He forced himself to continue. “We both know the time away will do me good. I won’t have to walk the same trails I walked with Bram …” His grief welled, dark and empty.

“The anger has run out, War Chief.” Silt reached out, as if to grasp some elusive concept. “And with it, so has hope.”

“It’s not a matter of hope.”

Silt’s expression twisted. “All the more reason you need me to go with you. After Goodeagle, you’ve had enough traitorous—”

“Don’t,” Windwolf shouted as his inner chasm widened. “I don’t want to talk about it, Silt. Leave it alone!”

Silt massaged his forehead. “All right.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Please, I can help you with negotiations with Chief Lookingbill.”

Angry despair stirred in Windwolf. “I appreciate your concern. But I must go alone. It’s what Lookingbill requested … and I’ve no reason to deny him.”

“No reason? The Nightland clan Elders have offered safe haven in return for your dead body! Half the world would turn on their own brothers in return for the promise of safety.” Silt paused for effect. “Do you seriously think Lookingbill wouldn’t find that a tempting reason to have you come alone?”

Somewhere deep inside, Windwolf couldn’t convince himself that it mattered. Death could be lurking around the next turn, and he didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing except a fatal mistake he’d made, and the swelling empty grief that hollowed his soul.

He is right. When I ran out of rage, even hope was dead.

“And what about War Chief Kakala?” Silt asked gruffly. “He’s out there. If he gets a whiff of where you’ve gone, he’ll be on you like a short-faced bear on a fresh carcass.”