People of the Nightland(161)

“And what is that final step?” he asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer. “This terrible flood that’s supposed to roar down on us?”

“I am,” she replied simply, and lightly stroked the leather bundle at her hip. “All of the death, suffering, and anguish—everything hinged on getting me to the ice caves. The terrible things we lived were the means to prepare our world for the end.” She gave him a half-lidded look that pierced his soul like a sliver of ice. “Did you really think it was happenstance that brought you to Kakala’s camp that night you discovered me in the rocks?”

Windwolf chuckled. “You’re saying you are Raven Hunter’s Dreamer?”

“Power is swelling on the wind, War Chief.” She raised her right hand high, clutching it into a fist. “Those with Power can call it at will.”

Windwolf heard the rasping of wings on air and ducked instinctively as a great black raven hissed through the space where his head had been. The big bird backed air, and settled on her raised fist to stare at him with a gleaming black eye.

“Blessed Spirits!” Windwolf cried, recovering. He glanced up at the bird that rode so easily on her hand.

“Welcome to the end of our world,” Skimmer told him, her eyes on the glistening black raven that clung to her hand. The bird threw its head back; the hoarse cawing seemed to shake the world.





Sixty-seven

Karigi trotted at the head of his warriors. Looking behind, he could see four tens of his trusted men. At the distance-eating dog trot at which they traveled, they could go all day. Each man carried a handful of long darts in his left hand, his atlatl, war club, and a pack tied to his back.

They had passed several women already. Wounded or dying, they had fallen back, finally succumbing to fatigue. From them, Karigi knew that the others weren’t all that far ahead.

“Look, War Chief,” Terengi called from behind.

Karigi glanced back and followed his deputy’s pointing finger to where a great dire wolf watched them from on high.

“He won’t bother us.” Karigi chuckled. “If anything, he ought to be grateful. That last woman we killed will fill his gut for a week.”

Karigi ignored the animal, concentrating on the rough trail. Here and there, where the silt had blown in, he could see tracks. A lot of moccasined feet had passed this way.

Kakala! You always had a ridiculous soft spot in your soul. I should have known you’d turn against us.

Blackta’s warrior’s report had been succinct: High War Chief Kakala had helped to release the captives.

My captives!

Karigi reached up to run his hand along his jaw, as if he could still feel the blow Kakala had landed there that day in Walking Seal Village.

I’m coming, Kakala. And this time, you’ll wish you were only going to be locked in a cage.





The mountains of packs amazed Goodeagle. Some were piled as high as a man’s head. Around them, the Nightland people sat, squatted, or lingered around little fires. Children were everywhere, running, playing, calling happily. Among them he could see Sunpath children, many serving as slaves.

So this is the wreckage of my world? This is what I did? The cramp of grief rose in his belly, swelling the sickness that lurked like a black fog around his heart.

The trail here from Headswift Village had tortured his very soul. For four long days, he’d trotted along at the back of the line, having a full view of Windwolf as he ran side by side with Keresa. At their nightly camps, Windwolf hadn’t once looked in Goodeagle’s direction.

I am dead to him. He laughed, half-hysterically. I am dead to myself.

Every now and then he’d nod to a warrior he knew. Most nodded back, old enmities forgotten in the excitement of the migration into the Long Dark.

He recognized Washani where he stood talking to Klah and Degan. He hesitated, unsure of his welcome, and walked over.

Washani gave him a slight nod, expression tightening.

“Have you heard the rumors?” Goodeagle asked.

“That Karigi is after Kakala and the escaped Sunpath captives?” Degan asked in a low voice.

“The same.” Goodeagle glanced around. “People are wondering about it.”

“Do you think one of us has talked?” Klah asked.

Off to the side, by a huge pile of hides, an old man cried, “How long are we going to have to wait? It’s been days!”

Grumblings of discontent followed as the closest camps picked it up.

“People are getting angry,” Degan noted.

“There’s been no word from the Council,” Washani remarked. “It’s unlike Nashat to be missing for so long.”

“Word is that Councilor Khepa sent a group of warriors into the caves, searching for the Guide.” Klah glanced around uneasily. “Something’s wrong.”