People of the Nightland(41)
“War Chief?” Maga asked.
“Yes.”
“I am going to die.”
Kakala smiled down in the darkness. “I wouldn’t think that. You know old Gataka, don’t you? He was gutted worse than you, and still lived. No, Maga, you’re as tough an old crow as the next man. Tougher. You’ll make it.”
“Lying has never served you well. You’re not good at it.”
Kakala smiled. “This time, I’m telling the truth.”
“You’re better than the rest of them.”
“Better than who?”
“Nashat, Karigi, Hawhak. All of them.”
“Thank you.”
Maga swallowed hard, panting to cool his burning body. “I would ask a favor of you.”
“Anything.”
“Bring me the medicine bag.”
Kakala’s heart skipped. “I don’t think it’s—”
“I have watched too many men die from wounds like mine. I will not go the same way.”
Kakala bowed his head, his heart beating slowly in his chest.
“War Chief? Did you hear?”
“I did.” He rose to a crouch and ducked through the low-hanging branches. When he walked down to the fire and lifted the hide bag with an image of Raven drawn on the side, the three warriors watched with wary eyes.
No one spoke as he walked back, ducked under the branches, and carefully removed the herbal teas, the poultices, and wrappings they used for bandages.
“Are you sure, Maga?”
The man laughed weakly. “I can already feel my soul floating in and out of my body, War Chief.” A pause. “I have no fear of death … only the manner of it.”
“I know.”
“Tie it tightly, War Chief. I don’t want to draw this out.”
“I will.” He paused. “If you change your mind, just call out. I’ll hear you and remove the bag.”
“I know, War Chief. My decision is final.”
Kakala steeled himself, slipping the thick leather bag over Maga’s head. The greased leather had been double stitched, waterproof, and had served this purpose too many times for a sane man to remember. Kakala settled the leather around Maga’s neck, folding it, and then drew the cord tight, knotting it snuggly.
Kakala waited. He was still waiting, even after Maga’s heaving lungs stilled and the body began to cool.
Skimmer peered between the boulders, searching the moonlit forest for Nightland warriors. Since their escape from the Nightland villages, she had run like a worried hare. Mostly they traveled by night, keeping to the low spots, holing up in the morning.
How long had it been? Time no longer had meaning. More than once, she had noticed that her hands shook. And she dared not let her soul drift, or she was back in the pen, the corpses of the dead piled atop her, and even the fall of a spruce cone sounded like a heavy stone mallet crushing a woman’s skull.
To her surprise, more than once, she had wilted to the stony ground and burst into uncontrollable sobs.
“Mother?” Ashes asked. “What do you see? Are they coming after us?”
“Not yet. They probably think we all died.” Her hands were shaking again. She stuffed them into the front of her dress, knotting her fists.
The stink of the dead still clung to the dress, impregnated in the stains left by whatever had been leaking out of the corpses.
My world is death. It hovers around me like a mist.
In the distance, the Ice Giants swelled like a vast white mountain range that went on forever. Their groans and rumbles carried on the cold air.
“Where are we going, Mother? The Nightland warriors burned our village.”
“I’m not sure. Once I know we’re not being followed, I’ll make a decision.”
Ashes toyed with the fringes on her cape, twisting them around her fingers. “The Guide is going to send his warriors after us, isn’t he? No matter where we go?”
Skimmer didn’t have the strength to lie to her. “Probably.”
“Can’t we go away and hide along the lakeshore?”
Skimmer knelt and reached for her daughter’s hand. “Ashes, I want you to do something for me. Can you try?”
“What is it?”
“Remember your grandmother’s clan?”
Ashes frowned. “Of course. She was Trickster Clan.”
Skimmer took a deep breath of the icy air and squeezed Ashes’ fingers. “If anything happens, and we’re separated, I want you to—”
“But we won’t get separated, Mother,” she whispered in panic. “You won’t leave me alone!”
“No, I won’t. Not unless I have to. But if the Guide captures me, or I’m killed, I want you to run to the closest Sunpath village and tell the people you’re Ashes from the Trickster Clan. Can you remember not to say the Redtailed Hawk Clan?”