People of the Nightland(64)

At the mention of his name, Silvertip wrenched his gaze from the bundle. “What? Did you call me?”

As though the discussion were over, Skimmer rose to her feet, grabbed Ashes’ hand, and said, “Where will we sleep tonight?”

“In my chamber,” Dipper told her. “I’ve prepared places for the three of you.”

As Skimmer walked by him, Windwolf grabbed her arm. Despite her brave words, she trembled in his grip.

In a voice only he could hear, she murmured, “I won’t fail.”

“If you do, many innocent people will die.”

Lookingbill gasped suddenly, and shouted, “Grandson!”

Windwolf released her, grabbed for his war club, and spun, expecting to see Kakala himself striding into the chamber.

Silvertip’s fingers were a hair’s breadth from grasping the bundle.

“Silvertip, I told you not to touch it!” Lookingbill chastised.

Silvertip wet his lips. “But Grandfather, there’s a man’s voice in there. He keeps ordering me to pick it up.”

Lookingbill got to his feet, hobbled over, and grasped the bundle. As he clutched it to his chest, he stared down into his Silvertip’s eyes. His anger quickly turned to fear, then reverence.

He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and guided him across the chamber to speak with him privately, but Windwolf heard Lookingbill say, “What did he tell you?”

While the two of them whispered, Windwolf asked, “What is that?”

“It’s the Wolf Bundle,” Dipper whispered, her gaze on her son.

“The Wolf Bundle?” Windwolf frowned. “Wolf Dreamer’s own Spirit bundle? The one he made after he fought Grandfather White Bear?”

“It’s been passed down through our family for tens of generations.”

Ashes glanced up at Skimmer, then Windwolf, and finally her gaze went to Silvertip. She seemed to be watching his tormented expression. She asked, “Why would Wolf Dreamer want to talk to that boy?”

In a clipped voice, Skimmer said, “Wolf Dreamer is dead, Ashes, and has been since the beginning of the world.”

Ashes’ brows drew together.

When Lookingbill placed the bundle in his grandson’s hands, Dipper let out a small cry and put a hand to her mouth. “Not my son,” she whispered. “Blessed Ancestors, please. Not my son!”





Twenty-five

The voices had begun to whisper in Kakala’s ears on the fourth day. He no longer saw the people who came to stare, call taunts, and toss their refuse at him.

The world had collapsed, fallen in, compressed to the cramped square of wood that confined his doubled body. For the most part, Kakala huddled, eyes closed. Behind the tightly pressed lids, he ran in green fields, his hand in Hako’s. He watched the sunlight gleaming in her blue-black hair, watched her slim body as she sprinted beside him.

“I love you so much.”

In answer, Hako twisted her head, hair flying, partially obscuring the radiant smile she flashed his way.

“You are going to die here,” a voice whispered into his ear.

He had started, blinking, shooting frightened glances to the side—and found nothing but the heartless wood.

“Go away,” he whispered.

“We have come to watch,” another voice mocked from above his head. But when he’d looked up, only the hazy sky arched over the confining bars.

“I did nothing wrong.”

“Oh, yes, you did.”

“I served my people.”

“And this is what service has brought you to!”

The voice chuckled, the rasping sound of it unnerving.

“I am nothing.” He stared down at his scarred hands where they rested between his bent knees. The feeling was gone from his legs, drowned by an endless aching pain.

The world is pain.

He blinked again, aware only of the beating of his heart, the air that he drew into his lungs.

“No different than an animal.This is the great Kakala!”

“Stop it.” But the hard bark of his voice, used to command, made only a weak rasp.

He clamped his eyes shut, clapping hands against his ears to block the voices that chattered and whispered.

Nothing. I am nothing.

Desperately he searched the darkness for another vision of Hako. But she, too, now eluded him.

“War Chief?”

He barely heard the voice, muffled through his hands.

“War Chief Kakala?”

He laughed, the sound maniacal as if rattled around inside his empty soul. “No, I’m not playing that game.You have tormented me enough.”

“This is a mistake,” the muffled voice pleaded. “We must let you out.”

“Oh, yes. Out to what? Out like Hako?”

“Who?”

“My wife. But I’ll fool you. When my soul’s finally free of the pain, it will find her.”