She wondered if he was still crawling through the darkness, lost and frightened.
From right beside her ear, a deep voice whispered, “Yes, he’s always gone when you need him, but I’m right here, right here, Ashes.”
She tried to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth, so she dove under her hides, and lay there shaking, waiting for him to speak to her again.
Throughout the night, she jumped at every sound, but she never heard the voice again … just Silvertip’s soft suffocating gasps for breath.
Thirty-seven
The pale lavender gleam of dawn filtered through the boulders, bleaching the faces of the warriors sitting around the chamber.
Keresa ran a hand through her long hair and paced back and forth. All attention was focused on Kakala.
The big war chief tossed and turned, writhing beneath his sweat-drenched cape, reaching pleadingly for people who weren’t there. All night long he’d shrieked and wept.
“Hako?” Kakala cried. “Hako? Where … where are you? Tanta, where is she? Is she …”
Degan looked up at Keresa and said, “Hako sounds like a woman’s name.”
She nodded. “Yes, it is.”
She’d never heard Kakala speak Hako’s name with such desperation.
Degan said, “Have you known him to be with a woman named Hako?”
“She was his wife once, before—”
Kakala screamed, “You’re dead … dead! Tanta get down! What … what are you … doing … ?”
The echoes of his voice rang through the chamber, almost covering the grating that came from above as one of the boulders was rolled aside.
Dawn light poured into the chamber. Keresa looked up. Against the brilliant background, she couldn’t see any of the warriors’ faces. Smart of them. Peering down could get the looker a dart through the face.
“Deputy Keresa,” a voice called. “War Chief Windwolf has granted your request to speak with him.”
“Thank the gods,” she muttered. “Can I climb up?”
“After you remove all your weapons.”
Keresa untied her weapons belt and let it fall to the floor; then she pulled out the stiletto she always kept in her right legging, and dropped it. “I’ve pulled my teeth.”
“All right, climb.”
Keresa climbed up, hesitated just below the scar in the rock where she had dodged death several days earlier. Nerving herself, she lifted her head, half expecting to duck another dart. The warriors just beyond the periphery of her vision were armed, alert, but none was set to skewer her. She pulled herself the rest of the way into the light. Eight warriors encircled her. A short burly man stepped forward.
“I am War Chief Fish Hawk. I need to search you.”
“Of course you do.” She spread her arms and legs, and waited while he ran his hands over her body. To her surprise, he was thorough, but took no inappropriate liberties.
Fish Hawk nodded sternly. “Be careful not to do anything foolish. We have more Sunpath refugees here today. They will not be happy to see you. One wrong move and we might just let them have you.”
“Fish Hawk, you’ve never met a more careful warrior than me.”
They’d overheard the warriors who’d guarded them talking about Windwolf. The tone of voice would have been more appropriate to Old Man Above than a human war chief.
She looked around at them, at the glow in their eyes. By Raven Hunter’s balls, they’ve made a mystical Spirit out of the man.
According to the story Windwolf had personally gone to speak with the refugee chiefs and clan Elders, asking questions, assuring them they were safe here. It was said among the guards that many had fastened themselves to his legs, pleading for his leadership.
Is there anything we can do to use that against him?
Keresa started forward, but Fish Hawk’s hard hand on her forearm stopped her.
“I think it’s better if you follow me. Windwolf is concerned about your safety.”
Fish Hawk had said Windwolf’s name with such reverence, she ground her teeth. And why not? Her own warriors were starting to speak of him the same way.
Fish Hawk stepped out in front of her while the other two warriors fell in behind. Her spine prickled, knowing they had their darts centered on her back.
They followed the trail over the top of the rockshelters that composed Headswift Village. Below, she heard children talking, and the voices of elders. A dog barked happily.
Fish Hawk led her around the base of the boulders and straight through the Sunpath village—if it could be called a village. When the people saw her, they ran forward to stare and call insults. Her knees trembled, but she kept her head high.
As she rounded a corner, groans and sobs filled the air. Many people wore bandages. Black bloody tatters of hides wrapped heads and legs. One old man—with a face like a weather-beaten mountain—gazed at her through hate-filled eyes, watching her every movement.