She turned. “Do it.”
Her men rose and moved to the rear, muttering unpleasantly to each other. They should be used to it by now.
A pine pole ladder was lowered into the chamber; then an old man descended one step at a time. He had a small pack on his back. The Healer immediately went to Kakala’s side and put a hand to his fevered brow.
“Now, Deputy,” Windwolf said, “I want you to climb out.”
“Me?” Keresa asked.
“If you’re no longer deputy war chief, I’ll take your successor. Someone has to keep a promise you made.”
The map of the caves …
Keresa glanced nervously at her warriors. “All right. I’m coming up.”
She climbed and stepped out onto the boulders. Eight warriors surrounded the entry to the chamber. Four clutched war clubs; four held nocked atlatls. Just in case any of her people escaped.
She heard Kakala whimper; then the Healer said something soft.
Windwolf crouched over the opening and looked down.
“Hako?” Kakala called feebly. “No … no. Reach … farther. I can almost touch … Don’t! I—I need you. I—”
“It’s all right,” the Healer soothed. “You’re going to be all right.”
“No! Please … please no more. I can’t …”
Keresa shifted uncomfortably. Windwolf had no right—no right!—to see Kakala like this. She tried to impale him with her fiery glare, but he kept looking thoughtfully at Kakala.
He rose suddenly, said, “Come with me,” and walked away.
She followed him. Two guards fell in line behind her.
What had he felt? His expression had betrayed deep, grudging emotion.
By instinct, she studied the high points, noting every place a warrior stood silhouetted. Frowning, she looked again. No good warrior would allow himself to be seen so easily. And these warriors looked very slender, and short.
When Windwolf turned around and caught her scrutinizing the high points, he said, “Deputy, I would prefer that you walk beside me. We can talk on the way to my chamber.”
Forty-two
Windwolf almost breathed an audible sigh of relief when Keresa finally followed him into his chamber. Once he had wondered how the Lame Bull People could live in these holes. Now he felt distinctly uncomfortable out in the open—especially with so many refugees filling the valley.
Most were just reverent, but too many insisted on crowding around him, reaching out to touch him, demanding his attention. The look in their eyes left him shaken; each and every one believed that he could save them.
By Wolf Dreamer’s sacred breath, it will be a relief when the first groups leave tomorrow.
Too many things disturbed him these days. As he had watched Kakala, his heart had saddened. Why would his old enemy’s suffering bother him so? Was it just the things he’d learned? That Kakala had tried to kill Karigi for what he’d done to Bramble? Or that somehow, he’d gone from a heartless butcher to a vulnerable captive?
I can’t afford sympathy for a man who’d love nothing more than parading me into the Nightland Council.
But what about Keresa?
He studied her as someone down in the camps started playing a wooden flute. The mournful lilting notes made him stop and listen. It was too beautiful for this time and place.
She stood by the fire, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her red doehide war shirt conformed to her body, accenting every curve. He couldn’t keep from staring at her, wishing so desperately that this able woman was anyone but his foe. Something about her manner, the way she handled herself, spoke to his loneliness. How long had it been since he’d spoken to anyone as frankly as he did to her? If only …
“Those acorn nut cakes smell wonderful,” she said, breaking the spell and pointing to the basket that rested beside the hearth.
“I’m sure they do, since you haven’t had anything but water for two days. Please, eat some.”
She didn’t waste any time, but knelt, unfolded the hide wrapping, and pulled out one of the cakes. She gobbled it down as fast as she could and reached for another.
Windwolf walked across the chamber and picked up the hide he’d chosen earlier. As he walked back, he asked, “Do you like them?”
Crumbs had fallen onto her dress. She didn’t take any time to brush them away. Around a mouthful of food, she replied, “Wonderful.”
“They were made for me by a woman who once lived in Walking Seal Village.”
She stopped chewing.
Well, that tells me something about your conscience. He sat down on the opposite side of the fire, and watched her.
She swallowed, and said, “I’m grateful for the food.”