One
The pale blue halo of dawn arced over the eastern horizon and shimmered on the high snowcapped peaks. Mother Ocean still lay in shadow, her voice soft this morning, a bare purl of sound. White breakers pounded jagged rocks, then washed onto gravelly beaches. Offshore, fir-covered knobs of rock jutted from the wave-streaked water.
Just to the north, along the precipitous shore, Waket’s Nose—a spear of basalt—thrust up. Streamers of morning mist shredded on the mossy rock and drifted through the few stands of firs that had taken root in the steep sides.
The grizzled warrior known as Red Dog scratched his bent nose and curiously studied the ancient Soul Keeper, Rides-the-Wind. The old man had seen more than five tens of summers. They must have been hard ones, for deep lines engraved his oblong face and crisscrossed his broad flat nose. His elkhide cape swayed in the fading starlight as he adjusted a set of sticks on the ground, moving them from one place to another.
“Elder,” Red Dog bravely tried to interrupt for the third time, “Starwatcher Ecan sent me. I have urgent news.”
“Ecan considers his bodily functions to be urgent news,” the old man snapped.
“Yes, Elder, but this is different. He—”
“Don’t tell me this is different. I know him. I remember once, three summers ago, when his guards rushed in and pulled me from my robes. They dragged me kicking and scratching to his lodge. I was certain he’d ordered my death. It turned out he’d discovered a star-shaped object in his morning phlegm. He wanted me to kill the evil Spirit before it had a chance to leap back inside him.” Rides-the-Wind arched a white eyebrow. “He’s an imbecile. Imbecility runs in his family.”
“Well, perhaps, but—”
“Not yet.” The old man aimed a crooked finger at Red Dog. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready to listen.”
Red Dog gruffly folded his muscular arms and let his gaze drift to the small fire behind Rides-the-Wind. The hair-stuffed bodies of three toads perched on the hearthstones, where tendrils of smoke bathed them. What on earth did the old man use them for? Their bulging eyes seemed to be glaring right at him.
Mist had just begun to form a tufted rime along the shore. Every now and then, he caught glimpses of orange fire bobbing out on the ocean—whale oil lamps, perched in the bows of fishing canoes. A few seagulls hunted along the surf, their calls shrill in the darkness.
Rides-the-Wind moved another stick less than a fingernail’s width from where it had been. In the bare breeze, his long gray hair and beard fluttered, rising around his wrinkled face as though alive.
Red Dog shook his head. Only pure-blooded North Wind People had hair around their mouths. He’d never liked it. So far as he was concerned, beards had one use: soaking up soups and stews. Though his father had been one of the North Wind People, Red Dog thankfully looked more like the Raven People, who did not have beards.
“What are you doing, Elder?” Red Dog asked.
“You’re blind, are you?”
“Well … it didn’t seem as though you moved your stick very far, so I was confused.”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
Red Dog frowned and followed the old man’s gaze. The stony point was bare of the ever-present stands of fir and spruce. Rock cairns made black humps on the eastern horizon. The Star People rose along the line between the humps and the sticks he’d planted in the ground.
“Seeing where the Star People are rising?” Red Dog ventured a guess. “Which sounds a little silly to me. I mean, they rise in about the same place every day, don’t they?”
Rides-the-Wind tipped his antique face up. His brown eyes resembled stones under water, round and shiny. “You know, I think that when Song Maker was pulling threads of sound from the heavens to Sing the world into existence, a few flat notes stuck in your soul.”
“Well, Elder”—What did a man say to that?—“I’m a warrior. My heart has different concerns. While your eyes are trained on the sky, mine are generally scanning the forest for people who might wish to kill me.”
“Given your ability to irritate people, your constant need for vigilance isn’t surprising.”
As the Soul Keeper struggled to stand, Red Dog gripped his elbow and helped him up. Rides-the-Wind, though so much older, towered over him.
The Soul Keeper waved a hand to indicate the mist-lashed cliffs. “This is a sacred place. The Star People often come down to earth on this very spot. On certain days, they dance on Waket’s Nose. And if you are careful and observant, you can calculate when they will arrive because they move a little closer to us every day. Hence the sticks. Each morning I measure their approach.”