People of the Raven(101)

“Didn’t it occur to you that the villagers might have found him and beaten him to death? Perhaps you just did not recognize your son.”

“None of the dead wore his clothes. I think it is more likely that he was taken captive.”

“If Rain Bear captured him, he’s dead.”

“Not necessarily,” Ecan rushed to say. “Rain Bear may think he can use my son against me.”

Cimmis turned. The vein in Ecan’s temple throbbed. The man’s heart was beating as quickly as a trapped rabbit’s, desperation in his eyes.

“Use him in what way?”

“Perhaps to convince me …” He swallowed hard.

Cimmis gazed out at the veils of windblown rain that blew across the mountain. Thunderbirds rumbled high up near the cone. “Then let us pray that a runner appears today to tell us your son is dead. That way you will not be tempted to betray me, and I will not be tempted to kill you before you have the chance.”

Ecan stepped back, aghast. “I would not betray you, my Chief! No matter what Rain Bear offered me.”

Against Cimmis’s will, his gaze strayed to his swaying door flap, where he glimpsed Astcat. “Don’t lie to me. I know what men will do to protect the people they love.”





Late Afternoon

“Gutginsa guards the door to the House of Air. The journey to get there is long and arduous. There are many villages in the Above Worlds, each about a moon apart, through which the soul must fly.The Spirits who live there set traps and snares to try to catch unwary souls, which they eat.”

My breath rattles in my lungs. I manage to suck in enough air to say, “I know all this. Is there … a reason … you feel you must tell me … the old stories?”

“I want to make certain you understand them.”

He pauses, and I manage to lift my eyelids long enough to glimpse him gazing down at the river, or perhaps at the seagulls that flutter over the deep green water. The scent is powerful this afternoon, rich and earthy.

“Now listen carefully.”

I sigh and nod.

“At the end of the flight, there is one final test. Gutginsa waits at the door to the House of Air, holding a living spear with the head of a serpent. He points his spear at each soul that arrives, because the serpent can tell good souls from evil souls. If the person has done very bad things in his life, Gutginsa’s spear flies from his hand and punctures the heart of the evil soul, killing it. But if the person has been compassionate just once in his life, Gutginsa’s spear hesitates.”

I can feel my lungs flutter, like a bird’s wings preparing to take flight. I have to force them to settle down before I can say, “Then the soul … has a chance to explain.”

“Yes, that’s right. It may do no good, but it may also be your redemption.”

I whisper, “I always thought … Gutginsa’s spear … was too generous.”

“Ah,” he breathes, and I feel his cape sway as he lifts his arm in some gesture. “Then you miss the point. You see, the desire to explain is everything. It is the very heart of deliverance.”

I think about that. I suppose every soul must, at some point, realize that it needs to be redeemed, or redemption is impossible.

I smile. “I want … to explain.”

His gnarled old fingers touch my arm. “I know. I’m praying very hard that you have the chance.”





Thirty-three

Dzoo leaned back against the damp bark wall, listening to the rain fall outside. It spattered in front of the lodge door and trickled across the plaza. The Thunderbirds grumbled unhappily as they passed over Fire Village.

As the downpour increased, the villagers moved inside the lodges, but she could still hear them. In the lodge to the right of hers, a warrior told glorious tales of the battles he’d seen in the past two moons. Wooden bowls clacked, as though his wife served supper while he spoke. Occasionally, a little boy stopped him to ask a question.

Across the plaza, in the Council Lodge, women spoke. She couldn’t make out the words, but their voices sounded weary and worried.

The Four Old Women. They should be worried.

Dzoo stared at the faint filament of gray that outlined the door on the other side of the lodge. Guards stood outside. Now and then, she heard them move.

She was alone.

She found it a curious sensation.

No one needed her. There were no wounded or sick to care for. The grieving didn’t beg her for guidance. For the first time in moons she had only herself to think of.

She pushed back her buffalohide hood and examined her prison. A smoke hole had been cut in the roof, but there was no fire hearth. Not even a ring of stones.

“Perfect,” she murmured, and laughed softly.