“If you climb high enough, Tsauz, you will be able to speak with every creature in its own language: deer, elk, Star People, even Thunderbirds. So. Are you brave enough?”
Tsauz replied, “I have to be. I have to ask Thunderbird to save my father.”
Rides-the-Wind nodded. “All right, then it’s time we went away.”
“Went away! What do you mean? You’re leaving me?” Tsauz lunged to grab a handful of Rides-the-Wind’s white shirt.
Rides-the-Wind pried the boy’s fingers off. “This is something you must do alone.” He clamped Tsauz’s fingers around the cup again. “Now, I want you to drink the Cloud People blood slowly, and when you feel you’re ready to climb, grab onto the longest rope. You’ll know when you’re ready for the next rope, and the next. Each will lead you higher into the Above Worlds.”
Rides-the-Wind motioned, and Rain Bear ducked outside into the patchy moonlight. Puffs of cloud made blots against the sky. A short while later, Rides-the-Wind and Pitch filed out. Both men unfolded beautifully painted red ritual capes and draped them around their shoulders.
Rides-the-Wind lifted a hand to Rain Bear. “You may go now. We thank you for your help.”
“Outside of tying a couple of knots, I don’t know what good I did.”
The old eyes were knowing. “You were a witness, Chief. You have just seen the future change. One way, or another.”
“Will he be all right in there?”
Rides-the-Wind made a shrugging gesture. “That is up to him and the gods.”
Rides-the-Wind gave him a final fierce look before he and Pitch went to take seats before the fire.
Rain Bear rubbed a hand over his face. Go back to Dogrib’s? No, he had too many things to do tomorrow. If he didn’t get some sleep, what kind of chief would he be?
As he passed Rides-the-Wind’s lodge on the way to his, he heard Tsauz calling out to Thunderbird.
A faint smile bent his lips as he checked to see the guards lined out around Evening Star’s. He watched her lodge for a long moment, thinking of her, soft and warm in her robes. If only … if only.
He sighed, ducked through his doorway, and pulled his war shirt over his head. He scratched, and reached down to pull his thick buffalo robe back—only to have it move under his fingers.
“What?”
“Shhh! Be quiet or the whole camp will know.”
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
Evening Star took a halting breath. “I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Not after Coyote. I just … well, I have separate robes to sleep in if it makes you more comfortable.”
He frowned into the darkness. “No. It does not.”
Her skin was warm against his as he slid in beside her.
Forty-three
Tsauz wrinkled his nose. The Cloud People blood had a moldy smell. He took a tiny sip, and his mouth puckered at the bitter taste.
“I’m trying to come to you, Thunderbird,” he whispered. “Please, hear me.”
He rumbled the word “come” deep in his throat, and listened.
Nothing happened.
Tsauz took a good drink, choked it down, and reached out to touch the ropes. They didn’t feel like serpents. They weren’t scaly. They felt like feathers tied to woven bark ropes.
He called again, struggling to make the deep-throated rumble Rides-the-Wind had taught him.
“Thunderbird? Are you listening? Am I saying that right?”
He was probably speaking in badly accented Thunderbird. But Spirit creatures understood things humans did not. He figured Thunderbird didn’t really care about accents, and hoped it was a person’s heart that mattered.
“I heard them, Thunderbird,” he whispered anxiously. “When Evening Star mentioned my father, the Raven People’s cheers sounded like growls. If they ever get their hands on him, they’ll tear him apart. I know they will.”
He exhaled and ran his fingers over the cup. It felt crude. Big chips had been knocked off the wooden lip. They scratched his mouth when he drank again.
“Please help me, Thunderbird.”
He tipped his face heavenward. The more Cloud People blood he drank, the more empty he felt—as though his bones were becoming as hollow as a bird’s.
He tried again to make the rumble that would call Thunderbird.
Wind Woman sneaked into the lodge and batted the ropes around. They swung against each other, and he heard a strange hissing. It had to be the feathers brushing each other. Didn’t it?
He rumbled again. And again.
The last four swallows of blood tasted especially awful. He set the empty cup on the hides.
The hissing came again, louder.
Rain.
It pattered the sand outside. The storm had moved in. Had Thunderbird come with it?