“Mother?” Kstawl called from outside, then thrust her head past the hanging. She looked as if some terrible thing were about to befall her. “Old Woman North has convened the Council and demands your presence. She’s sending warriors to—”
Astcat turned. “Who is great matron? Me, or that vision-racked old hag?”
Kstawl’s mouth worked like a beached salmon’s.
From outside, White Stone’s voice called, “You are, Great Matron. I will take your regrets to the Council and inform them that you will call them at your convenience.”
Kstawl, looking slightly sick to her stomach, withdrew. Cimmis sat stunned, hearing footsteps beating a hasty path away from their lodge.
“As if I didn’t have enough to fret about!” Astcat snapped irritably.
“Please, don’t drive your soul away.”
“Drive my soul away?” She raised her thin arms. “As if that was my only worry!”
“My wife, please, your hold on your soul—”
“My soul will stay where it is for the moment.” She closed her eyes, looking pained.
“Why won’t you tell me the message? Is it so terrible that you—”
“I need to think about it.” She heaved a tired breath and looked at him. Love sparkled in those blue depths. “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything in the world. Do you know that?”
“Yes, of course,” he said shortly. “What does that have to do with the message from Ecan’s son? By Gutginsa, he’s just a silly little boy.”
As she walked toward him, the seashells on her cape winked in the firelight. “Apparently, that silly little boy has become a Dreamer.”
Cimmis shrugged, but dread knotted in his belly. The news must be bad or she wouldn’t be using this roundabout way of telling him. “Did he Dream our deaths?”
She stopped in front of him and lowered a hand to stroke his hair. In a tender voice, she said, “Not our deaths … yours.”
Dzoo slowed as she approached her lodge, turning so the sunlight filled her face. It burned in her red hair and turned her eyes into black pits. She fixed her attention on Hunter and Deer Killer, who walked behind them.
“Of the two of you, only Hunter has a child. A boy.” She smiled with deadly earnest. “And you, Deer Killer, you are thinking of marrying New Fawn.”
Pitch watched as both warriors swallowed hard and backpedaled. They wore expressions that were a mixture of loathing and horror.
“If you desire to sire children in the future …” Her voice dropped. “No, let’s say if you would ever even enjoy lying with a woman again, you will stay as far from this lodge as you can tonight.”
To Pitch’s astonishment, the guards almost shook their heads off their shoulders, nodding in agreement.
“Good,” Dzoo said simply. “The Singer and I are going to be mixing potions. Try not to breathe the fumes. Some … Well, never mind.”
Pitch followed her into the lodge, where a fire had burned down to coals. Dzoo indicated a place by the hearth, where a roll of buffalohide made a cushion. “Let me check your wound.”
Pitch stopped long enough to glance out the thin slit at the door’s side. Both guards were well out of earshot.
“Hungry?” She raised an eyebrow and pointed to a carved wooden bowl beside the hides.
Pitch sat and exhaled in relief. As she dipped stew out and handed it to him, he took inventory of the lodge and related all the events leading up to his departure.
“He’s going to be great,” Dzoo said thoughtfully after Pitch told her of Tsauz’s flight with Thunderbird. “If this coming trial doesn’t kill him.”
Pitch ate a spoonful of sea lion stew, relishing the rich flavor. In addition to the meat, the stew contained red laver and dried skunk cabbage. It had been a long time since he’d eaten such a meal. But no matter how much he ate, his stomach squealed for more. “Forgive me,” he said, and awkwardly repositioned his injured arm. The sling had started to saw into his shoulder. “I know I’m not very pleasant company. The only thing I’ve had to eat in two days is dried packrat jerky. I’m starving.”
“Eat as much as you can hold, Pitch. Meanwhile, let me see that wound.”
“No, there are many things I must tell you.”
While Dzoo undid the sling, Pitch examined the beautiful painted leather dress she wore—the scarlet color was stunning. Her long red hair tangled with the tiny shell beads that covered the bodice.
Pitch gestured with his horn spoon. “We heard you were locked in the captives’ lodge.”
“I was.”
“Who gave the order to release you?”