He does not answer for a time, and I know he must be thinking of what people will say. They will condemn him. Maybe even kill him.
He hesitates before he says, “I have not decided.”
A swelling emptiness sucks at me.
Fifty-six
Cimmis stumbled in the night. He bit off a curse as he looked up at the cloudless sky. The stars reminded him of foam on the sea.
Odd, he hadn’t had a poetic thought for cycles.
He sniffed the cold air, but only smelled his musty cloak, heavy now with the clinging smoke from the Council Lodge. He had spent the last hand of time in the stifling interior going over the final details with White Stone. Time after time they had sketched the organization plan into the dirt.
He had worked it down to a fine system, the warriors going from lodge to lodge, waking the occupants, sending them down the trail in just the right sequence so that everyone moved in an orderly fashion.
Oh, to be sure, there would be grumbles in the predawn darkness, and people would stumble and fall, but by first light, they would be well on the way to Salmon Village. With any luck at all, by the time Rain Bear beat, flogged, and cajoled his Raven rabble into position, it would be to find nothing left but their tracks.
And Rain Bear could attack all the tracks he wanted.
Unless, of course, he tried to keep his unwieldy force together and surrounded Wasp Village. With starvation on the land, that had as little chance for success as rain falling upward.
Cimmis made a face as a stitch of pain shot through his hip. Gods, and he had to walk for the full day tomorrow. Or at least try to. If his warriors had to carry him, it would shame him.
As he approached the lodge, he stopped, staring thoughtfully at the high domed shape. Tomorrow night, it would be vacant, dark and cold within.
He laid a gentle hand on the bark wall, feeling the moss and lichen that had grown there. Here, he had lived most of his life with Astcat, risen with her to the pinnacle of authority. Inside these walls his daughters had been born. Here, too, their young son had choked on a plum pit and died.
“It is so hard to leave it all behind,” he said softly.
“Father?” Kstawl called, worry in her voice.
He bent, wondering what terrible thing had befallen Astcat, and ducked inside.
In the fire’s red glow, he could see his daughter waiting by a steaming stew hanging from its tripod. Automatically, he glanced at Astcat’s bed, only to find it empty.
“Where’s Mother?” Kstawl asked. “You know better than to keep her so long at the Council meetings.” Her eyes had fixed expectantly on the door behind him, as though awaiting her appearance.
Cold, like a curling breaker, washed through him. “She’s not here?”
“I thought she was with you!”
Cimmis blinked, stepping across the lodge to stare dully at her bed. Her favorite robes were missing. He turned, expecting to see her small bag of ornaments resting in its place, only to find the dirt bare.
“Merciful gods,” he whispered. “We have to find your mother! She may have wandered off, gotten lost.”
She pointed to a basket, its contents covered by a wicker lid. “A man brought that not more than several fingers ago. He said it was for you.”
Cimmis, an incipient panic rising, lifted the lid. In the dim interior, he could just make out Red Dog’s blood-streaked face, the matted hair gluey with gore, the eyes half opened.
“I do not tolerate betrayal,” he murmured. “Gods, we’ve got to find your mother. Quick. Go wake White Stone. I want this village turned upside down!”
As Rain Bear walked through the darkness, his bones had a rickety feel, and he kept stumbling over little irregularities in the rocky surface. The tension in his muscles reminded him he wasn’t a young man anymore.
Overhead, the stars were gleaming in a frosty wash across the sky. They cast just enough light that Rain Bear could see the outlines of their camp. His warriors were bundled in their blankets, most snoring fitfully. For some, exhaustion vied with anxiety about the coming battle. For the rest, fatigue momentarily had the upper hand.
In my next life, I’m going to be a simple hunter. Hunters, he figured, got more sleep than chiefs did.
He rubbed his gritty eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if doing so would squeeze the weariness from his head. It didn’t.
He turned faltering steps toward his flickering fire where it glowed near the middle of their camp, and was surprised to see Evening Star sitting on his robes. She had a long stick that she used to play with the flames, lighting the end, then lifting it until the yellow tongues died before poking it back into the coals.
“I’m surprised that you’re still awake.”
She glanced up, shot him a radiant smile, and shrugged. “I knew you had to make one last inspection. I thought I’d see if you wanted company tonight?”