People of the Raven(176)

She had to know that upon arrival at Wasp Village, they would separate her permanently.

With Sand Wasp dead, her warriors were like a headless serpent, writhing about aimlessly. Ecan had heard two disheartened men whisper that they should just go back to Salmon Village and live out their lives without a matron.

Pitch walked two paces to Ecan’s left, the Singer’s narrow face a stoic mask, his gaze trying to keep track of Dzoo way up at the front.

Ecan shifted to watch her through the weave of people. Ahead, the gray cliffs of Gull Inlet scooped out the coastline. Her eyes seemed to be on the wind-twisted firs that crowded the rim.

Is that where Rain Bear has set up his ambush?

The trail made a wide curve around a thicket of head-high alder saplings. Ecan saw Cimmis gesture, and two warriors sprinted to the thicket and began thrashing it with their spears, trying to flush any enemy warriors who might be hiding there.

Cimmis was saying something to Dzoo.

When her soft laughter echoed in return, the entire procession backed away.

Ecan narrowed his eyes. Coyote will kill him after we arrive at Wasp Village. And if Dzoo is right, I have to kill Coyote as soon after as possible.

He shot a glance back at Kaska where she rode the litter. He was going to need a great matron. His first attempt to whip Evening Star into submission hadn’t gone so well. Would he have better luck with Kaska? Would she be willing to divorce her husband and marry him, say, if he were to save her life and the life of her daughter?

Coyote. How do I kill Coyote?

Gods, he didn’t even know who the man was!





Sixty-three

At the call from the guards at the main gate, War Chief Tsak left his son in charge of the final inspection of the lodges. In all of his years in Wasp Village, this was the most upsetting of times. He kept glancing up at the sun as he walked across the plaza toward the main gate. They couldn’t already be arriving, could they?

No, he needn’t look at the sun; all he had to do was see his lengthening shadow to know that by the time the sun set, he would no longer be the war chief of Wasp Village. He might indeed serve his matron, but his authority would be subject to White Stone’s approval.

Dwelling on the notion wasn’t something that made Tsak overly fond of the coming commotion. He would be courteous and respectful, of course, and greet the Council and Cimmis with the homage due them, but inside, part of him would be dying.

As he walked, he took in the new lodges with a sidelong glance. Where Wasp Village had once been airy and spacious, it now resembled an overstuffed hive. In every open spot, the slaves had built new lodges, most of them larger and more imposing than those of the original inhabitants.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” he muttered under his breath. He was lying to himself, of course. He had known White Stone for years. They had a mutual respect for each other’s abilities, and a formal relationship that had never been strained by long and intimate association.

“No,” he corrected, “this is going to be a disaster.”

Down in the depths of his soul, he wondered if Rain Bear needed any volunteers. The thought tickled the rude and obnoxious part of him that he had spent most of his life trying to keep under firm control. He just couldn’t help it—that little voice inside was always making fun, or mouthing off in the most disrespectful way. People often saw a wry smile on his lips and wondered why.

He approached the eastern gate, where the two guards stood looking up-country, their spears resting butt down on the ground.

“What is it?” Tsak asked as he stepped between them and stared up the main trail past the slave village. The ridge was open for two spear casts before a stand of fir and spruce masked the trail. There, in full view, he could see a litter being borne by four blue-shirted warriors. Behind them came a small knot of people: a woman, an old man and child, and a ratty looking—but heavily armed—party of perhaps five tens of warriors walking five abreast.

As word of their arrival spread through the slave village, Raven People trooped out in the muted afternoon sunlight to watch.

With a sinking sensation, Tsak looked down to see his shadow gone. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that a dark cloud had obscured the sun. Gods, the weather had been too good to be true. By nightfall, it would be raining again.

Turning his attention back to the approaching party, he steeled himself and walked out the gate, motioning his guards to accompany him. His heart beat like a sodden drum. Who were these people? The four leading warriors were certainly Cimmis’s: They wore blue, the fabric dyed from a combination of octopus blood and larkspur petals.

He threw his head back, calling, “Who comes?”

“The great matron, Astcat, and her party,” came the reply from one of the blue-clad warriors.