People of the Raven(181)
Tsauz heard Rides-the-Wind stir the broth—the spoon raked the sides of the wooden bowl—then Rides-the-Wind said, “That’s good. See if you can swallow a little more.”
“Is she eating?” Tsauz asked hopefully and touched her soft cheek.
“She’s taken two swallows so far. I’m slowly trickling another spoonful into her open mouth.”
Tsauz heard her swallow this time; it sounded difficult, as though she might be on the verge of choking.
“I’ll just pat her hair, Elder,” he said, and drew his hand away from her wrinkled cheek. When he started stroking her hair, she gasped suddenly and coughed with such violence he jumped back.
“What’s happening?” he cried. “Is she choking?”
She drew in a sharp breath.
Rides-the-Wind’s voice went so gentle Tsauz almost didn’t recognize it. “Matron? Can you hear me?”
“I … I hear you … Holy Hermit.”
Tsauz’s eyes jerked wide at the hoarse sound of her voice.
“Please, lie still. Don’t move too quickly. Your soul just came home. We want it to stay.”
“How … long?”
“Have you been gone? I don’t know, Matron. Your warriors brought you to us for safekeeping. But I think you’ve been away for at least a day.”
She took several deep breaths, as though enjoying the feel of air moving in her lungs. “R-Rides-the-Wind,” she asked in a pitifully small voice, “do you have any … willow bark tea? It seems to help fasten my soul down.”
“I do, Matron. Let me get it from my pack.”
Rides-the-Wind rose, and his pack rustled.
“Matron, are you all right?” Tsauz asked, and edged as close to her as he could.
She took several breaths before she said, “I always feel confused, empty, for a time after I return. But I think I’m all right.”
He could feel her staring at him as she asked, “Did you fly very high on Thunderbird’s back?”
“All the way to the Star People, Matron.”
“I do not understand this.”
Tears welled in his eyes. “I don’t understand it either, Matron. I just know that you need me.”
She let out a breath, and her hand crept out and found his. “I saw you in a Dream, boy. You were standing, tall and bloody. You had stones for eyes.”
“Will you marry me?”
“Your mother was one of the Raven People.”
Tsauz blinked. Bolts of lightning shot around behind his eyes again, flashing so brightly they hurt. “Thunderbird … Thunderbird said that Father murdered her because she was Raven.” He winced. “I asked Rides-the-Wind if Spirit Helpers ever lied.”
“In that case, no.” She seemed sad. “Red Dog told me about it.”
“Why would Father do that? He loved her.”
She said nothing, but he could feel a sad anger brewing within her. When he looked her way, he could see a glow behind his eyes.
Frightened, he said, “Does that mean you don’t want to marry me? Because of my Raven blood?”
She squeezed his hand with no more strength than a sparrow. “Quite the contrary. Power is all around us. And in the end, you can’t fight Power.”
“No,” Rides-the-Wind whispered from the side.
“Poor Cimmis. Oh, gods, this is going to hurt him.”
“There is no way out of this that isn’t painful, Matron,” Rides-the-Wind said. “Not for you, or for Cimmis. Each of you must make choices. Power will be the judge.”
“Very well.” The matron’s fingers felt icy in Tsauz’s grip. She swallowed and said, “Do you give me your oath … that you will be a good and faithful chief? That you will always put the good of both peoples before your own happiness?”
Tsauz’s throat constricted. “Yes, Matron. I will try very hard to be a good chief.”
“Then I think perhaps I will take you as my husband.”
Tsauz wet his lips nervously. He’d heard her say those words before, when he’d been riding Thunderbird’s back, but they sounded different, kinder, coming from her own lips. “Thank you, Matron.”
Dzoo crouched over a dying warrior, placing a finger on his neck to feel the pulse weakening. As she did so, she slipped an obsidian knife from his belt and tucked it into her legging. When she straightened, it was to see the Four Old Women staring bug-eyed at Cimmis where he was being placed on a litter by Deer Killer and Hunter. Blood smeared the bindings on his hip, scarlet in the slanting light.
Dzoo looked just in time to see the last of Rain Bear’s warriors break. Even as they turned and fled, they were being run down. As with the dying warrior, she could do nothing for them. Idly she turned her attention to the brown stand of cattails that filled a hollow to the south of the trail. The dry stalks were head-high, winter-brittle, and rattly.