Cimmis had ordered Kaska’s warriors forward, but for the moment White Stone was keeping them out of the battle. They didn’t look happy about it. Many grumbled and stamped their feet, eager to be in the fight.
She could see Ecan leading Pitch down the slope to stand at the head of the party. Presumably so the Raven warriors would see him. Hunter and Deer Killer had taken positions on either side of Cimmis’s litter. Her own guard, Wind Scorpion, had disappeared. She looked again at the cattails. Threads of dark Power filtered through the stalks like a malignant mist.
“Of course we’re winning!” Old Woman North shouted gleefully from her litter. “It will only be a matter of moments before we push the Raven People into the sea!”
Old Woman South lifted her wrinkled chin and said, “Good riddance. The Raven People have always been thieves and maggots.”
Chuckles burst from the others, and Dzoo’s heart went cold.
Old Woman North called, “Warriors! Prepare to move. We are going closer to get a better view.”
“But, Elder!” one of the guards objected. “The battle could shift! You should remain here where it’s safe.”
“I said we’re moving lower on the mountain! Accompany us!”
Dzoo’s attention fixed on Cimmis. She had seen the warriors pull the spear from his hip, but how badly was he wounded? He was propped in his litter, calling orders, using his shriveled arm to point this way and that.
She glanced at the cattails. Yes, it is time, my stalker. The final Dance has begun.
She glanced out at the storm brewing over Raven Bay. Sunlight outlined the tall bank of clouds in a halo of gold. She waited for another crack of lightning. In the rolling growl that followed, she stepped into the cattails.
A cheer went up when Cimmis’s forces charged after Rain Bear’s fleeing warriors. With that as cover, she made another step. And then another.
She sniffed: The dank odor of cattails barely masked the mossy scent she had come to associate with him.
Step by step she made her way through the stalks and leaves. With a careful hand she parted the dry plants, looked around, and was in the process of taking another step when a shape rose from one side. She started to turn as the whistling club slashed through the cattails and blasted lightning behind her eyes.
As she fell, she heard the Thunderbirds booming in defiance. Yes, Coyote. How clever you are. Ever the patient one …
Sixty-six
Despite the pain Cimmis smiled to himself as his litter swayed. A runner had arrived with word that the great matron was waiting in Wasp Village. A weight, like a huge stone, had lifted from Cimmis’s chest. He still didn’t know why she had gone on ahead, but by Old Woman Above, she was safe.
From his perch atop his swaying litter, he watched as the remains of his party wound through the last stand of firs and into the clearing. In the growing dusk, he could see the welcoming palisade of Wasp Village just ahead. The gates were open, warriors standing at them, spears in hand.
It was over. They had made it. Though White Stone had only made a quick count, it seemed that some seven tens of warriors were missing after their final fight with Rain Bear. But given the extent of the rout, most of them would come trickling in through the night, jesting and waving trophies taken from the dead.
As he studied the meadow before Wasp Village an idea came to him. “White Stone?”
His war chief dropped back to walk beside the litter. “Yes, Great Chief?”
“I’m thinking about setting a row of poles on either side of the trail here. Tomorrow, I want you to send a party of warriors out to cut the heads off the dead Raven warriors. We’ll stick a head atop each of the poles. It should create quite the stir among the Raven villages, don’t you think?”
White Stone gave him a sober look, and asked, “Are you all right, my Chief?”
“A little dizzy.”
White Stone shot a speculative look at the slave village just to the north of the village gates. “It might not be such a bad idea after all.”
Cimmis smiled as White Stone trotted back to his advance guard.
Behind him, the Four Old Women chattered like ruffed grouse in spring. The young Singer, Pitch, marched with his head down, a dazed look in his eyes. Yes, well, his head could join the others.
Dzoo, perhaps to no one’s surprise, was missing. Slipped away like smoke.
Let her enjoy it. In the end, I’ll send Coyote to bring her back.
Ecan walked like a man in a trance, his eyes slightly out of focus. The expression on his face was that of a man who had unexpectedly rounded a forest turn and found himself eye to eye with a spring-starved grizzly.
Cimmis blinked, dizzy again. He took a deep breath, feeling oddly light-headed. Touching a hand to his wadded cloak, he found it saturated with blood.