People of the Raven(3)

“Ecan is leading a war party? He’s the Starwatcher, a priest. Or has his appetite for the holy been subsumed by his appetite for blood and terror?”

“I don’t know, Elder. All I can tell you is that the Four Old Women sent a war party to punish some North Wind People who incited disobedience among the Raven People villages.”

“You mean the starving people who defied Chief Cimmis’s orders to turn over the tribute owed to Fire Village.”

“Yes.”

“The fools,” Rides-the-Wind said softly. “They dance on the tip of Waket’s Nose, not knowing how treacherous the footing is.”

Did he mean the Raven People? Or the Four Old Women who ran the Council? Red Dog cocked his head, but the Soul Keeper asked, “How long has Ecan been gone?”

“Perhaps ten days.”

Wind Mother rushed up the slope and beat her way through the twisted spruce and fir growing at the edge of the cliffs. Their sweet evergreen fragrance bathed Red Dog’s face and carried the damp scent of the sea.

“It is the beginning of the end.” Rides-the-Wind shivered, tugged his elkhide hood up, and held it closed beneath his chin.

“The end of what?” Red Dog asked.

Rides-the-Wind didn’t seem to hear, but added, “Tell Cimmis that I’m not coming. I wish to be left alone.”

Red Dog examined him in detail. “Are you ill, Elder?”

Rides-the-Wind gave him a look that would have withered polished stone. “Why? Did you become a Healer while I was away?”

“Uh … no.”

Red Dog chewed his lower lip. Over the past sun cycle, Ecan had become the most powerful holy man in the North Wind Nation—mostly because he enthusiastically supported the Council’s decisions to make war upon the Raven People. Rides-the-Wind, on the other hand, had opposed the Council, and had abruptly left Fire Village just after fall equinox. Was it because he’d seen his influence dwindle, and he couldn’t stand the humiliation?

“What should I tell Chief Cimmis about the woman? Will you curse her for Ecan?”

“On the contrary.” Rides-the-Wind reached down for his walking stick where it rested on the ground near the Star sticks. He propped both hands on the use-polished knob. “I will be praying night and day for her safety.”

Red Dog shifted uncomfortably. “Well, prayers aside, I don’t see how she can be. Once people discover she’s Ecan’s escaped slave, no one will dare to help her.”

In the furred frame of his hood, Rides-the-Wind’s seamed old face resembled a dried berry. He turned to his fire, picked up his smoked toads, and gently placed them into his pack. Finally, he reached down and plucked a small stone from the ground, holding it up for Red Dog to see.

“Tell Chief Cimmis that I have a message for him. He stands on the precipice … and if he doesn’t watch his step, he and Ecan are going to fall. The drop will cost him everything he holds dear.”

With that, the old man pitched the stone out, over the cliff. In the purple light, it arced down, shattering into slivers as it struck the rock below.





Two

The droplet formed on the damp rock. It hung in front of her eyes, clear and crystalline in the soft light. She tried to shrink back into the stony recess in which she hid. Angular shale gouged her back.

She froze, refusing even to breathe, when a warrior stepped out of the ferns and bracken opposite her. He wore a woven sea-grass cloak and had a conical rain hat on his head. His spears and atlatl were clutched in one callous hand. He knelt, keen eyes on the damp soil next to the small forest pool. He found her tracks immediately, stepping over to crouch and run the fingers of his free hand over delicate imprints. Like a wary panther, his eyes began to take in the damp ferns and thick grass surrounding the pool.

She dared not stare straight at him, willing her gaze to fix on the bent grass to his right. Each beat of her heart thundered like a pot drum. Gods, he could hear it, couldn’t he?

He rose on stealthy legs and inspected the bruised grass. Yes, that was it. Follow the sign. She had carefully lain a false trail, walking across the grass to a slope of bare stone beyond.

Soundlessly he slipped through the ferns and brushed back the fir branches to the rocky slope. She could just see his partially hidden form as he started along the slope, searching for signs of her passage.

She dared to take a shallow breath, her chest rising as cool air entered her burning body. How could she feel so hot when chilly water was seeping into her deerhide dress?

If she closed her eyes, horror played behind her eyelids, conjuring images of the last two moons. The wail of her dying daughter still echoed in her ears. She could see her husband’s face, streaked with blood and disbelief. The stench of burning lodges clung in her nostrils.