Curse that Pitch and his sharp stiletto! The man was a Singer! A lousy holy man. How had he done this?
He turned around.
“I know you’re behind me, witch! I can’t see you, but I know you’re there! Face me!”
When only the mist moved in response, he let out a breath and staggered up the trail.
“Think. Think!” he whispered to himself. “Do you want to die?”
This was the trail to War Gods Village, wasn’t it? Only one trail led from the shore up the mountain. He had seen it when he’d first started running, but in the fog, it looked different.
His punctured guts twisted, and he gasped. “This must be the way! Just … keep going.”
He stumbled toward a section of the trail lined with twisted alders and wind-smoothed rocks. In the swirling mist, the blocks of basalt resembled a stairway cut into the mountainside. He stepped onto the first stone, then the second. As he continued up the trail, he thought he heard a voice call his name.
Snowbear whirled and tripped over a tree root. As he careened forward, gray ropes of bloody intestines wormed through his belly wound. The scent almost gagged him. He pushed them back inside, only to have black blood gush out to drench his groin and legs. He forced himself to take deep breaths.
“Who’s there?”
A phantom, spun of ice and fog, glittered on his backtrail.
“Is that you, witch? Show yourself! I’m not afraid of you!”
From old habit, his hand went to his belt where he kept his atlatl tied—only to find it gone. Had he dropped it when Pitch stabbed him? His strength was failing. His legs had started to shake so badly he could barely keep standing.
“If you kill me, you’ll never know who hired me!” he cried. “Have you thought of that?”
He blinked at the black haze that ate into his vision. Why hadn’t she killed him?
Snowbear boldly waved his spear. “You probably think it was Ecan, don’t you? He doesn’t have the courage of a grouse! He wouldn’t dare try to kill the likes of you, witch!”
Silver sparkled to his left, and Snowbear spun so quickly he almost toppled to the forest floor. He glared wide-eyed at the fog. Wind Woman had strengthened, blowing the mist into strange, eerie shapes.
“Are there two of you?” he shouted. “Stop hiding! Face me like warriors!”
A flock of gray jays hunched in the firs, their feathers fluffed out for warmth. They watched him with bright, glistening eyes.
Then—at the very edge of his vision—he saw her.
She walked out of the mist like a black ghost, her cape billowing around her tall, slender body. A waist-length red braid draped her shoulder, and a war club hung from her belt. Her dress, the color of fresh blood, flashed beneath her cape.
Let’s Dance! The words hung on the still air. But had he really heard them? Or were his ears deceiving him?
“Go on!” he shouted. “Kill me! Get it over with. You’ll never know who sent me!”
Dzoo must have moved. Her war club was now in her hand. The terrifying thing was that Snowbear hadn’t seen her pull it from her belt. He felt as if, for several instants, he’d fallen into a dark hole in the world and only just reemerged into the light. A chill tingled the back of his neck. People said that just with a look, she could make a man’s soul slip from his body.
His gaze locked on her eyes, but he saw only an emotionless calm, centuries deep.
“Don’t you wish to ask me anything?” he shouted. “Did you just come to watch me die?”
Feel the Dance? Her image wavered, almost disappeared, and he wondered if she was really there at all.
Snowbear started laughing. Great belly laughs that forced his insides against his hand with such force intestines squirmed between his fingers.
“He is more Powerful than you will ever be, witch! If you kill me, Coyote’s Spirit Helpers will creep up from the underworlds and squeeze your heart until it bursts!”
The spear whistled as it cut through the air. It struck him in the back with the force of a fist. Snowbear slammed face-first onto the rocks. As he fought to roll to his side, his guts slithered out like dying worms. They lay on the snow, slowly writhing. To his amazement, he could feel them growing cold.
The vision of Dzoo dissolved into a tall and muscular warrior. The man trotted to Snowbear, kicked the spear from his hand, and stared down. Snowbear could see every blood vessel pulsing.
Dogrib! Blessed Ancestors, I’m dead.
More warriors ran up, but Snowbear’s gaze remained on the legendary young man who had fought so valiantly in tens of battles.
“Do you know him?” a man asked from behind Snowbear.
Dogrib scrutinized Snowbear’s face, then shook his head. “No. But he’s definitely one of the Wolf Tails. Look at his moccasins.”