“I think he is here for Dzoo.”
The stones clinked musically as Rides-the-Wind shoved them back in the bag and laid it on the ledge between them. “He tried to buy Dzoo’s life with them?”
“Yes. Antler Spoon called him Coyote. They say he wears an ancient coyote mask, and I think he wears a large shining spear point pendant. Something that catches the light.”
“Coyote?”
Pitch swallowed hard, thinking about poor Sweet Grass. Skinned wings. His voice quaked when he answered, “Yes.”
“Did Dzoo speculate about his identity?”
“She thought he might be one of the North Wind People. She said he may have been born in Fire Village.”
“I would like to speak with her. Together, perhaps we—”
“Dogrib found her tracks yesterday. She was taken by Ecan’s warriors.”
Rides-the-Wind bowed his old head and massaged his brow. “Unforeseen, that. Together she and I could have stopped this. A switching of Power, shifting the weave of life around us.” He sighed. “But for good or ill?”
Pitch leaned forward. “Dogrib doesn’t think they’ll kill her. He said—”
“Kill her?” Rides-the-Wind inquired in a curious voice. “Blessed Spirits, Pitch, the fools have no idea what they’ve done. Depending on what they try to do to her, Dzoo might be tempted to make her own sack of fetishes. And if she does, may the gods help them.”
Twenty-three
Rain Bear tugged his cape closed over his chest and sighed. From his perch on a flat boulder near the War Gods pillars, the distant ocean looked glorious, shimmering like an undulating blanket of liquid silver.
He’d spent all day going from one refugee camp to the next, speaking with the elders, coordinating with war chiefs, counting his warriors once, twice, again. The Raven People had the numbers, but they were unskilled. The North Wind People had trained warriors, men and women who’d spent their lives learning how to kill. He had fishermen, woodworkers, sea-grass weavers, and hunters. They had the passion for the moment, but would they hold when the spears began to fly and their friends were killed before their eyes?
Rain Bear shifted his gaze away from the island-dotted vista to watch Evening Star as she walked up the trail toward him. Luxurious red hair blew around her beautiful face, and her leather dress molded to her hips with each step in a manner that brought teasing images to his masculine thoughts. She was tall for a woman, but looked small striding between Hornet and Wolf Spider.
“Any sign of the boy yet?” Evening Star asked as she neared Rain Bear.
“No, and we’ve searched everywhere.”
Evening Star slid onto the boulder beside him, and Rain Bear awkwardly glanced at the guards. Wolf Spider and Hornet pretended not to notice. Both young warriors had their elkhide hoods up. He couldn’t see their faces, but he felt their interest. Wolf Spider’s head kept turning his way. Was Evening Star oblivious to the effect she had on men? Having her close was like a Spirit plant surging through his veins.
“Didn’t one of the villagers say he’d seen the boy?” She tucked a windblown lock of hair behind her ear.
“Yes, an old man named Black Rock.” Rain Bear forced himself to study the rough terrain before him. “But it makes no sense. The boy’s blind! How can he still be hidden? Why would he still be hiding? Hunger alone should have driven him out by now.”
She studied him with those knowing blue eyes. “Terror, Chief, can be a persuasive motivator.”
On the crest of the ridge to their right, tufts of fog curled around the gods. Massive and dark, the pillars really did resemble headless human bodies.
Her hair tugged loose from where she’d tucked it behind her ear and blew around until it tangled with her eyelashes. Rain Bear lifted a hand to brush it away. Then caught himself. It had been instinct … but it shocked him. Did he long to touch her so much? His hand hovered in front of her face for several instants before he withdrew it.
“Forgive me,” he said.
“In another time and place, I would have been glad.” Kindness filled her eyes as she attended to the wayward lock.
She turned to the distant ocean. “Is Pitch well enough to prepare the bodies of the dead?”
“He says he is. I’m not so sure. He’s still fevered. Apparently, Rides-the-Wind offered to help, but Pitch considers it to be his responsibility.”
A deep rumble of Thunderbirds came from somewhere out in the fog.
Evening Star said, “Rain Bear, if you were a frightened little boy, where would you hide?”
Rain Bear’s gaze drifted over the steep rocky slopes. “During the attack, I suppose I’d hide in the rocks. After the attack, I’d return to the burned village and search every lodge looking for my father.”