Reading Online Novel

People of the Raven(83)



A sliver of Sister Moon’s face appeared between the pillars, and light flowed down the mountain in a glistening silver wave. White Stone’s face slackened. The huge dark bodies of the war gods seemed to be guarding Sister Moon as she rose into the evening sky. From all the surrounding high points, signal fires blazed to life, telling people in distant areas that here, at the edge of their world, Sister Moon stood shoulder to shoulder with the War Gods. For these few precious moments, everything was right and good. The gods had not abandoned them.

White Stone could not take his eyes from the sight. Across the slope, people reached out to the person closest to them, touching hands or embracing loved ones. He turned to say something to Red Dog, but found the old warrior gazing down the slope at Rain Bear and the boy.

Tsauz had stopped dead in his tracks. The long shadows cast by the pillars resembled arms, holding the boy. His upturned face glowed radiantly in the moonglow.

“Look how Sister Moon favors him,” Red Dog whispered. “She seems to be shining directly on him!”

Stunned voices rose. People pointed at Tsauz.

White Stone said, “Dressed in Rain Bear’s cape, he looks like a young war god himself, doesn’t he?”

Red Dog ground his teeth for a time before responding, “Yes, which means they will be watching him like Eagle does Mouse, expecting him to do something gloriously surprising. Which means we’ll never be able to get close to him.” He glanced around, eyes fixing on the two young women with war clubs. “Let’s leave, War Chief! While we still have the chance.”

People descended the mountain trail, slowly at first, then faster, as though each wished to be the first to touch the favored child. It became a mad rush. As Red Dog and White Stone watched, a wall of humanity coalesced around Tsauz. The boy pressed closer to Rain Bear, who drew his war club and used it to shove people back.

White Stone murmured, “You’re right. We’ve lost him. Let’s go.”

“You go first,” Red Dog said. “I will follow in a short while. It will be better if they do not see us leave together.”

“Yes, all right. I’ll meet you in the alder grove at the foot of the mountain.”

Red Dog nodded.

White Stone eased away through the crowd, a tickling fear in his guts.

“Run!” a voice called from deep in his imagination.

But he wouldn’t. He wasn’t that brave.





Twenty-seven

The deep blue of dawn dappled Dzoo’s face, waking her, but she didn’t open her eyes. She lay on the sand, her bound hands in front of her. A few steps away, near the spring, men talked in low voices. She smelled smoke, but there was something else in the air: a cold dark scent, like the air from a deep cave that never sees light.

Coyote? Is that you? I’ve felt your hunger pulling at the edges of my soul.

Someone breathed.

Dzoo opened her eyes. The talking ceased.

Four men crouched around a small fire with cups of tea in their hands, staring at her. Ecan sat on a blanket to her right. Across the dark hills, campfires sparkled and blinked as tens of warriors passed in front of them. Dzoo examined the positions of the sentinels.

Ecan propped his elbows on his knees and bent toward her. He had coiled his long black hair into a bun on the left side of his head and pinned it in place with an ornately carved deer-bone pin. Shell and polished bone beads flashed around his throat, and rings glittered on every finger. He wore his usual long white cape and knee-high moccasins decorated with wolf tails. She thought him a handsome man, with his firm nose and green eyes the color of rain-soaked leaves.

In a soft voice, he said, “I finally remember you.”

Dzoo tested the bindings on her wrists. The sea-grass cord had eaten into her flesh, leaving raw bloody sores.

The Starwatcher smiled. “I’ll never forget the night the tattooed warriors ran into Fire Village, killed your parents, and took you. I recall every detail. We were celebrating the Spring Deer Hunt.”

Long-ago images flitted across Dzoo’s soul: Old Man Spots sprinkling Fire Village’s plaza with sacred seashells … the boom of the drum, slow, patient, leading the gods into the flickering firelight … six of them, masked figures with antlers, swaying and dipping, their feet pounding out the heartbeat of the world … then, out in the darkness beyond the plaza, hideously painted warriors rising up with spears …

Fire Village—the bright myth of her childhood. One that had gone boneless, empty, after a few lonely summers among the Striped Dart People on the great grassy plains to the far east.

“The muscular warrior,” Ecan said thoughtfully, “the one with the stars on his cheeks, swung you up under his arm and ran away with you.”