People of the Raven(9)

The last time he’d looked down on a woman like this, it had been Evening Star, daughter of Matron Naida, heiress to the Ash Fall Clan. Unlike this shining black hair, he’d looked down on red curls, stared into blue eyes, and run his fingers down her pale cheeks.

A woman, North Wind or Raven, was still a woman. Just as warm, just as lifeless. Except that Evening Star hadn’t wept when he drove his hardened manhood inside her. Jaw locked, she’d fixed her sight on something to the side, and lain there, lifeless but for the occasional blink of her eyes.

Who would have thought that she could kill Kenada?

He had been so careful to break her soul into submission. He had carefully planned the attack, using every element of surprise. When it was over he had brought the surviving captives into the plaza, where burning lodges illuminated the scene. He had watched Evening Star’s expression when he walked behind her mother, Matron Naida, and used a razor-sharp obsidian blade to slit her throat. Then, drenched in the matron’s blood, he had walked to Evening Star’s struggling husband, stripped him, and gutted him like a living fish so that his intestines tumbled into the fire.

Evening Star had withstood it, face set against the horror. It was her daughter’s screams that had finally broken her. Ecan would have sworn he saw Evening Star’s soul leave her body. She had been like clay afterward, compliant to orders. So much so that he had taken her as a slave, an example of his Power, a warning to anyone who would challenge his rising authority.

And this girl? He wondered as he searched her face for any expression. Had he truly driven her soul from her body, or might it return sometime? If he could just get it right, think of the incredible Power he would wield. No one would challenge them. No … him. There was no more they. Kenada was dead.

“Are you like her? Can you come back to yourself?”

The girl didn’t answer. The tremors running through her body massaged his manhood, and he felt himself stiffening again. Was that where Kenada had made his mistake? Had he rolled off Evening Star’s body, satiated? Ecan could imagine his brother, flaccid after his release, perhaps with his arm over his head, eyes closed, as Evening Star, like a wraith, rose from the robes. He could see her long red hair falling around her pale body as she hovered over Kenada. At the thought of her striking, Ecan thrust his hardened manhood into the girl beneath him. She made no noise; only the opening of her mouth betrayed any awareness at all.





At a slight moan, War Chief White Stone turned, staring uneasily at the shelter where Starwatcher Ecan lay with the captive girl. Ecan made him nervous. Something about the man had changed over the last year, as if his soul were decomposing from a faint fuzz of mold to downright rot and corruption. Ecan had grown from dislikable to dangerous. And now, Kenada, who had balanced his moods, was dead.

He checked his guards, each positioned to cover the approaches. The canoes had been pulled up on the beach beyond high tide. The rest of his warriors lay rolled in hides and matting, blissfully asleep.

He wished that he, too, could lose himself to Dreams. White Stone rubbed the back of his neck and stared out at the fluorescing surf. Above, clouds covered the Star People. And what, he wondered, did the North Wind ancestors think of this current lunacy?

As war chief, he knew full well that Matron Astcat had lost her soul, and Old Woman North—an aged halfwit—had the force of personality to whip the other old women into obedience.

We’re losing ourselves. White Stone stared helplessly at the night sky. The Council didn’t understand. They remained, locked away on their mountain, unaware of the reality building against them.

White Stone turned his attention back to the surf. It would be so easy. Just push one of the canoes out past the surf, and then paddle north. There were still islands out there rich in berries, roots, fish, and shellfish, where a man could make it by himself.

“Father?” the faint voice called.

White Stone sighed and turned his steps toward the other side of camp, where Ecan’s beautiful painted hide lodge stood. He stopped short of the colorful image of Killer Whale and said, “Your father is discussing matters with some of the warriors, Tsauz. He’ll be here soon.”

That was another thing. What kind of nonsense was it to bring a blind boy on a war party like this? The child was a constant nuisance and was never allowed near the fighting, but Ecan still demanded at least four warriors be left to guard the boy.

“I had a bad Dream,” Tsauz called from inside.

“We all have bad Dreams. Go back to sleep, boy. Your father will be here soon.”

“I saw a man, half human, half coyote. He was winding souls out of people. Pulling the souls out with a string.”