People of the River(106)

"Like what?"

She lifted her hands aimlessly. "Like he told me my mother could have been a great Dreamer. Wolf Slayer said that he had picked my mother to save our people—but in the end, Mother couldn't do it. She was too afraid of Power. So Wolf Slayer said that he and the Wolf Bundle had to make sure I got bom."

"Why?"

"So I can find First Woman's Cave and talk to her."

Flycatcher pulled one of the blades of grass from his tangled hair and put it in his mouth to chew. "I've never heard of those things. What's the Wolf Bundle?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll find out."

"What else did Wolf Slayer say?" Flycatcher skipped by her side, a broad smile on his dirty face.

"I don't think I'd better tell you yet, Flycatcher. Even if you are my best friend."

"Why not? I wouldn't tell."

"I know, but I think people in the village might be mad at my mother if they found out."

Flycatcher kept giving her sideways glances as they descended. She felt guilty in not telling him about Wanderer being her real father, both because the fact made her proud and because she usually told Flycatcher all of her secrets. But she didn't think it would be a good idea just now. She avoided the questions in his eyes by gazing out across the land. At the biggest bend in the creek, a pelican was stepping slowly through the water, its beak clamped on a fish. Beyond, swallows darted like black daggers over the spreading expanse of floodplain.

"I'm sorry. Flycatcher," she said when they reached the plaza.

Flycatcher flapped his arms awkwardly. "Well, I should probably go and eat dinner or something."

"I'll go see what my mother and . . . and Wanderer are saying." As Flycatcher raced away, she shouted, "We'll play ring-and-pin tomorrow, all right?"

"Yes!"

Flycatcher trotted up to the central fire and squatted next to his mother and Teal. The old people watched Lichen as she headed for her house. Firelight flowed into the brown seams of their weathered faces, highlighting their curiosity.

Lichen felt ill. She had been so afraid of telling her mother about having Water Snake's soul that she had forgotten that she wasn't supposed to know about Wanderer being her father. What would happen because of her slip? She picked up her feet and sprinted home.

By the time she reached the doorway, the barest sliver of Moon Maiden's face had crested the eastern horizon.



Hailcloud clutched his bow to his chest as he made his way down over the edge of the bluff toward a rock shelter where his warriors waited. Dusk had settled over the land like a dark blue cape. For a while, as the blue deepened to a smoky indigo, he forced himself to forget about the terrible days to come and drifted on the beauty around him. Scents of toadflax and kicked dust twined up with the darkness.

He angled down, jumping to a lower ledge that jutted out from the slope. Massive chunks of limestone had broken from the cliff and tumbled into a jagged pile in the meadow below. The dying light shimmered off the torn faces of the rocks. As Hailcloud watched, a flock of bats erupted from one of the darkest crevices and flooded the sky in a serpentine sheet of black.

Hailcloud worked across the narrow lip of rock, softly calling, "Basswood, it's me," before he jumped down into the rock shelter.

The twelve men who slumped wearily along the back of the shelter turned to examine him. Their dirt-streaked faces wore the strain of deep fatigue. None of them had slept in two days. Sweat gleamed on their heavily tattooed bodies, staining their breechclouts. Basswood, a medium-sized man built like a block of granite, shoved himself to his feet and crossed the shelter to embrace Hailcloud so hard it drove the air from his lungs.

"We were growing worried. What took you so long?"

Basswood backed away to look Hailcloud up and down, making certain he was all right. Basswood's body bulged with muscles. His eyes were red-rimmed and submerged in a face as dark and wrinkled as aged leather. He might have been thirty, but he still possessed a fire for battle, as well as the sense to know when to fight and when to run for cover. He had fought at Hailcloud's side for fifteen cycles.

"Bluebird Village took longer than expected," Hailcloud said. "After the young went to join Petaga, the few old people who remained had to scramble to help us find wood. Some even tore down their own houses to contribute to the bonfire."

Basswood slapped his shoulder approvingly. "Good. Surely Badgertail will think the bulk of our forces is still hanging around Red Star Mounds."

Basswood led Hailcloud across the dusty floor to a soft bed of grass piled against the rear wall. They both dropped tiredly atop it and leaned back against the stone—cool and comforting against Hailcloud's bare shoulders. Young Bull Tine swiveled around to gaze at them. Seventeen summers old, he had bushy, drooping eyebrows that contrasted with his girlishly long lashes. When he spoke, his voice grated from too much running and too little rest. "With the Bluebird fire, that makes fourteen in all. Will it be enough? Will Badgertail be fooled?"