People of the River(124)

"Willing?" she asked in confusion. Despite the cleansing downpour, the night reeked of smoke, as though fires had been raging for days before the rains came.

''Empty out your heart. Drain your own soul onto the path to prepare the way. "

The scent of smoke grew. Through sUtted eyes Nightshade saw ghostly white fingers grasping at the dark ceiling of her room.

"Fire! Fire!"

Orenda's cries brought Nightshade up and out of her warm blankets, clad only in her tan sleeping kilt. Her feet struck the cold dirt floor as Orenda crawled from beneath her bed. Smoke billowed around them. Nightshade grabbed the Tortoise Bundle from its tripod and reached down for Orenda's hand before racing with her for the door.

When she threw back the hanging, Nightshade halted so abruptly that Orenda ran into her leg, blurting, "What . . . ?"

Tharon crouched in the hall, his favorite handspike clamped to his chest. Black hair had escaped his copper hair combs and trailed over the sharp angles of his cheeks. He looked weak, ill. His trembling body shook his turkey-feather cape. In the light of the fire he had lit in the belly of Orenda's doll, his face gleamed as white and cold as wind-sculpted ice.

Orenda whimpered and tugged at Nightshade's hand. "Oh, no. Nonono."

Those seemed the only words the child freely spoke. Since she had been with Nightshade, Orenda had said barely ten sentences—and then only in response to a direct question about food or drink.

The doll burned quickly, its corn-shuck body greedily chewed up by the fire. For a moment, flames shot through the empty eye sockets of the doll's black-and-white mask and illuminated Tharon's mouth. A slow smile twisted his lips.

"Didn't I tell you, Orenda?" he hissed. "I told you I'd kill your companion if you crossed me. Now she's dead, just like your mother. And all because you abandoned me when I needed you most. Remember this. The next time you choose a companion to tell secrets to, I'll—"

"Get away from my door, Tharon!"

He looked up at Nightshade, his eyes glittering weirdly. "You can't frighten me anymore, Nightshade. You see, I've been talking to that foul device you tacked above my door. That evil tumor told me that your Power doesn't extend beyond your room. So I'm safe out here in the hall. I can do anything I want and you can't hurt me."

Nightshade released Orenda's hand and told her, "Get dressed. Bring me my red robe."

The little girl darted back into the room. While she waited, Nightshade examined Tharon. He seemed to be looking through her rather than at her. It was as though his soul floated in some disembodied world beyond the gray film of smoke. Nightshade frowned. This detached air bore the mark of a powerful Spirit Plant. What had he been mixing with his tea? Chokecherry leaves? No, he would be a lot sicker if that were the case. You haven't had the courage to try some of Old Marmot's datura, have you, Tharon?

"What are you doing, Tharon? Trying to become a Dreamer? I'm surprised that First Woman hasn't already struck you dead."

"You can't scare me. Not anymore. I'm not afraid of you! Your Power can't—"

"My Power comes from the Tortoise Bundle. Where it goes, my Power is.''

And with those careless words, she realized that she had trapped herself. From now on, day and night, she would have to carry the Bundle with her or Tharon would find a way of capturing and destroying it. No one but Nightshade knew the frailty of the Bundle. Its Power had grown, its voices resonated more strongly, but it still could not defend itself— not alone. Nor can you. When you tied your Spirit to the Bundle's, you gave it a direct link to your Power — and it hasn't stopped siphoning it off since. Each day you grow weaker and the Bundle grows stronger. That's why you can't get beyond the gate now. You've no Power to spare for Underworld journeys. If the Bundle lives, you live. If the Bundle dies . . .

Nightshade felt Orenda tuck the sleeve of a robe into her hand. Her eyes left Tharon for an instant while she slipped the robe over her head and unlaced her sleeping kilt to let it fall to the floor. Clutching the Tortoise Bundle in one hand, she gripped Orenda's shoulder in the other and stepped out into the corridor.

Tharon clenched his sweaty hands around his handspike and shifted as if to lash out. Nightshade fixed him with a look that made him freeze like Rabbit when he feels the cool touch of Eagle's shadow on his back.

"Don't force me to kill you, Tharon. I've no intention of doing so unless First Woman demands it. But if you push me, you'll leave me no choice."

Tharon watched through glassy eyes as Nightshade and Orenda walked past him and quietly rounded the comer.

''Hurry," Nightshade whispered to Orenda, and the child charged for the front entry.