People of the River(149)

Ignoring the gibberish, Vole demanded, "There are thousands of warriors out there. What if she gets captured . . . or what if she gets lost?"

"Oh, let's hope she gets lost. Vole." Wanderer scooped up the blue flag roots and brought them back to Vole's side. He gazed at her with utter gravity. "Getting lost is the only way she'll find the Cave. First Woman has spun an impenetrable fog of illusion around it." He dropped the roots on the ground.

Vole reached out, put her hands on Wanderer's bony shoulders, and shook him until his head bounced. When she stopped, he peered at her as though hanging on her next words.

"What, Vole?"

"I want you to slow down. Pretend I don't know anything about Dreaming. What in the name of Father Sun are you talking about?"

He blinked. "Lichen. I have to go find her."

Vole let her hands fall. "We have to go find her."

"But you're still ill. Vole! That's why I picked these roots for you. If you crush them to pulp and smear them on your sores—"

“I’m going with you. That's all there is to it." Bracing her hands, she shoved to her feet. "Let me get my things together. Then we'll—"

Wanderer let out a high-pitched shriek and leaped up into the rocks, clinging like a quaking vine. Vole whirled breathlessly, seeking the source of his fear, searching the field of sunflowers, the rocks, the floodplain visible in the distance. She saw nothing. "What's the matter?"

Wanderer cautiously detached a hand and pointed to Vole's rock "pillow." "Look! There he is. He's come for me!" p Vole bent over to look and saw one red leg tentatively probe from beneath the stone. Then a spider crept out. It was a beautiful creature, with enormous eyes.

"It's a spider. Wanderer."

In a choked whisper, he said, "It—it wants my soul."

"Oh, Blessed Moon Maiden. Another one?"

Vole turned, raised her foot, and smashed the spider to mush. When she lifted her sandal, only a greasy spot remained. "There. Feel better?"

Wanderer gingerly let himself down off the rocks and crept forward to stare at the spot. Inquisitively, he lifted her rock pillow. "I guess that wasn't him. I do hope that Spider Above understands your rash nature. Vole."

"I don't care whether he does or not."

The ravens squawked and shot up into the sky, disappearing above the rocks. Then a gust of wind suddenly battered the sunflowers and sent a spray of petals pirouetting into their shelter, where they settled on Wanderer's gray hair.

Wanderer looked for a long moment into Vole's daric eyes before a grin twisted his lips. "You know. Vole, I've always been intrigued by your impiety. I expect that you're the one who's going to be a rat's liver in her next life." He snatched up the roots and tucked them into one of the pouches dangling at his side. "We'd better be off. Are you sure you're strong enough for this journey?"

"Of course I'm strong enough. My daughter is out there somewhere, and she needs me."



He's done it. He's done it, my Chief!"

The frantic voice made Petaga bolt up in bed, grabbing for his bow while he blinked into the blackness. He saw Spoonbill sitting up beside him, his war club raised threateningly. A small, dark form stood silhouetted against the vast bowl of stars.

"Please, my Chief, please hurry!"

"Plantroot?" Petaga asked muzzily. "Who? What are you talking about?"

The little old man knelt before Petaga. The wisps of white hair on his head gleamed silver in the starglow. He held out his hands pleadingly. "Gopher. He's gone. He took all of his warriors and left."

Spoonbill's upraised club slowly sank to rest on the stone. "Oh, no." He turned to Petaga. "You don't think he decided he could handle Elkhom's war parties by himself, do you?"

Plantroot's elderly voice shook. "If he ruins our surprise attack, it will doom us all."

The words sent a tingle up Petaga's spine. He ripped his blanket away and got to his feet. The frosty night wind bit at his cheeks and whipped the hem of his robe around his legs. "Spoonbill, gather the council members. We may have to attack today."



Night grayed into early morning, softly illuminating the rocks and bushes, the village, and the major features of the land. Crickets chirred and clicked in the grass around the^ rocks where Gopher and his guards lay hidden.

"Tell Gloveseed to start moving," Gopher ordered. "We'll attack the instant we have enough light."

Tobacco Boy grinned and rose. "This is a great day, my Chief. The names of the Red Star warriors will live in legend."

"Yes, yes," Gopher whispered absently. "Go on. Hurry it up. It'll be light soon."