People of the River(171)

In a pink-tinged patch of mist. Nightshade lay on her side on a blanket, scratching the ears of a dog that huddled in a furry ball in front of her. Two bundles pressed against the dog's belly. As Badgertail drew closer, he could tell that they were babies, like the old man had said. Tiny mouths stuck out of the shroud of blankets, clamped onto the teats of the dog, suckling like pups.

The hair at the nape of his neck crawled, the same way it did when he was in the presence of Power objects, instinctively he checked the area around Nightshade to see if she had brought the Tortoise Bundle with her, but he didn't see it. Memories flared. Something Checkerberry had said . . . something about Green Ash going mad if she had to be near her babies. His steps faltered. Wouldn't Green Ash nurse the children? Sometimes a mother refused to, but always another woman with a new baby stepped forward and offered to feed the unfortunate infant. He could not fathom why the clan had been forced to resort to suckling the children on this half-wolf dog.

Nightshade tilted her head to look up at him, and Badgertail stood motionless for a moment, holding that charismatic gaze. Something had changed. She looked almost too beautiful. Long hair fell over the shoulders of her red dress in blue-black waves. The sharp wariness that generally filled her eyes had vanished, replaced by a serenity as warm and soothing as the distant deserts of her home in the Forbidden Lands.

Badgertail knelt on the opposite side of the dog and stroked the bitch's back while he spoke. "How is Orenda?"

"She woke this morning. But she went right back to sleep."

"Is she going to be all right?"

"Yes, I've spoken to her soul. She has a raging headache, but she'll be fine." Nightshade cocked her head. "What did you need, Badgertail?"

"Your help."

"What for?"

Even her voice sounded different: calm and deep, like the controlled rumble of the Father Water daring spring runoff. He said, "I—I can't win this battle."

Her gaze never wavered. "And?"

"When the time comes—whenever that is, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow morning—will you take my message to Petaga? I fear that if anyone else delivers it, he will think it's a trick to gain time or to deceive him in some way."

"Petaga would. Hailcloud wouldn't."

"It's Petaga I'm worried about."

"And what will you ask, Badgertail?"

He spread his hands to gesture his frustration. "I know his anger, his hatred. I won't deny him vengeance. He can do with me as he will, but I want my warriors to go free. I want them to be able to go home to their families and take up their lives again. I don't know that Petaga will trust them to serve him in the future, but I think they'll be loyal to the new Sun Chief, whoever he is."

Nightshade smoothed her fingers over the bulrush blanket spread beneath her, tracing the black and green chevrons with her fingertips. "He will want them all killed—for their part in the River Mounds massacre."

Badgertail ground his teeth, loath to hear his deepest fears affirmed. Hot, agonizing flashes of Bobcat's death taunted him. Petaga undoubtedly relived the same sort of nightmare about his father's death. "I know that. Nightshade. But it would be unwise for him to slaughter these men and women. They have too many ties here—spouses, children, and grandchildren. If he kills them, he will never be able to rule this village. He'll have to abandon Cahokia and go back to River Mounds, and if he does that, he'll lose his grip on the trading, mining, and farming. It's the Cahokia clan leaders who have the knowledge to run things. There will be more fighting. The chiefdom will fall apart around his ears."

"I'm sure he knows that."

"Then he'd better start caring about it."

They stared at each other for a time, each silently trying to see the other's soul.

Finally, Nightshade drew a deep breath and nodded. "I'll deliver your message, Badgertail,"

"And would you take Jenos' head with you? Tell Petaga I don't expect anything in return."

"I will take the Moon Chief's head." Her eyes seemed to expand, drawing him into their unfathomable depths. "And you'll simply surrender yourself? He will do everything in his power to prolong your death."

Locked in that endless gaze, Badgertail nodded. "I know."

The dog, who had had enough of the infants, tried to rise, and the spell broke like a sheet of pond ice dropped on sandstone. Nightshade ordered, "No, not yet!"

Badgertail grabbed the dog, holding its neck down and whispering in its pointed ear, "It's all right, girl. Shh, lie down. There, that's it. Good girl." He patted its shoulder gently.

The babies had broken into annoyed shrieks when the teats were rudely jerked from their hungry mouths. Nightshade positioned the infants' heads so they could suckle again. But the dog grunted and tried to rise. Badgertail had to lean all of his weight on its shoulders to keep it down.