People of the River(23)

Badgertail turned away, glaring down at the blood that soaked his warshirt. Falcon's green beak hid behind a crimson splotch half a hand wide. "Wle could run away ..."

"I wish it were so. Bobcat," he whispered softly. "But I'm a warrior. It's the nature of my soul to kill." Is it? Is it your nature to kill your own relatives? He caressed the blood-stiff painted feathers on his shirt. No tingle of Power remained. Even his Spirit Helper had abandoned him.

"How about this cove, Badgertail?" Locust pointed her paddle at a tiny inlet. A dried clump of pussy-toes nestled against the rocky bank, their spoon-shaped leaves curled like fists.

"Yes. Good."

Locust jumped into the river and guided the canoe forward. Badgertail eased over the side, gingerly finding safe footing in the knee-deep water. Together they hauled the boat up onto the sand. Bobcat's head rolled loosely in the process.

"Flute," Badgertail ordered wearily, "stay here. Guard . . . guard the canoe. If we're not back by sunset, go home."

Flute nodded heartily. "I will." A brief smile split his face until he glanced down at the dead body in the boat with him; then he sank back against the hull and apparently found something very interesting on his knee.

Badgertail grabbed up his bow and quiver. He understood Flute's dilemma only too well. The soul split in two at death. The first part separated from the body and roamed the hills, eating from the remnants left in cooking pots, or jangling jewelry to frighten people. The second part clung to the body, awaiting proper burial, when it could embark on the long journey down the Dark River to the Land of the Ancestors. If given a choice of watching over an anxious ghost by himself or trying to capture the most powerful priestess in the world, Badgertail would have chosen the former, too—but not very happily.

Locust scrutinized the steep bank. "I think we can climb up that ramp of dirt that's sloughed off. Are you strong enough to try?"

"Yes, let's go. I want to get this over with."

He led the way, tramping up the irregular slump, his boots making a soft swishing in the dew-soaked dead grass. So much of his stamina had vanished that when he reached the top of the first terrace, he stood panting, studying the lay of the bluff that stretched above them, a series of rounded domes dotted with knotweed stalks.

Locust's black eyes narrowed speculatively as she looked him up and down, appraising his locked knees and the tremble in his hands. Her mouse face was stem with worry. "Why don't you let me go alone? I can search by myself."

"No, you might need me."

"We're not going to find her anyway, Badgertail. This is Nightshade we're talking about. What's the point in having you faint halfway up the bluff?"

He lifted his brows. "Your confidence in me has always been such a comfort, Locust."

She folded her arms gruffly as she threw him a sideways glance. "Well, all right, if you insist on torturing yourself. Where do we start? Nightshade could be anywhere."

Badgertail scanned the crevices and slopes, looking for the best way up. "She'll be on top. It's closer to Father Sun and Moon Maiden. Let's try that gentle slope to the west."

"If you say so. Personally, I think we should have brought twenty warriors with lances and bows. Hunting down Nightshade isn't my idea of a pleasure walk."

"I thought you just said you could search for her by yourself."

"I didn't say I'd like it."

Badgertail chuckled. Locust had always done that to him. Made him laugh when he felt the least able to. He said, "There was too much to take care of at River Mounds after the battle. I thought we could find her by ourselves. But if we haven't found her by sunset, we'll come back with fifty warriors tomorrow."

"What made you think we could find her? Her soul rides the waves of the Underworld. If anyone can hide from us, she can."

"She's grieving and off-balance. I doubt that she's keeping her eyes open for strangers."

"Well," Locust sighed doubtfully, "we'll see."

They started up the slope. Locust quickly taking the lead, stepping around loose rocks and dead stalks of knotweed. Sunlight had breathed so much life into the stones that Badgertail felt warm for the first time all day.

He halted on a flat spot and gazed around. From this vantage, he could see River Mounds clearly, though the afternoon breeze swept away the sounds. Beyond an endless patchwork of dead cornfields, the forty-five mounds of the village spread in a vast semicircle at the southern end of Marsh Elder Lake. Smoke twisted from the temple, caught the wind, and smeared the denuded bottomland with a broad

Streak of bluish gray. Badgertail could just make out the location of Cahokia, farther to the east.