People of the River(24)

He thanked Father Sun that his parents had died cycles ago and he wouldn't have to bring them the news about Bobcat. He couldn't have borne their sorrow. Bobcat had been their favorite son, always boisterous and playful, while Badgertail had been the serious one, forever troubling people to teach him how to weave fishing nets, or how to cord clay for pot-making, driving the elders crazy with his questions about the Beginning of the World. But he would still have to tell Bobcat's wife, Moonseed. Blessed Sun, how would he do it?

"What's that?" Locust asked with such apprehension that Badgertail crouched in self-defense.

"Do you see it?" Locust demanded. "There, on the ridge top near that boulder."

Badgertail squinted against the sun at the squash-shaped boulder. Against a background of cerulean sky, a slender blade of red wavered as it moved down through the rocks. "A man?"

"I don't know," Locust answered, "but he's coming at us. Right at us. Can't be one of ours. Too far from River Mounds. And that color marks him as one of the Starbom."

Badgertail straightened and braced his legs to wait. "Well, whoever it is, he's alone and saving us a walk. Let's catch our breath."

Locust did not respond, but her hand dropped to the bow tied to her belt. Her gaze remained glued to the mysterious figure.

Badgertail took the opportunity to rub his gritty eyes. He felt drained beyond exhaustion, like a punky log. All of his pith had been eaten away during the fight in the temple. He kept seeing Bobcat lying on the floor, dying, and his muscles would go wobbly. He needed sleep badly, though he dreaded closing his eyes. He knew he'd relive this day a thousand times in his dreams.

Locust took a fearful step backward. "It's a woman. Look at how she nwves."

"You think it's Nightshade?"

"Who else would be out here alone?"

Badgertail nodded mildly. "Kind of her to save us a trip." Curiously, the scars on his wrists began to itch. Nightshade had clawed those gashes when he had swung her up under his arm that night twenty cycles ago.

"You think so now," Locust said. "Wait until she blows corpse powder on you and kills your soul."

The figure angled around a deep crevice in the stone and floated toward them. The woman moved with uncommon grace, especially for one so tall and willowy. Every so often she would nod, or turn to say something to the air at her side. Badgertail clamped his jaw, trying not to think about it.

"What's she doing?" Locust hissed. "Who's she talking to? There's no one there!"

"No one we can see," Badgertail answered glibly and wished he hadn't. Locust jerked as though he had struck her in the stomach with a war club.

"What should we do?" she whispered frantically. "What if she's brought an army of Spirits with her? We can't fight that!"

"We should stand here very bravely, cousin, and wait to see."

"Wait?" Locust's hands roamed her bow and club before she lifted them to touch the Power totem of Muskrat on her shirt. "Yes, I'll be brave," she said. "Right up until the moment that something invisible touches me. Then you're on your own . . . cousin."

Badgertail smiled agreeably, but the hair on his neck prickled as if stroked by an unseen hand. He could make out Nightshade's face; it was beautiful, with its tumed-up nose and full lips, but puffy around the eyes. Waist-length black hair rippled over her shoulders. A small Power Bundle was attached to the belt of her red dress. She carried nothing else, no blanket, no robe, not even a pack for items such as a firebow and food.

How could she have survived out here with no provisions?

And in winter. He glanced at Locust and found her glancing at him. They both straightened uneasily.

Badgertail cupped a hand to his mouth and called, "It's Priestess Nightshade, isn't it?"

She continued down the slope, as fluid as a ghost, her red dress whirling around her hide boots. She marched deliberately toward Badgertail, her eyes on him alone. Passing Locust without a glance, she stopped and searched Badger-tail's face, as though measuring his soul. The rare turquoise pendant that had never left her neck since her childhood gleamed opalescent in the sunlight.

"Yes," she whispered hoarsely to the air on her left side. "He's just as big and fierce as I recall." Her eyes slitted. "I remember you. Leader Badgertail—murderer, thief, and kidnapper."

Badgertail gazed into those huge, haunted eyes with the paralysis of a rabbit facing a copperhead. Her pupils filled the orbs, as black as coal, and cold, so very cold that his soul frosted. He shivered. She didn't blink, and Badgertail cocked his head in wonder. He knew that the Starbom bartered with the Spirit of Sister Datura to help them break through the gate that led to the Well of the Ancestors, but he had never witnessed anyone possessed by the Spirit. Badgertail was fairly sure that he saw it now.