People of the River(42)

Badgertail braced his hand against the cedar wall as memories of his brother swept over him. Softly, he said, "Tell Bobcat I'm sorry."



Green Ash shoved her way through the crowd, calling, "Aunt? Aunt, what is it!" Her child-heavy body made maneuvering difficult. "Move," she shouted at a big man who blocked her path. "Move, please!" Green Ash shouldered by him, aware that her breath had begun to cloud as the air cooled with the coming of night. Around her, a babble of voices rose and fell as people discussed the meaning of what they'd just seen.

Green Ash broke out of a thick knot of people, and rounded one of the houses, stepping carefully to avoid freshly turned rows of soil where someone had started a small garden. A brown-and-white cur barked and nipped at her. Finally, Green Ash caught sight of her aunt.

Checkerberry wailed as she ran through the lavender veil of dusk, a high, breathless sound that traveled eerily on the still air. People made a small path for her, barely glancing as she rushed by. Everyone's eyes were still fixed on Badger-tail's warriors, who lounged haughtily outside the palisade, boasting of their exploits at River Mounds.

Green Ash followed and turned the comer at the end of a thatched wall. Ahead, Checkerberry, gray hair tumbling over her withered face, had fallen to her knees to scramble into her house.

"Aunt?"

Green Ash put a hand on her protruding belly, and crawled through behind Checkerberry. The house consisted of one room, twenty hands by fifteen. As the powerful and respected leader of the Blue Blanket Clan, Checkerberry's house reflected her status. Sacred masks of the gods covered the walls, glinting with copper and shell inlays. A ladder led up the left wall to a narrow platform that served as a bed; it sat close to the juncture of the roof and wall, where a slit allowed the breezes to repel the smoke from the firepit.

Green Ash blinked in the near darkness. Finally she spied Checkerberry in the rear, hunched in a pile of blankets and jerking spastically at a banded red, blue, and tan blanket, attempting to cover her face. When she had tugged the blanket into place, she sat trembling, only one eye showing.

Green Ash extended a hand. "Aunt? Are you all right?"

Checkerberry spoke in a barely audible whisper. "She's come back.*'

"If it was her."

"Evil . . . evil walks with her. Couldn't you feel it?"

"Well, even if it was Nightshade, what difference—"

''Difference?" Checkerberry shouted, and her blanket slipped down to her shoulder. "She killed my entire family! My poor little Hopleaf. Oh, Hopleaf ..." Checkerberry fell into choking sobs.

Green Ash closed her hands on air. She hadn't even been bom then, but she knew the old stories. About how the Great Gizis had chosen Checkerberry—^respected and renowned even then—to teach Nightshade the ways of her new people. Less than two moons after Checkerberry had taken on the task, her husband had perished in an accident while hunting. Within the cycle, all three of her children had died one by one from strange fevers. Checkerberry's soul had come unhinged. She had never been quite right since.

"Oh, my niece, my niece. She was bound and surrounded by guards. She didn't return of her own free will. We are doomed! There'll be no more rains. The crops will wither in the fields!"

Green Ash edged forward until she could touch Checker-berry's knee gently. "No, they won't, Aunt. You know that First Woman will protect us. She—"

"Nightshade is more powerful than First Woman. She'll throw corpse powder on us and kill us all! She's a witch," Checkerberry hissed. "A witch! Wait. You'll see."





Seven


Lichen panted as she scrambled up the gritty rock outcrop that encircled half of Redweed Village. Flycatcher and two other boys climbed above her with the agility and speed of frightened pack rats. The dirt cascading beneath their sandals spattered her like hailstones. A smoky film had already built up on her red-and-tan skirt. Lichen spat gravel from her mouth and climbed faster.

On the banks of Pumpkin Creek, fifty hands below, people laughed and raced around the central plaza, preparing for the Beauty Way Ceremony at nightfall. Fifteen houses with shaggy thatched roofs framed the plaza in a long rectangle. Turtle and bluegill lay naked on drying racks before them, their sweet flesh desiccating in the bright afternoon sun. Farther out, at the edge of the village, storage huts sat on raised poles. Beneath a hut near the bend of the creek, a raccoon struggled, trying to climb one of the greased poles and reach the rich supply of com inside. It jumped valiantly, attempted to sink its claws into the wood, and scratched wildly at the bear grease before toppling backward to land in a soft bed of knot weed.