Someone shouted, and the raccoon, realizing its chances of winding up in that selfsame storage building—albeit skinned, gutted, and dried for someone's supper—bolted in a ring-tailed streak for the low brush and a longer life.
"Hurry up, Lichen!" Flycatcher called from the top of the outcrop. His shoulder-length black hair glistened with sweat. He waved impatiently. "We're going!"
Screechowl, the biggest boy in the village and meaner than a mating mink, propped his fists on his hips and sneered over the edge at Lichen. He'd broken his nose as a baby, and it still zigzagged as sharply as a lightning bolt. He had small dark eyes and a mouth like a catfish's, but his shoulders spread as wide as a man's—and he was barely eleven summers. He scared Lichen half to death. "Come on, girl!" he yelled, then turned to his companions. "Let's leave her. She can't keep up."
"I'm coming!" Lichen cried as she watched the boys charge away in a cloud of dust. "Rycatcher! I'm coming!"
She slid her knee onto a ledge and dug her fingers into the crevice above, pulling up frantically. The cracked stone gave way, coming off in her hand, and she slipped and fell, landing hard on a lower ledge. She grabbed at the rock to keep from falling all the way and managed to hook her thumbs into a weathered hole. Blood trickled warmly from a scraped knee. She bit her lip to drive back the hurt and tackled the rock face again, climbing until she could slither over the top of the last shelf
Lichen rolled over to catch her breath. Sand stuck to her bare, sweaty back in itchy patches. She scratched at them while she studied the clouds that brushed the turquoise sky in long streamers, sweeping southward toward the great villages that lined the Father Water.
The hooting laughter of Screechowl made her turn onto her stomach. The boys huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, behind an upright boulder in the distance. They butted each other playfully as they fought for the best position. Lichen got up and trotted toward them, but her steps faltered when she realized where they were. They must be looking down on the dressing area of the Masked Dancers, who would conjure Beauty from the earth and plants in tonight's ceremonial. She bent low and sneaked up on cougar-silent feet to see what occupied them so thoroughly. In the grassy space at the rear of the temple, two women stood naked, painting each other's breasts with bright red ochre. The spirals fanned out from their nipples to blossom in the center of their chests as majestic images of Thunderbird in flight. His wings swept up in a rounded arc until the tips of the feathers connected with the Dancers' earlobes.
Everyone was curious about the sacred painting ceremony that accompanied the Beauty Way. Legend said that Wolf Slayer himself came to help the Dancers with the artistry, but it was considered bad luck to see the painted designs before the Dancers made their appearance on the night of the ceremony. Lichen lifted a brow at the boys. She whispered, "You turkey brains! Do you want to ruin the ceremony? You know nobody's supposed to see the Dancers until they come out of the temple tonight. You're bringing bad luck. Terrible things could happen!"
Rycatcher shrugged in shame and slid backward on his hands and knees, but Screechowl grabbed him by the thongs on his breechclout and hauled him back. Flycatcher let out a yowl while he chopped at the bigger boy's meaty hands. "Quit that, Screechowl! Let me go!"
"Well, what are you doing listening to a girH What does she know?"
Lichen clamped her teeth and narrowed her eyes. "A lot more than you do, ugly boy ... at least about ritual. My mother's the Keeper of the Stone Wolf."
"So what?" Screechowl jeered. "She doesn't have any Power. My father says she's the Keeper just because some old man named Left Hand got the Wolf a million cycles ago and said only his family could take care of it. That's stupid. I bet my father could take care of it a lot better than your mother does. He's the great-great-great"—he waved his hand to indicate a bunch of "greats"—"grandson of First Woman herself."
"That's stupid!" Lichen pronounced. "Nobody's the relative of First Woman!" She hesitated, not quite sure of how that could be, but it sounded potent, so she continued, "My mother knows all the sacred stories. What does your father know about the Emergence from the Underworlds in the Beginning Time, or about Wolf Slayer's battle with his dark brother, the Bird-Man? Nothing, I'll bet."
Screechowl got to his feet. He threw his huge shoulders back and stalked toward Lichen like Grandfather Brown Bear walking on his hind legs.
She let out a yell and ran.
Her skinned knee told her in no uncertain terms how bad an idea that was. Her leg got weaker with every step, and Screechowl's long gait was rapidly closing the gap between them. Lichen forced her knee to work even harder. When she jumped a squat papaw bush to reach the trail that led the long way back to the village, her knee gave way. She tumbled ankles over snarled hair to land hard at the base of a pile of boulders, a little dizzy.