People of the River(44)

Screechowl bawled in triumph as he dove for her, but Lichen somehow scooted out of his way, rolled to her feet, and stood with her jaw thrust out and her fists up. "Stop it, Screechowl, or I'll break your nose again!"

Flycatcher and young Wart raced up as Screechowl kicked Lichen in her sore knee. When she screamed, he grabbed her hand.

"Now I've got you! You'll never be talking bad about my father again."

He swung his clenched fist at her cheek. Lichen ducked and rammed her head into his stomach, then sank her teeth into his side for good measure before flinging herself backward to break his rawhide grip.

Screechowl started to bellow in pain but caught himself and straightened up. To his friends, he said, "Come on! Let's gather!"

Flycatcher stood dumbly, casting covert glances at Lichen, while Wart jumped from foot to foot, waiting for somebody, anybody, to tell him what to do. Only seven, he didn't have much sense yet. He didn't have much chin, either. Just doe eyes and a forehead that took up most of his face. His long black braid dangled in a fuzzy mass over his left shoulder.

Lichen braced herself for the battle. "Flycatcher! You're my best friend!"

"I know it!" But he made no move.

"Your best friend's a girl!" Screechowl taunted. "You've got the testicles of a worm! Come on, Wart, help me get her!"

Wart gritted his teeth so hard in indecision that his head shook. Finally, on the verge of bursting from sheer lack of action, he took a hesitant step forward, then yielded and ran to Screechowl's side.

Lichen almost lost control of her bladder. She glared at Flycatcher, trying to look fierce but knowing that her expression quickly changed to pleading. "Flycatcher? Your grandmother was my great aunt's sister!" If nothing else, kinship might work.

His eyes darted calculatingly over the clouds, apparently trying to remember if that was right; then he grudgingly nodded and trotted to stand beside her. Throwing out his chest, he declared, "Don't shove my cousin around!"

Lichen grinned at Screechowl, but he didn't seem to appreciate her accomplishment. He hunkered down, spreading his arms like Falcon ready to soar into the sky, crowing, "All right. We're coming!"

Wart scampered to follow Screechowl's lead as he lunged for Flycatcher. Flycatcher brought up his foot, catching Screechowl in the shoulder, but he only succeeded in throwing himself off balance so that Screechowl could slam a fist into his butt and knock him flat. Flycatcher sprawled across the gray stone like a dead spider, roaring, "Ach!"

Lichen hopped around anxiously, trying to figure out how to protect herself from Wart's attack. He flew at her, yelling, his mouth wide open, so she took her fist and jammed it down that black hole. His teeth made a crunching sound at the same time that her hand erupted in agony. They shrieked simultaneously.

Lichen stared at her bloody knuckles, shook them to fight the pain, and spun to face Screechowl, who had managed to drive Flycatcher at least ten paces up the slope.

Screechowl's lips twitched as he turned to face her.

"Don't do it, Screechowl!" she threatened. In a stroke of genius, she pointed at the sky. "Bird-Man is my Spirit Helper. If you hurt me, I'll call out to him and he'll come and carry you up to the stars before he drops you on Redweed Village!"

Screechowl laughed ... a low, disbelieving laugh. He sauntered forward menacingly, but Lichen refused to give ground. She grabbed up a rock and stood with her knees trembling, thinking it was probably a good day to die.

As his shadow fell over her in a cool wash. Lichen's throat traitorously contemplated screaming again, but before the sound could clear her lips, a large rock plunged out of the blue and smacked Screechowl in the ear.

He whooped, "What the—" and staggered backward. A tall figure wearing a raven mask rose with ghostly stealth from behind one of the rocks up the slope. Black feathers sleeked down over its face and formed a ruff around its neck. Its huge wooden beak slowly creaked open, showing glimpses of a puckered mouth beneath. Then a shrill caw flooded out, sounding so real that Screechowl stood petrified.

In a flash, the figure swooped down the slope, holding out the woven edges of its rabbit-fur cape like wings, screaming something nobody could understand. Screechowl clutched at his heart with one hand and his wounded ear with the other before flying down the path toward the village. Wart wailing and stumbling behind him.

Lichen and Flycatcher grabbed each other in terror as the figure turned and propped age-spotted hands on bony hips.

"Lichen," the Raven-Man said, "you should stay away from Screechowl. He's got bad blood. Did you know his grandmother used to suck toad eyes for fun? She kept a batch rolling around in her cheeks all day long. I never did like her." One hand reached up and tugged off the mask, revealing a face painted with alternating stripes of red, yellow, and blue. A single black spot covered the middle of the forehead.