People of the River(53)

She smiled as she spun with all of her strength, spun until her feet started to stumble—just like everyone else's. People fell down all around her, clutching Mother Earth to their breasts while they kissed the ground. Finally Lichen toppled sideways and dug her fingers into the cold dirt. Her vision swam.

The Com Dancers ran through the crowd, sprinkling everyone with commeal so that each person could carry the meal prayers showered upon them to First Woman in their Dreams. Perhaps, if they all Dreamed well. First Woman would hear them this time . . .

Lichen rolled onto her back to peer up at the Star Ogres again. A veil of meal-dusted hair tumbled over her eyes. Through it, the Ogres seemed to shinmier more brightly, as though pleased by the ceremonial. Lichen laughed when a huge raven leaned over her. Wind fluttered in its black feathers. Through its open beak, she could see Wanderer's grin.

"Come on," he said. "Your mother invited me to have nutcakes and tea, and I'm starved."

"Mother invited you?" she blurted as she struggled to sit up.

"Yes. She hasn't been herself tonight," he answered blithely. "I don't know what's wrong with her, and I'm certainly not going to ask."

He extended a hand to pull Lichen to her feet. They held on to each other as they made their way across the plaza. People swerved wide around Wanderer, still not sure that he ought to be allowed in human company, even though he had Danced with all his raven soul.

The avoidance made Lichen angry. "I watched you. You were the best Dancer here."

"I watched you too, especially when you were talking to the Star Ogres. They heard you, you know."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, I could feel it." He tapped his chest. "In here. What did you say to them?"

She lifted a shoulder. "They sent me their music. It was beautiful, Wanderer, so I thanked them and told them that someday I'd try to sprout falcon wings and fly up to Sing for them."

Wanderer squeezed her shoulder as they started down the path that led to her house. Moonlight blazed so brightly that it shadowed each blade of grass. "I'm sure they'd like that. They get lonely up there. Very few humans talk to them anymore, though Eagle and Hawk still do, of course."

"I'd talk to them more if I could."

Out in the darkness, a wolf yipped, and a whole pack joined in to serenade Moon Maiden. Now that the ceremonial was over, Lichen felt cold to her bones, and very sleepy. She twined her fingers in the soft fur of Wanderer's rabbit cape for warmth.

When they turned the bend in the path, she could see that light already gleamed around the edges of the door-hanging. The scents of Pumpkin Creek—water and wet earth—hung heavy on this side of Redweed Village. But Lichen smelled something else. She sniffed noisily.

"That's Mother's special raspberry tea, Wanderer."

He sniffed too. "Um, smells good."

Lichen gave him a quick look, wondering why her mother would make it for Wanderer when she wouldn't make it for Lichen except on important occasions. She slipped out from under his arm and trotted forward to duck beneath the hanging. Her head brushed against two of the clusters of eagle feathers that dangled from the ceiling.

"You looked beautiful tonight. Mother," she said as she ran across the house and dove beneath her warm buffalo hide. It felt good to be home. The house spread in a thirty-hand square around her. The firelight from the slab-lined hearth in the middle of the floor shimmered over the yellow spiders on the walls and flickered in the eyes of the Stone Wolf that nestled in the wall niche at the foot of Meadow Vole's bed. Along the southern wall, at the foot of Lichen's bed, several cooking pots sat atop each other. Next to them, three large storage jars huddled, filled with the seeds of giant ragweed, com, and sunflowers.

Vole smiled. She wore a white dress with black and red spirals dyed on the hem and across her chest. She had pulled her long hair away from her face, fastening it over her ears with shell combs. The style made her hooked nose seem smaller. But her eyes looked large and dark, darker than Lichen thought she had ever seen them. "So did you, Lichen. I was proud of you. I—"

Wanderer called softly from outside, "It's me, Meadow Vole. Are you ready for me yet?"

"Come in. Wanderer. We're ready. The tea isn't, but we are.

Wanderer ducked under the hanging. He had taken off his mask and was holding it reverently. His gray hair spiked out around his long face. He winked at Lichen before crouching by the fire, where the pot of tea sat propped on two pieces of red stumpware. Flames licked up around the sooty bottom of the pot. The steam that rose saturated the air with the scent of raspberries.

Wanderer smiled awkwardly at Meadow Vole, and she smiled back before rising to fetch the plate that had the nutcakes on it.