Wanderer had checked for a heartbeat. He had placed a mica mirror beneath her nose. Nothing.
"Oh, Lichen, what have I done to you? I ... I just wanted you to see the tunnel. I never thought you'd be able to—"
His words were torn away by the wind and blown into the green distances.
Wanderer hugged himself as he ambled to the very edge of the cliff. Cornfields dotted the bottomland in emerald patches. Weaving between them, the Father Water cut a blue swath of hope in a land already wilting from the heat of early summer.
He had sent Lichen on this journey. But he had never imagined that she had the ability to enter the Tunnel to the Underworld. He'd prayed she would just be able to peer over the edge into the darkness. It took even the greatest Dreamers cycles to gain the skill and courage to actually plunge down that spiraling black throat.
"You underestimated her, you old fool."
The truth seared his soul. He knew better than anyone that gaining entrance to the Land of the Ancestors required strength beyond measure. The Underworld creatures devised terrifying traps with which to capture the Dreamer's soul.
"And you . . . you didn't even warn her about the traps."
Wanderer looked up when three ravens swooped down from the hazy sky, eying him curiously. Crossed Beak fought to balance himself in the gusting wind. He cawed, and Wanderer cawed back. The bird fluttered into the oak thicket, his black feathers shining with the frosty iridescence of seashells.
"I'm so glad to see you. Crossed Beak. I've never been this frightened in my life."
Crossed Beak thocked softly, tilting his head first to the right, then to the left.
"Yes, I know. But waiting is so difficult. I've been half crazy since I found her."
A deep-throated caw rumbled as Crossed Beak fluffed his feathers, then used his beak to pluck at some irritation beneath his right wing.
Wanderer expelled a breath and nodded. "You're right. Many Dreamers stay in the Underworld for days, talking to Spirits, visiting with old friends. But Lichen is so young, and I—^I'm worried, that's all." Guilt constricted around his heart, making it pound nauseatingly.
"How could I have done that to her, Crossed Beak? She's the most important thing in my life."
Crossed Beak whimpered and sprang from the tree, challenging the wind before flapping over the crest of the bluff. The other two ravens tipped their wings and followed. Wanderer shielded his eyes to watch their sinuous flight. The way they circled into the sky, they could have been chips of obsidian borne on the breath of a dusty whirlwind.
What am I going to do? If she hadn't awakened by tomorrow morning, he would have to do something. What? Danger lurked in even the slightest interference. If Lichen were struggling against some Underworld creature and he so much as called her name, the distraction could cause her doom. But if she'd had an accident, if her litter had overturned and she was fleeing . . . well, she would be running through a country that had no landmarks ... a country haunted by horror. His voice might help lead her back to the tunnel, from which she could come home.
"But you can't know which it is unless you go yourself."
He hadn't been to the Underworld in cycles. But if Lichen had not awakened by tomorrow, he would go. It might do no good. The Underworld spread infinitely in all directions. Finding her would take a miracle.
He folded his arms, his thoughts twisting like Snake caught in the jaws of Badger, while he studied the smoke from Spiral Mounds.
What was happening out there?
Could it be Badgertail again? Why would Tharon order his warriors . . .
Petaga?
Wanderer's hands dropped limply to his sides. The smoke had thinned to streaks of pale gray that stroked the gentian fabric of evening like wispy fingers. Why would Petaga have attacked Spiral Mounds? To steal supplies? Wanderer had heard that after Badgertail's attack, Aloda had barely enough to fend off starvation. What political motive—
A sound penetrated his thoughts. Wanderer cocked an ear. It barely carried over the wind, soft, mewing.
Then he clearly heard a cough and a wheezed, "Wanderer?"
''Lichen?"
Ducking beneath his door-hanging, he saw her lying on her side, her body dripping wet. Strange bits of moss clung to her tan sleeves. She coughed again, desperately, and tried to raise herself on her elbows but weakly fell back against the fox hides.
"Oh, Lichen." Wanderer scooped her up in his arms and frantically kissed her soaked face. "Thank First Woman, I was so afraid."
Lichen tried to speak and fell into a violent coughing fit. A, trickle of water ran from her mouth. She fought to catch her breath and started choking. In terror. Wanderer laid her facedown on the floor. Straddling her, he firmly pressed against her back. More water gushed from her lungs, forming a small, crystalline pool on the dirt. He pressed again and again, until she seemed to be breathing easily; then he stretched out on the floor beside her to study her face. She smiled weakly. Wanderer lifted a hand and stroked her sopping hair. "Are you feeling better?"