What if Vole wouldn't let Lichen stay with him? How could he take her home in three days and just walk away? The thought twisted like a serrated chert blade in his gut.
"Lichen?" He couldn't help but ask. "Who told you I was your father?"
"Wolf Slayer. He said that's where I got my ability to Dream—from you."
"What else did he tell you?"
Lichen pulled Wanderer's arm over her so she could hold his hand against her chest and pat his fingers gently. The sparkfly caught her attention for a moment while it blinked near the door-hanging, trying to find a way out.
"Wanderer, you have to promise not to tell anyone. Wolf Slayer told me it was a secret."
"I promise. What did he say?"
Her brow puckered. "Well, he said that you and I, we have to go to Cahokia. Bulrush told me that Nightshade needs us. I don't—"
Wanderer's sudden jerk silenced Lichen. He squeezed her hand tenderly, trying to conceal his alarm. To help Nightshade? Is that why she's been calling me? "Did he say why?"
"No, he just said that one of these days soon. Foxfire would call us."
"Who is Foxfire?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. A Dreamer. Haven't you ever heard of him?"
"No. But if Wolf Slayer warned you he would call, we'd better be prepared."
"Why?"
"No Dreamer wants to be called by a Spirit Helper he has never heard of. Lichen. It's a little like meeting Grandfather Grizzly unexpectedly in the forest. You never know whether he'll just turn and walk away—or force you to run for your life."
Nightshade walked the long halls of the temple, her red dress fluttering around her legs in the muted light. The fragrance of spiced hickory oil rose especially strong tonight; even the delicate scent of the cedar poles was overpowered. Frightened murmurs drifted out of the rooms. From somewhere far off, she could hear Tharon's high, shrill laughter.
In the afternoon—and for the first time—the Starbom had come to her, begging her to breathe life into their Wellpots so they might see into the future and discern the patterns of the battles to come. They were desperately trying to please Tharon. Nightshade had laughed. What a fool Tharon had been to think that she would ever agree to help him, or his priests and priestesses.
She had earned herself twelve more enemies today. But you knew it was coming. Unavoidable.
Nightshade turned down the hall to her room . . . and stopped dead in her tracks. Orenda lay curled on her side in front of Nightshade's door. Asleep? The child clutched a huge doll to her chest. The toy stared at Nightshade from its black-and-white mask. A masterpiece of carved cedar, it represented the triumph of Light over Dark in the Beginning Time.
How odd that Orenda would have gathered the courage to approach Nightshade's door. No one else possessed such boldness—not after the past week—including Tharon.
She knelt by Orenda. The girl's pretty face looked haunted, her cheeks unnaturally pale against the tumbled frame of her hair. Her closed eyes and mouth twitched. Dirt and soot spotted her golden robe. Nightshade frowned. Didn't Orenda have attendants? Was there no one to make certain that she ate and dressed properly? Strange. When Nightshade had been nine summers, she'd had two attendants who slept in the room with her, there to take care of her.
Nightshade stroked Orenda's hair delicately.
"No! D-Don't!" Orenda scrambled back against the wall in terror, dragging her precious doll with her.
"Orenda, it's Nightshade. It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you."
Orenda's mouth trembled, moving with silent words while she stared wide-eyed at Nightshade. "You . . . can I . . ."
"What is it, Orenda?" When tears filled the child's eyes. Nightshade smiled gently.
Shivering all over, Orenda managed to say, "I—I wanted to know ..."
"Yes?"
"Could I ... I want to sleep in your room!" She burst into choking sobs.
A tickle of premonition played at the edges of Nightshade's soul. Something's not right here. Why would she choose me, of all people?
"Of course you can. And I'd actually enjoy the company," she said as she rose to her feet. "I've been lonely since I returned to Cahokia. I'll rearrange the hides so you'll have a place to sleep."
Orenda darted forward and twined a hand in Nightshade's skirt. She looked up with her whole tormented heart in her eyes. "Can . . . can we go in now?"
Nightshade pulled aside the door-hanging. "Yes. I even have some fish soup left that we can share."
Eighteen
"I'm really frightened this time, Badgertail. What in the name of Moon Maiden are we fighting for?" Locust shook her head and flopped back against the wall. To escort Nightshade, she had dressed plainly, wearing a simple blue-and-tan kilt. No adornments hung in her stubby braids, which made her stem expression seem all the more stony.