Sunchaser balled a fist against the emotions that cramped his belly. His mouth had become a hard line. How could the day that had begun so wonderfully have descended so quickly to these dark depths? A rage possessed him that he had not felt in cycles. How stupid he had been! It had never even occurred to him that his problems might have sprung from witching. For cycles, he had defended Catchstraw! As he would have defended any Dreamer. He knew how many demands Power made. He would never condemn someone unless he had substantial evidence,
Blind! I’ve believed in the good sides of people. And doing so has left me in darkness as black as if I’d burned my eyes out.
Kestrel continued. “Maybe it isn’t this Catchstraw, Sunchaser. Maybe it’s someone else. Even if Catchstraw resents you, why would he want to stop you from entering the Land of the Dead when he knows that the survival of mammoths depends upon you? And Dreamers do know such things, don’t they?”
“Maybe he thinks he can do it himself.” Sunchaser shoved his bowl of mussels aside, no longer hungry. He braced his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. “I’d gladly yield to him if I thought he could. I don’t know why Power works the way it does—choosing one Dreamer instead of ten or tens of tens.”
“Perhaps Power has limitations, too.”
He lifted his head. Kestrel’s wide, innocent eyes concealed a perceptive soul. “How strange that you understand that. Most people think that Power can do anything it wants to. It can’t, of course. The Spirits groom Dreamers very carefully, preparing them for the final desperate moments of a certain age. But not even icy can force the world to be what they want it to be, what they know it needs to be.”
“My grandmother told me once that Power has to start very early if it wants to affect a person’s life. It must begin with a child—”
“Yes, with the child, and work persistently on shaping the adult for its own purposes. Dreamers are tools—nothing more, nothing less.” Did he really believe that? That Power cared nothing about the Dreamer? No, he didn’t… not really. He knew that Above-Old-Man and Mother Ocean worried about him constantly. And he could sense Wolfdreamer and Mammoth Above working for him all the time, helping him, encouraging him.
“Resentment is a festering thing. It eats at the soul, turns it black and ugly. Just as it’s done with Lambkill.” Kestrel slowly finished her last mussel and watched the morning brighten over Mother Ocean.
She looked sad, thoughtful. Giant croaking buzzards flapped sluggishly above the water, hunting the shallows for marine creatures washed up by the high tide last night. Their black wings flashed with the echoes of dawn’s lavender gleam. Far out in the distance, a whale blew, and a pillar of water fountained up. Sunchaser’s eyes narrowed at the calm beauty. The scents of the sea, the drying kelp, fish and dew-soaked ferns pervaded the air. “Sunchaser, why do you think Power always demands so much of its chosen Dreamers?”
“Because,” he answered through a taut exhalation, “salvation can be bought only with the price of the soul. But we should thank Above-Old-Man, Kestrel, that it can be bought at all.”
For an instant” her eyes glowed. He noted the way she clenched her hands in her lap. Sunchaser forced himself to pry open one of the mussels in his bowl and choke it down. They had a long walk ahead of them, and he’d developed the urge to run all the way. He managed to eat two more mussels and fed the last two to Helper.
“Sunchaser, tell me about Catchstraw. What’s he like?”
“He’s an old fool.” How could he have said that? The words had slipped from his tongue before he’d suspected their presence. He didn’t even know for certain that Catchstraw was the witch. I’m starting to sound like a sullen boy.
“A fool? Yet the Otter Clan believes he’s a real Dreamer?”
“Some of them do. Maybe all of them. I don’t know.”
Silence fell. Kestrel bit her lip nervously and fit the mussel shells in her bowl back together, arranging them with care. They clattered when they fell apart.
Sunchaser gestured helplessly. “Catchstraw led the Mammoth Spirit Dances while I was in the mountains, Healing. I heard that he was always the first one to fall out of the Dance circle.” What’s the matter with you? What difference does any of this make? “His dedication to Mammoth Above lasts only as long as his comfort.”
“So he’s not much of a Dreamer.”
“No. Not much of one.” Mother Ocean, make me stop this! I’m making a fool of myself. “Kestrel,” he said in a strained voice, “I think we should be going.”