Sunchaser frowned. No one was outside. On such a pleasant day, children should be playing in the sand, men gambling in front of the lodges and women weaving fishing nets from yucca cordage. The fire hearth in the central plaza had burned down to nothing. Only the heaviest of the dead coals had survived the wind. They’d rolled into a pile against the eastern edge of the hearth. “Kestrel,” Sunchaser said apprehensively when they neared the first lodge, “wait for me here. Something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but I’d feel better if you didn’t come with me.”
Kestrel studied him with worried eyes. Yes, she, too, sensed danger in the ominous quiet. “I’ll wait over there by the aspen trees, Sunchaser.”
“I’ll be back when I know what’s happened.”
His moccasins dug into the soft sand as he walked forward calling, “Woodtick? Shining Hunter Woman? Anybody?
Where is everyone?”
A little old man, as frail as a stalk of winter thistle, ducked through a lodge door. He squinted, then made a deep-throated sound of surprised joy before running forward. He’d tied his short gray hair into a braid that hung down his back. His doeskin shirt and pants bore sweat stains and splatters, of blood.
“Sunchaser? Oh, Blessed Spirits. We’ve been praying for you to come!” He grabbed Sunchaser around the waist and hugged him frantically. “We’ve been so desperate, Sunchaser. More than twenty people have died. Even…” tears brimmed in the faded old eyes “… even my beloved Shining Hunter.”
Sunchaser held the old man tightly and let him weep. “I didn’t know you had illness here, Woodtick, or I would have come long before now.” The old man pushed away and stared up through his misery. “But you’re here now. Bless the Spirits. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”
“Tell me about the sickness.”
Sunchaser linked his arm through Woodtick’s to support the frail elder, and together they walked toward the cold hearth in the plaza. A stack of wood sat by the stone circle. It looked untouched. As they walked past the lodges, Sunchaser heard soft cries and groans. Odors of urine and vomit drifted out to him. Woodtick held Sunchaser’s arm tightly. “This must be the same sickness that attacked the mountain villages, Sunchaser. High fever. People have been bleeding from the mouth. The little children…” His voice broke. “The children, they just seem to shrink and disappear before our eyes. We have only twelve people left in the entire village!”
Sunchaser paled. Whalebeard Village had numbered thirty five the last time he had been here. “Let me get my Healer’s pack. Then take me through the lodges so I can identify the
sick est people. I know how this illness works. If there’s anyone who has been sick for three days—”
“Several people.” Woodtick squeezed his arm even more desperately. “But Little Sage and her son, Four Darts, are two of the worst. They live in the last lodge.” He lifted a trembling arm and pointed.
Sunchaser nodded. “Wait for me there. I’ll be right back.”
He released Woodtick’s arm and ran, the deep sand eating at his muscles, to where Kestrel stood in the aspen grove. She had already begun unloading Helper’s travois, stacking hides, separating Sunchaser’s things from hers. Sunchaser grabbed his Healer’s pack from the ground. “Kestrel, please, don’t come into the village. Stay here. There’s sickness. I’ve seen it before, and it’s deadly. I don’t want to take any chances with you or Cloud Girl. I’ll be back soon … no, maybe not until tomorrow. But—”
“Don’t waste time telling me about it, Sunchaser. Go to them.” Worry lined her pretty face. “I’ll set up the lodge, build a fire and wait for you. Help as many people as you can.”
He hugged her to him, hard, then backed away and trotted across the sand to the southernmost lodge. Woodtick stood before it. A large structure, it spread four body lengths long and three wide. The exterior looked poorly tended. The red and blue geometric designs had faded badly.
“Hurry,” Woodtick pleaded. “Please, hurry!”
The chief held the door flap open, and Sunchaser ducked through into darkness. The odors of excrement and sweating bodies nearly suffocated him. The fire in the center of the floor had burned down to white ashes. As his eyes adjusted, he made out the loops of cordage attached by thongs to the back wall, and the brightly colored nut baskets hung from the ridgepole. The sweet fragrance of buckeye meal drifted from the closest basket. On the log that held down the long northern wall lay a few shell spoons and bowls, some bark platters inlaid with haliotis shell, a wooden stirrer and several soapstone pipes worked into the shapes of sea mammals.