There were three people in the lodge: two women and a little boy. The only one well enough to greet him was an old woman wearing a dress covered with magnificent quill work blue, yellow and white wavy lines decorated her chest and the hem of her dress—but the garment was filthy. Gray hair hung in damp straggles around her flabby face. She rose slowly and tottered forward.
“Sunchaser,” she whispered reverently. Her fingers twined in the fringes on his sleeves, holding on to him as though she feared he might vanish at any moment. “I am Falcontail. This is my daughter, Little Sage. She held out her hand to the young woman shivering beneath the mound of hides on the far side of the lodge. A little boy lay at her feet. In the gloom, Sunchaser could make out only their pale faces. “And this is my grandson, Four Darts.”
The” boy looked worse than his mother. His eyes rolled aimlessly and his skin had a mottled flush. He moved his lips in soundless words.
“How old is Four Darts?” Sunchaser asked as he went to kneel by the boy’s side. He pulled back the heavy hides and put a cool hand on Four Darts’s bare chest. The flesh was very hot.
Falcontail’s withered face tensed. “Three summers. He’s… he’s the only grandchild I have left.” She stifled her cries by covering her mouth with a translucent elderly hand.
“He’s going to be all right, Falcontail,” Sunchaser promised. “I’m sure of it. I’ve seen many of these cases before. Power can heal him.”
The old woman dropped her face in her hands and wept openly.
Sunchaser unlaced his pack and removed his abalone shell, his otter pipe and the white stone cut from the foot of Great White Giant. He arranged them in a row at the boy’s side. Then he drew out a small sack filled with a mixture of dried willow bark and poplar buds.
“Falcontail? I’ll need your help.”
She hurried to his side, her eyes wide and still shining with tears. Red flushed the high arch of her cheekbones. “Anything, Sunchaser. What do you need me to do?”
He held up the sack. “Could you boil some water and throw the contents of this sack in? When the water has boiled down to a milky fluid, we’ll start giving it to Four Darts and Little Sage. It will bring down their fevers.”
Falcontail took the sack and hobbled quickly across the lodge to collect a soapstone bowl. She set it beside the fire hearth while she used a stick to dig around in the white ash, looking for a hot ember. She scraped all the cold coals to the side and mounded the ones that glowed in the center of the hearth, then added kindling. Fire crackled, and the little flames threw a wavering orange halo over the interior of the lodge. Falcontail added more wood to the flames. Sunchaser’s eyes took in the faded paintings on the walls: Above-Old-Man with his single eye open wide and shining silver, followed by different shades of red crescents, until Above-Old-Man’s eye closed completely and a black circle stood silhouetted against a charcoal-gray background.
Such beautiful, painstaking work. He wished that Kestrel could see it. He could imagine her face, soft and smiling. Her expression always became tender when she looked upon careful artistry.
“Sunchaser?” Woodtick called from the door, where he stood anxiously. He wore a pinched expression. “Is there something I can do to help you?”
“Yes, please go and ask Kestrel, the woman I’m traveling with, to gather more willow bark and poplar buds for me. She’ll know the kinds I need. But, Woodtick, I’m worried about her and her baby. Could you make sure that she doesn’t come near the lodges? The baby is so tiny, and Kestrel—”
At the concerned tone in Sunchaser’s voice, Woodtick smiled. “Yes, I understand. I’ll make sure. I’ll go right now.” He started to duck beneath the door flap, but stopped and wet his lips before he slowly straightened up. “Did you … did you say her name was Kestrel!”
Sunchaser had so absorbed himself in preparing Four Darts for the Healing ceremony, throwing off the boy’s hides, brushing his hair back, that he didn’t notice the chief’s horrified tone. “Yes. She’s setting up our camp in the aspen grove to the east of the village. Hurry Woodtick. Everyone who is feverish will need this willow-and-poplar tea. It would be best if we could hang a large boiling bag over the plaza fire pit. That way, anyone who needs it can get to it quickly.”
Woodtick swallowed hard. He jerked a nod. His voice came out soft, hesitant. “Yes. I’ll… I’ll tell… Kestrel.” He ducked beneath the lodge door flap and his moccasins patted softly against the sand as he broke into a painful trot.