Lambkill stared at the fire, assuming a relaxed posture. “Yes, we must talk to this Catchstraw. The four of us should go to see him at dawn tomorrow.”
Harrier laced his fingers before him and nodded. “I think that’s wise. Ravenlight won’t be there, though. Tonight it’s his turn to run the western trail, searching for your wife. If he’s back by dawn, he’ll want to sleep. But I’ll go with you.”
Thirty-nine
On her stomach, Kestrel moved with the stealth of Bobcat through the moldering deadfall, her ears straining to pierce the sounds of wind through the oak leaves and the croaking of frogs in the meadow. Powerful scents of spring flowers and deer dung stung her nostrils.
You just imagined it. She’d been telling herself that for half a hand of time, but the voice had imprinted itself on her soul like a poisonous taste on her tongue.
It’s because you’re so close. That’s why you think you hear his voice. It’s not real, Kestrel. It can’t be real… please, Mother Ocean, don’t let it be real!
Cloud Girl slept in her sack, and Kestrel prayed she would stay asleep. Darkness, the rustle of the wind and the sound of male voices from the camp beyond the trees should cover any sounds that she herself made. The voices were unfamiliar, but for a moment, for just a brief moment, Kestrel could have sworn she’d heard Lambkill’s gruff laugh-.
Warily, she dragged herself up to a tangle of brush and parted the branches. On top of the hill stood two large hide lodges. People moved through the flickering auras of
plaza fires. She heard children laughing and dogs growling playfully. A woman was speaking in a low, melodic voice.
Otter Clan Village? As if being crushed beneath the weight of Mammoth’s foot, her chest ached. She longed to rise and run all the way up the trail. But she pulled her gaze away.
Closer, a dart’s cast to the south, a small camp fire lit the shadows. Three men sat around the blaze, one lounging on his side, his back to her. Gray hair hung down his back … Kestrel began to shake with such violence that she had to concentrate on letting the branches close slowly, so they didn’t flail against each other like dry sticks rattling in the wind. Mother Ocean, oh, Mother … She clenched her hands into tight fists to still their tremor.
If the village on top of the hill belonged to the Otter Clan and they had allowed Lambkill to camp beside them, then they had already judged her guilty of the crimes her husband accused her of.
Dry sobs racked her. Kestrel curled on her side and dug her fingers into the forest duff. How soft the ground felt, and how soothing to lie here with her cheek pillowed against it. The fragrance of damp earth filtered up around her in a sweet, invisible haze.
With the stealth of an assassin, the horrifying truth sank in. . There was no haven.
There never had been.
The path that should have led her to the safety of Iceplant’s family had led to nothing. Nothing at all. She had merely imagined the sanctuary … in the same way she had imagined suckling babies before she’d had any, or the way she could look out across the meadow down the hill and imagine it covered with deep snow that wouldn’t be there for seven more moons.
She had built the haven from the wisps of her soul, and her soul was the only place where it had ever really existed. How could she so desperately want to weep for the loss of something that had never been?
Kestrel’s breath trembled in her lungs. A queasy emptiness seeped through her. She’d known the truth for weeks. But she’d denied it, even when it had been thrown in her face. For two days she’d been rehearing Woodtick’s voice when he’d said, “Sunchaser? About the woman you’re with… this Kestrel. Who is she?” He’d heard her name before. She had known that just from the way he’d said it. And, like a fool, she’d shoved the warning out of her thoughts.
“Oh, Cloud Girl, I’m sorry. Mother’s so sorry.”
Her mind raced, considering options, seeking a future already denied her. Coming to the Otter Clan had been a mistake. Lambkill had been bound to realize someday that she would seek it out.
Why didn’t go straight north once we’d crossed the Big Spoonwood River? If I’d walked in the shallows, he’d never have been able to track us, and by now, we’d be in the country of the Ice Ghosts.
But then she would not have met Sunchaser.
And even if Lambkill murdered her tonight, she would never regret that. But Cloud Girl… what of Cloud Girl?
Her eyes were drawn to the hilltop again. One old woman had hobbled out to the edge of the crest and stood with her arms crossed, peering westward into the darkness. Firelight created an amber halo around her. She had a worried, an almost frightened, expression on her withered face. Was she the clan matron? Kestrel wondered. A great-aunt, or great-grandmother, of Iceplant’s?