People of the Sea(176)
“You mean that the heart of the maze is a tangle? A knot? I know it has always been the twists and turns that have frightened me, but I thought the Land of the Dead was the heart of the maze.”
“Monster Rock Eagle keeps watch over something far more precious. He guards the Center.”
“The center of what?”
“Life. And Death. To unravel the knot and find the Center, you must live Monster Rock Eagle’s death, at the same time that he is dying your life. Don’t you see? When you’ve both died, there will no longer be any Dreamer to seek him, nor will there be any Eagle to block the path. The point where the two of you meet in death is the Center.”
“But what’s there … at the Center, I mean?”
“Emptiness. Just Emptiness. I can make the explanation no simpler than that, Sunchaser.”
Wolfdreamer got to his feet and stretched his back muscles. Scents of greasewood and prickly pear blossoms blew in with a whirlwind of dust. The whirlwind bobbed and careened across the plaza, then struck the sage and dissipated into a reddish haze that evaporated as it floated upward.
Sunchaser stood beside Wolfdreamer and folded his arms over his chest as though to keep all the confusion locked inside.
Wolfdreamer gave him a pained smile. “You make things too hard. Dreamer. Whatever convinced you that the lines of the maze were the path? The lines are only markers on the way. They’ll just lead you in circles. You have to walk the empty spaces between the lines to get anywhere.”
“How can I walk the spaces between the strands of a knot, Wolfdreamer?”
Wolfdreamer threw back his head and laughed harder than he had laughed in cycles. It felt good to laugh. And to be here in the warm sunshine, bathed in the sacred fragrances of the desert. Oh, how he cherished them. “Everything is connected to everything else, Sunchaser. Remember?”
“That sounds like a knot if ever I heard one.”
Wolfdreamer turned and gazed at Sunchaser, praying, hoping that the Dreamer had at last understood, hoping he now saw that the strands of the Starweb that connected all living things and the slithering, disconnected lines of the maze were the same… but the Dreamer only met his gaze with a pained frown.
Wolfdreamer sighed. “It’s time for you to go home, Sunchaser. Go home and think about it. Don’t forget what we discussed here. First you must challenge the witch who’s trying to kill you, and then you’ll be free to continue Dreaming, working for Mammoth Above. But go home now, Sunchaser …”
Forty
Horseweed drifted through the trees like Owl’s shadow, stepping toe first, checking the ground before he lowered his heel. He couldn’t even hear his own movements, so he knew that she couldn’t either. Nevertheless, if she turned at just the right moment, she might catch sight of him.
He slowed down, stopping briefly behind a tree trunk so that he blended with the night. The young woman and the dog followed a deer trail that wound from meadow to meadow through the timber. Two fingers of time ago, he’d seen her face reflecting in the moonlight and had started following her. She didn’t have a baby with her, but she carried an atlatl and a long dart in her right hand.
Kestrel! He felt almost certain that she was Trader Lambkill’s wife. She fit the description perfectly: tiny, with long black hair and a turned-up nose. Her beauty stunned him, as did her dress. He’d seen that shirt many times before. Sunchaser wore it when he led the Mammoth Spirit Dances. Had she stolen it? Maybe she’d killed Sunchaser—the way she’d killed Harrier’s brother?—and taken the shirt. Anger and fear warmed his veins.
The woman he saw now seemed incapable of the strength necessary to drive a tapir-bone stiletto into a grown man’s chest with her bare hands. But looks could be deceiving. Horseweed took a dart from the quiver on his back and nocked his atlatl. His steps took on the caution of Cougar stalking a wounded bear.
Bending low, he crept by a lichen-covered boulder. On the other side, he cautiously peered around the gritty curve
of the stone. The woman had stopped and crouched down to touch something on the ground. She lifted her fingers and stared at them. A soft, choking sound came from her. The dog bounded back and forth in front of her. It didn’t bark, but it seemed frantic.
The woman stood. “Where is he, Helper? Take me to him. Hurry!”
She ran forward as the dog led the way through the dense underbrush and into the lurking shadows of the towering pines.
When they’d almost vanished behind a huge tumbled pile of dead wood, Horseweed rose. His pulse roared in his ears.
Helper? Sunchaser’s dog was named Helper. He recalled Balsam’s ironic question that day high in the mountains: “Is that dog his Spirit Helper? He has a mangy Spirit Helper?” This dog didn’t have mange. Could it be the same animal?