People of the Sea(183)
The argument around the fire died. Lambkill spun and shouted, “Who’s there? What’s happening?”
People whirled to stare. A boy near the old woman lunged to his feet and shouted, “Horseweed!”
“Horseweed,” Kestrel echoed from where she leaned over Sunchaser, “let’s… let’s put the travois down. We’re close enough, aren’t we?”
Her stomach curdled. In the subdued light of the fire, she really saw Sunchaser for the first time, and all of Horse weed’s comforting words about how the Dreamer would not die flew away like petals in the wind. Blood-soaked hair framed his gray face. He lay canted slightly to the ‘eft, with his right cheek resting on the travois frame. His lips and the flesh around his eyes had turned a pale blue. His nostrils moved with swift, shallow breaths, like a man fighting to breathe at all. “Oh, Spirits… Horseweed, put the travois down!”
Horseweed immediately levered the travois off the rock and laid it flat. When he came around to stand beside Kestrel, he had his atlatl gripped in his hand, and fear shone in his eyes. “Is he all right?”
“I don’t know.” Kestrel dropped to her knees, steadying herself before she collapsed. She lifted Sunchaser’s limp hand from where it had fallen to the ground and put it back on the travois.
“He’s going to be all right, Kestrel,” Horseweed soothed. “Really. I’ve seen wounds like this before. He’ll live. And my grandparents won’t let anyone hurt you.” But he glanced over his shoulder at the people around the fire, pulled a dart from the quiver on his back and nocked it in the hook of his atlatl. “Don’t worry. You’re safe here.”
“I won’t be safe until my husband is dead, Horseweed. He hates me. He’ll never let me go. And Sunchaser… may Mammoth Above help him.” She looked down again at Sunchaser’s sunken face, and the thought of a world without him was more than she could bear. Exhaustion and despair had emptied her of tears. All she could do was to gaze at him with anguish in her eyes. “Horseweed!” The old woman ran across the plaza, her gray braid swinging back and forth with her uneven stride. She’d sucked her lips in over her toothless gums. Behind her, a line of people followed, including Oxbalm. Scents of the dust and smoke that clung to their hide clothing strengthened as they neared.
Kestrel tenderly smoothed her fingers over Sunchaser’s face, mouthing, I love you. Live, Sunchaser. Not just for me, but for everyone who needs you.
She closed her eyes for a moment, mustering her courage. The dew had soaked her moccasins; they chafed at her toes as she rose to her feet. Standing side by side, she and Horseweed blocked the view of the travois.
Horseweed’s chest expanded with a deep breath. He whispered, “Easy, Kestrel. Don’t move too fast or say too much. Use your head.”
Lambkill let out a hoarse roar when he-saw Kestrel, and her knees went weak. He took two running steps forward, but Tannin grabbed his arm and jerked him back. They shouted at each other and began a shoving match, which the man in
the red shirt tried unsuccessfully to break up.
Lambkill finally calmed down and shook off Tannin’s hand. He stood breathing hard, hatred on his ugly face. Tannin spoke to him in a gruff voice—probably advising him not to act rashly.
Kestrel watched them for a moment, knowing that since she stood on the edges of the fire’s glow, they probably wouldn’t be able to make out her features. Lambkill looked older, his wrinkles deeper, his flat nose broader. His heavy jowls hung more loosely. The gray hair that brushed his shoulders fell in a stringy mass—as though he hadn’t bathed in a moon. Soot and dirt covered his elk-hide pants and shirt. Tannin, tall and burly, hadn’t changed at all, except for the look in his eyes. Kestrel didn’t see hatred there, and she’d expected to. If anything, she saw pity.
And it struck at her heart. Had his anger finally died, even after all she had done to his brother? The red-shirted youth muttered something to Lambkill, and when Lambkill nodded, he stalked across the plaza like a bull elk in rut. Dark circles of sweat stained the leather of his shirt beneath the arms and around his collar. When he was twenty paces from Horseweed, Helper bounded from the crowd and blocked his path, barking and snarling viciously. People faded back, creating a semicircle around Harrier, watching and pointing.
“Get this dog out of my way! Whose dog is this?”
“That’s Sunchaser’s dog, Harrier!” Horseweed yelled. “Leave him alone!”
“Despicable brat! I’ve never heard of Sunchaser having a dog. Get it out of my way before I slit its throat!” He pulled his knife from his belt sheath.