People of the Sea(193)

Horseweed lifted a hand in thanks and sprinted away into the grass-scented darkness. Moonlight slanted through the branches and fell across the hillside in bars and streaks of smoky white. Every rock and bush shone like polished shell.

He hadn’t run even a few tens of paces before he saw the sprawled figure at the base of the slope. He slowed and approached cautiously, his gaze searching the shadows for hidden figures. With a hoarse gasp, the man’s tall body spasmed, his lungs drawing air frantically.

Horseweed approached warily and knelt to get a closer look. “Tannin?”

The man’s throat gaped. Blood had puddled around his head. How had he lived so long? For one brief instant, Tannin’s panicked eyes met Horse weed’s stricken stare. Then he moved his right arm up and curled shaking fingers to point to the south. A garbled cry came from his ruined throat, like a plea for help… and he died. Breath escaped his gaping lips in a final whisper.

Horseweed remained staring at his still face, serene now. “Blessed Mother Ocean, if Lambkill would murder his own brother…”

Horror possessed him. He hadn’t felt this terrified since he’d been a boy and awakened in the night to find his mother lying dead beside him. He’d run screaming for his grandparents that night. But tonight he had only his own wits to keep him safe. His hearing seemed to sharpen, like Deer listening for the almost soundless padding of Lion’s paws in the darkness.

He rose on nerveless legs and looked out across the dappled grayness of the foothills, fearing that Kestrel might already be dead. He couldn’t track Lambkill in the darkness. No one could. He would have to trust Tannin’s last gesture. They went south…

Horseweed’s eyes followed Tannin’s pointing finger to a small thicket of newly leafed-out berry vines across the



meadow. Quickly, he pulled the darts from Tannin’s quiver and shoved them into his own. Then he trotted forward on a warrior’s light feet, whispering the Mammoth Spirit Song as he ran.

Sunchaser lay beside the fire, wavering in and out of consciousness, listening to the yells and shouts, weaker and more helpless than he’d ever been in his life. His body had begun to shake uncontrollably, as though in fevered chills. But he knew that it was more from lingering fear than from loss of blood. When he’d looked into Catchstraw’s crazed eyes and seen the eyes of the dire wolf staring back, he’d cried out in horror. And Lambkill… He’d been standing there, behind Kestrel, looking just as she’d described him, old and gray and maddened with hate.

Kestrel needed him! And he could barely gather the strength to breathe. “Hurry!” That was Sumac. “Dizzy Seal, find me some cord so I can tie off his wounds! If we don’t stop this blood from pouring out of him—”

“Here, take my belt.”

Sunchaser felt someone lift his right arm. When the cord was jerked tight, he groaned.

“Oxbalm,” Sumac cried, “give me your belt, too!”

Sunchaser blacked out briefly, then heard the roar of the wind as it rushed through the forest like a flock of enraged Thunderbeings. Tree branches cracked against each other and moaned, as though frightened by the force of the sudden storm. It took all of his will to raise his eyelids enough to gaze upward. The golden glare of the flames blinded him to the sky. Had clouds moved in? Or was this the trick of a desperate witch?

“Which way did Catchstraw go?” Oxbalm yelled. “Who saw him?”



“I did!” Dizzy Seal responded. “He ran down the western trail and veered off into the trees near Harrier’s camp.”

Sunchaser struggled to force himself to think. Think! How could he best help Kestrel and Horseweed, and battle Catchstraw at the same time? Would Catchstraw change himself into Dire Wolf again? Yes… yes, undoubtedly. If he could find the time and the courage. In the body of Dire Wolf, he would be able to run all the way to the seacoast, even injured as severely as he was. If he could find a place where he could rest and lick his wounds, he would be a far more dangerous enemy when he returned to face Sunchaser the next time.

“Wolfdreamer?” he murmured weakly. “Help me. Help me find the strength. You know what I must do … and it takes so much strength. I have to call the animals. To … to call their Power into myself—”

“What?” Sumac asked. Her breath felt warm on his cheek as she leaned close to his mouth. “What did you say, Sunchaser?” He could smell the fragrance of yucca soap in her hair and hear the fear in her voice. But he couldn’t respond.

He focused his soul and called, Wolfdreamer, Wolfdreamer, will you help me? I beg you… help me… help me to draw Catchstraw into the Dream.