People of the Sea(202)

Kestrel ran a hand through her black hair and shook her head. “No. I… I want to keep my dead son close to me tonight. So he knows I haven’t abandoned him again. I can’t explain it, Sumac, but I think he needs me.”

Sumac lowered her eyes. “Yes, I know what you must be feeling. After my granddaughter died, I sat up with her all night, making sure she was warm. Let me get you those hides. Is there anything else you will need?”

“No. Thank you. Not tonight. But… tomorrow I must prepare both Tannin and my son so that they’ll be ready for the journey to the Land of the Dead. Will you help me Sing their souls to the Star People?”

“The whole village will help. But, Kestrel, haven’t you already Sung your son’s soul—”

“A long time ago. But I’m afraid, Sumac. Lambkill claimed that he’d called the baby’s soul back and tied it to this body. I—I have to make absolutely certain that my son isn’t trapped here. He deserves the chance to be born again.”

Kestrel reached out and placed a hand on Lambkill’s pack. She swore she could feel a tiny hand desperately reaching back to her, struggling to touch her. She lifted the pack again and cradled her son against her breasts. The desperation ebbed away.

“Sumac? I know I gave my little girl to you, but—”

“Let me get her and give her back.” Sumac grinned toothlessly as she rose. “Cloud Girl will be happy to see you. She’s been whimpering all night.” “You are a kind woman. Sumac? I’m not sure, but I’ve been hearing a voice, trying to tell me… perhaps you will know.” Kestrel reached into the pack and removed a carved ivory doll—a small figure that brought a gasp to Sumac’s lips.

“Where did you get it?”

“From Lambkill’s pack. Do you know the doll?”

Sumac’s jaw trembled and tears welled in her faded old eyes. “It… it belongs to my granddaughter, Mountain Lake.



My grandson placed the doll on her burial litter after the mammoths killed her. Where did Lambkill… how could he … how could anyone take it from a dead child?”

“We will return it to Mountain Lake. In the Land of the Dead.” Kestrel smiled sadly. “My son will take it to her. I know he will. He’ll explain to them all about Lambkill.” She tenderly reached into the pack and touched the hand of the mummified boy. “Won’t you, my son?”

Sumac watched her through sober eyes. “Let me go get Cloud Girl for you. Tomorrow we will Sing and try to make many things right again. And as soon as Sunchaser can move, the Otter clan will leave here, Kestrel. Leave everything behind and return to Mother Ocean’s side… where we belong.” She shook her head. “This village has been tainted by witchcraft. It will bring nothing but heartache and sadness to anyone who sets foot in it.”

As if in answer, a faint tremor shook the earth—a warning, perhaps, of things to come. The ridgepole shuddered and creaked, while the hide walls trembled. The conversations outside the lodge halted abruptly as a soft rumble rose. Kestrel held her breath until it stopped.

Sumac’s eyes widened. Softly she said, “I hear you, Quaking Earth Spirits. Just let us leave this place and you can slide it right into the valley and bury it!”

Sumac ducked beneath the door flap, and Kestrel sat quietly, staring at Sunchaser and holding her son. Down the length of the lodge, people slept beneath mounds of hides, their faces reflecting the burnished gleam of the low flames in the fire pit. Baskets hung from the pine poles that made up the lodge frame, and nets filled with beautiful, glittering shells lined the base of the walls. Carved wooden dolls stuck out between the fingers of sleeping children. As Kestrel looked around, she saw all the things that created a home.

But she would be leaving this place very soon. Homeless again. And she didn’t know where she would go.



Kestrel placed her fingers on Sunchaser’s white braid, trying not to awaken him this time. “Where will we go, Sunchaser? Where will you be happy?”





Forty-five




Catchstraw loped painfully down the trail. His huge paws patted the ground silently, despite the awkward gait caused by his wounds.

Ahead, he could see Mother Ocean glimmering beneath the pastel touch of Dawn Child. The waves rolled and winked purple, as if strewn with crushed mussel shell. The pointed tips of the fir trees lining the shore had just caught the first rays of morning. Birds chirped. The sounds of an awakening Whalebeard Village eddied around him; dogs barked to the squeals of children and the reprimanding shouts of women.

Catchstraw slowed. He’d stopped bleeding, but his powerful muscles screamed in agony, as if hot coals filled the dart and knife injuries. He’d been trotting all night long and had neither seen nor scented anyone pursuing him. But the wind had come up with such a fury that it might have blown away the distinctive smells of humans. To make sure that no one was behind, he kept turning to glance over his shoulder. The shapes of a brightening forest met his searching gaze, but nothing else.