People of the Sea(205)

Every trail he took turned into a dead end! The sunlight gave no clue as to direction. The Song carried through the very air, magical, Powerful. He turned, backtracking, aware that Mammoth hunted him somewhere back along this trail.



He took yet another turn, another trail. Leading where? To another dead end? Or to the center—where short-faced Bear, in all of his huge fury, awaited him? What were all these paths? He’d lived along this shore for his entire life and he’d never seen this … . this… maze!

His weak legs failed him. He sat down hard in the middle of the trail and stared wide-eyed at the sky as the truth sank in.

A growl echoed. He turned in terror, rising again and spreading his legs to prop himself up. Bear lumbered up the trail like a swaying mountain of muscle. Blood stained his square muzzle and streaked his massive chest. When Bear saw Catchstraw, he rose on his hind legs and roared. Gleaming strands of saliva dripped from those teeth that could crush a mammoth bone into splinters.

Catchstraw howled in indignation and attacked, springing for Bear’s vulnerable throat.

Bear brought his huge paw around and effortlessly smacked Catchstraw to the side with a loud pop. The blow stunned Catchstraw, and he rolled head over tail into a pile of rocks, limp, breathing hard. Agony, like nothing he had ever experienced, burned through his body. He scrambled to rise, to escape, but Bear bounded forward and closed his jaws around Catchstraw’s wounded foreleg. Insanely, Bear shook him. Just as, not so long ago, he himself had shaken Sunchaser … Catchstraw shrieked when he heard his bones snap and felt splinters drive through his muscles. Blood welled hotly in his mouth. Had fragments of broken ribs pierced his lungs?

Abruptly, Bear spit Catchstraw out and paused to peer down at him.

Catchstraw blinked through the thickening gray haze, swallowed the flood of metallic-tasting blood that clogged his throat and whispered, “Oh, no … Sunchaser! I—I didn’t think Dreamers could change into animals. I thought only witches …”



The mammoth trumpeted, and a whole herd of mammoths responded from scattered positions in the foothills. Bear’s eyes widened, and he lifted his bloody muzzle to listen.

Catchstraw sagged against the rocks; his skull smacked dully on the ground. Through the dense layer of pine duff and earth, he heard Bear’s rhythmic steps pound away at a headlong run.

Catchstraw’s eyes felt heavy, so heavy that he couldn’t keep them open.

He didn’t know how long he lay there listening to the wind rustling through the grass, but finally rumbling rain clouds pushed across the sky and the Thunderbeings plunged down from their black bellies. With their wings glittering, the Thunderbeings swooped through the trees. Rain patted his blood-caked black fur. The scent of wet earth and pine rose powerfully. Flies were hovering over him, already laying eggs in his torn hide.

The maggots would come, along with the other scavengers. For the maggots, a dead dire wolf was a triumph of wealth. Maggots, wiggling maggots. They would Sing his praise … and Sing it… and Sing … Darkness closed in around Catchstraw. He fought it, his ruined legs pawing the air trying to run, though he knew the effort was useless. The gulls and ravens called back and forth, reporting on his every movement, and he could smell the mammoths as they quietly came to stand over him. The cow smelled like ferns and grass. The calf still bore the sweetness of milk on its breath.

Through the tears in his eyes, Catchstraw saw their blurred images. “Foolish human,” the mammoth cow said as she extended her trunk to pull up a handful of grass that grew tall beside the rocks. She tucked it into her mouth and chewed slowly.

“Did you think you could use Power for your own purposes and never have to pay the price? Either you let Power work through you to accomplish its goals or you die.



You’re lucky you lived this long. Power always wins… in the end.”

“Boy?”

The word sent starlit ripples through the Land of the Dead. All of the Star People blinked and flared, listening. Blackness flooded out around them like waves washing across an endless shore. The Man cocked his head. From far below came the faint pattering sound of rain against oak leaves and dry soil, the rich smell of blooming mountain harebell. Then a little boy’s voice responded. “… Yes, Man?”

“I want to discuss something with you.”

The Boy asked, “What is it?”

“Tomorrow your mother will Sing you back to the stars again. Does that make you happy?”

The Man could sense the Boy thinking, wondering.

Finally the Boy answered, “I don’t know, Man.”

“But I thought you hated being there in that dead body.”