People of the Sea(49)

Balsam slid forward on his belly, and a slow smile crept over his face. “He’s got to be dead after that. Should we go scrape up what’s left of him and take him back to Catchstraw?”

Horseweed thought about that. Might be a good thing to do. That way, Catchstraw could Sing the stranger’s foul soul into the rocks, where it would stay locked forever. No telling what mayhem such an evil soul could cause if it were left to wander the mountains.



Horseweed nodded. “Let’s do it.” He rose, dusted himself off and headed for their packs and weapons. Sunlight glittered with blinding intensity from the flecks of mica in the granite boulders. Balsam followed at a trot, grinning.

“We’ll be heroes. Did you think of that? People will forever Sing stories about Balsam and Horseweed, the great—”

Before they could reach the snowberry bush where their atlatls lay, a growl erupted and that mangy dog bounded from behind a boulder, its few remaining hairs sticking straight up on its back.

“Look out!” Horseweed yelled. “Run for it!”

They took off like the wind, with the dog chasing them. It snapped at their hands and heels while Horseweed and Balsam leaped deadfall and shoved each other around boulders.

“Head for that dead tree!” Horseweed shouted.

The dead fir thrust black branches into the sky just beyond the slide of boulders. Horseweed managed to shinny up it first. He climbed as high as he could and heard Balsam breathing hard behind him. Horseweed sank down atop a limb. The dog stood on its hind legs with its forepaws braced on the trunk of the tree. It had an odd howl, like a dire wolf with a fresh kill. Balsam had perched on the limb below Horseweed, low enough that if the dog jumped, it might be able to nip off the toes of his moccasins. A swallow went down Balsam’s throat, and he let out a choked whisper.

“What did you say?” Horseweed asked. “Have you got an idea?”

“Idea?” Balsam shouted. He craned his neck to look up. “No! I haven’t—”

“Well,” a cool, deep voice said from down the trail. “If I were you, boys, I’d get down from that tree pretty quick and start digging out the Dream Cave before Catchstraw sees it.”

“Who said that?” Horseweed hugged the trunk of the fir and hoisted himself up a little higher to see better. The limb on which he stood creaked and cracked; bits of bark flitted



through the sunlight as they plunged to the ground. “Answer me! Who are you?”

The man came strolling up the trail, his long white hair blowing about his shoulders. The seashells on his hide shirt glittered as he folded his arms and leaned against one of the boulders. “You’re young Horseweed, aren’t you? From Otter Clan Village?”

Horseweed shifted on the limb. It took a moment before he could fit those craggy features into his memory. When he did, sickness roiled in his stomach. What had they done … almost done? “S-Sunchaser, when did … did your hair turn white?”

“Sunchaser?” Balsam squeaked, casting a quaking glance at the stranger. “You mean …” He swallowed so hard that it sounded like a tree frog’s croak. “We’re going to die … be turned into liverworts … leeches… toads.”

“What are you doing up here, bothering me?” Sunchaser asked.

“My grandfather sent us to find you.”

“Oxbalm?” Sunchaser straightened. “Why? What’s happened?” “The mammoths are running into the seal They’re dying by the dozens,” Balsam piped up. “Grandfather thinks Mammoth Above is trying to warn us about some terrible thing that’s going to happen.”

Sunchaser’s black eyes took on a haunted gleam.

The dog backed down from the tree and silently padded past Sunchaser. When it hit the trail, it broke into a lope and sent up a chilling howl. “Yes,” Sunchaser murmured. “I know I’ve no choice, Helper.” As though very tired, he shoved away from the boulder and turned to follow. His legs moved like an old man’s, sluggish and reluctant.

“Helper?” Balsam asked when Sunchaser had disappeared from sight.



“Is that dog his Spirit Helper?” He turned to peer incredulously at Horseweed. “He has a mangy Spirit Helper?” “Who cares? Come on, Balsam!” Horseweed yelled. He jumped down from the tree and charged for the snowberry bush where his pack and atlatl lay.

Kestrel crawled out of the bitterly cold river on her hands and knees, weeping, shivering uncontrollably. No pain she had ever experienced, including childbirth, equaled this. Her body had become the enemy, on the verge of failing her. “J-just a little … farther.”