“I’ll offer her shelter?” Oxbalm asked indignantly. “What will the surrounding villages think? I can’t…”
His voice faded as one of Sumac’s, gray brows arched. She fixed him with a look that would have sent Grandfather Brown Bear fleeing for his life. “Sumac, I can’t do that. You must understand—”
A low murmur of disapproving voices rose, and Oxbalm looked at the Dance circle. Catchstraw had dropped out and let someone take his place. Several of the oldest people, people who had taken part in Dances that Sunchaser had led, made hissing noises and glowered.
How we miss you, Sunchaser… Sunchaser never stopped Dancing. On the last day, the fourth day, the people around him had to support his weight, practically hauling his body every step of the way, but he remained in the circle. And when the Dance ended”, he fell down nearly dead, but still Singing. It made people proud. Nighthawk craned his neck, trying to see what the ruckus was about. “Looks like Catchstraw’s age is catching up with him. He’s the first one down.”
Oxbalm glanced at Sumac. She quirked her mouth. She hadn’t taken her eyes from her husband. Flustered, he shouted, “All right, woman! I’ll grant this Kestrel a few days of rest. Are you satisfied?”
“You’re a good and fair man.” Sumac patted Oxbalm’s hand fondly. “We can’t condemn her until we speak with her. Maybe she didn’t commit incest. Maybe her husband is just mad at her and trying to hurt her. Who knows?”
Oxbalm replied, “You always give people too much of a chance. Remember, I warn you about this. If we shelter that woman, the surrounding villages will shriek like a flock of frightened auks.”
“Indeed they will.” Nighthawk grinned broadly. Around the fire, the Dance circle had split and re-formed into two circles, one inside the other. Another two dozen people had joined in. “But keep in mind what Lambkill has promised-that if you keep this Kestrel long enough for him to arrive, you’ll be rich!”
Sumac gave Nighthawk an unflattering look and tugged on Oxbalm’s hand. “Come along,” she said. “It’s time we did our own Dancing to pray the mammoths back into the world.”
She pulled Oxbalm to his feet and led him through the wavering fog to the circle around the fire.
Twelve
Through the noisy trill of crickets, horses could be heard whinnying. Tannin could see them in the polished glow of evening, dark shapes charging across the rolling hills at full speed, their tails flying. The rhythmic pounding of their hooves rumbled into the heart of the earth. Like waves, the herd flowed into a valley only to surge over the crest of the next hill.
He smiled and swung the dead grouse in his hand as he made his way up the willow-choked draw toward the hollow in the bank where Lambkill waited. Foxes yipped in the distance, calling to one another now that twilight was descending in a blue haze.
He had never been this far west, and the country—with its strange new trees and plants—fascinated him. He took his time, studying everything in his path. Especially after today, he needed time to walk and appreciate the beauty. They had searched and searched this side of the river, trying to pick up Kestrel’s trail. Without luck.
“She may have lost us this time,” Tannin said to himself, hoping fervently that she had. After his first wave of anger had passed, he’d lost all desire to see her harmed. As long as she stayed gone, it would be enough for him. And he sincerely believed that Lambkill needed to go home, to speak with his family and to consult a Dreamer.
A dull fear had begun to probe at Tannin’s guts, fear that Evil Spirits had entered his brother’s body and gobbled up his soul.
He had heard of such things happening. A very long time ago, an ancient Dreamer named Hollowhair had told Tannin that a person could always tell when evil had sneaked into a friend. The friend seemed to change suddenly … to grow violent and do things he’d never done before. And if the Evil Spirits stayed for any length of time, the person’s soul would simply die and only the body would be left: alive, but not his own.
Lambkill had changed. He’d become someone that Tannin did not know. This afternoon when Lambkill had gone into a screaming rage, Tannin had wondered helplessly if he shouldn’t just tie Lambkill up and haul him home on a travois.
He loved his brother deeply, the affection going beyond simple blood bonds. Lambkill had been the most remarkable of brothers, a man to be proud of, to emulate. And he’d never forgotten Tannin when he returned from daring trips to the north. That magical pack always contained something special just for Tannin; LambkilFs eyes would gleam with enjoyment as he told Tannin the story of the object and of how it related to an adventure among strange peoples.