People of the Sea(85)
Oxbalm. said, “The best trail that leads to that area of the foothills leaves from near Whalebeard Village. We must stop there tonight, tell them where we’re going, so no one will worry about—”
“We can’t stop!” Catchstraw said. “Mammoth Above wants us in the hills as quickly as our legs will carry us. When we find the trail, we’ll just go straight up it. No stopping at Whalebeard Village.”
Oxbalm’s eyes narrowed, and Horseweed stopped suddenly, his heart pounding. But then Oxbalm smiled and said, “As you wish.”
Horseweed shook his head. The world suddenly looked very frightening.
Kestrel stumbled and caught herself by seizing a fir bough. “Blessed Spirits,” she whispered. She lowered one hand to rub her eyes. Thick fog blanketed the forest, and shimmering drops of water had formed on the needles of the evergreens. Every time the wind gusted, water cascaded down over her. Cold and weariness had sapped her strength; she had been running for two days and had had no sleep. Sometime last night, maneuvering through the starlit forest, she had lost the game trail she’d been following. Out of instinct, she’d kept heading downhill, knowing that the sea had to be out there somewhere, but now she wondered.
Dark shapes of moss-covered deadfall wavered in the mist. Logs and old branches stood canted at odd angles around her, ten hands high. Duff sank underfoot, soft and forgiving. Mushrooms made thick clumps around the bases of the trees. How would she ever find her way through this forest without leaving signs of her passage? Kestrel let go of the bough and concentrated on the fallen log directly in front of her. The forest floor had turned treacherous. Wet. Icy in places. She dared not step up onto the log for fear that her moccasins would slip out from under her. She might be able to stand the fall—assuming that Cloud Girl didn’t get hurt—but she couldn’t risk leaving a scar on the bark. But how could she get around the log? Her mind refused to work. Even the simplest of problems halted her progress for long fingers of time while she tried to reason them out.
Numbly, she ducked beneath a tangle of dead limbs and crawled through. Despite her care, she failed to see the brittle twig that raked across the healing knife gash on her forehead and ripped it open again.
Kestrel cried out. Warm blood trickled down the line of her jaw. Angry, she slapped at the twig to snap it off and inhaled a deep breath to calm herself. As she continued forward, the spongy carpet of pine duff squished beneath her hands and knees. Cloud Girl whimpered softly in her rabbit-fur sack on Kestrel’s back.
“It’s all right, my daughter,” Kestrel reassured her, glancing up at the towering redwoods that rose into the sky. She could just make out the shapes of their limbs when the fog shifted. “Today we’ll find shelter. Then we’ll sleep. I promise.”
A new mound of deadfall met her weary gaze. Tiny fir trees had grown up through the weave of dead branches, forming an impenetrable wall.
Kestrel slammed a fist into the duff and choked back the tearful rage that swelled in her throat. She longed to lie down and cry herself to sleep. What harm would it do to rest for a while? Yes … In her head, a pitiful voice echoed, “What harm?” I could dig a hole in this soft duff. It will be dry beneath. I could curl up and be warm. Warm! She brushed damp black hair away from her face. What harm would it do? Pleasant thoughts spun dreamily through her sluggish mind…
Violently, she pushed to her feet on trembling legs. Terror had gripped her in cruel fists. “Where’s the trail, Above-Old Man? Help me! Where’s the trail?”
A squirrel chirred, and Kestrel heard a loud crack! She turned breathlessly. The squirrel climbed down the tree, jumped to the ground and ran to retrieve the pine cone it had dropped. Sinking its teeth into it, the squirrel dragged the cone up onto a fallen log and proceeded to demolish it, eating the seeds as it went. In spite of herself, Kestrel smiled.
But her smile faded when she saw movement behind the squirrel. A huge eye peered at her through the mist. As she watched, the mammoth’s hairy trunktose and twined through the limbs high overhead to pluck a string of moss from a branch.
How odd to see a mammoth here in the forest. Mammoths lived in the grassy lowlands.
“Hello, Mother,” Kestrel whispered.
The mammoth chomped its moss, eyed Kestrel warily, then turned and disappeared—as silent as the fog itself.
Kestrel crawled back through the dead branches and wended around until she found the mammoth’s tracks, imprinted in the mud of a game trail.
A wide trail.
How had she missed it? If she’d just walked twenty hands lower on the slope … In the path ahead, the mammoth stood as if waiting. Kestrel shook her head, trying to clear the numbness she felt. Could she be dreaming? The mammoth looked ethereal, hazy. Maybe she had lain down, against her better judgment, and fallen asleep? When Kestrel moved toward it, the mammoth began walking again, heading down the trail. Streamers of fog spun silver whirlwinds in its wake.