People of the Silence(260)

“But she looked real, Dune,” Poor Singer insisted. “I swear it.”

“Well,” Cornsilk said, “the only way to know is to keep searching.”

Ironwood heaved a sigh. “Do you still think it has to be one of these peaks, Poor Singer?”

The youth lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sunlight and scanned the splintered granite pinnacles. “They look different without the snow, and the meadows have greened, the aspens are all leafed out, but I’m almost certain.”

“Good enough,” Ironwood replied, and took Night Sun’s hand again. “I’ll lead.”

They climbed the game trail, passing through a whispering grove of aspens, and emerged into another alpine meadow. This one sloped downhill. A fringe of barberry bushes ringed the tall grasses.

* * *

When rain began to fall again, the thick-muscled man stopped stacking firewood to catch his breath and caught sight of five people climbing the game trail. He frowned at the bobbing line of heads, wiped his sweating brow on his elkhide sleeve, and flexed his strong hands. His broad, tattooed cheeks and gray hair glistened with dampness. Scars from old battles puckered his flesh. He glanced at the gnarled war club where it lay propped against a tree, the copper spike gleaming.

He turned and called, “Nightshade?”

She shoved the brush aside and ducked out of the narrow cave entrance, standing tall, her red sleeves billowing in the stiff mountain wind. It still surprised him that she insisted upon wearing red, for the tradition came from a people they had both long ago abandoned.

Lifting a hand to her forehead, she examined the visitors climbing through the meadow. Their laughter echoed. As though in response, Thunderbird roared and the drizzle turned to a downpour. Rain cascaded down the sides of the mountains, making the granite shine. Nightshade smiled.

“At last, Badgertail. It took them long enough.”

He said, “Were you expecting them, my priestess?”

Off to the side, where willows were fed by a seep, came the thrashing sounds of children playing. Three shapes moved through the pines, their laughter joyous.

“Yes, my kidnapper.” Nightshade lowered her hand and smiled. “I’ve been expecting them for a long time.”