Voices hissed and laughed, urging her to run.
“You must survive the trial, if you are ever to find your husband,” one of the voices said.
She opened her eyes to see the half-man–half-deer figure of Deer Man standing on the water. He was watching her, eyes glowing yellow, antlers rising from the top of his head. He stood on the moving liquid, waves washing through his feet.
“I know.”
“Are you strong enough?”
“I have seen the end. I know the final Dance.”
“But is your husband real? Or illusion?” Deer Man asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Beware of the blind man. He has Power all his own.”
A tendril of fear wound around her. For a moment, she felt lost, disconnected. Her souls floated like a canoe cast adrift on the current.
She started, hearing Trader’s voice behind her. It intermingled with the whisperings of Power that hovered around her. She bowed her head, souls crying silently within her. It was all so impossible. Power lied. She knew that. But truth and falsehood were woven through the universe like threads in a fine fabric.
When she looked up, Deer Man was as gone as the Kaskinampo.
She had felt incredible relief as Trader and Old White had doled out the Trade, handing each piece to Buffalo Mankiller before he extended it to one of the young men who had labored so hard to pull them upriver. Each piece had been valuable—enough to compensate the men more than fairly for their labor and danger.
She shivered, aware that she was being watched. For a moment she thought it was Deer Man, but no such figure stood upon the water. Looking around, she could see no one. Behind her, in the camp, Trader and Old White huddled over a fire. So who had eyes upon her? Cocking her head, she listened as the rustling whisper of the voices grew still. She sniffed, reached out, and fingered the air as if to touch the Watcher’s presence. Then she placed the familiarity.
She turned her head, looking upriver. The blind man has Power all his own. He is there, watching you.
Deer Man’s warning, however, wasn’t unexpected. In the Dream Vision, she had seen the blind man and felt his startled reaction to her awareness of him. He was old, gray haired, and wore a cloth tied around his sightless eyes. The skin that she could see bore hideous burn scars, and the fingers were missing on his right hand. When he had looked up, Power came swirling out of the Dream to obscure his form. The last thing she saw was the beautiful shell gorget that he wore around his neck. In the middle was a circle that contained three spiraled arms that curled together in a point. The surrounding ring had been divided and contained eight smaller circles. The spaces between them were dotted, like stars. The edge had been scalloped, as if portraying clouds.
“Who are you?” he had called out from the shining haze that hid him.
“I am Two Petals,” she had told him in return.
His Power had grown, and with it, he closed the portal through which she had seen him.
Sister Datura had just Danced away and clapped her hands.
He was close now. She had felt him as they traveled ever southward, but not like this. His presence hung there, just below the horizon, like a gathering black storm. Men were coming, warriors, their hands caressing weapons. Fear and worry burned brightly around their hearts. They were the Watcher’s arms, reaching out to enfold her.
“Are you there?” she asked the empty river. “Can you hear me?”
She turned her head, listening, but for once the voices were silent. She could feel the Power in the world around her, changing, ebbing and flowing. The future that she knew as the past was moving inexorably around her. Something was coming, going, receding as it roared ever closer.
Swimmer’s sniffing nose prodded at her leg, and she looked down to find warm brown eyes and a wagging tail. “There is no time for us, is there?”
Swimmer seemed happy with the moment.
Why can’t I?
Her fingers reached out, curling into a tight grip. Try as she might, she could no more grasp the present than she could the very air around her.
Fragments of Song filtered through her souls, unbidden. Had the medicine box reacted to the blind man’s attention? She remembered her amazement when she first heard the Singing. The lovely voice had risen on the night air, brought to life by Trader’s gentle touch.
It knew it was going home.
She thought back to what had been; her gaze shifted longingly to the north, replaying the unwinding of the rivers she had traveled. In the eye of her souls, she imagined her house, Father, the familiar forests and fields where she had lived.
I will never go home.
A shiver washed down her spine, and someone’s hard gaze burned into her back. Wheeling, she turned, staring upriver, fully expecting to see the blind man standing there.