People of the Weeping Eye(93)
Sitting demurely before the fire, Whippoorwill wore a plain brown pullover dress. Her long hair hung about her like a cape. She held a stick with which she prodded the fire, but showed no reaction to having heard a thing.
Did I Dream it?
But no, another call came from outside. “Paunch? Are you there?”
“Yes. Here. Who is it?” By Abba Mikko, he could see only darkness between the gaps in the door hanging. At that moment, Cherry Root, Amber Bead’s nephew, ducked through the door. He wore a thick blanket around his shoulders. His feet were wrapped in fabric against the chill. He puffed, like a man who was very cold.
“What time is it?” Paunch demanded.
“Middle of the night,” Cherry Root told him, panting and rubbing his arms. “I have a message from my uncle. He said to tell you: There’s news. Crabapple was caught. Smoke Shield tortured him. They know everything.”
A terrible emptiness opened in his gut. “Everything?”
“That’s what my uncle said. He told me to repeat every word so that I got it right. Oh, and he said one other thing.”
“What was that?”
“Run.”
Paunch closed his eyes against the sick sensation. “Whippoorwill, get your things. We must warn your mother. She and Berry must hide. They will search each of us out.”
“Why?” Cherry Root demanded. “What is this all about?”
“Your uncle didn’t tell you?”
“No, no one has told me anything.”
“Trust me, boy, you don’t want to know.” Paunch tried to make his sleep-foggy head work. “Does anyone know you came here?”
“Uncle swore me to secrecy. He just said to hurry.”
“And well you did.” He paused. “Did anyone see you?”
“No! It’s the middle of the night!”
“Then be home and in bed before morning. And don’t let anyone see you getting there, either.”
“But I’m cold. Can’t I just warm up before—”
“No. Go now, and quickly.” He stood, reaching for his breechcloth. “And for your sake, Cherry Root, if anyone asks, you were home asleep. All night. You know nothing about me. Do you understand? Your life may depend on it.”
“But what is this—”
“I told you. You don’t want to know!” He hurried to the baskets at the side of the room. Frantically, he stuffed his things in his pack. Any article that he might need. “By Abba Mikko’s breath, boy, believe me, you’ll live a longer, far happier life if you forget that this night ever happened. Now, go!”
He was fumbling, dropping things in his panic. Cherry Root’s exit went almost unnoticed. “Whippoorwill, you must pack, too.”
“I was packed long ago, Grandfather. From the moment I learned of your foolishness.”
He paused. “Why are you here?”
“To fulfill the vision.” She looked up at him, eyes like pools in the firelight.
“You … knew?”
“I have made a hot fire. By the time they get here, it will appear that we just left. Grandfather, this was not our time. It wasn’t meant to be.”
“Well, when will it be?”
“When the Power is right.”
“Well, if it has any pity for me, the time is now.”
She laughed, voice like a songbird’s. “Oh, Grandfather, how silly of you. Power has no pity.”
He finished sorting through his things. “Where shall we go?”
“West, Grandfather. Into the hills beyond the river. To the old places. There we can Dance with the ghosts of our Ancestors.”
He stuffed his pack full, tying it closed. Smoke Shield! If he knew, it would only be a matter of luck that kept Paunch from the square. And should that luck not favor him, he’d be seeing the ghosts of the Ancestors himself—and after a most unpleasant death.
“How funny of you, Grandfather. Luck is as fickle as Power.”
He knew he hadn’t spoken. When he looked at her, her eyes gleamed with hidden knowledge.
“You should be married, not running like a frightened deer in a drive.”
“Oh, I’m married already,” she answered, rising lithely to her feet. “I consummated myself to destiny long ago.”
Button snakeroot contained a powerful cleansing medicine. The bitter root was chopped fine, boiled in water to release its Spirit, and drunk when just cool enough to keep from scalding a man’s throat. Within moments, its Power was released. The effects were immediate.
Smoke Shield felt the telltale tickle in his throat. His mouth began to water, and he crouched over the bowl. Within moments, his stomach pumped, and he vomited forcefully. Again and again, his gut convulsed. Gasping for breath, he used a rag to wipe his face and leaned back on his haunches.