Suddenly, I understand. “Are you saying that Hehaka is the witch who’s hunting me? Was he the man with the Flint warriors?”
“You know where it is.”
He says the words with a strange serenity far more frightening than a shout.
“The pot? Yes, I—”
“He needs it.”
I shake my head. “Is that why he became a witch? Is that what you’re telling me? His afterlife soul is still locked in that pot?”
The Voice moves its pale hands, reclasps them. It is an inhuman gesture, as quiet as the frost. “Help him.”
“Help Hehaka?” I say angrily. “Why? Don’t you recall that he betrayed us to the old woman? I hope I never see him again. For many summers, I prayed he was dead.”
He turns toward me. Inside his hood is only darkness. Both Tutelo and Wrass have seen his face. Why won’t he show it to me? Just empty blackness fills the space where eyes, nose, and mouth should be.
“If you are to find brothers in all human beings, you must start with the most abandoned. There’s something you’ve forgotten. He has not.”
I become acutely conscious of the blood pounding in my ears. Memories struggle to rise. Images burst in my mind like bubbles on a pond—I’m back in the clearing with the other children … .
Wrass asks, “Do you know what they’ll do to you if they catch you?”
Zateri lowers her eyes, and her face flushes. “I’m not going to lie to you. I’m scared to death of what they’ll do … mostly scared of what they’ll do before they kill me. But I can stand it, Wrass. If I know you’re all safe, I can stand anything.”
A faint smile touches Wrass’ lips. “What if one of us gets injured escaping? He will need you and your Healing knowledge. I think you’re the only one of us who is not expendable, Zateri.”
Zateri’s mouth quivers. “But I—”
“You’re too valuable. Not you, Zateri.”
He does not look my way, but I feel Wrass thinking about me. Waiting for me to speak.
Baji sits up straighter, girding herself, and smooths long black hair away from her face. She knows from firsthand experience what the warriors will do to her before they kill her. How can she volunteer?
Baji says, “Me. I’m the one, Wrass. I’ll do it.”
“You?” I say in panic. “Why—”
Wrass grasps my arm to stop me from continuing. He nods at Baji. “Baji may be the only one of us who can get close enough.”
“Why do you think that?” I demand to know.
With tears in her eyes, Baji answers, “Because, silly boy, I’m beautiful. I can make the men want me enough that they’ll carry me right into their camp and sit me down by the stew pot. No matter what happens, by the end of the night, I will have dumped the Spirit plants in that pot.” Her eyes are stony, resolved to do what must be done.
I …
The Voice intrudes: “It wasn’t your fault. You must stop blaming yourself because you did not volunteer. If you had, well … we wouldn’t be standing here now.”
The emotion in the words never touches the glassy stillness of his tall body. He remains oddly motionless, as if eternity has taught him that, like the white hare hidden in the snow, survival rests in closing your eyes and freezing as solid as the drift.
When I do not respond, he turns and starts walking away through the trees.
I clench my fists. “If I can, I will help Hehaka.”
He stops. His back is to me. His hood moves in a nod, which is at best a faint imitation of an earthly gesture.
As I watch him blend with the night, there is an instant of terrible certainty where I know my Spirit Helper is an evil monster in disguise, a deceiver biding its time, waiting to leap until its chosen prey grows careless. I don’t believe I’m his prey … but I sense that I am important for his final kill.
Or perhaps I am just frightened. All men are bound in the swaddling clothes of their deepest fears, and the truth is that I am more afraid of the dead now than the living. Dancing soul lights, Spirit Helpers, ghosts—they are far more my world today than the land of the living.
Twigs crack, and I glance back over my shoulder at Taya. She has crouched down beside the toppled pine and is studying me. Waiting impatiently for me. She is certain I am mad. I can see it when she looks at me. Of course, she isn’t alone. I heard many people at the betrothal feast whispering behind their hands that the last battle was too much for me. They said it had driven my afterlife soul from my body, leaving an empty husk of a man.
Taya stands up, obviously wondering what’s taking me so long. My fingers lower to gently pet Gitchi’s head. “Let’s go back, old friend,” I whisper, and the wolf trots for Taya.