Read People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past) Online

Authors: W. Michael Gear,Kathleen O'Neal Gear

People of the Raven (North America's Forgotten Past) (29 page)

“And to you, Elder. Are you feeling rested today?”
Rides-the-Wind picked up the worn walking stick propped against his lodge. “Much better.”
Rain Bear gestured to the woven bark mat beside the fire. “Please join us. Tea is almost ready.”
As Rides-the-Wind walked toward the fire, he noticed the concentric circles of warriors. His gaze took in the wide variety of clan markers on their capes, and his steps faltered for a brief instant. Then his gray brows lowered, and he continued toward the fire.
When he got close, Rain Bear rose and took his arm, gently supporting Rides-the-Wind while he sat down on the mat next to Tsauz.
Rides-the-Wind quietly observed, “It appears that you’re surrounded, Chief. What do you plan to do about it?”
Rain Bear smiled. “Have lunch. As soon as Evening Star returns.
She went to Roe’s lodge to exchange our pemmican for some of Roe’s seaweed cakes.”
Rides-the-Wind gave him a knowing look. “Is it safe for her to wander the village like that?”
“She is well guarded.”
“If you say so.” Rides-the-Wind tugged his cape over his moccasins to keep his feet warm, and shivered.
“Cold?” Rain Bear rushed to take off his cape to give to the old man.
“Keep your cape. It’s not the weather. It’s their faces.” He gestured to the warriors.
“Don’t let them concern you, Rides-the-Wind.”
“Rides-the-Wind!”
Tsauz shouted. He swung around, and his mouth fell open. “Rides-the-Wind, the Soul Keeper?”
The old man’s eyes glinted. “The same. Do you remember me?”
Tsauz stammered, “Yes, I—I do. You used to come to Fire Village often. You trained the greatest Dreamers and Healers who have ever walked among our people.” Awe filled Tsauz’s voice. “My father told me that he would have given anything to have been trained by you!”
Rides-the-Wind’s skeletal fingers groped to close an opening that Wind Woman had teased open in his cape. “I don’t recall your father asking for me.”
“His grandmother wouldn’t allow it. She said you were too dangerous.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I would have enjoyed training your father.”
Tsauz’s face lit up. “You would?”
“Of course. Your father has abilities he barely realizes. Not as many as you do, but enough to sting a man’s interest.”
Tsauz blinked. “Me?”
“You.”
Rain Bear lifted a curious eyebrow at the content of their talk, then reached for the nest of wooden cups near the hearthstones. “Have a hot cup of tea. You’ll feel stronger.” He dipped the first one full and handed it to Rides-the-Wind.
Rides-the-Wind cradled his cup and sniffed the aroma. “Um, fireweed leaves and sweet sap. One of my favorites.”
Rain Bear said, “Would you like a cup, Tsauz?”
“Yes. I thank you.”
Rain Bear lifted Tsauz’s hand and put the cup in it. The boy’s stomach growled as he gulped it down. He drank the entire cup in four swallows.
Rain Bear reached for the cup again. “Let me refill that. I didn’t realize you were so thirsty.”
He refilled the cup, put it in the boy’s hands again, and saw Evening Star coming up the trail, flanked by Hornet and Wolf Spider. She carried a basket. Long hair fell from her hood and fluttered over her cape. She smiled back when she saw him, and suddenly his day brightened. The sunlight was stronger and warmer. The colors of the world blazed.
Low conversations broke out among the warriors. Most eyed her with curiosity. Some with malevolent intent.
“Did you get the cakes?” he called.
She nodded. “Yes.”
Evening Star knelt on the mat between Tsauz and Rain Bear and, as she unwrapped the cakes, said, “A pleasant afternoon to you, Elder. Are you well?”
“Better, thank you for asking.” His gray hair fell around his oblong face like a curtain woven of spiderwebs.
“Pitch has been worried about you.”
He made a light gesture. “Well, he needn’t be. There are many circles left for me to explore.”
The old man’s piercing gaze landed on Tsauz.
“What do you mean?” Rain Bear asked.
Rides-the-Wind made a light gesture. “I mean life is a series of circles within circles, never ending. If a man faithfully walks the spiral to the center, and doesn’t fall off, he will eventually find the solution.”
Evening Star gave him a curious look. “Is that an answer?”
The old Soul Keeper smiled. “It is the only answer, Matron. Apparently you haven’t found the question yet.” He turned to the boy. “Tsauz, I have heard that your father uses beautiful obsidian fetishes in his Healing ceremonies. Does he make them himself?”
Rain Bear’s heart rate increased. He met Evening Star’s wide eyes.
The obsidian fetishes Coyote paid for Dzoo’s life? Did Ecan get them from Coyote?
Gods, did the old man know who Coyote was?
Tsauz put down his cup and wiped his hands on his leggings. “I don’t know where he gets them. He just brings bags of them home from his trips. I think he Trades for them.”
“Hmm,” Rides-the-Wind said, and smiled. “Well, if you ever remember the maker’s name, or the place where he gets them, I hope you will tell me. My hands have grown too stiff to knap out fetishes, or anything else for that matter.”
The tea bag swung when Evening Star reached down to refill her cup.
Tsauz suddenly asked, “Who attacked War Gods Village?”
Rain Bear stared at the boy. How could he not know? “You were there, Tsauz. We tracked your father’s party after he left War Gods Village. We killed four, and captured two more. You would have known the captives, Red Sleep and Wet Hand. They told us that they warred for Cimmis.”
A swallow went down Tsauz’s throat. In an agonized voice, he said, “My father couldn’t have known about it, Rain Bear. He was surprised by the attack. He jerked me out of my hides and dragged me up the hill to hide me; then he went back to fight them!”
Rain Bear fingered his cup while he contemplated that unlikely scenario. “Tsauz, I—”
“Why would Chief Cimmis send Father and me to War Gods Village and then attack it without telling us?”
Rides-the-Wind let out a soft pained sound as he shifted on the mat to rub his knees, muttering, “Circles within circles.”
Rain Bear said, “I don’t know, Tsauz.” He glanced at Evening Star, who glared back, expression hard.
Tsauz stammered, “P-Perhaps Chief Cimmis couldn’t get word to us. We had been on the trail for half a moon. We wouldn’t have—”
“This was a well-planned attack, Tsauz. Whoever was behind it had been thinking about it for some time. They knew enough to use the Moon Ceremonial to lull Matron Weedis’s suspicions. As they lulled mine.”
Rain Bear could see thoughts forming behind the boy’s dark eyes.
Finally, Tsauz said, “But the chief is supposed to consult with his Starwatcher. He always has before. Father would have told him not to do it. I’m sure of it!”
Both Rain Bear and Evening Star turned to peer at Rides-the-Wind, wondering when he would comment. He stroked his gray beard and frowned out at the warriors. Voices had started to rise.
Rain Bear turned around to look at the commotion. Three men stalked up the trail. Bluegrass was in the lead. Guards with spears flanked them.
Evening Star said, “I will take Tsauz to my lodge. If you need us, that’s where we’ll be. Come along, Tsauz.”
He picked up the dead puppy and stood. This time he allowed her to take his hand. She led him to her lodge, and they disappeared inside. Hornet and Wolf Spider took up their positions outside her door.
Rain Bear rose to his feet. Softly, he said, “Circles within circles, Elder?”
Rides-the-Wind kept his eyes on the ground but answered, “Perhaps, Great Chief, you have found the question.”
He gestured at the approaching chiefs. “Right now I think I need answers more than I need another question.”
The old man smiled. “Ah, then you begin to understand the teacher’s dilemma. You know the answer, but haven’t the foggiest idea how to make your students believe it.”
A
dark blue wall of Cloud People pushed over Fire Mountain. Dzoo studied it as she shuffled up the steep trail that led around the outside of Sea Lion Village’s palisade. Ecan’s warriors marched in front and behind her. Everyone had their gazes fixed on the village, looking through the slats in the gaping palisade to the lodges within.
She remembered this place, had played here as a child. Then the village had contained over five tens of lodges, though only a few people had actually lived here, mostly Dreamers and caretakers. The rest of the lodges held caches of dried food, tool stone, and seashells.
The Holy trails that covered their mountainous land angled off in every direction, intersecting each other, sometimes running parallel, but they all converged at Sea Lion Village. It was the spiritual crossroads to the House of Air. All lost souls began their journey here.
As they rounded the eastern end of the rickety palisade, a gray-haired acolyte dressed in a drab brown tunic hobbled out of the interior carrying a basket that brimmed with bones. He nodded as he passed. She watched him continue to a small mound of sun-bleached human bone. It gleamed in the light, cracked, flaking, and rain washed. Thick green grass grew out of the tangle. Over the years, quite a pile of it had built up. Here and there, a battered skull stared out, the empty eyes questioning, the braincases nothing more than the perfect place for mice to build their homes. She looked back over her shoulder as the acolyte carefully placed the bones onto the pile.
The North Wind People varied in their tastes. Some wanted to be buried close to where they’d lived. Others found it worthwhile to have their bones prepared, and to send tribute to the Holy people who lived here in return for having their souls prayed over, separated from the bones, and sent to the House of Air.
Dzoo tilted her head and listened to the old man’s lilting voice calling the Star People to come and carry the soul to the road of light that led to the first of the Above Worlds.
“Are we traveling on to Fire Village?” she asked.
Warriors glanced at her, but no one answered. Far ahead, Ecan’s white cape flashed in the sunlight as the Starwatcher led them up the trail.
“Are we going on to Fire Village?” she asked, louder.
Exhausted from days of traveling without food, Dzoo tripped over a rock, stumbled, and almost fell before she caught herself.
“Don’t fall, witch!” young Hunter said from behind. “I don’t want to have to pick you up.”
She glanced over her shoulder, aware her vision was swimming. Was that his soul she saw—a loose yellowish blur around his body? Must have been. He looked suddenly frightened, and stopped dead in his tracks to lift his spear. In the slanting sunlight, his haunted expression turned stony. Black hair whipped around his face. Fearfully, he called, “Wind Scorpion!”
The old warrior trotted up, predatory gaze on first Hunter, and then her. “Careful, Hunter. If you’re helping her up, she might snag your soul and pull it from your body.”
Wind Scorpion gave her a look that sliced like freshly struck obsidian before he trotted past.
Hunter gave him an evil glance and veered wide around Dzoo, gesturing with his spear. “Walk, witch.”
She walked, fixing her gaze onto Wind Scorpion’s wide back. She squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of his soul. Her toe caught, and she broke contact as she flailed for balance. She turned her attention to her feet, aware she hadn’t the energy for both tasks. She’d caught a glimpse, but of what?
The sensation had been of emptiness, as if the man were nothing more than a shell.
“Gods,” she mumbled. “It’s the hunger. I’m tired. So … tired.”
Fire Mountain rose before her like a gigantic cone with a snow-covered, chopped-off top. Her hazy vision focused on the cliff just above the tree line. Was that the Fire Village palisade wall?
She shook her head. Maybe it wasn’t even there. For three hands
of time, she’d been seeing things. Sometimes just faces. Other times, she saw glimpses of the future. Pearl Oyster had come to speak with her. She thought he was trying to warn her about something. She’d seen him reach out to touch her; then he’d vanished like mist on a hot day … .
She stumbled again.
Hunter glared at her. “What’s wrong?”
She could feel her soul growing lighter, thinning like smoke in the wind. A pink tornado formed in the air before her. Round and round it went, Dancing and bouncing.
Hunter’s gaze jerked to the point on the trail where she seemed to be looking, then jerked back to her. “What’s
wrong
? Do you see something.”
The Noisy One, her Spirit Helper, solidified in the cold-spawned glitter, his arms moving like blades of grass underwater, sweeping up and down.
“Empty out your heart, Dzoo. Drain your soul onto the path to prepare the way.”
“Prepare it for whom?” she asked, the words barely audible even to her.
“Our purpose is the boy.”
“Which boy?”
“The bloody boy.”
“Ecan’s son?”
Hunter circled warily, his spear thrust forward. “Who are you talking to, witch?”
Dzoo couldn’t feel the ground. She might have been flying, rather than walking.
The Noisy One floated just ahead of her.
“You are almost home,”
he whispered.
“Like a winged seed coming to ground. But beware. You are being hunted. He is close … and, oh, so Powerful. I don’t know if you can beat him.”
The Noisy One raised his hands to Brother Sky, and lightning flashed through the approaching Cloud People. Warriors spun to look. Whispers broke out.
“Witch!” Hunter shouted. “Did you do that?”
With the next brilliant flash, the Noisy One’s face shattered and blew away like tumbling snowflakes.
“You had better keep walking, witch, or I’ll—”
Dzoo staggered, blinked, and pressed her bound hands to her forehead. The vision had been burned into her soul: a tall young man, muscular, his head back, arms raised to the blinding sun.
Blood had trickled down his bronzed, sweat-slicked skin. Every muscle rippled on his naked body—a picture of male perfection. Then she saw his face. The nose was thin, aquiline, the jaw strong, slightly bearded. Wide cheeks caught the light. But where knowing and Powerful eyes should have been, dull stones filled the hollow orbits in his skull. As if he felt her presence, he turned his head, staring straight at her. The sensation was as if her soul were being sucked from her body.
 
 
D
zoo blinked and gasped, aware of the jouncing sensation. A terrible headache hammered through her skull. She forced her eyes open and saw Hunter. At first he appeared to be hanging upside down against the sky. As she fought to make sense of it, she realized that she was being carried on a sort of litter.
“Are you awake, witch?” Hunter asked.
“Yes.” She sat up and put her hand to her head.
Deer Killer carried the front poles. He kept glancing uneasily over his shoulder, taking her measure.
“What happened?”
“You collapsed,” Hunter sneered. “Dropped flat as a soaked cloth. Were it up to me, I’d have just cracked your skull and left you.”
Deer Killer added, “The Starwatcher told us to carry you. But I’d rather you walked.”
“Hurry up!” Wind Scorpion bellowed from behind. “We’re almost there.”
“I can walk,” Dzoo said softly, the image of the stone-eyed man hovering like a bat in the back of her soul.
She felt stiff as she swung out of the makeshift litter they’d made of coats and poles. She stood on unsteady feet, but the headache began to recede.
“Make time, witch!” Hunter growled. “We’re falling behind, and I, for one, don’t want to be the center of Ecan’s wrath again.”
She filled her lungs with the cool air and forced herself into the continuing climb. As she got her bearings, she recognized the village cupped by the brow of the ridge before them like a barnacle.
The twenty-hand-tall palisade of upright poles surrounding Salmon Village had been built since the last time she’d been here. People began to trickle out the front gate to stare at her. They wore beautiful clothing—shirts made of finely tanned mink and marten
hides, capes of eagle feathers. The finest dyes had been used to create geometric designs on the clothing. She had forgotten the brilliant purples, yellows, and shades of crimson manufactured by the North Wind artisans.
Ecan dropped back to walk at her side. “Just pass. Don’t speak.”
Dzoo smiled, turning her head to call, “Beware the blood-streaked man! He has stones for eyes.”
People started, stiffening, frowning, as they puzzled over her words. Confusion and worry grew bright in their eyes.
Ecan gaped in disbelief, then raised his hand to strike her. It wavered in the air, quivering like a stressed sapling before he lowered it. “You take dangerous chances.”
He stamped ahead. Perhaps he had second thoughts; for he dropped back once more to parallel her course. She cataloged the furtive glances he cast her way, wondering how long it would take.
“What blood-streaked man? What were you talking about?”
“You needn’t worry. You won’t live long enough to stare into his stony eyes.”
“Ah, yes, my impending death again.” He pointed to the path that led around the base of the palisade. “Come on. The sooner we arrive, the sooner you can sleep.”
As they curved around Salmon Village and climbed higher up the mountain trail, the Fire Village palisade came into view.
“I had forgotten,” she whispered in awe.
“Forgotten what?”
“The paintings.”
They had been painted on hides stretched over the corduroy of the palisade wall. The bodies of the gods winked and flashed, as though encrusted with fallen stars. To create the effect, the artisans glued bits of crushed shell to the surface of the paintings of Gutginsa, Old Woman Above, Ogre, Killer Whale, Sea Cow, and Wolf.
“I’d forgotten their beauty.”
For many summers after she’d arrived at the squalid lodges of the Striped Dart People, dreams of Fire Village had kept her alive. How could she have forgotten?
Her gaze moved to the gate, where two warriors leaned against the palisade. Just inside, her mother’s lodge had stood to the right. Was it still there?
Ecan’s eyes had an anticipatory gleam. “You are almost home.”
Dzoo gazed at the towering lava cliff behind Fire Village. In the afternoon light its shadow cut upward, darkening the mountain. She could feel Power—but it was faint. Shreds crept from the lava and
the high snow-patched cinder cone where once it had been a flood. What had happened here? Why had the Power fled? Dzoo concentrated on pulling the shreds around her like a protective cloak.
She asked, “Who killed it? Was it you, Starwatcher?”
“Killed what?”
“The Power. It used to run across my skin like rubbed fox fur.”
His eyes tightened. “Cimmis told me the Power vanished when his daughter, Tlikit, decided to run away with Rain Bear.”
It was strange to hear someone say her name. Cimmis had declared Tlikit Outcast, dead, and ordered that her name be forgotten. It was a crime to speak it.
“This is not Tlikit’s work, Starwatcher.” She cocked her head, raising her hands to the air. “No, I think the slow rot of human souls has led to this.”
The guards stepped back, and hands still up, Dzoo walked through the gate into the village. Brown-cloaked slaves stood everywhere, watching her. In an instant, someone recognized her, and the word “Dzoo!” was whispered from person to person.
As she remembered, the bark lodges made a perfect circle around the central Council Lodge. Paintings decorated every wall. As she neared a painting of Buffalo Above, it occurred to her that the artist had mixed crushed obsidian with his paint to create the god’s shimmering hair. The white eyes must contain crushed clamshells; they glittered as though alive.

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