Gambit of the Gods Page 30

  Another challenge I work on as I walk is overcoming—or at least, minimizing—the natural hatred that predators of different types have for one another as rivals for the same prey and the natural fear that prey have for predators. As a result of the latter’s instincts, I don’t have many prey animals helping me. There have been a few clashes between predator species, but fortunately, their instincts to keep to themselves and not invite unnecessary injury have proven stronger in most cases. Those who have become most loyal to me have learned one another’s scents, reacting to them almost as if they don’t smell anything unusual at all.

  With wolves, I am pack. With hunting cats and bears, I’m a human cub in need of protection. With prey animals like rabbits, deer, and the like, I am the hunted and the snared, in need of freeing. With birds and small rodents like squirrels, I’m part of the flock and family because of my bird Spirit Animal and my long-standing friendships with Naira and Tika.

  Speaking of Naira and Tika, even though we can’t be together right now, our closeness has grown by leaps and bounds. I’m joined with Naira now on some level almost all the time. She sends me a near-constant stream of images; I’ve learned to push them to the side when conversing with others. Now that I can sense her emotions and she can sense mine, and because of all we’ve been through together, we’ve become the closest of friends.

  With Tika, I’ve discovered to my delight that her solemn, cold exterior belies a surprising inner warmth and sense of humor. The dead sparrows she left for me during my Quest were no mistake: she views me as a baby bird, having recognized the Spirit Animal within me clawing and pecking its way out as a chick does from its shell. Of all my new animal friends, Tika is the one who would die for me, I know. Not that I’d ever want her to. She’s always just out of the sight of my captors, ready to swoop in no matter what the odds. I am her fledgling.

  We reach the river just as the sun starts to fall toward the western horizon, following it until we reach our destination, just before dusk. The People call this place Sequim Wakan: Sacred Quiet Waters. The river takes a sharp turn just upstream, which deposited many large boulders there long before the People ever came here, slowing its flow considerably. The oldest and most sacred of red cedar trees grow here, having watched over this land for many lifetimes.

  When summer begins to fade into winter, our builders gather here to fast, pray, and spend time in the Purification Hut, thanking our tree brothers for the gift of their strong, straight trunks before selecting one and transforming it into a new and beautiful canoe. The People shelter completed canoes against the weather in huts, each bigger and more sturdily built than any found in our Village.

  A long hut stands empty in the center of these smaller huts. The newly hewn trunk is left to season over the winter so it’s less likely to crack later, then dragged into the long hut. There, it is roughed out using controlled fires and shaped with stone tools.

  I’ve never witnessed the process, but Miklos was allowed to observe it once and explained how they use hot rocks and water to steam the wood. Once it begins to soften, they use pairs of wooden beams to spread the sides of the canoe into the proper shape. They add seats, and carve each canoe with representations of our Clan Animals. The carvings keep evil spirits at bay, watching over and blessing our comings and goings.

  In early summer, warriors of the Bear, Raccoon and Fox Clans (the Spirit Animals most comfortable in and around water) launch canoes lashed together for extra stability into the slow-moving waters of Sequim Wakan laden with new wares to trade with the Queensrealm. They bring back treasures: hair ribbons, beads, and bronze cooking pots. They also use single canoes to fish the river and the coastline when weather permits.

  Our captors make a camp of sorts in the long hut and build a fire outside to cook the deer meat they brought. They untie our hands so we can urinate and feed ourselves.

  After we’ve eaten, Stone Drum wets a cloth in the river and gently wipes away the blood on my temple and face. Pulling a small pottery jar with a wax seal from his travel bag, he breaks the seal and dips his finger into a jelly-like substance inside.

  Seeing the question in my eyes, he explains while he dabs it onto my cut, “This is from the young leaves of the plants that grow in lakes and swamps—the tall ones with the brown, fibrous tops. It will clean out the wound and keep dirt out of it. Try not to touch it. It will dry and form a natural seal, then peel away a few days hence, once the skin beneath begins to heal.”

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling warmly at him. He smiles back. I sense he’s pleased.

  “I know it’s not the quick healing you’re used to. It must be nice to have a healer for a father.”

  I force a laugh, knowing his good will might well be the difference between future disaster and possible help.

  “Miklos never uses his ability on minor cuts and bruises,” I explain, rolling my eyes in a hopefully endearing manner and casually touching his arm. Our other captors have gone back inside to sleep. I’m determined to use this time alone with Stone Drum to gain his friendship, if possible. “He didn’t want us to take it for granted and become careless. So he would have given me a salve as well. I’ve just never seen this one before.”

  “He is wise. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  I only hesitate for a moment. “She kicked me hard in the belly. I feel a painful bruise forming. Can you do anything for pain?” Lifting up my shirt slightly, I hear him hiss in sympathy and glance down to see how bad it is. The skin is swollen and black with bruising. The slightest touch makes me wince away with a yelp I don’t have to fake.

  “I’ve also had a headache since last night,” I add, letting my shirt hem fall, and he nods.

  “So have I, so I have just the thing.”

  Rooting through his bag once more, he takes out a dyed-green pouch with sinew drawstrings. Handing me three small dried leaves from it, he takes out another two for himself.

  “These are feverfew leaves. Just place them one at a time on your tongue and chew them slowly, then swallow. They’re bitter, and some experience a sour stomach afterward, but if your head hurts as much as mine does,” he says, rubbing his scalp gingerly with his fingers, “you won’t care. It really helps ease the pain.”

  I chew and swallow, grimacing a little at the bitterness. He has nice eyes, a pleasant voice, and gentle hands, I decide, though his nose is too long and his shoulders too narrow, thin and hunched. I can see why he became interested in healing rather than the fishing and snaring the Raccoon Clan is usually known for. I need to get him talking about himself, I decide.

  “You’re so kind and gentle, Stone Drum,” I begin, again letting my hand rest for a moment on his arm and holding his gaze with mine. We’re connected now, I tell him mentally, though I know he can’t hear me like the animals can. “What made you want to help Whisker and the others?” My last words are almost a plea. Help us, I beg him silently with my eyes.

  Stone Drum looks down, and I sense his shame. “Whisker is my mother’s brother’s son. He has always bullied me into doing what he wants. I hate what he’s doing to you and your family.”

  Just then, Whisker exits the long hut and heads our way. Stone Drum jumps guiltily and prods me to my feet.

  “We were just coming,” he says defensively. Whisker grabs his arm.

  “We?” he fumes, shouting in Stone Drum’s face. Stone Drum is trying not to cower, I note with dismay. “Are you two friends now? She’s our enemy—the Lady’s enemy!—and you’re out here flirting? Maybe I should make Red Feather her guard instead.”

  Whisker folds his arms, waiting for Stone Drum to crumble. As he always does, I sense pityingly.

  “I wasn’t flirting!” Stone Drum whines, though to his credit, he doesn’t back away from the verbal assault. “You said the Lady wanted her unharmed, so I was making sure her injuries wouldn’t fester. Isn’t that why you brought me along?”

  Whisker unexpectedly barks a laugh, patting Stone Drum roughly on the back. They begin to
amble towards the hut, Stone Drum pulling me along more aggressively than necessary to prove his loyalty to Whisker.

  “You’re certainly not good for anything else, cousin,” Whisker growls, but his temper has gone as quickly as it rose. “Do you have anything in that bag of yours for indigestion?” We push through the door flap.

  “Of course,” Stone Drum replies, his relief palpable, letting go of me to root through his bag. They move over to a bank of flickering candles in the center of the room so he can see. I skirt away to join Artan and Shy Mouse in the far corner.

  They’re sitting on their sleeping pallets. Curving Claw and Moon on Water stand together several strides away, watching us suspiciously; Curving Claw casually nocks an arrow in the bow he’s holding as a silent threat, though they allow me to join my family. Sitting down on the pallet next to Shy Mouse, I squeeze her hand briefly. Artan gives me a look full of meaning before we lie down to try to sleep.

  The she-wolf sends me an image of her and her pack trotting purposefully through the dimly-lit forest, scenting the air for prey. She lets me feel and see through her eyes; I sense her excitement and her hunger. The pack scents a recent gathering of rabbits and darts away on their trail, but the alpha female follows more slowly, her mind on me.

  Little Squirrel. You are in danger. We will attack soon? I allow myself a moment of self-congratulation at my growing ease in interpreting the emotions and images she and the others use. For my name, she sends an image of me Changing into a white bird. It has become their image-name for me. The emotion-image for “in danger” is a feeling of fear and foreboding accompanied by an image of glowing, predatory eyes stalking me from the darkness. “We attack soon” is an image of her pack and many other predators streaming from the trees, leaping to tear out the throats of my captors before they can react.

  She detects the stench of the dead not far away. Whisker’s creatures have deliberately avoided mine so far, but they’re always nearby, awaiting his call. The she-wolf’s nose twitches in disgust and she shakes her snout to try to rid herself of the foul odor.

  Star Singer. Waiting for when our enemies are separated or distracted, I explain. Her name, from the emotion-image she sends of herself, is closer to “She who leads the pack that sings to the stars”. I send an image of the moon traveling swiftly across the sky to indicate time passing, then picture Whisker and the others going off separately to urinate or hunt for food in the forest while behind the nearest tree, the alpha and her pack wait to spring on them unawares.

  Unfortunately, our enemies haven’t been going very far from the rest of the group to urinate as of yet and they’ve brought food for the journey or shot it along the way, though that is gone now. But I’m hoping they will become careless as time passes. I’ve kept my allies out of sight on purpose, in hopes that some will doubt the story of my abilities, or underestimate them.

  Yes—we will wait, she replies, her black-furred head lowering slightly in what I’m learning is the universal animal sign of agreement or acquiescence among equals. Among non-equals, one animal would cower before the other, or in the case of wolves, one would roll over on the ground, exposing its belly and throat in submission.

  Thank you, I send, my head lowering slightly in return.

  Up ahead, the pack has caught and killed several rabbits who were feeding by moonlight. May we hunt together soon, she sends. I repeat the image—May we hunt together soon—and stay with the her long enough to experience the flesh-ripping, bone-cracking joy of their meal, wanting to show myself at one with the pack, before drifting away to search for Naira’s mind.

  She’s curled in an abandoned woodpecker hole high up in a tree. The image she uses for my name is unlike the one the other animals use. She still remembers the moment I found her, bloodied and near death at the foot of a tree, cradling her in my arms for the very first time. She uses this image, signifying our special bond, in greeting. I, in turn, use the same image, but from my perspective, for her name.

  Bond-mate, she says happily, using the image. When can we be together again?

  It’s not safe yet, I reply, showing her the image of my sister being closely guarded and our captors hunting the forest for prey, so you must be very cautious. I have told her this before and dearly wish I had more to offer, but the emotions she sends are ones of loving trust and patience. I send her my heartfelt love and gratitude in return.

  We will be together again soon, I promise, and she curls up once more, satisfied. Her eyes close, an image of me shining in her mind before she drifts off to sleep.

  The mind of the hunting cat with the torn ear gropes for mine.

  Little Squirrel, he says in greeting. I too stand ready to fight for you. Once you ride the waters, it may be too late. He shows me an image of men riding in canoes, floating away faster than he can run. Many of us have been hunting the dead ones. Your enemies will find themselves outnumbered.

  Shadow Among Shadows, I greet him. His emotion-image was difficult to understand at first, just a menacing shadow moving in the shadows, unseen until too late. A darkness at the heart of the darkness. I would rather die than watch my sister-cub or brother-cub die. We must wait for the right time. Would not a female of your species die to save her cubs?

  Yes, he answers, showing me a memory of a female fighting off a bear. But you are our cub, not your sister-cub.

  Something moves furtively ahead of him, and just like that, our connection is broken.

  I reach for Tika’s mind. She’s perched in a cedar just outside the main circle of trees surrounding our clearing. Like Naira, her name-image for me is unique: a pure-white fledgling in a nest, looking helpless and vulnerable, but with my eyes.

  Human nestling, she greets me. The she-wolf and hunting cat speak truth. We must attack soon if we are to save you. Along with the image of the wolves tearing out the throats of my captors, she sends a disturbing image of her and many other birds descending in a dark cloud, clawing their eyes out. I feel her pitiless hostility for our enemies and swallow hard, glad she’s on my side.

  Soon, I agree, but my image of the moon traveling across the sky indicates more time passing than hers did. We must strike in such a way that my siblings remain unharmed.

  She responds with grudging acceptance.

  Sometimes not every chick can be saved, she says before gliding away to search for her evening meal. I think she meant to be reassuring somehow, but all I feel is a deep unease as I roll over and wait for sleep to overtake me at last.

  At least my head hurts less. Physically and mentally exhausted, I drift off into an uneasy sleep. Oddly, my dreams are all of Spark, or a boy that looks like him. He’s dying in my arms, clutching the bolt of an arrow lodged in his chest.

  Chapter 27: Kella

  The Kestrels have been practicing diligently every Fifth-Day, but this morning, Darkstar and I are alone on an otherwise-empty Horse-Dancing field. It’s usual for Horse-Dancing teams to take the Goddess-day for reflection and rest, but our team rarely follows those rules. Yet when I went to rouse Karyl and the others this morning, they begged off.

  I don’t mind. There’s something incredibly peaceful about loping across a field on your horse with no one around to intrude upon us. Darkstar and I are so in sync, it feels like we’re one being, almost. The drumming of her hooves on the sod is the drumming of my heart, and right now, it’s the only sound that matters.

  I swing my netstick to scoop up a ball from the ground, and Darkstar immediately pivots, galloping upfield toward the penalty line. Bouncing the ball flawlessly just before the line and catching it again, we drive toward the goal posts and I throw the ball through them. It’s all so easy, without any opponents. It won’t be easy tomorrow—the Amalria Arrowtails are the highest-rated team in the realm, though we’re rated second. After tomorrow, those ratings will change, or so I hope.

  While I ride, I mull over the conversation I had with Sera last night in my dreams. I was dancing with Karyl at a Ball held at House Elmaya (it�
��s next Fifth-Day, and I guess my mind was preparing for it) when Sera suddenly appeared out of the crowd and asked to speak to me privately.

  Her clothes were strange this time, though no one else seemed to take notice: black, close-fitting pants like a slave might wear, low-heeled black boots, a flattering, deep-blue silk blouse with a square-cut neckline and long sleeves, and a matching blue pendant on a fine silver chain around her neck. She looked like an older version of the girl who appeared to me before, but age only made her more attractive. Some might call her almost plain, but her eyes held worlds within them—I don’t know how else to explain it. I could see old sorrow there in their brown depths, along with strength, love, and other things I couldn’t put a name to. When she smiled, her dimples twinkled endearingly, drawing me in despite myself.

  “You spoke with Kliara,” she said without preamble, her voice gentle. “Do you believe I exist now?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “But why do you know so much about us? And how did you come to be invisible, or has your kind always been so?”

  “No, not always. There was an accident long ago. I and seven others became bodiless, forced to watch most of the rest of our people die around us for what we had done.”

  She looked haunted as she uttered those last words, staring into space as if she could still see her people dying all around her while she could do nothing.

  “We were trying to create something that would allow people to live forever, and instead, we unwittingly unleashed death on so many, damning ourselves to a half-life—we can’t touch, taste or feel anything, or even grow old. We’ve lived longer than a human lifetime, so perhaps we’ll live forever, but we would rather die than exist like this. Yet even death is denied us.”

  I pitied her in that moment more than I had ever pitied anyone. They’d been trying to do good, and instead they brought an end to almost everyone they had ever known.

  “That’s why I know so much about you,” she continued, the darkness in her eyes fading as she looked at me. “The only thing that gives us purpose and the feeling of almost having a normal life again is living through others. I’ve been the self-appointed ‘ghost of House Klia’ since your grandmother’s time, experiencing life first through Kassyl’s eyes, then Kylara’s, and now, yours. You are my Chosen. I’ve been with you since the day you were born.”