“What do we need?” Raven asked.
“This,” said the old man. He brought out those little green hides. “These are charms. Powerful demon charms.”
Every charm wore a face. The top face looked wise and kind; it was hard to think of this face as belonging to an enemy.
“What are you thinking, Raven?”
“Nothing.” But that was a lie. He was imagining himself marching across the spirit realm, covering great stretches of dangerous and strange country. In his mind, he was walking beside Uncle, holding the pace despite deep snow and the bitter, killing winds.
Grandfather heard the lie in his voice.
Quietly and firmly, he said, “Ask your uncle about his adventures. When it is just the two of you, ask for a story.”
“May I, Grandfather?”
“This once,” said the old man. “Just this once.”
But Uncle didn’t return. Ten days became twenty days. Winter still lay over everything, the true world white and dangerous. Raven and the older men hunted on the mildest nights, but game was scarce and wary, and without Uncle’s skills, it was difficult to kill enough to feed the only sixteen People left in the world.
After thirty days, Grandfather made a decision. He put on old demon clothes that rode loose on his withered frame. A piece of slick brown cloth was tied like a noose around his neck. Then he put a heavy demon coat over those clothes and stuffed some of the green charms into a pocket, and with a grave voice, he said, “Nothing is wrong. I am sure of it.”
Mother and the other women wept as the old man staggered off into the darkness. And the last of the men held the women, wiping at their own wet eyes.
Another ten days passed.
After five more days of waiting, just as hope was flickering out, a foot pounded weakly on the main door. Twice and then twice again, the signal was given. Then Grandfather fell inside, half-frozen and his fingers burned by the cold. He was stripped and wrapped in deer fur, and everyone sat close to him, sharing heat. Weaker men would have died. Grandfather nearly died, but in the end, he lost only a pair of toes.
“Did you find him?” asked Mother. “Did you find my brother? Is he coming home soon?”
Grandfather was alive, but he was different. His mouth didn’t pretend to smile, and his old eyes held a coldness worse than any winter wind. Quietly and angrily, he said, “Samuel is lost.”
That was his only answer.
“Samuel is lost,” he repeated.
Nobody asked what he meant. The adults seemed to know, and Raven sensed it from their miserable silence. His uncle had gone amongst the demons, and his soul had been stolen away.
Rolled up inside Grandfather’s coat pocket was a great handful of green charms. He never mentioned them, but as soon as he was strong enough, he said, “Come with me, Raven. I need your help.”
It was a clear, cold night. Just the two of them went to the river, crossing where the ice lay on the sandbars. Then they walked with the river, keeping to where the ground was blown clean of snow, eventually reaching the end of the world. Raven had never been this far. He saw dead trees standing in the hard ground, and the metal ropes strung between them, and beyond, he saw lights. One light was hung on a tall limbless tree, and more lights glowed inside a heavy wooden shelter. The shelter stood in a grove of old trees just inside the spirit realm. Grandfather knelt in front of the metal ropes and began pulling objects from his medicine sack. Raven stepped up next to him, and he put out his hand, letting his fingers slip into a realm that was neither real or true.
“Stop that,” Grandfather whispered.
Raven stepped back. Grandfather had tied the green charms together, and on the snow around them stood little figurines made from twigs and twine. There were four short-hairs, each with a dab of blood on its neck. And there were tiny, tiny people with sad faces. Grandfather chanted to the spirits and to Blue Clad, and when he was done with his magic, he pulled a bright sunset-colored rag from his pocket, tying it to the highest of the metal ropes.
Raven understood most of the magic, but not the rag.
“Demons are half-blind,” the old man explained. “You can weave your best spell, but if he ignores your work, nothing will change.”
A few days later, the hunters found a toboggan stacked high with demon clothes and knives, torches and bright new batteries, plus other treasures. “Blue Clad has been charmed,” Grandfather announced. Finally, he was smiling again. “Now go find us four fat short-hairs.”
Raven happily joined the men, helping to kill and butcher the first short-hair. Sitting with the children, he ate bellies full of sweet meat and the rich liver and the long, long guts. Then three more short-hairs were killed, everyone happy and fat. And two moons later, when the spring thaw found them, Raven had grown a full hand taller – much more of a man now, if still many years away from his full height and a man’s important voice.
The brothers were hunting between Widow Falls and the Last Rapids. It was late spring, warm and dry. Snow-On-Snow felt a taste for night rats, and Raven didn’t. He shook his head. “I want a deer,” he said. Then for emphasis, he threw his spear into the trunk of a nearby cottonwood.
His older brother laughed, saying, “Go on. Waste your night.”
“I will. Yes.” Raven pulled the spear free and waited, and when Snow-On-Snow had vanished, he crept down past the Last Rapids. He was carrying his spear and a pair of demon eyes. The eyes were metal and glass, a leather strap holding them around his neck. Uncle had left the eyes behind. Snow-On-Snow had teased Raven, claiming that he couldn’t see anything in the dark. But for what Raven wanted, they would work just fine.
The river flattened and swirled, making a deep hole before it left the world. An old cottonwood stood on the bank just inside the world. Raven put down his spear and grabbed the lumpy bark with his fingers and toes, scrambling up a little ways and falling back to Earth with a soft grunt. Then he picked himself up and climbed again, reaching the first fat branch. For a little while, he gasped and held tight. Then he put the demon eyes to his own eyes, working with the wheel that brought the distant world into focus.
The demons’ shelter was brightly lit, as always. There was an opening that wasn’t an opening – a great sheet of glass letting the light escape. Raven peered inside the chamber. Blue Clad was sitting. Stone Face was sitting beside him. Yellow Hair strolled into the chamber twice, saying a few words before vanishing again. His parents were busy watching a box with its own sheet of glass and its own bright light leaking free. Inside that box, Raven saw swirling colors and demon faces and strange demon bodies, and endless machines moved rapidly across scenes that made absolutely no sense to him.
Raven couldn’t stop watching. Nothing made sense; everything was strange and wonderful. And then Blue Clad stood up and touched the box, and the box went dark and dead.
The two demons vanished into another chamber.
Raven told himself to stop. He made himself put the demon eyes back around his neck, and he stared down at the black swirling water. This part scared him. Climbing down always took too long, which was why he jumped. But the water wasn’t deep everywhere, and in the moonless dark, he had to aim by memory.
Raven took a breath and a long step, bare feet leading the way. The water was cold and hard, and just beneath the surface was a mossy log that had floated downstream in the last few days. There was no warning. He hit the wood with both feet, legs crumbling under him, and then he woke again, finding himself deep under the coldest, blackest water.
Raven kicked, and kicked.
He screamed and swallowed water and burst to the surface, coughing badly. Then the current threw him up on the far shore, saving him. He climbed out on shaky legs, pulled off the eyes and finally managed to breathe. Then he saw where he was, and in a panic, he crawled back under the metal ropes, escaping the spirit realm before anything awful came roaring up out of the darkness.
For a long while, Raven stood on the edge of the world.
&
nbsp; When he was sure nobody was watching, he crawled under the ropes and searched the bank, finding the demon eyes where he had dropped them. Then he stood on that sandy bank, turning over a slab of driftwood, studying the bugs living under it, and he ate them, one at a time and tasting them for what they were.
“Silence is a good thing,” Grandfather observed, climbing the last little ways to the top of the hill. “And silence is very rare to find in such a young man.”
Raven felt the first warmth of the compliment. A smile began to build, but then he looked up at the old man, his half-born smile collapsing into an embarrassed grimace.
Grandfather gave a little laugh, sitting beside him. “We must talk,” he said. “Man to man.”
Raven had been found out. Maybe Snow-On-Snow saw him standing outside the world, or maybe Grandfather had seen his thoughts. Whatever the reason, the secret was lost, and he was glad about it. Now a few hard words would be offered, and Raven would pretend not to cry, absorbing his punishment like a good boy, Grandfather putting him back on the path to manhood.
Except the old man didn’t know. He just looked at Raven, and he said, “Born-Twice.”
Born-Twice was a person. In her fifth year, she was Raven’s second cousin, her bloodline divided from his by a goodly distance.
“Do you like her?” Grandfather asked.
Raven said, “Yes,” while thinking, “No.”
Grandfather only noticed the “Yes” answer. Nodding and smiling, he told him, “She likes you, I think.”
Raven said nothing.
“Again, silence.” Grandfather laughed.
A wind blew across the spirit realm, rippling the grass until its warm breath struck Raven in the face.
“It is too soon for you,” the old man offered. “But not for others. Your brother, in another year or two, and maybe your mother again.”
“My mother – ?”
“She is young enough still. And pretty enough, too.” Grandfather shook him with his good arm, saying, “This is something worth considering.”
Raven tried to shrink away and vanish.
“Or I could take a man with me. Travel out into the spirit realm with someone, and I will teach him the magic spells and the right words, and we will fool all of the demons we meet.”
“Fool them?” Raven echoed.
“Long enough to steal away one of their babies.” That withered face couldn’t have smiled any harder, black eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “This is something we do from time to time. When we need fresh blood, we take a baby demon and purify it with a special ceremony.”
Raven closed his eyes.
“Who was my father?” he blurted.
The clinging arm dropped away, and Grandfather stared at him, using his own silence now.
With a tight, hard voice, Raven said, “I want to know my father.”
“Ask something else,” Grandfather suggested.
“But this is what I want to know.”
“And I won’t tell you,” the old man replied. Then with a patient, slow voice, he said, “Ask anything else. This one time, I will tell you whatever you want to know.”
Raven said nothing.
Grandfather looked at the sky. “Did you know? Demons once walked across the moon.”
“I don’t care,” Raven lied.
“I guess you do not,” Grandfather muttered, shaking his head slowly. “I see that I was wrong.”
There was a soft thump, and Raven looked up. Two demons sat inside a long metal bowl, floating around Bull’s Bend. Raven was standing in the open, knee-deep in water, holding an enormous turtle by its tail. The turtle hissed at him. Raven held tight. If he dropped the animal or ran, he would splash and be seen. But if he stood where he was, even the blind demons would notice him.
Slowly, slowly, he walked up to the bank and hunkered down beside some silvery willows, letting his face drop. Like men, demons saw faces before anything. Through the tops of his eyes, he watched them drift past. Then a second metal bowl rounded the bend, another pair of demons coming close. One of the demons coughed. Otherwise they made no sound, sitting up straight, their eyes big enough to be worn by owls.
When the demons were passed, Raven stepped back into the shadows and cut off the turtle’s head, and he buried the biting head in the wet sand, and he ran home, carrying the turtle in one hand, then the other, climbing the bluffs and cutting across the prairie, skipping the next two bends in the river.
Raven gave the first warning, and he helped the women and children hide. Then with the men, he stayed outside. “It is only midday,” Grandfather pointed out. “They will float past, and it will still be midday.”
But the demons pulled up against the far shore, dragging their bowls into the trees. Silently, the men watched as two shelters were set up and wood was stacked high, making ready for a fire. Raven went underground and came back with Uncle’s demon eyes. Another man took the eyes. Raven waited. A second man used them. Finally Raven got them and stared at the demons, and after a long moment, he said, “They are the same. The ones who came last year.”
Snow-On-Snow glared at him. “You can’t know that.”
Raven said nothing.
“I believe you,” said Grandfather.
Raven let himself smile, just a little.
The men sat watching, whispering among themselves, and then they were quiet for a long while. Midday turned to dusk. The demons sat around the woodpile, talking quietly. “I do not like this,” said Grandfather. “They want something, I think.” He went underground, returning with a medicine sack. Inside it was the bright rag and a special charm. The charm was carved from ash wood, and it looked like a long bowl meant to ride on the water, demons sitting inside it. Speaking only to Raven, Grandfather asked, “Do you want to come talk to the wind with me?”
“No,” said Raven.
The old man stared at him.
Snow-On-Snow said, “I’d like to go with you, Grandfather.”
“Good then,” said Grandfather. “Good.”
When the sun dropped, the demons lit their campfire. They fed the blaze until it was enormous, and one of them brought out a long black box that let loose a strange wailing. The men had to laugh at these demons. Weren’t they the strangest, sickest creatures?
Raven was scared, and he didn’t know why.
“I want to eat,” he announced, walking toward home. But he slipped past the main door and down to the river, crossing it on the sandbars. The demons were burning the dead ash tree where he hid last year. Even at a distance, Raven could feel the flickering heat. Kneeling, he watched two of them drag fat branches to the fire. Where were the others? The little demon was missing – the one with bad dreams – and his good friend, too. Were they inside the shelters? With a practiced eye, Raven stared across the open ground. On the far side of the fire stood a giant cottonwood named Forever. Sitting beneath that tree were the missing demons, waiting now, each holding some kind of rifle.
Raven started to rise, and then thought better of it.
He kneeled again, and waited. The wailing songs grew even louder. The great fire hissed and popped, throwing its light up into the clear skies. Then the fire began to collapse and die, and that was when Blue Clad rode up in his wagon and turned on its bright torches and leaped out.
Yellow Hair held the shotgun, like last year. And Blue Clad lifted his rifle high, shouting now, his deep voice swallowed up by the wailing songs.
The demons at the fire stepped forward, smiling grimly.
Blue Clad yelled again.
There were pops, loud and sharp, and his wagon jumped as if kicked. Then the fat wheels collapsed beneath it, and the demons at the fire were stepping forward, shouting angrily at Blue Clad.
Raven quit breathing, melting down into the ground.
Blue Clad set his rifle on the ground, and then he said something to his son. And he repeated himself. And finally, Yellow Hair set his shotgun on the ground, straightening his back now and stepping aw
ay.
The hiding demons walked into the firelight.
Raven breathed again, with a tight little gasp.
The four demons were shouting and laughing. They herded Blue Clad and his son over to their fire and made them sit together. The little demon walked up behind Blue Clad. He said a few words and put his rifle against the man’s head, just above the thick neck. And he said something else, turning the rifle and holding the barrel tightly with both hands, driving the butt into the neck.
Blue Clad crumpled.
Yellow Hair started to stand, and he was knocked down again.
Blue Clad called to his son. He spoke to the others. Holding his neck with both hands, he tried to sit up, and then he fell forward and rolled onto his side, growing still now.
The little demon stood over him, watching him.
Everyone was staring at Blue Clad, trying to decide if he was dead. Nobody saw Raven. He slipped through the shadows, moving behind the crippled wagon and looking at the Blue Clad’s rifle left lying on the ground.
Blue Clad moved in pain, and then lay still again.
His son said a few hard words, and one of the unarmed demons picked up a hatchet and stepped toward him, cursing him.
Remembering how Blue Clad had aimed and fired the rifle, Raven grabbed it. He planted the butt against his shoulder and looked down the long, long barrel, curling his top finger around a cold piece of metal. He aimed at the demon with the hatchet. He stepped forward. But nobody wanted to see him, and they were going to beat Yellow Hair next, and Raven stepped forward again, shouting the first demon word that came to mind.
“Fuck,” he said.
Five faces turned toward him.
Raven yanked at the cold metal, but nothing happened. So again, louder this time, he shouted, “Fuck.”
The little demon turned his body.
Raven tugged at curled metal, and again nothing happened. But then as he lifted the barrel, his fingers slipped behind the guard, and the trigger went click, and there was a sharp, enormous explosion.
Everyone fell to the ground, and for a horrible instant, Raven believed that he must have killed everyone. Then Yellow Hair jumped up and ripped the rifle from the little demon’s hands, and the others just lay there, staring at the sight of a feral boy wearing next to nothing, his naked feet set far apart as he clumsily but deliberately aimed that smoking barrel at their owl-eyed faces.
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