Baat rose and moved toward her. At the sight of him, she stiffened and a cry burst from her. He placed before her the skin of nuts and berries that he had collected and opened his arms, showing her that the fire from above had gone. Then he walked around to the back of the fir and loosened the knots.
"Don't be afraid," he said to her soothingly as she knelt and rubbed her wrists and ankles. "I will not hurt you. I need your help for one journey—my last journey. Then you are free of me."
The ghost dancer's voice sounded to Duru like gravel sliding down a rockface. He pushed the pelt of nuts and berries closer, and she recoiled.
"Eat it," he said. "It's for you." He remembered the sound of her name from his first encounter with her in his body of light. It sounded strange to his ear, yet he tried to mouth it: "Doo-roo"—he pointed at her. "Baat," he said, putting his hand to his chest. "Doo-roo," and he pointed at her.
The sound of her name coming from this huge face startled her so that she uttered a small cry and curled up.
Leave her alone now. Secure her gently and leave her alone.
Baat re-tied the girl loosely to a fir and backed off into the trees.
Duru watched after him with speculative eyes. When he had walked out of sight, she tried tugging on her leash and fraying it with her fingernails and teeth. A tightly reeved vine, it resisted her efforts. Frustrated, she curled up tight, her back against the tree, and stared through her tears into the darkness.
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Hamr ran hard across the dell of firs, past the glassy-eyed men mashing acorns, past where his spears and knife stood in the ground, all the while eyeing the wall of Forest where the wolves lurked.
Not a howl lifted from the dark trees, even though the ground near the totem of skulls and clacking bones displayed numerous wolf prints. Chanting under his breath to the Beastmaker for protection, he skirted the totem and penetrated the wall through a smaller gap.
His mind reeled with dread. Spirits haunted Timov and Duru. The spirits of the sky owned them as they owned the ghost dancers—even as they had owned Aradia. He felt lightheaded at the memory of her, and the anxiety in him stilled momentarily. He stood in the dry grass smelling her again. From far away, a drumbeat of thunder rolled.
Blind Side of Life, nuzzling among plush ferns, whinnied happily at the scent of Hamr and ambled toward him.
Hamr's back ached from his earlier fall among the rocks, though he felt no ire toward his steed. "The wolves obey the witch," he said, rubbing Blind Side's brow. "You were right to run."
"Where is Timov?"
Startled, Hamr turned and spotted Yaqut's waxen face watching him from the bushes. "He stays with the witch. She drove an evil spirit out of him, and he's resting. I've come for Duru's satchel so the crone can find her."
Yaqut rose from the bushes with fury. "You dolt! You've lost him!"
Hamr stepped back, expecting the hunter to strike him. "She ... she drove a spirit from him. I saw the thing crawl out of his mouth!"
Yaqut shook his head, his face unreadable. "Where are your weapons?"
"The witch said—"
Yaqut hissed scornfully. "She wants something from you, or you would be dead now. Quickly—make a brand. We are going in."
They searched around in the bush until they found two arm-length branches. At one end of each, they bound dried bracts with twined creepers and resinous strips of pine bark. "These will burn long enough for what we must do," Yaqut said.
Dread, anticipation, and anger at being duped knotted Hamr's stomach. He knew that the brands were meant to keep away the wolves, but he did not understand Yaqut's urgency until they had crossed through the stone fence. Then, from Blind Side's back, he searched and found Timov nowhere in sight.
Yaqut ran ahead of the horse, burning torch in one hand, lance in the other. He retrieved Hamr's and Timov's weapons. "Stay mounted," he warned. "And be ready to make this horse kick for your life."
From the Forest, yapping sounded but no wolves appeared. Ahead, the witch waited, standing before her burrow, still as the black pines beside her. She kept her longstaff tight at her side, the signal for the pack to stay away.
They had never seen a man astride a horse before. She feared her wolves would disregard her signals and approach to investigate this new manner of beast. But her fears proved unfounded. As the horse drew near, the wolves barked with mounting frenzy. None yet defied her commands.
The horseman and Yaqut neared her bunker, and the witch reached in her pouch and took out an oblate rock smoothed to a glossy polish. Many ul udi had been trapped in this gray stone: voracious Invisibles that the Old People called the Dark Traces.
Their excitement when they sensed others of their kind made the stone grow colder. The chill of this stone had alerted Neoll Nant Caw to the Dark One residing in the boy. She held the stone up for the approaching hunters to see.
"This is what you want from me," she called to them. "With this you can track the ghost dancer."
"Where's Timov?" Hamr shouted and poised one of his spears.
Yaqut stopped with his back to a giant fir, and Hamr rode Blind Side to within a spear's thrust of the witch and stared down into her weathered face.
"I have the boy in safe keeping," she answered him and waved the stone.
"No," Hamr said flatly. "You can't have him. Where is he?"
"He is safe," the witch insisted. "He is far safer with me than he would be hunting the ghost dancer."
"What've you done with him?" Hamr pointed a spear at the witch's heart.
"What I have told you is true," the crone said earnestly. "Your companion will succumb again to the Invisibles if he leaves this place. Let him rest with me while you hunt the ghost dancer. When you return to me this tracking stone that will guide you to your prey, you may have your boy back."
"I want Timov now," Hamr demanded.
"Yaqut," the witch called out. "Tell this one who I am."
"It is true—she is a witch with many tricks," Yaqut cautioned Hamr. "Neoll Nant Caw of the Longtooth. Watch what you say to her."
Neoll Nant Caw wagged the smooth stone. "This tracking stone will take you directly to the Old One, who has taken the girl. It is yours in exchange for custody of the boy." The witch stepped closer and nudged the spear-tip aside. "Listen: Truly I cannot lie to you before Yaqut of the Evil Face. If what I tell you is untrue, he will spread that lie among the Longtooth and my own people will become my enemy. Is that not so, Yaqut?"
Yaqut edged forward, stood behind and to the side of Hamr. "The truthfulness of a witch is her strength among the people. She dares not lie to us. But in her truths there may be deception. Old woman, you know I will kill the ghost dancer if I find him, and you are sworn to protect the Old People. Why then do you give us the means to find him?"
"Finding him does not assure that you will kill him," the witch replied with a sly smile. "If you die trying, the boy remains with me. He is better than a ghost dancer, for he is human, yet I have seen him carry the ul udi."
"What are these ul udi?" Hamr asked.
"Evil spirits," Yaqut replied.
"Not all are evil," the witch countered. "Some speak truths we can learn no other way. With the proper training, this boy can learn those truths."
"And if we succeed?" Yaqut asked. "If we kill the ghost dancer, will you return the boy to us?"
"Yes. If you return, you may take the boy back."
"I want to see Timov," Hamr said.
"He rests now."
"I will see him!"
The witch shrugged. "Kirchi! Bring up the boy."
The red-haired witch emerged from the burrow with a groggy Timov. At the sight of Hamr and Yaqut, he shook off his stupor. "I fell asleep," he said meekly, not remembering the witch's pressing the crystal to his head.
Hamr explained the offer Neoll Nant Caw had made. "Will you stay?"
Timov ran quickly to Hamr's side, fully alert. "No! I don't want to stay here. I want to go with you. I want to find Dur
u."
Hamr sat tall on his mount. "Timov has decided. He comes with us."
"Wait," Yaqut said. "We came for the tracking stone."
"The boy for the stone," Neoll Nant Caw said. "If you take the stone by force, you take my curse with you."
"The boy will be safer here," Yaqut said, hesitating.
"No!" Timov bleated. "I want to come with you."
"We have the witch's promise he will not be harmed," Yaqut reasoned. "When we have Duru, we will come back for him."
"Hamr!" Timov clutched Hamr's leg. "Don't leave me here."
"If he comes," Yaqut said, "we go without the tracking stone. We may never find Duru."
Hamr stared up at the fleet clouds and considered impaling the witch and taking the stone. Yaqut read his intent and said, "The stone is no good to us if it is cursed."
Hamr closed his eyes, looking for the Beastmaker. Black clouds drifted in a white sky behind his lids. He had to decide. The witch wanted only to keep the boy in custody—and Duru endured far more danger. He looked down at Timov and handed him his knife and his spear. "I will return," he promised.
A reluctant Timov took his weapons.
Neoll Nant Caw nodded sagely, and handed the polished stone to Yaqut. "Turn, Evil Face, and feel the chill in the stone."
Yaqut walked a tight circle. Indeed, the stone frosted in his grip when he faced southeast. "How do I know that this is the ghost dancer we want?"
"This is Frost Moon," Neoll Nant Caw replied. "Whatever Old People came through here this season have long since retreated south. Baat is the Old One you want. He alone lingers in the Forest. Find him—and may he break your necks!"
"Harm this boy and I will break yours." Hamr spoke through his teeth, though within his heart the words felt empty.
Timov moved back as Hamr turned Blind Side around. His eyes stung with tears. He blinked them back and felt them drain into the hollow of his chest.
"I will be back!" Hamr swore again and clacked his spear against Timov's.
He remembered the boy in the Blue Shell days, when Timov and his friends would laugh at him behind his back. Now only sadness circled between them. Like Aradia and then Duru, Timov had become a loss that mocked his greatness, the greatness that had become an emptiness when he lost Aradia and with her his tribe.
Hamr swore to himself that he would return for Timov. With the Beastmaker's blessing, he would reward the boy by initiating him himself. As a man, Timov could make his own destiny even without a tribe. That decided, Hamr joined Yaqut. They walked across the dell in the opposite direction from which they had come, toward where the icy feel of the stone led them. They did not look back.
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Neoll Nant Caw took away Timov's weapons and put him to work at once. She had him sit with the dreamy-eyed men and sort wads of grass into piles of weaving fibers of varying kinds. Timov resigned himself to the tedious work, afraid to anger the witch. The men beside him breathed not a word nor gave him even a single glance to indicate that they acknowledged his presence.
The young witch had a less fierce mien than the crone, and when she passed by to oversee, he summoned the courage to ask her, "Who are these men?"
"They're Longtooth hunters," Kirchi whispered, "who broke the tabu of the Mothers and are here as punishment."
"Why don't they see me?"
Kirchi pointed to an inflamed sting-mark under the ear of one of the men, and Timov noticed that the other also bore that wound. "Neoll Nant Caw pricked them with a trance-thorn, and now they see only their work. Hush now and do what she says or she'll prick you."
Kirchi drifted away, and Timov bent more earnestly to his task, though the light dimmed. He flicked a glance to the sky, at clouds the color of rocks tumbling out of the east. Here came the storm he had seen building over the mountains during his death-flight. Static thrummed in the air.
Timov worked without lifting his head until the light had darkened. Then, he peered up as if at the overcast and looked about for the witches. With them nowhere in sight, he believed that if he bolted now and ran hard he could easily outdistance the old woman.
The storm would certainly slow Hamr and Yaqut, and he could probably find them before nightfall. His spear leaned against a larch beside the barrow, and he decided not to backtrack for it. The others would understand. And with that decision, he leaped to his feet and dashed around the heap of wood beside the fire-pit and across the dale.
The wet wind in his face pressed against him and slowed his flight. The run across the hilly vale seemed far longer now. Sharp yelps cut along the grain of the wind. Among the trees to his left, slinky shadows glided. He peeled to the right, though that sent him toward the stone fences.
Shouts flapped with the wind from behind, and he threw a look over his shoulder. The two Longtooth men plodded after him. Their gait lumbered like that of lame men. Timov felt confident he could elude him.
The yelping broke into howls, and the wolf pack shot out of the woods toward him. He pumped his legs harder than he could run, and tumbled to the ground.
As Timov jumped to his feet, the first of the wolves fell upon him. It clasped his loin-pelt in its jaws and spun him about. He bent over, held his arms to his torso and his hands across his face. The beasts swarmed around him, yawping and growling.
Hands grabbed Timov's shoulders and pulled him away from the snarling wolves. He looked up into the flat gazes of the Longtooth hunters. The wolves' cacophony had diminished. They loped back to the Forest, and the tranced men dragged Timov back to the encampment.
Neoll Nant Caw waited outside her bunker. Her face squinted with anger. "You broke your promise," she snarled, and her hand lifted.
Timov cringed and, from the unexpected side, the witch struck him with the flat of her hand. A sharp pain jabbed him in his neck, and he staggered backward.
"Now you will do no more running," the crone cackled and turned away.
Nausea mounted in Timov. He reeled into the arms of the tranced men. As they lowered him to the ground, strength bled from his legs. Emptiness hollowed his bones, and he sat dumbfounded before the stack of wadded grasses. Fear knocked at his heart for several minutes, then dulled away.
"I am becoming as they are," he said to himself. Moments later, even that thought had become too ponderous to hold in his mind. His hands moved automatically, unraveling the tangled grasses, sorting threads by feel alone.
Rain pattered through the trees. Hands touched him, pulled him upright. The sky had turned green. Against it, Kirchi stood, her features softened with wry sorrow.
"You shouldn't have run," she said. "You should have waited for me. You can't get away without me." She led him out of the rain, into the burrow. Moss curtains parted, and the blue fragrance of burned pine resin greeted him. He sat where the other men already sat husking pine seeds. His hands fumbled with the cones, shook loose the white pellets.
Kirchi's hot whisper sounded behind him, the sweet spice of her breath close enough for him alone to hear: "Evil Face and your friend are not coming back for you. The stone the witch gave them has wicked spirits in it—spirits that will attract the beasts. We must escape on our own."
Neoll Nant Caw's voice called from deeper in the burrow, and Kirchi scurried off. Alone with the others, Timov worked steadily, mindlessly. His blood sucked in his ears. Had the red-haired witch truly spoken to him? He listened hard for his own memory and heard only thunder cutting rain into its endless parts.
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At the center of a subterranean chamber with root-woven walls, Neoll Nant Caw sat in a circle of blue fire. A gopher-tunnel and several mouseholes overhead vented the smoke. Even so, the place still reeked with acrid fumes from burning tar-oil.
Kirchi feared this chamber, for here the witch made her drink bitter dreaming-potions. Many a night she had sat on the packed earth at the center of that circle, watching slim blue flames twist inside the witch's crystals. With the help of the dreaming potions, she had seen deep inside those roc
ks, seen the moon-bright Forest under the mountains, watched her clan wander the grasslands with the herds.
And once, she had witnessed a ghost dancer possessed by the Dark Traces. That had happened early in the spring, when Baat defiled the Longtooth's priestess and slaughtered her escorts. Even now, eight moons later, she still touched that nightmare whenever she entered this chamber.
"The boy works?" the witch asked.
Kirchi nodded, glad to see that none of the crystals lay unsheathed. "He should be watched. He might easily doze off."
"You watch him then. And steep him a brew of this." The crone held out a rolled leaf packed with root-tip pinchings. "It will give him strength to work. Study what I have mixed here. I will ask you later to make some of your own."
Kirchi stepped closer to the ring of fire. Though the flames flickered low, no more than skinny blue worms glowing in the dirt, she dreaded the circle. Inside waited the trance, the way out of her body and into misting gulfs, where the Forest and even the mountains existed as no more than ghosts. She snatched the leafroll and backed away.
"When he is finished with the pine seeds, have him shave some tinder." Neoll Nant Caw shooed Kirchi off with a hiss, and a frown crossed her face as the young woman disappeared.
Four years they had worked together and still the child feared her. Perhaps the old woman had been too strict, made Kirchi imbibe too many dreaming brews. With so much to learn and so little time left, how else could she have trained this neophyte?
The crone despaired at what her life had come to. Since the day in her twelfth summer when a witch had touched a crystal to her forehead and she had heard a Bright One singing, Neoll Nant Caw had wanted to be a witch.
The Bright One had been singing about trees, lanterns of water that shone with the light of the sun. After hearing that song, nothing about the craft frightened her, not leaving her clan, not drinking the sour brews or losing herself in trances. She had yearned only for the Bright Ones and to learn everything from them.
In those days, it had seemed that from the ul udi everything could be learned. They knew not only how trees ate sunlight but also how sunlight in the grass became the life of the herds.
Hunting the Ghost Dancer Page 20