People of the Canyons by Kathleen O'Neal Gear

Author:Kathleen O'Neal Gear
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

Twenty-five

Tsilu

Crane tenderly picks up a pair of small moccasins. The predawn sky is shading from black to blue, but the footprints of the dead still sparkle across the vast bowl of the heavens. He places each moccasin against his lips, speaks to it, then carefully tucks it in his pack. Since he returned one half-hand of time ago, he’s been quietly moving around camp, packing up, and I wonder if he plans to sneak away and leave us. Perhaps he thinks we’re slowing him down and he wishes to go off to rescue Grandfather on his own. Or maybe he’s decided to abandon the mission altogether.

Kwinsi lies flat on his back on the opposite side of the dead fire. His bow and quiver rest beside him, at hand in case he needs them. When he lay down to sleep, he pulled his hood around his face for warmth, so all I can see is his long nose sticking out.

Very softly I say, “You were gone a long time, elder.”

Crane’s black cape swirls as he turns to look at me. Rolled in my cape, I’m sure he barely sees me. “Was I?”

“Almost three hands of time.” Only one pair of moccasins remains on the ground. It’s the tiny pair that he places over his head every night. The toes always point west. “Are you going to leave us?”

Surprised, Crane hesitates. “No, child. I’ll never do that. Not until we’ve rescued Tocho.”

“But you’ve been packing since you returned.”

The silver hair at his temples flashes as he shifts his weight to his other foot. “I guess I have, haven’t I? It’s not because I’m leaving you. I’m just anxious to leave this place.”

Mulling everything he’s told us in the last few days, I say, “Did you go to see your old enemy?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m anxious to leave. Crosswind is … unpredictable.”

“Crosswind?” Startled, I stare at him with my mouth open. “Grandfather says Crosswind is one of the most powerful witches in the land. Why would you go see a witch?”

“Because he’s very knowledgeable.”

“But he’s a witch. He’s evil.” My words become white clouds and trail away in the slight morning breeze.

“Very. But witches collect every rumor, story, or legend that speaks of a Power object. Mostly because they wish to steal them and use them for their own purposes.” Crane bends over to pick up the tiny moccasins, and holds them against his heart for a long time before he adds, “I needed to ask him about the jet fetish.”

“The serpent coiled in the cock’s egg? What did he tell you?”

Crane tucks the tiny moccasins inside his pack and pulls the laces tight, then he walks over and crouches in front of me. His face is dark and inscrutable. Down the valley behind him, the sky is shading bluer, shedding its cape of night. “He said the black serpent imprisons Leather Hand’s breath-heart soul, which means the Blessed Sun can’t travel to the Land of the Dead, unless the witch who imprisoned his soul releases him.

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