Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear
It Dreams in Me (14 page)
WIND RAVAGED THE ROOF OF ELDER MOORHEN’S HOUSE, tearing the thatching loose and flapping it against the walls like massive beating wings.
She groggily blinked at the high ceiling. All night long she’d been having trouble sleeping. But it wasn’t just the ferocious storm. She kept hearing strange sounds outside her door, snuffling, like a dog in the corridor. Once, she swore she’d heard the scratching of fingers.
“Your shadow-soul probably heard it in your dreams, you idiot.”
She rolled to her side and stared at the wall. Sea Grass had been driving them all too hard. The late nights and constant bickering were beginning to nip at her strength. Though Sea Grass kept saying it was for the greater glory of Water Hickory Clan, Moorhen suspected Sea Grass just wanted to rule the Black Falcon Nation.
Not that it mattered. If Sea Grass’ twisted plans brought about the fall of Shadow Rock Clan and elevated Water Hickory
Clan, it was worth it. Water Hickory was next in line, and Shadow Rock had ruled for centuries. They’d grown stale and weak, too afraid of war to be effective. No nation could afford to have their enemies stop fearing them. Water Hickory Clan would restore that fear and turn it—
Clan, it was worth it. Water Hickory was next in line, and Shadow Rock had ruled for centuries. They’d grown stale and weak, too afraid of war to be effective. No nation could afford to have their enemies stop fearing them. Water Hickory Clan would restore that fear and turn it—
Something squealed less than two paces behind her. Her belly prickled. It sounded like wet leather.
A man whispered, “Remain still and there will be no pain.”
She started to scream, “Guard—!”
The whir of a war club cut the air.
SORA DREW THE BLANKET AROUND HER SHOULDERS AND sank back against the damp wall. Rain fell outside, turning the world utterly dark. The only light came from the smoldering coals in the fire pit two paces away. She deliberately kept her gaze off Flint, who slept on his back with his long hair feathered around him like a black halo, and focused on the glimmering coals. Their crimson color soothed her, making her feel a warmth where there was none.
“You’ll never be Healed if he’s here,” she whispered to herself, barely audible.
A tight band of fear constricted her chest. Through her emotional haze, she caught the scent of damp earth blowing in around the torn door curtain.
“Deep down, you knew this would happen. But you did nothing to stop it.”
She closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Her thoughts drifted to Strongheart. The only place she felt safe was close to
him. He’d responded to her vulnerabilities in a way she’d never imagined. She’d only wanted him to Heal her. She’d never dreamed …
him. He’d responded to her vulnerabilities in a way she’d never imagined. She’d only wanted him to Heal her. She’d never dreamed …
No, don’t even think it.
She propped her chin on her drawn-up knees and gazed at the coals; they reddened when the wind fanned them. Never in her life had she felt so broken and vulnerable. How could she mend the damage? The harder she tried to force herself to believe she still loved Flint, the more desperately she longed to escape him. Whereas her love for Flint had always drained her strength, making her feel weak and fragile, her feelings for Strongheart gave her strength. The only time she felt truly alive was when he was looking into her eyes.
She pulled the blanket up around her neck and held it closed. The storm was increasing. Rain pounded the forest, and tiny streams poured through the gaps in the roof of the old lodge. Fortunately, they weren’t right over the bedding hides.
She ran her fingers over the soft, finely woven buffalo wool of her blanket.
A shadow moved outside, beneath the sheltering moss-covered limbs of a giant water oak.
Strongheart.
Strongheart.
Sora let her blanket fall and slipped on her dress, then quietly tiptoed to the door and pulled her cape from the peg. As she flipped up her hood and walked out into the storm, wind lashed her cape, billowing it around her.
Strongheart lifted a hand, and she smiled in return.
Despite the darkness, the lake had a faint glow. Standing there, silhouetted against it, Strongheart looked very tall and slender. He had his hood up. Inside, she saw him smile.
“Did I wake you?” he asked as she walked up to stand beside him beneath the mossy canopy, where for the most part it was dry.
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Bad dreams?” he asked, concerned.
“You have to be asleep to dream. My shadow-soul has yet to leave my body.”
Out on the lake, geese murmured to each other, and she saw them floating close to shore. They were a paler gray than the lake.
“What’s been keeping you awake?” he asked.
She nervously twined her fingers in her cape, and Strongheart noted it with mild interest. The fingers of her right hand twitched. He said nothing.
“I’m beginning to think you were right. We should never have returned to camp.”
“Why? Did Flint say something that disturbed you?”
“He told me about the man he saw today. He said it was a Trader.”
Strongheart folded his arms beneath his cape. “Really? And what news did the Trader bring?”
She bowed her head. “He told Flint that the Loon Nation is massing warriors for an assault on Blackbird Town.”
His brows drew down over his beaked nose. “I certainly hope not. Many more of my relatives will die if my nation is foolish enough to attempt it.”
“You don’t believe the Trader? You think he was lying?” Wind tousled his hood, and Strongheart reached up to hold it, to prevent it from blowing back. “Do you really believe Flint met a Trader?”
She suppressed a shiver, and he instinctively lifted an arm, then hesitated to drape it around her shoulders, letting it hover awkwardly. After two or three instants, Sora took a small step forward and eased into his arms. He pulled her close.
“I didn’t really intend this,” he said. “I was just afraid you were cold.”
She hugged him, letting herself drown in the comfort of his arms. “I was.”
He pressed his lips to her hair.
She looked up and saw desire in his eyes—before he turned away and forcibly suppressed it.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“What if Flint wakes and comes looking for you? What do you think will happen?”
She quickly glanced over her shoulder at the lodge where he slept, then reluctantly pulled away from Strongheart.
They stood awkwardly, barely a hand apart, for a long time before she said, “What made you come out in the storm? Couldn’t you sleep either?”
He shook his head. “Power is loose on the wind. The Spirits are restless. They’re trying to tell me something, but I’m apparently too dull-witted to understand them.”
She glanced around, uneasy. “What Spirits?”
He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “They’re everywhere, Sora. Forbidden Village was only abandoned by the living, not the dead.”
“Do you see them?”
“Sometimes. Other times, I hear them whispering to me.”
She let her gaze drift over the rainy woods, stopping at every shadow that moved, wondering if it was a Spirit or just a dark bush swaying in the wind.
“You don’t see them?” he asked, and gently touched her hand.
“No, and I’m not sure I regret it. Spirits frighten me.”
“To tell you the truth, they frighten me, too. But I fear them less than I fear what they might tell me.”
Bravely, she tucked her hand into his palm, and he closed his fingers around it. A pleasant warmth flooded her veins. “You mean about the future?”
“Usually it’s the future, but on occasion the things they reveal about the past are even more frightening.”
“I didn’t know Spirits talked about the past.” She released his hand and rubbed her arms. Cold bumps had risen on her skin.
His dark hood waffled around his face. “I think they reveal whatever you need to know to face the future. Often that means telling you about the past.”
Anxiously, she asked, “Have they told you anything about my past? Anything that might help to Heal me?”
“About your past? No.”
She sensed there was more to it. “Have they told you about someone else’s past?”
His dark bulging eyes glinted as he looked down at her, and she had the feeling he was going to tell her something very important … but he only smiled and shook his head. “No, Sora. They haven’t.”
She started to ask another question, but as soon as her mouth opened, Strongheart said, “If Water Hickory Clan ruled the Black Falcon Nation, who would be chief?”
Sora blinked at the suddenness of the question. “Chief? I don’t know. Matron Sea Grass would have to choose. With Short Tail dead, it could be Pocket Mouse, I suppose.”
“And war chief?”
She narrowed her eyes, wondering why he cared. “If Skinner weren’t dead, he would be the first choice. But now? Sea Grass would probably pick someone from Oak Leaf Village, a renowned warrior.”
Inside the lodge, Flint said something. It was muffled, as though he was talking in his sleep, but she swung around, panting, as a hot surge of fear raced through her.
Strongheart whispered, “Go back to him. I’ll see you in the morning. I need some time alone to listen to the storm.”
He gracefully walked away, heading up the trail that led northward around the lake.
Sora considered following him, but he’d said he needed to be alone. Her belly churning, she turned and walked in the other direction, back to Flint.
“I’M TIRED. LET NO ONE ENTER MY CHAMBER TONIGHT,” Elder Thrush said to her two guards.
“Yes, Matron.”
One of the men yawned, and she scowled at him. It was very late, but that was no reason for impudence.
They adopted their positions on either side of her door, and she ducked into her chamber. Instantly, anger warmed her veins. Her slaves were all lazy! They’d allowed her fire to burn down to coals. There was no excuse for it! She often stayed out very late at meetings. Tonight should have been no different.
“Mole?” she called. “Sage Cloud?”
Neither slave answered, and it fueled her anger. Where were they? They knew she didn’t see as well as she used to. If she made it to her sleeping bench by herself without breaking a hip, it would be a miracle.
She cursed under her breath as she used her toes to feel a path through the darkness. She’d made it halfway across her
chamber when a rectangle of torchlight flashed across the floor and retreated. Someone had pulled back her door curtain.
chamber when a rectangle of torchlight flashed across the floor and retreated. Someone had pulled back her door curtain.
She shouted, “It’s about time—!”
Muffled groans sounded in the hallway, followed by two heavy thuds.
Thrush managed to turn in time to see a man she did not know enter her bedchamber.
“What do you want?” she cried. “Who are you?”
He was an ugly man, twice her height, with a pockmarked face. He looked enormous standing in her small bedchamber.
Thrush’s head shook. “Did you kill my guards?”
He didn’t answer, but she could see a pair of feet thrusting beneath her door curtain and knew it wouldn’t do any good to cry for help.
A sick frustration gripped her. She raised her hand and stabbed a finger at him. “Did Wink send you?”
He stepped forward as lightly as a dancer.
“Blessed gods, I can’t believe she is this bold!”
The man drew his stiletto from his belt.
Almost in tears, Thrush shouted, “You tell Wink that I
personally
gave the order about her son!”
personally
gave the order about her son!”
His bone stiletto flashed in the firelight … .
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