Free Children of the Dawnland (North America's Forgotten Past Series) by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O'Neal Gear Page A

all.
He was a wise man. That’s why he had ascended to the position of war chief.
    Nightcrow walked to stand very close to Player. The warrior stiffened, and Nightcrow could smell his fear sweat. “You didn’t mean to suggest that Cobia was the most powerful Spirit dreamer alive, did you?”
    Player nervously licked his lips. “No, my ch-chief, of course not. I would never—”
    “Good.” He turned back to Hook. “What did you find at Starhorse Village?”
    Hook frowned for an instant, then reached into his belt pouch and drew out a beautifully carved deer-bone stiletto. Nightcrow grabbed it, and power prickled across his palm. “This was their most powerful sacred object?”
    “Yes, that’s what the survivors told us just before we killed them.”
    Nightcrow studied the magical stiletto. Images of buffalo, mammoths, and birds covered the bone surface. It was a truly beautiful thing. Their Spirit dreamer must have cherished it.
    Player leaned forward to stare at it, and Nightcrow plunged it into the young man’s throat. As blood shot from Player’s wounded artery, he fell onto Nightcrow with open arms. Nightcrow grunted and shoved him away. Player’s body thumped hard on the ground. Nightcrow watched him writhe for one hundred heartbeats, until the life went out of his eyes; then he turned back to face Hook.
    “Was there anything else you wanted to tell me, War Chief?”
    Hook clenched his fists at his sides and shook his head. “No.”
    “Good. Find the Buffalobeard war party. Kill them. Then come back.”
    “Yes, my chief.” Hook bowed, then trotted back down the trail toward the village.
    Player’s blood soaked the carvings in the bone stiletto, making them appear to be alive. The prickling sensation of Spirit power grew.
    Nightcrow exhaled a deep breath and closed his eyes. The wind on his cheek felt especially pleasant, the fragrance of the tundra wildflowers especially sweet.
    He kicked Player’s dead body, sat down, and returned to his vision quest.

CHAPTER 11

    T WIG PANTED AS she scrambled up the massive pile of boulders on the eastern edge of Buffalobeard Village. Greyhawk, Grizzly, and Muskrat climbed above her. The dirt cascading from beneath their moccasins kept rolling down over her head. Twig spat gravel from her mouth and climbed faster.
    After Grandfather Halfmoon had spoken with Mother, Mother had been very quiet for a while; then in a cold voice she’d ordered Twig to start carrying rocks for the defensive wall being built around the western side of village. Twig had carried rocks all afternoon, until her arms and back ached so badly she could barely straighten up. It
was only when Mother had to begin the preparations for the Buffalo Way ceremony that she’d released Twig to go and play. And Twig had the feeling that carrying rocks was only a small part of the punishment to come for telling Grandfather about her dreams.
    In the village below, people laughed and walked around the central plaza. While quarters of buffalo roasted, suspended from heavy poles over the main bonfire, there were many smaller fires where racks covered with strips of goose meat and fish stood. The racks had been arranged over low fires. Then wet wood was added, causing a lot of smoke to rise and smoke the sweet meats to a golden brown.
    “Hurry up, Twig!” Greyhawk called from the top of the rocks. His chin-length black hair glistened with sweat. He waved impatiently, and Yipper barked at her. “We’re going over!”
    Grizzly propped his fists on his hips and sneered over the edge at Twig. “Come on, girl!” Grizzly yelled, and turned to the other boys to say, “Let’s leave her. She’s been hauling rocks all day. She’s too tired to keep up.”
    “I’m coming!” Twig cried as she watched the boys charge over the rocks and out of sight. At the top of her lungs, she added, “I’m the oldest. I should be the leader!”
    No one answered.
    She slid her knee onto the next ledge and dug her fingers