Read Online People of the Nightland (North America's Forgotten Past) by W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O'Neal Gear - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: W. Michael Gear, Kathleen O'Neal Gear
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touched this.”
“I want to talk to Wolf Dreamer.”
“You just think you do. The things he tells you are not always good.” Lookingbill pulled the laces of his belt pouch tight again to hide the bundle. Silvertip watched intently.
“I know how to use the bundle. Did you know that, Grandfather?”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” Silvertip blurted excitedly. “You have to hold the Wolf Bundle to your heart and walk up the bright star trail to Wolf Dreamer’s Spirit Lodge in the skyworlds.”
“Usually, but sometimes Wolf Dreamer reaches out and grabs you by the throat when you least expect it. That’s why you can’t play with it. The Spirits always think you’re serious when you pick up the Wolf Bundle.”
Silvertip nodded. “Grandfather, tell me again about how the world used to be filled with sacred bundles? Raven Hunter’s bundle, and Dancing Fox’s bundle, and Ice Fire’s bundle. Tell me about how the Nightland clan Elders stole them all and put them in their ice caves—”
“You have more important stories to think about tonight. Like the fight between Wolf Dreamer and his evil brother Raven Hunter.”
Silvertip wet his lips. “Did the other bundles go to the skyworlds, too, Grandfather?”
Lookingbill sighed. “Since we have only the Wolf Bundle, no one knows where the others went. Now, you think about the battle between the Hero Twins.”
Silvertip took his hand. “Will you tell me the story?”
“What? Now? You can’t wait to hear it from your aunt Mossy?”
“No, please tell me. I want to hear the part about Wolf Dreamer fighting Grandfather White Bear.”
He smoothed the boy’s black hair and got to his feet with a grunt. His tired old legs ached as they resumed the climb toward the great cavern.
“I’ll tell you a little bit. I don’t want to spoil the ceremonial for you.”
“Thank you, Grandfather.” The boy beamed.
Lookingbill took a breath, and his voice grew deeper. “Long, long ago, our people lived on the edge of a great icy sea, a white world of immense beauty and danger. All was darkness. They called it the Long Dark. Then one day—”
“Wolf Dreamer and Raven Hunter were born!”
“I thought you wanted me to tell this story?”
“Don’t be difficult, Grandfather.” Silvertip mimed his mother’s voice, and it made Lookingbill laugh.
His youngest daughter, Dipper, had a gentle hand with children, too gentle perhaps, since Silvertip was growing up much too precocious.
“Grandfather, please, I want you to tell me about Wolf Dreamer. About how he fought the giant bear and rescued our Ancestors from their exile in the dark underworlds, then flew to the Creator, Old Man Above. Old Man Above gave Wolf Dreamer a huge pillar of fire to lead our people through the darkness—”
“I think you know the old stories better than I do. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“Grandfather,” Silvertip pleaded, eyes lingering on the pouch on Lookingbill’s belt. “You tell me. Like you do every winter.”
“I should be glad you want to know,” Lookingbill said half to himself. “Not very many people do anymore.”
While he had personal reasons to wish the Nightland Prophet dead, a sad reverie came over him. Since the coming of the Prophet, children were often stolen away. Those who managed to escape after several moons were never the same. While some returned to their beliefs, others who had met the Prophet remained skeptical. Raven Hunter had become their hero, and they longed to find the hole in the ice that led back to the Long Dark.
What Power does the Prophet wield that he can have such an effect on children, even after they have returned to their own? Lookingbill longed to meet the man, to see for himself, but the Nightland People guarded their Prophet jealously. For good reason. Lookingbill, himself, would have loved nothing better than to drive a lance through the man’s evil heart. But for eyewitness accounts, Lookingbill could almost believe the
“I want to talk to Wolf Dreamer.”
“You just think you do. The things he tells you are not always good.” Lookingbill pulled the laces of his belt pouch tight again to hide the bundle. Silvertip watched intently.
“I know how to use the bundle. Did you know that, Grandfather?”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” Silvertip blurted excitedly. “You have to hold the Wolf Bundle to your heart and walk up the bright star trail to Wolf Dreamer’s Spirit Lodge in the skyworlds.”
“Usually, but sometimes Wolf Dreamer reaches out and grabs you by the throat when you least expect it. That’s why you can’t play with it. The Spirits always think you’re serious when you pick up the Wolf Bundle.”
Silvertip nodded. “Grandfather, tell me again about how the world used to be filled with sacred bundles? Raven Hunter’s bundle, and Dancing Fox’s bundle, and Ice Fire’s bundle. Tell me about how the Nightland clan Elders stole them all and put them in their ice caves—”
“You have more important stories to think about tonight. Like the fight between Wolf Dreamer and his evil brother Raven Hunter.”
Silvertip wet his lips. “Did the other bundles go to the skyworlds, too, Grandfather?”
Lookingbill sighed. “Since we have only the Wolf Bundle, no one knows where the others went. Now, you think about the battle between the Hero Twins.”
Silvertip took his hand. “Will you tell me the story?”
“What? Now? You can’t wait to hear it from your aunt Mossy?”
“No, please tell me. I want to hear the part about Wolf Dreamer fighting Grandfather White Bear.”
He smoothed the boy’s black hair and got to his feet with a grunt. His tired old legs ached as they resumed the climb toward the great cavern.
“I’ll tell you a little bit. I don’t want to spoil the ceremonial for you.”
“Thank you, Grandfather.” The boy beamed.
Lookingbill took a breath, and his voice grew deeper. “Long, long ago, our people lived on the edge of a great icy sea, a white world of immense beauty and danger. All was darkness. They called it the Long Dark. Then one day—”
“Wolf Dreamer and Raven Hunter were born!”
“I thought you wanted me to tell this story?”
“Don’t be difficult, Grandfather.” Silvertip mimed his mother’s voice, and it made Lookingbill laugh.
His youngest daughter, Dipper, had a gentle hand with children, too gentle perhaps, since Silvertip was growing up much too precocious.
“Grandfather, please, I want you to tell me about Wolf Dreamer. About how he fought the giant bear and rescued our Ancestors from their exile in the dark underworlds, then flew to the Creator, Old Man Above. Old Man Above gave Wolf Dreamer a huge pillar of fire to lead our people through the darkness—”
“I think you know the old stories better than I do. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“Grandfather,” Silvertip pleaded, eyes lingering on the pouch on Lookingbill’s belt. “You tell me. Like you do every winter.”
“I should be glad you want to know,” Lookingbill said half to himself. “Not very many people do anymore.”
While he had personal reasons to wish the Nightland Prophet dead, a sad reverie came over him. Since the coming of the Prophet, children were often stolen away. Those who managed to escape after several moons were never the same. While some returned to their beliefs, others who had met the Prophet remained skeptical. Raven Hunter had become their hero, and they longed to find the hole in the ice that led back to the Long Dark.
What Power does the Prophet wield that he can have such an effect on children, even after they have returned to their own? Lookingbill longed to meet the man, to see for himself, but the Nightland People guarded their Prophet jealously. For good reason. Lookingbill, himself, would have loved nothing better than to drive a lance through the man’s evil heart. But for eyewitness accounts, Lookingbill could almost believe the
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