Read Online Trail of Bones by Mark London Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark London Williams
Ads: Link
is harder to get a good jump off the
soft snow, but the horse-warriors are close and I have to try.
“No! Save yourself, Many Lights—“
North Wind wants me to go. But if I am part
of somebody’s vision quest, which sounds at least as critical as a
school project, I can’t just leave him. I gather him up just as the
next volley of arrows skim by. I jump, land in the snow, almost
drop North Wind, but don’t. However, I’ve jumped toward the crest
of the Spirit Mound, right at a patch of freeze-blanket that has
been in direct sun all afternoon. It is a little squishy.
Landing, I sink right in to my belly line.
Luckily, the horses are having trouble, too. Did those warriors ask
the horses if this battle-hunt all right with them? Do mammals
check with other mammals about these things? And does giving North
Wind a ride make me a kind of horse?
I struggle out of the squishy snow,
preparing to leap over the summit of the Spirit Mound and down the
other side, where I calculate that the shadows should make for an
icier, firmer surface. I should be able to gain more distance from
our pursuers.
“Many Lights—“
I tense and jump, though the softness of the
freeze-blanketed surface hampers my liftoff. I manage to get both
myself and North Wind to the other side of the mound. We seem to be
clear of the horses and the hunters now, or at least we should be.
Yet I still hear a horse close by, which seems strange, because
they were behind us when —
Oh. I see what North Wind Comes was trying
to warn me about. There is another horse. In front of us.
On top, there sits another young man with
long black hair like North Wind, but more colors painted on his
face and more feathers in his hair. And not too much buffalo cousin
wrapped around his body. He’s showing lots of bare mammal skin. As
if he enjoys the cold. Or perhaps is challenging it.
We’ve been driven right to him. Trapped.
Bad Cacklaw move for me.
The ice under my feet continues to crack.
Like glass. Like frail lenses.
Always riding out
Never coming home
The trail takes me far
Blood and honor
dancing
The man on the horse is singing a song as he
slowly takes out a bow of his own.
“Crow’s Eye,” my shaman friend says. “Crow’s
Eye has found us.”
Crow’s Eye notches a jabberstick and is
about to shoot one now. From this distance, he won’t miss.
I am too young for this to happen. Who will
there be to report the findings about slow pox and
plasmechanics?
Crow’s Eye pulls the bow, and the ground
below us starts to roar. And opens up.
Chapter Eight
Eli: Journals
June 1804
June 8 th : A jentle brease proves a
welcome companyun on the second month of our great journey…
Error. Suggest: “gentle.” Error.
Suggest: “grease” or “breeze.”
Error. Suggest: “company,”
“companion,” or “comparison.” Suggest: Use Language Options Menu if
attempting to write in a language other than English.
… much of which I have undertook in a canoo, these
past weeks…
Error. Suggest “can you,” “can do,”
or “cannolli.”
It’s no use. I may have to write on actual
paper. I’m amazed to still have a vidpad at all. It was rolled up
and stuffed deep in my pocket and stayed with me all the way from
my tumble out of Clyne’s ship, through the Fifth Dimension, and
back to Earth. It recharges with the sunlight, so I can use it
during the day when no one’s looking.
But even with power, it doesn’t seem to be
working right
Suggest: Maintain spell check
function.
It’s like the vidpad is refusing to do what
I ask. It’s designed to handle being stuffed in a pocket, but maybe
not if that pocket keeps going through different dimensions and
times. I mean, now it won’t even let me override the spell check.
Which out here will be a real problem.
Everyone is keeping a journal: Clark, Lewis,
and a few other men, like Patrick Gass. Gassy has been showing me
some of his writing:
soft snow, but the horse-warriors are close and I have to try.
“No! Save yourself, Many Lights—“
North Wind wants me to go. But if I am part
of somebody’s vision quest, which sounds at least as critical as a
school project, I can’t just leave him. I gather him up just as the
next volley of arrows skim by. I jump, land in the snow, almost
drop North Wind, but don’t. However, I’ve jumped toward the crest
of the Spirit Mound, right at a patch of freeze-blanket that has
been in direct sun all afternoon. It is a little squishy.
Landing, I sink right in to my belly line.
Luckily, the horses are having trouble, too. Did those warriors ask
the horses if this battle-hunt all right with them? Do mammals
check with other mammals about these things? And does giving North
Wind a ride make me a kind of horse?
I struggle out of the squishy snow,
preparing to leap over the summit of the Spirit Mound and down the
other side, where I calculate that the shadows should make for an
icier, firmer surface. I should be able to gain more distance from
our pursuers.
“Many Lights—“
I tense and jump, though the softness of the
freeze-blanketed surface hampers my liftoff. I manage to get both
myself and North Wind to the other side of the mound. We seem to be
clear of the horses and the hunters now, or at least we should be.
Yet I still hear a horse close by, which seems strange, because
they were behind us when —
Oh. I see what North Wind Comes was trying
to warn me about. There is another horse. In front of us.
On top, there sits another young man with
long black hair like North Wind, but more colors painted on his
face and more feathers in his hair. And not too much buffalo cousin
wrapped around his body. He’s showing lots of bare mammal skin. As
if he enjoys the cold. Or perhaps is challenging it.
We’ve been driven right to him. Trapped.
Bad Cacklaw move for me.
The ice under my feet continues to crack.
Like glass. Like frail lenses.
Always riding out
Never coming home
The trail takes me far
Blood and honor
dancing
The man on the horse is singing a song as he
slowly takes out a bow of his own.
“Crow’s Eye,” my shaman friend says. “Crow’s
Eye has found us.”
Crow’s Eye notches a jabberstick and is
about to shoot one now. From this distance, he won’t miss.
I am too young for this to happen. Who will
there be to report the findings about slow pox and
plasmechanics?
Crow’s Eye pulls the bow, and the ground
below us starts to roar. And opens up.
Chapter Eight
Eli: Journals
June 1804
June 8 th : A jentle brease proves a
welcome companyun on the second month of our great journey…
Error. Suggest: “gentle.” Error.
Suggest: “grease” or “breeze.”
Error. Suggest: “company,”
“companion,” or “comparison.” Suggest: Use Language Options Menu if
attempting to write in a language other than English.
… much of which I have undertook in a canoo, these
past weeks…
Error. Suggest “can you,” “can do,”
or “cannolli.”
It’s no use. I may have to write on actual
paper. I’m amazed to still have a vidpad at all. It was rolled up
and stuffed deep in my pocket and stayed with me all the way from
my tumble out of Clyne’s ship, through the Fifth Dimension, and
back to Earth. It recharges with the sunlight, so I can use it
during the day when no one’s looking.
But even with power, it doesn’t seem to be
working right
Suggest: Maintain spell check
function.
It’s like the vidpad is refusing to do what
I ask. It’s designed to handle being stuffed in a pocket, but maybe
not if that pocket keeps going through different dimensions and
times. I mean, now it won’t even let me override the spell check.
Which out here will be a real problem.
Everyone is keeping a journal: Clark, Lewis,
and a few other men, like Patrick Gass. Gassy has been showing me
some of his writing:
Similar Books
