‘We can’t afford to wait that long.’
‘I see. Despite your suggestion that we might no longer enjoy the protection of Talisman, you’d rather we throw caution to the winds and just … ride off into the sunset.’
‘I’m aware of the risks,’ said Steve. ‘But it’s not just us. If we don’t act fast, a lot of other people could get hurt.’
Cadillac rolled his eyes. ‘Is this going to take long?’
‘That depends on whether you can keep your mouth shut.’
The Mute invited him to proceed.
‘I can’t stop worrying about that Jap boat we flew over,’ said Steve. ‘If he saw us we could be in trouble.’
‘I don’t see how, but no doubt you’re going to tell me.’
‘The Yama-Shita have the exclusive license to trade on the Great Lakes. Which means that boat was one of theirs. The two buildings I glimpsed on shore suggests it’s a permanent mooring. I have no idea what they’re up to but the Japs aren’t going to put a unit that far out without some means of communication. My guess is it’s either a link-boat or –’
‘Carrier-pigeons …’ Cadillac eyed Clearwater. ‘So if they did see us –’
‘– you can bet your last meat-twist that the news has reached Sara-kusa.’
The palace at Sara-kusa was the headquarters of the Yama-Shita family.
‘But,’ began Clearwater. ‘Lord Yama-Shita is …’
‘Dead. I know.’ Steve laid a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘But his family aren’t. So what does that mean, Caddy? You’re the one who got into the heads of these people.’
The question fuelled Cadillac’s annoyance at Steve’s constant opposition to his plans. ‘They will seek revenge. But how does that affect us? You are just building on this wild supposition to try and get your own way! We are no longer in Ne-Issan and even if the crew of this boat saw us fly overhead, which I doubt, I can’t see what would lead them to connect those aircraft with our escape from the Heron Pool. And even if by some miracle of deduction they did, it will get them absolutely nowhere!’
‘Unless, of course, they happened to come across the wreckage we left on Highway 30. And whatever we might have left inside …’
‘Okay. Assuming they had connected us with the Heron Pool, I admit the remains of those two Skyriders would tell them we’re now moving on foot but they still have no way of knowing we are here.’
‘Let’s hope so. That’s one good reason for not hanging around. And we’d be in even bigger trouble if we went to the trading post.’
‘Why?!’ cried Cadillac.
‘Because there’s going to be three wheelboats packed with red-stripes and samurai belonging to the Yama-Shita family! All armed to the teeth and looking to get even!’
‘So what? They’re not going to recognize us. For most of the time Clearwater and I were in Ne-Issan, we were clear-skinned.’
‘But I wasn’t!’ cried Steve, pounding his chest. ‘How many Mutes are there with blond hair?!’
‘Then dye it!’
Steve exploded. ‘Jeez, what a nitwit! D’you think that’s all I’m worried about? They know you two are from the Clan M’Call! If they don’t nail us beforehand, d’you think those Japs are gonna let your people walk away without a mark on them?! Christo! I saw ’em shoot four of their own guys just to demonstrate how good their fucking rifles were! For all we know, they may be planning to chop the M’Call trade delegation into little pieces!’
Cadillac hid his concern behind a scornful smile. ‘Be serious, Brickman. The Old One’s not going to allow anything like that to happen.’
‘Terrific. Supposing he has an off-day?’
‘Then the other delegations will come to our aid.’
‘The She-Kargo clans, maybe. But what about those belonging to the D’Troit and the C’Natti. They’d be glad of the chance to jump on your bones. I was at the trading post last year. The wordsmiths hit it off, I grant you that, but a lot of their warriors were just spoiling for a fight. If the M’Calls and the rest of the She-Kargo were no longer allowed to trade, it would be to their advantage.
‘You know what it’s like. On the surface it’s all smiles, but underneath it’s dog eat dog. You guys are so busy trying to do each other down, the Japs score every time they do a deal. I know ‘cos when I wasn’t looking for you two, I watched ’em do business. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if they got some of the bad hats from the D’Troit to stick the knife in for them.’
‘Then that’s all the more reason for us to go there. If the Old One’s strength fails him, Clearwater will take his place. You saw what happened at the Heron Pool. She will do the same and more!’
‘And what if she finds she can’t? You’ve lost the gift of reading the stones. Supposing she suddenly discovers she can no longer make rocks jump into the air? What do we do then?’
Cadillac shrugged. ‘We must accept the will of Talisman.’
‘Not good enough. I want to be in a position to be able to do something about it.’ He indicated Clearwater. ‘You can’t proceed on the assumption that she is going to come to the rescue every time we get into a tight corner.
‘Oh? Why not?’
‘Because I’m not going to allow it!’ cried Steve. ‘Each time a summoner cuts loose he dies a little. I know because Mr Snow told me. Those forces are like a lethal charge. The damage to the summoner’s body is directly related to the power channelled through them. When I picked her up after she had done her bit at the Heron Pool, it was like lifting a dried corn husk.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘You were unrecognizable. I thought you were going to die on me.’
‘Yet here I am …’
‘I know.’ He gripped her hand. ‘And you took on a small army and won. But I don’t want you to have to go through that again – which is what might happen if we go to the trading post. From here on in, any plan of action we come up with has got to work without relying on earth magic. That’s a bonus. Our ace in the hole.’
Cadillac laughed dismissively.
Steve rounded on him angrily. ‘I mean that, friend. I’m not going to let you put us into a situation where she has to let her body be ripped to pieces inside just to save your miserable ass!’
Cadillac accepted this with a mocking bow. ‘So much for the blood pledge of loyalty and friendship! But then, such things are meaningless to one who is not of the Plainfolk!’ He squared up to Steve. ‘It is not for you to say what will, or will not be. The Path is drawn and we must follow.’
His eyes rested briefly on Clearwater. ‘Ask her. You may have entered her heart and soul but she has not surrendered her being because it is not hers to give. The Great Sky-Mother has placed it alongside mine in the hands of Talisman. And if he asks her to lay down her life she will do so. Willingly.’
This was followed by a pitying smile. ‘But that is something a sand-burrower, who believes in nothing he cannot see, will never comprehend.’
‘You’re wrong, blood-brother. I’m tuned into a lot more of this stuff than you think. I’m hearing a lot of talk about sacrifice but what’s missing is any expression of willingness on your part to lay down your life to save hers.’
‘If you had known me for as long as I have known her,’ said Cadillac, ‘you would realize there is no need to declare what has always been understood from the moment she and I met as children.’
Ouch! thought Steve. I really walked into that one. He appealed to Clearwater for moral support. She responded with an expression of gentle forbearance; like a mother watching two much-loved children engaged in a pointless squabble.
‘Come on, say something! You’re the reason why I’m arguing with this goon! What do you think we ought to do?’
She turned to Cadillac. ‘The cloud-warrior is right. We should head westwards as soon as the grass has swallowed the snow. We must warn the clan what might happen at the trading post before the Old One and the others leave.’
‘It will give them a chance to decide whether or not to go to
the trading post,’ explained Steve. ‘If they do go, then at least they’ll be forewarned. They can beef up the delegation with more warriors – and alert the other She-Kargo Mutes as to what might happen.’ He paused expectantly. ‘What d’you say?’
Cadillac eyed them both like a man betrayed. ‘Before I answer, I’d like to hear just how you plan to get to Wyoming without being challenged. What have you got up your sleeve – some pills to make us invisible? Come on, Brickman. Amaze us with your brilliance!’
Steve mastered the constantly-recurring desire to sink a fist into Cadillac’s face. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something.’
For Steve, the winter months spent with the Clan Kojak were probably the happiest of his life but also the most frustrating. He was grateful of the opportunity to consolidate his relationship with Clearwater, especially as it was now legitimized by Cadillac’s unspoken assent, but no matter how agreeable your partner, a young man, especially one like Steve, cannot remain endlessly locked in a loving embrace. He needed to be up, needed to be doing something, but the heavy layer of snow that blanketed the ground from mid-November to the beginning of April seemed to have brought the world almost to a standstill. Almost, but not quite. Two or three times a week, weather permitting, small groups of Kojak braves went out hunting and Steve went with them, as a keep fit exercise and to familiarize himself with the lie of the land.
One of the more interesting discoveries he made was that not all Mutes were frightened by large expanses of water. This appeared to be a characteristic of clans like the M’Call, who roamed the high plains. The Kojak, living alongside Lake Michigan – part of what the Mutes called ‘the Great River’ – fished the inshore waters using primitive catamarans, narrow hulled craft made of oiled buffalo skin stretched over a wooden frame. Lashed across the hull amidships were two curving saplings with shaped log floats attached to the ends to provide extra stability.
The boats, which usually held a crew of four, were propelled and steered by paddle power. The fish were caught on hooked lines, or in hand-woven nets dragged between two boats. If a large shoal of fish were encountered, several pairs of boats would work in unison, first surrounding the shoal then corralling it into a smaller and smaller area by overlapping their nets, drawing the noose ever tighter until the fish surfaced in one great wriggling, slithering mass. Those not entangled in the nets were speared out of the water and it was only the fish with enough sense to dive under the nets that escaped.
During the winter months, the Kojak boats were hauled up the beach, turned upside down, and securely anchored against the howling winds by piles of rocks. Old nets were repaired and new ones woven during the long hours of darkness spent huddled round firestones in their triangular tents. In extremely cold weather, a thick layer of ice formed round the edges of Lake Michigan, but even when it was ice free, the bitterly chill winds that drew thin jagged lines of foam across the steel-grey water and the lowering cloud-filled sky that seemed as if it was about to fall upon the earth and crush all life upon it was sufficient to keep the Kojak fishermen onshore.
When the trees’ central heating system finally managed to shift the snow from their leaves and branches and the falling droplets pitted the stubborn white carpet beneath, it was time for the fishermen and their families to move their tents down to the shore. Sweeping the snow off their boat hulls, they set to work, checking seams and joints, replacing split timbers and waterproofing the buffalo hide with animal fat.
The fishing season ran from early spring to late autumn and provided enough fish to satisfy daily needs plus a surplus that was dried like the M’Call’s meat-twists and consumed during the winter. Quantities of dried fish were also the Kojak’s principal item of trade with the Iron Masters.
In the Old Time, the lake had been slowly poisoned, but the nine centuries that had passed since the last gallon of chemical waste was pumped had allowed the healing hand of Time to give the dying waters the kiss of life and they now provided plentiful catches for anyone with a net and the necessary persistence.
This was the other interesting fact that emerged from Steve’s conversations with the boat-men; ‘the Great River’ was regarded as no-man’s land by the clans whose turf bordered Lake Michigan. In practical terms, it meant that boats from otherwise hostile clans often fished in sight of each other without the crews feeling the need to cut each other’s throats.
At the time, Steve merely stored this along with everything else he had learnt about the Kojak. It was only later, after Cadillac made his own startling discovery, that this sidelight on the mores of Mute fisher-folk provided him with the germ of an idea.
The breakthrough quite unexpectedly came when Steve and Clearwater coaxed Cadillac to come down to the lakeshore to watch the activities of the boat-men. As a true high-plains Mute, Cadillac did not regard fishing as a fitting activity for a real warrior – although he was careful to conceal his feelings from his hosts – and he could not understand what there was to be gained by gazing out across dauntingly large expanses of cold water.
Clearwater was less worried with the matter of ‘standing’ than he was, but with her own journey across the Great River still fresh in her memory, she shared his antipathy towards the grey, fathomless deeps. She was there at Steve’s request, and it was also to please him that she had persuaded Cadillac to cut short one of his interminable conversations with the Kojak wordsmith and join them. Like the mule he was, he evinced little interest in the activities of the fisherfolk, turned down the opportunity to go out and work with the nets, and only perked up interest when fires were lit on the beach at sunset and he was offered a warm seat and a piping hot portion from the day’s catch – which Steve had helped bring in.
As they ate, the darkness gathered round them, and the leaping flames from the fire tinted the paler parts of their faces with an orange glow. Steve, sitting between two of the boat-men who had invited him to join their crew, looked across at Clearwater. She’d made sure Cadillac stayed onshore till he returned, and they were sitting together now. Her eyes were on Cadillac. But he had stopped eating, and was turned away from her, staring at something on the beach some yards beyond the chattering group of fisherfolk. Steve looked in the same direction but saw nothing of any interest in the flickering circle of light, or in the shadows beyond.
Cadillac rose and walked off into the darkness. Clearwater’s eyes met Steve’s, signalling him to follow. The boat-men and their women continued eating and jesting. There were several similar fire-circles and ever since cooking had begun, people had been wandering to and fro from one group to another.
Some fifteen yards beyond the light cast from the fire, Steve saw Cadillac kneel down and lay his hands reverently upon a large pebble. He squatted down beside him. After slowly caressing the stone for a while, Cadillac lifted it gently onto his knees.
‘What is it?’
‘A seeing-stone,’ breathed Cadillac. ‘Do you not see how it glows! The gift has been returned to me!’
All Steve could see was a smooth lump of rock the size of a baby’s head. He looked up as Clearwater joined them. He could see from her face that she knew the whole story.
‘Not here,’ she said. She ushered Steve and Cadillac behind the upturned hull of a nearby boat where they were shielded from the Mutes sitting round the fire. ‘For the moment it is better that this gift is known only to us.’
‘What happens now?’ whispered Steve as they sat down facing each other.
Clearwater motioned him to remain silent.
Cadillac closed his eyes and appeared to go into a trance. His head dropped forward then a short while later he raised it and, at the same time, lifted the seeing-stone in his cupped hands and placed it against his forehead.
‘He draws out the images,’ whispered Clearwater.
Steve held his breath.
Keeping his head erect, Cadillac brought the stone back to its starting point on his knees. His eyes were closed but his attention was focused on something
that only he could see on the great expanse of water behind Steve and Clearwater.
‘Red sky … blood and fire upon the water … horses rising from the waves … ridden by dead warriors … with banners of flame …’
Dead warriors … or dead-faces …?
Clearwater reached forward and touched the stone that lay in Cadillac’s hands. ‘Where do these warriors come from?’
‘The Eastern Lands … Ne-Issan …’
It was just as Steve feared. He’d been right all along.
Clearwater posed the question on his lips. ‘Do they seek us?’
‘Yes …’
‘When will they come?’
‘Soon … they know we are here …’
‘How?’ asked Steve.
‘Treachery … some who smile upon us are false friends …’
Steve looked at Clearwater and nodded. ‘Snap.’ He could tell, without asking, that they both knew who the culprit was.
Over the next five days they each kept a discreet watch on Carnegie-Hall, noting his movements, and timing his journeys with the aid of the digital watches taken from the two mexicans at Long Point. Whenever possible, they tailed him at a safe distance, often losing him in the process. Despite this, a pattern began to emerge. In general, Carnegie acted quite naturally and was apparently unaware he was under surveillance but there was one moment, early in the morning of every second day, when he appeared to exercise a degree of caution.
This was a thirty minute journey which took him into the woods surrounding the settlement. The route he took meandered aimlessly through the concentric rings of lodges. On each occasion he entered and exited from the trees at different points but always returned to his own lodge by a much more direct route, stopping now and then to exchange a word with various clanfolk as they emerged from their lodges to greet the rising sun and take in huge yawning mouthfuls of fresh air.
The next day, while Cadillac kept Carnegie-Hall occupied by a marathon ‘down memory lane’ session in which they took turns to relate great chunks of their respective clans’ history, Steve and Clearwater moved stealthily into different segments of the woods, timing their journey to determine the limit of the wordsmith’s outward journey. Once his ‘combat radius’ had been established they spread out in a line and slowly combed the perimeter until they found – or rather heard – what they were looking for.
The Amtrak Wars: Blood River Page 24
