Shadow Valley Read online

  Ember sighed. “It is the way of women to be lonely. I miss my Fire Ant.”

  “You have knowledge, as we have,” Stillshadow said. “I say that the men can wrestle and run and test one another, but we, as women, know how to share.”

  Old Young was adamant. “Men are always boys. As women we must lead them.” Her voice was strong if rough. Her dance was halting, but its very torpor contained a measure of clarity.

  Stillshadow lifted her hand. “Let this smoke seal our friendship.”

  She reached into the leather pouch at her side and extracted a handful of herbs, which she threw onto the fire. The women breathed deeply, growing dizzy and light-headed as the cloud enveloped them.

  “It is good.” Old Young said. “This is how it was when the world was young.

  “‘Once, all the children of earth were one people, but the men fought among themselves. “I am the greatest hunter” one would say. And another would say, “Yes! But I am the greatest runner!” And on and on, until the gods wearied of their boasting and divided the people and separated them.’”

  Stillshadow agreed.

  “‘Women do not do this. All are proud of their own children, but they say, “See how beautiful your girl is!” “See how fast your boy runs!”’

  “‘We take pride in these things that men cannot understand,’” the Vokka woman said.

  Neither the women nor the men saw the shadow watching in the darkness.

  Moving stealthily at first, it crawled back up over the valley ridge. As it blended into the shadows on the far side of the ridge it stood and ran, until it joined ten others.

  “What did you see?” Moon Runner asked.

  “They are there,” Fire Ant replied.

  “Did you see the dancers?”

  “Yes,” Ant said, “young and old.”

  “Why do we wait?” Moon Runner asked.

  “Because there was something else. Like Mk*tk. But not Mk*tk.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Ant shook his head. “There were strangers, not like people I have ever seen. Wide. Pale, with straight hair.”

  “So … what do we do?”

  “Whatever it is, we do it tomorrow,” he said, and rolled over onto his back, folding his fingers beneath his head. “My head hurts,” he said. “Tonight, we sleep. Tomorrow …”

  “Tomorrow?” Moon Runner asked.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “perhaps we kill.”

  Chapter Forty

  The day began like any other, with a new sun sung to life and Frog’s countless thrusts against a now pockmarked baobab tree trunk.

  By the time he was finished, the morning meal was prepared, and Frog sat with his family and enjoyed his first food of the day No more mush balls and jerky! This was fresh dates and juicy roasted boar. It was clean water from sparkling springs. It was the promise of life to come.

  A deep sense of contentment welled up within him, like a morning glory embracing the sun. This, then, was what he had lacked for all these moons.

  Even to himself he had dared not confess such a wonderful emotion, for fear that it might be taken from him, and the pain of loss would be greater than never feeling joy at all.

  Then his eyes focused on the valley wall behind them, and he could not breathe. Ten-and-one men were approaching. Not Mk*tk, thank the mountain: Ten-and-one new Ibandi hunters. New spears for the hunt!

  Then he saw the last face among them. Burned and scarred on the right side of his face, but still known at once.

  “Fire Ant,” Frog whispered.

  The thunder of his heart drowned out all sound. Rooted in place, unable to run, Frog watched his brother’s lips move, unable to hear a single word.

  “My brother,” Ant mouthed silently, “have you no food for a ghost?”

  Frog searched for words and found none. He felt as if his head were filled with the hard, cold water atop Great Sky.

  Fire Ant stepped toward him, his handsome face scarred and burned, the right eye torn from its socket as if he were Uncle Snake’s younger twin.

  Frog could not believe his eyes. Certainly, this could not be true. Not be real. Only when he felt Ant’s chest against his own did he really think he was not dreaming.

  “It is a gift from Great Mother!” the women called, and fell to their knees, wailing and pulling their hair.

  “Father Mountain sends a sign!” the men cried, and thumped their spears against the ground. Whooping and calling and dancing and crying, they brought meat and water and fruit for the walking miracle men.

  Frog’s ears buzzed, without producing voices. His people gathered around, watching Frog’s ghost brother eat. Every bite, every chew, every step or word was proclaimed a miracle, the greatest wonder that they had ever seen. For had not Frog told them all, time and again, that his brother had died atop Great Sky?

  Ant’s face brought it all back in a thunderclap: the terrible climb, the death of Scorpion and Small Raven. The ascent to the summit. There, he and Ant had seen nothing … and T’Cori had seen Everything. Her insistence that Father Mountain wanted his people to leave the shadow enraged Ant, and for the first time in their lives, the two brothers had reached a branching path: Frog needed to protect her, Ant needed to kill her. The decision had torn Frog’s heart to pieces. Only fear of the Mk*tk had driven the terror and shame of those days from his mind.

  But Ant had not died. Here he was, eating and laughing and very much alive. And if Ant’s burn scars and empty eye gave him a fearsome aspect, he was still a living man, and that was a wonder almost beyond imagining.

  For months, Frog had told the story of Ant’s “heroic” death. And if Ant now appeared, then he was a walking miracle.

  For Frog would not lie … would he?

  Ant belched, thumped his fists against his chest and spread his arms wide. “I am here, Brother! Great Father Mountain set me free.”

  Frog rubbed his eyes. “It is not possible. I dream.”

  “Brother!” Fire Ant said. “I told you upon the mountain that you would see me again.” The corners of his mouth turned upward, baring his teeth. “Don’t you remember?”

  Frog’s followers looked from one to the other, as if uncertain what to think.

  “Yes,” Frog admitted. Speaking that word felt like pulling fish bones up his throat. “I remember.”

  Fire Ant grinned. “Will you welcome your brother?”

  Frog felt like a mouse cornered by a fox. “Welcome to the boma,” he said. “Meat and water are yours if they are ours to give.”

  Ant’s grin was a hunting cat’s. “So generous of you. To offer what you have to give. Believe me, I will remember the meat you share. As I remember all things that happen … or have happened between us.”

  He leaned closer to Frog and whispered: “As I twist the knife.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Clutching her hands to prevent them from trembling, T’Cori approached the rocks where Frog and Fire Ant sat talking, surrounded by hands of awestruck Ibandi. She prayed that her naked fear would not shiver her voice.

  Ant spit, spattering a dung beetle as it rolled a bit of caracal scat into a ball. “Ah. There is the woman. I remember her, upon the mountain. Do you remember?”

  Frog leapt to his feet, standing between them, eyes darting back and forth, panicked.

  T’Cori fought to keep her eyes on Ant’s face, but time and again they flickered to the knife he shifted idly from hand to hand. Her vision clouded: for a moment, the air around Ant boiled red and black, like a mixture of blood and mud melting into a pond.

  Great Mother, now you give me my sight?

  “Yes,” T’Cori said. “Yes. Do not speak as if I am not here.”

  Now Fire Ant rose to his feet. “I need not speak at all if it ends now, in this moment.”

  Although four hands of Ibandi stood or crouched about, only half of them Fire Ant’s men, not one moved to her defense. They were transfixed by the spectacle of blood conflict between two such mighty be
ings: the woman beloved of Father Mountain and a man returned from the dead.

  T’Cori stepped back, eyes wide, raising her hands to fend off a lethal blow.

  But as his hand twisted back for the strike, a withered voice said: “Stop, unless you would kill us both.”

  Fire Ant glared at Stillshadow, as the ancient woman hobbled toward them, leaning on Uncle Snake and Gazelle Tears. Little Wasp walked beside her, his face filled with wonder. Gazelle Tears cried openly.

  Ant chewed at the inside of his cheek as if he had just discovered something tasty tucked into its folds. Then he nodded and sat back down, his good left eye crinkling with ugly humor.

  “All of you leave,” Stillshadow said. “Only family remain. My children need to speak privately.”

  Wasp ran to his older brother, wrapping his arms around his waist. “You were gone!” he said. “You were dead.”

  Ant smoothed Wasp’s unruly hair. “I came back for you,” he said. He squatted down until he was at Wasp’s level.

  “What happened to your eye?” Wasp squeaked, his own eyes opening wide.

  “The Mk*tk,” he said. “I took their lives, they took my eye. It was a fair trade.” He kissed his younger brother’s forehead, lingering for a moment, then kissed him again. “Go. Play. The adults must speak.”

  “But you will find me, later?”

  “I promise,” Ant said.

  When Wasp was gone, Ant turned to his mother, Gazelle Tears.

  “Son,” she said, and leaned her forehead against his chest. He held her. “You are dead … but feel warm. I do not understand.”

  “Neither do I,” he said, voice soft. “Perhaps if we are loved enough, we can return. Your heart was always the strongest thing in my world.”

  The water ran from her eyes, and she held him tightly. Then she held him at arm’s length. “There are many things I do not understand,” she said, and looked from Ant to Frog to T’Cori and back again. “I feel it in the air. I ask one favor.”

  “Ask,” he said.

  “Let this day be a happy one. Tomorrow always comes. But this day. For your mother?”

  “If I can,” he whispered.

  “I go now,” she said. “This is not my place.” She gripped his hand. “One day,” she repeated, and left them.

  When Gazelle Tears had gone, Stillshadow squatted down. “Speak.”

  “I would speak first,” Snake said.

  “You may,” Stillshadow replied.

  Snake crouched down, balancing on his heels. “I raised you, Fire Ant, and it was my pride to see you surpass me as a hunter and a man.”

  Ant’s face did not soften, but T’Cori saw his eyes grow moist, as if flooded by unfamiliar memories.

  “Whatever happened upon the mountain, know that I love you. Your brother loves you. And that Sky Woman has done everything she could to take care of us.”

  Ant looked at Stillshadow’s eyes, and his mouth twisted bitterly. “I can see how well—”

  “Do not dare” the old woman said. “Do not credit or blame my daughter for a matter between me and Great Mother. Do not dare.” Her words carried a mighty weight, and Ant was silent.

  “Have you more to say?” she asked Snake. Frog’s father and uncle shook his head.

  “Then you should speak, Ant.”

  “Yes, Old Mother. I will speak,” Ant said respectfully, then turned to T’Cori. “You are here. And I am here. And our people are lost. You are the one we trusted.”

  “No, Ant.” T’Cori was surprised to find the strength to challenge him. “I have listened to your men speak. You came down the mountain, and lied about what happened to you there. You told them you died fighting demons and then returned from the dead.”

  “Not my lies, girl. I stand on my brother’s lies,” he snarled. “Your lies. Do not forget.”

  “Yes,” she said. “We told them so that those who loved you would not be shamed.”

  He blinked. “So?”

  “So,” she replied. “Why did you tell your lies, Ant?”

  “I didn’t know they were lies,” he said. His voice had strength, but she detected a bit of doubt. Perhaps … of shame?

  “Ant!” a woman’s scream. He turned in time to see Ember running toward him all a-jiggle.

  Ant stood, face slack as if he had forgotten he had a wife. He glanced from Stillshadow to Frog and back to Ember again, and now at last some of the heaviness seemed to fall from him as he took his lost wife in his arms. They embraced, and then he stepped back half a pace, gripping her hair and holding her cheeks steady to study her. In return she held the side of his face, and shook it side to side, laughing and crying. She gazed into his dead eye and blinked back tears. A single tear welled as she leaned forward and kissed his scars.

  “I …” he said, suddenly uncertain. “We speak more, later.”

  “I’m sure we will,” T’Cori said.

  And she watched as Ember led Ant to her hut.

  • • •

  What is love? Ant wondered. What is life? For so long he had felt nothing but frustration, shame and rage. His heart had held no room even to remember the woman he had once loved, or the child she might have borne him. But when he met his unnamed child for the first time, the sight and smell of his son nearly burst Ant’s aching heart with joy.

  Here. Here is life.

  She sat kneeling as he held his child, so that Ant looked from wife to son and back again, the smell of both stirring something long dead in his heart’s war-scarred depths.

  It felt like home.

  Life and love.

  She had borne him his first son, a new life to carry his blood. Then that night, when the camp grew quiet, she drew him to her and gave him the other. And when their urgent fire died down, she roused it again.

  And then again.

  When passion had fled, and she sobbed out her loneliness and gratitude that he had returned to her, for just a little while he could not remember his anger.

  For just a little while.

  Later that night, in the moon shadow of Stillshadow’s new sitting stone and away from the sight of all save Sister Quiet Water, the old woman and the dead man shared words.

  “Come,” Stillshadow said. “Come, Ant. Sit with me.”

  “I am here, Old Mother,” he said.

  “This is a good place.” She sighed. “A place where our people might thrive.”

  “That you would say such a thing … say that there is any place for us but in His shadow, troubles my heart.”

  She reached out toward him, found his hand. “There are many things we do not understand, Ant. I do not know why Father Mountain did not turn the Mk*tk away. I do not know, but I dreamed of a reason.”

  “What is that reason?” Ant asked.

  “Perhaps He is luring the Mk*tk close. Then He will unleash His fury and kill them all.”

  For an instant, Fire Ant was swept away by her vision. “Might He do such a thing? Such a great, great thing?”

  “You tell me,” the old woman said. “After all, you are the one He sent back down the mountain. Tell me, Fire Ant… might Father Mountain have a plan for all this?”

  “A plan for what?”

  “The world. For men and Mk*tk. For Fire Ant.” Stillshadow sighed. “I have little time left here, Ant. The jowk calls me. Cloud Stalker waits for me, pulls at me. I am losing the strength to say no.” She tilted her face up at him. “Can I die, Ant? Can I leave my children, or will they tear each other to pieces as soon as my flesh cools?”

  Fire Ant blinked. “Perhaps before,” he said.

  Stillshadow stared blindly at Fire Ant for many breaths. Then she tugged at Sister Quiet Water, who helped her up and led her silently away.

  In the late morning, the warming air above Shadow Valley’s ponds shimmered, swarmed with insects and birds, flavored the breeze with mint and grass. Standing alone at the edge of the camp, Frog breathed deeply, savoring, filling his senses, painfully aware that one of these mornings would be hi
s last.

  Perhaps this one.

  He felt Fire Ant’s presence before he saw him, like a wall of fire closing in. Now, though, even the earth would not shelter him.

  “So much,” his brother said, close behind him. “Herds, water, canyons. I can see it all, as if I stood atop Great Sky.” He smiled. “Show me more.”

  Show me. Take me where the others cannot see, so that no one can stop what must be done. “Of course.” Fear, shame, regret … all mingled until Frog could not tell one from the other. Until it no longer mattered.

  Frog took Fire Ant for a walk up to the camp’s edge. Almost as if he were merely strolling and enjoying his day, a watchful Leopard Paw wandered along behind, spear in hand.

  Ant turned to Paw. “No. From here on, we go alone. Yes, Brother?”

  “Yes,” Frog agreed.

  “Good,” Ant said.

  Below them, the cloud-shaded valley floor promised richness untold. Across the valley in every direction, mountain ridges formed boma walls.

  Ant grinned. “So good to see you, Brother. I often wondered where you were. What you were doing. But this valley is even better than I could have dreamed.”

  “So …”

  “So I still stab you, of course.” Ant paused. “But perhaps I won’t twist.”

  So. The food, the welcome, Ember’s love, and Mother Stillshadow’s heart had not cooled his anger. Could Ant ever forgive Frog’s betrayal atop Great Sky?

  Frog recounted his travels, struggling to remain calm.

  “We hadn’t had water in a day, and food had run out. This is what we found.”

  Within the vast green bowl of Shadow Valley grazed the largest zebra herd Frog had ever seen. But that was not all: almost as staggering were the mouth-watering clusters of wildebeest and eland, vast pink mantles of flamingos and frond-choked pools where great fleshy gray hippopotamuses lay submerged up to their nostrils.

  Fire Ant sighed. “It is a great, great thing.”

  “It was more than I hoped for,” Frog said. “We were almost done. And then this. Almost as if we were supposed to find this. And the only thing wrong was that my brothers were not here beside me.” A pause. Then, “But then, no matter what, you would never have been beside me.”