Spiritwalkers

Eight: Seeker

"Is it still snowing?" Nascha asked Ahiga. Her arms were full of a squirming Nastas, who she was trying without much luck to dress. Ahiga had his head outside the flap, surveying the winter sky.

"It's cleared off, and the wind's calmed down," Ahiga reported, and then pulled his head back inside. "We should be all right to hunt the day after tomorrow. Are you coming this time?"

Nascha grimaced. "Maybe, if my knee lets me. I'd love to get out a bit." Her knee was mostly healed, but it was still going through times when it was swollen and hurt to touch, and walking on it too much would mean that she limped for the next several days.

Nastas squirmed, protesting. Sakhyo's hands were full, since she and Hania were making the evening meal, so Nascha crooned to the little boy. "You're getting so big," she said to him. "Look at you. You're going to be strong some day, just like your father."

Ahiga came to sit down next to her, and held out his arms. Nastas giggled and climbed off of Nascha's lap into his father's, and Ahiga finished putting on his son's shirt. Nastas snuggled down into his father's arms. He seemed to have been no worse for wear for his and his mother's captivity. He was young enough that it had not affected him like it had Sakhyo.

There was a ripple in the air and Cheveyo appeared. "The new ones are ready to start," he told them all.

"Good," Nascha said, smiling. "Did you see the way Shappa was looking at Aquene? I think he's been half in love with her since we arrived."

"Wouldn't doubt it," he replied. "We'll start him on the stories tonight, and Hakan the night after."

Hakan was the shaman's son, younger than Cheveyo but already fully trained. Shappa was eight seasons older than Nascha, a man with a quick smile who occasionally looked as if he were expecting to wake up from the dream of being chosen at any moment. Cheveyo had found Hakan, and Ahiga had found Shappa while talking to him one day.

Winter was the slow season, when traveling was difficult to impossible and the threat of raids was small until the snow melted and did not return. The spiritwalkers had been keeping the tribe here supplied with fresh meat and hides; Nascha helped as much as her knee would allow her, but seemed to spend most of her time in and around their wickiup, talking to Sakhyo and Hania and helping care for Nastas. Sakhyo's pregnancy was showing now, and this pregnancy seemed to be troubling her more than the first, all in little ways that added up to mood swings and bursts of tears. Nascha tried to be understanding, and Ahiga was as careful as he could be, and together they all seemed to be muddling through.

It helped that there had been no sign of the skinwalkers since they had arrived, and though Cheveyo kept in sporadic contact with Zotum, there was nothing much happening with their home tribe. They had a chance to heal, all of them. Wahcommo had taken Gosheven and Okomi's deaths particularly hard; he had admired Gosheven for what he had been able to do even before he'd become a spiritwalker, and Okomi and he had had an understanding of one another because of their respective talents. It was hard to see the young man brooding, but as winter passed his mood was beginning to lighten a bit.

The days passed, and soon enough it came time for Hakan and Shappa to tell their stories. Shappa was tall, built lightly and quick rather than strong. He'd had a normal childhood until the unthinkable had happened--all of his relatives had died of cholera except him. Shappa hadn't even gotten ill. Since then, he had been set apart, shunned as bad luck. He'd never married, since none of the women of the tribe would have him.

The rejection of his people after losing many of the people he loved had hit Shappa hard. He had jumped at the chance to become a spiritwalker, figuring that even if his life were shorter, it would be more interesting. His greatest fear was rejection, since that was all he'd had for most of his life.

He had liked Aquene since he had met her, and now that he'd had a chance to get to know her, he definitely liked her and thought that he might love her. Whether it was love or just lust, he followed Aquene around like a puppy every chance he got.

They did blood ceremony with him, and the next night it was Hakan's turn.

Hakan was small and wiry, with intense eyes and a manner of moving that made him look as though he had swallowed embers. He thought a lot about things, but rarely spoke, and had done that all of his life. His father, the tribe's shaman, had encouraged him to become a spiritwalker. He wanted Hakan to live a little before returning to settle down and take the shaman's role from him. His mother had died in childbirth with Hakan.

Hakan showed them the story of his life through flashes and stops and stutters. He had a powerful temper that he kept locked down tightly. There were flashes of that temper in his story, and when the rage roared out of him and Hakan lost control of it, the results were always ugly. There had been a boy a bit older than Hakan who had taken great pleasure in tormenting those younger than him. When he finally pushed Hakan too far, Hakan had nearly beaten the boy to death with his bare hands. The only thing that had saved the other boy was the timely arrival of Hakan's father.

His greatest fear was that some day, he was going to lose control of that temper and kill someone for no reason. Nascha knew well the price of letting anger take control--her knee was a reminder every day that a spiritwalker's greatest weapon was their mind, and giving in to hatred would do nothing but get them killed. She resolved to herself to keep an eye on Hakan.

They trained as they could for the rest of the winter. It was a strangely peaceful time, deep snows both trapping them in their tents and keeping the worst of the human dangers at bay. Nascha's knee got better to the point that she could usually go out on hunts with her fellow spiritwalkers, and went back to helping train those who were newer than her.

Eventually, the snow melted, and the sun warmed once again. There was a feast held the day of the season change, as the days lengthened and the last of the snow melted. Nascha was restless. With spring came change, and the wind that was gentling and the sun that was growing warm brought with them another promise, one that was dark indeed. With spring, their enemies would be moving. Who would they lose this season? Would any of them survive?

She had walked out away from the camp a bit. It was dusk, and she startled jackrabbits that had come out to munch on the new leaves of the plants emerging from beneath the snow. In the distance, Nascha heard a familiar screech; an owl, making a kill.

There was a step beside her, Cheveyo dropping out of spiritworld. "Tashunka is moving out tomorrow," he said. "What do you want to do? He said we can move with them. He was impressed by our hunting skills."

It was no more than Nascha had expected, and thinking of it made her feel uncertain. This had become another home. "I'd like to go with them, but I think it's only a matter of time before Chogan finds us, though. Better that we be out hunting him, likely. We might leave Hania and Sakhyo with them, though."

"I thought about that too," he said. Her hand sought his, the air still held the last bite of winter in it, and his skin was reassuringly warm. "Chogan will find us sooner or later. He will have two new by now at least, maybe more. Seems the Arapaho are a lot more flexible about becoming skinwalkers. Sakhyo will give birth in another season and a half, we can wait that long and then go if you think that Ahiga will want to stay for the birth, or you do."

She was silent for a moment, staring out into the darkness with the star-sprinkled sky above, and then looked at Cheveyo. Quietly, she said, "Chogan will find us before then, won't he?"

Cheveyo inclined his head. "Before summer season. I have seen him."

"Then we should go. Ahiga will understand. I don't want to risk Sakhyo falling into his hands again."

"I am more worried about you than Sakhyo," he said. "Chuslum is dead."

Nascha twisted her mouth briefly. A pale shadow swept overhead; the owl that she had heard before. "I think Chogan would take Sakhyo again just for spite. Me, well..." She shrugged, one-shouldered. "I'll die, or I'll live, but I don't want to endanger any more people than I have to."

"He tracks us some way that feels familiar," he said, looking thoughtful. "Like he is tracking us because he can sense spiritwalkers, which we have thought anyway, but this is different, like he is sensing our thoughts and intentions."

"Like what Adoeete could do?" she asked.

"Yes, like one of the old ones of us is following our thoughts and leading them to us."

Her breath snagged in her throat. "Adoeete wouldn't have become one of them, would he?" she said slowly. "We can check in with those we left behind, see what's going on back there."

"With Adoeete, anything is possible." Cheveyo shook his head. "We can talk to Zotum."

"He might be able to tell us more," she said. She reached out to Zotum. It seemed like it had been years since they had last spoken, and the connection between them was attenuated with neglect. "Zotum, how are things going there?" She included Cheveyo in her query, letting him listen.

The answer came immediately, with much warmth from Zotum. She could almost see his smile, with those teeth that made him look so wild. "We survived the winter with no trouble. But otherwise bored. And you?"

"Healed up, finally," she answered. "Had a run-in with Chogan's people that I don't know if Cheveyo told you about. Has Adoeete been acting stranger than usual, lately?"

The dislike in Zotum's voice gave Nascha a metallic taste in her mouth. "He is more arrogant and sure that what he says is the only way to do things. So far he has been right, but he seems darker and quicker to banish."

"He hasn't had any times where he was gone without explanation?" she asked.

"He does that a lot," Zotum replied. "Disappears for days and returns."

Nascha let a breath out of her that seemed to come directly from her toes. "And he doesn't tell anyone where he's gone?"

"No. He is the great Adoeete, beholden to no one." The sarcasm in Zotum's voice was as biting as the point of one of his arrowheads.

"We may have a problem. We know he's had at least a couple of meetings with Chogan. If that kept up over the winter, I hate to think where this is going." She shook her head. The connection between of them was becoming stronger as they talked, the bond between them warming and brightening. She missed him, and the rest of those they had left behind. The winter had almost buried that in the snow.

"He has been negotiating peace between our two tribes," he said, and now suspicion was coloring his voice. "You think more?"

"Maybe. Just a feeling Cheveyo has, about the skinwalkers being able to follow our thoughts and feelings. Just--be careful, all right?"

"We will, and you too. Remember we are still your brothers. If we can help. Let us know." The sense of his presence, the warmth in his voice, was abruptly very strong. Zotum had been her favorite of her teachers in the spiritwalkers, partly because she'd already had a talent for the bow, and partially because unlike the rest he had never gone easy on her because she was a woman. She was merely a pair of clear eyes and an arm that could use some strengthening. It had been comforting.

She blinked tears away from her eyes. "Thank you. We will."

Nascha broke the connection and leaned into Cheveyo, putting her arm around his waist. There were no words between them, just the knowledge that come morning, they would pack up and leave.

They went back to tell the rest. Sakhyo cried, throwing her arms around Ahiga, not quite begging him not to go. Hania just nodded as if he had known it was coming.

In the morning, they were up around dawn with the rest of the camp to pack up. Their packing went quite a bit more quickly than the rest of the Sioux tribe, and once they were done with theirs, they helped the rest. Nascha hugged Sakhyo, feeling how thin she was now, except for her swollen belly. The last two seasons had been hard on her, and the prospect of losing Ahiga was one that she was still having trouble with.

"Be safe," she said. "Listen to Hania. I hope to see you again before the little one's born."

Sakhyo's voice trembled. "I hope so, too. Bring Ahiga back safe, if you can."

"I'll do my best," she said, kissed her cousin on the cheek, and released her. Ahiga swept her up into his arms, and Nascha bent to pick up Nastas, who had been happily playing with a couple of old arrow shafts. He babbled into her ear as she settled him on her hip and kissed the top of his head. "Be good, little one," she told him solemnly. "Be strong, like your mother and father."

Nastas's response was a wet baby kiss that landed somewhere in the vicinity of her ear. Nascha laughed and put him down, letting him run to Sakhyo once more.

Then it was time to mount up and ride.

They headed south, getting rained on for a few days, and then the sun warmed and the clouds cleared away. The sky looked different in the spring here, as Changing Woman walked the land and made all manner of thing grow and bloom. It was the only season that this place had soft edges. Despite the mud that the rain left behind, despite the insects that came out of their winter sleep, Nascha for once felt glad to be traveling, despite missing Sakhyo and Nastas and Hania desperately.

It was true, what Cheveyo had said that terrible day that they had left the Apache camp. They were free to do what they needed to do.

Days passed, a handful of them. Aquene teased Shappa, though her eyes were not unkind, and Nascha thought she might be starting to return the lanky young man's interest. Wahcommo spent all of his time, waking and sleeping, with the horses; there were moments when he and they turned their heads in unison, as if he were hearing and seeing the same things they did. He seemed less the boy, now, though he was so small it was hard to forget his age.

Ahiga fell into a silence, a contemplative space where he seemed to be rehearsing things over and over in his mind. He admitted to Nascha that he was dreaming of Sakhyo nightly. Hakan seemed to be more at peace since they had left the Sioux, and moved a little less like he was carrying embers in his belly.

And Delsin--

If Nascha had hoped that with spring she would see some life returning to the oldest of the spiritwalkers, she was disappointed. Gosheven's death, and that he had died to keep Delsin breathing, seemed to weigh on him. He hardly looked around himself, seeming to deliberately ignore the beauty all around him, the vivid colors of earth and sky.

All of Nascha's attempts to talk to him fell into silence. Still, she kept trying, though Cheveyo shook his head at her when she did so. She refused to keep her distance, though. It wasn't in her to simply let him be silent. She was afraid of Delsin's quiet, because it did not feel right.

But she got nowhere. She refused to retreat, though.

On the fifth morning after they headed south, soon after dawn, they were sharing a quiet meal as the last of the night slid from the sky. Cheveyo abruptly stood and walked away from their small fire, stopping and staring out west. Nascha frowned, watching him.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head. "A calling."

Nascha felt a bit of unease in the pit of her stomach. "From who, can you tell?"

"No, just an image of rock in the form of a woman. She is west of here."

He looked back at her, a smile on his face that had a trace of ruefulness in it. She returned that smile, knowing that the calling must be very strong for him to talk about it. Cheveyo always spoke of his visions in terms of hunches, but she knew that he saw more things, and more clearly, than he ever said. He was always afraid of those he led thinking he was sun-crazy. "We should go look, unless you think it's a trap," she told him now.

"No, I don't think so," he said. "If nothing else, it will give Chogan something to chase."

"True enough. How far away, do you think?"

He smiled. "Seven risings and settings, I think."

Nascha blew out a breath. "Well, it would be silly to argue with a calling like that, and it's not like we had a destination otherwise. Let's go."

Cheveyo looked briefly surprised, as if he had expected her to argue. Then he relaxed. "As usual, you are right. We will turn west today and see what we can find."

Nascha rolled her eyes good-naturedly at that as usual, and Cheveyo laughed and came over to hug her. When they mounted up, they turned west, and continued on.

As they traveled, the landscape changed. It turned harder, the red bones of the earth showing everywhere, strange rock formations arching and curling into the sky. This was sacred ground, and the wind that whipped across it sang strange songs.

On the eighth sunrise, they reached their destination. Cheveyo pointed out a rock formation that, when looked at just right, looked like a woman standing and holding a big-bellied clay pot on one hip. Behind it was a large arch, one of the largest they had seen so far, big enough to stand ten horses nose to tail in with some room left over.

Nascha had dismounted, and realized that the place felt familiar. The barrier between this world and spiritworld was very thin. "This is like the place back where the Apache were in the fall. And like the inside of a medicine wheel. Maybe whatever's calling is in spiritworld, here."

Cheveyo had dismounted, as well. His voice was determined, echoing oddly on the nearby formations. "Ahiga, take charge. If we aren't back in a day, take over and leave. Do what you think is right. Understand?" Ahiga nodded. Cheveyo turned to Nascha. "Ready?"

She took a breath and let it out. Just so much wind on the stone. "I am."

They stepped into spiritworld at the same moment. Cheveyo stepped to Nascha's side, and she noticed that this place felt strange. She couldn't say exactly how, though, but she did notice that the misty forms of the spirits, instead of moving closer, were all wandering away.

Only one spirit was coming closer, one that looked like the stone woman. She had that same pot on her hip, and as she approached her features became clear. Nascha reached out for Cheveyo's hand, entwining her fingers with his. She did not feel truly afraid, merely uneasy, but she still took comfort in Cheveyo's presence.

The woman approached and stood about a horse's length in front of them, looking them over in silence. Nascha and Cheveyo looked back. The woman was probably twice Nascha's age, with graying hair at her temples and deep lines at the corners of her mouth, and she wore her hair loose and unadorned. Her hands had fine, delicate fingers, and Nascha thought she looked distinctly Navajo.

"Bad times for you all," the woman said suddenly, breaking the silence. "They only get worse."

"I was hoping they might get better. I am Nascha, this is Cheveyo, but I'm guessing you knew that already," Nascha said, after Cheveyo's hand tightened on hers.

"I did," she said, not without humor. "Spider Woman, but you probably knew that."

The hands. Delicate and strong. A weaver's hands, her mother's hands. Nascha had to swallow back tears; this has been her mother's favorite of all the gods, and it seemed unfair that Nascha got to meet her and Shadi never had. "No, I did not," she said, stumbling over her words, trying to remember her manners. "Greetings. So, you called us."

"I did. You seek to destroy the skinwalkers."

Nascha inclined her head. "We do."

"The game you play will go on and on until the spiritwalkers can find a way to kill them all at once." Spider Woman's voice was registering disapproval. "Or stop them from getting more skinwalkers."

"As long as one of them lives and can initiate others, we're going to be fighting them. Do you have any suggestions?" Nascha asked.

The goddess smiled thinly. "I do. But it has costs."

What in this life does not? Nascha knew that it was unfair, and averted her eyes briefly. "So does fighting them to a standstill," she replied. "What is it?"

"I will show you how to stop the power of the spiritwalker for good. Those that are now will remain as they are, but no more can be created."

She gaped briefly. "That's...you're right. A consequence I'm not sure I want to have on my hands."

"If you don't, Chogan will kill and kill with the white allies and they will be the only ones left."

Nascha's stomach turned, and she was remembering a number of things all at once. Cheveyo telling her about his vision that she would change everything about what it meant to be a spiritwalker. The uneasy feeling in her stomach when he had told her of his calling. And, strangely, Shadi's hands on the loom, telling the whole story of her soul.

"True", she said, and looked at Cheveyo. "True. Even if they kill all of us, time till eventually get them."

Cheveyo was looking stunned. "No more spiritwalkers ever?"

Spider woman smiled gently. "Four hundred seasons before the next one will be born."

"So there will be more, some day. But not any time soon." Nascha's stomach might have been in turmoil, but by some miracle her mind was calm.

"Your grandchildren will know them, but not you."

Nascha almost smiled at that. And who says I will live to have grandchildren, you who wove the world? "And they won't have anyone to guide them," she said, and her voice faltered. "No older spiritwalkers to train them."

The goddess nodded slightly. "All that you are will need to be recorded and left for them."

"We can do that. Leave teaching stories behind."

"Stories, and the loom." Spider Woman's words were calm, but they held a power in them, something ancient.

Nascha caught her breath. "I wish my mother had lived. She could have woven the story so well."

The goddess raised her eyes and looked Nascha full in the face. The power of the goddess's presence was just beyond the edge of Nascha's ability to understand it. "But now, that will pass to you."

Me. Oh. She swallowed, trying not to look disappointed. She had spent so many hours at the loom, and almost every moment had wanted to be elsewhere. She had learned what she could, and she had talent, but the loom never spoke to her like it did to her mother. Shadi had heard the loom's voice, waking and sleeping.

But this was Spider Woman, who had given the People the gift of weaving, and so Nascha swallowed down her feelings. "I know how, and I can do it," she said.

"But you hate it," the goddess said. "I know."

Nascha hung her head. "Not to be ungrateful, but I do. I'm the one who can do it, and it will need to be done. So I will thank you for your gift, and the teaching my mother taught me."

Spider Woman's voice was gentle. "If you wish to pass it on to Sakhyo you can, but it will a long time before you see her again."

"I'll start it, at least. If nothing else, if I die, the pattern may die with me, so I need to record it."

"It takes a spiritwalker to record what you do," she said. "You can maybe explain it to her."

This all requires me to live long enough to see her again. I am not so sure. "I might. But if it's going to be a while until I see her, I should take this on now."

The goddess looked at her and Cheveyo for a long moment, pressing her lips together as if she were deciding something. Then she hitched the pot she was carrying higher on her hip, just as if she had been one of the women in Nascha's home tribe. "Then they are stopped. It will be four hundred seasons from today when another spiritwalker will answer the call. You will be gone before that happens, make sure you teach them all that you know."

Nascha drew in a long breath. She was clinging to Cheveyo's hand tightly, she noticed, and his hand was holding hers so hard that it almost hurt. "I will. Thank you, very much."

"Go now, find Moki and have him tell you about the Spider Woman blanket." Without bothering to see their reaction, Spider Woman turned and walked away, fading.

Nascha was shaking slightly, and her stomach was still clenched. "I really, really hope that was the right decision," she said softly.

"If not, too late now," Cheveyo said. He let go of her hand and put an arm around her.

She leaned into him. "You're right. And I'm going to have to make a small loom. And find some wool."

Her lover's mouth twitched in a smile. "Wool I have, and a small loom."

"I didn't know you're a weaver," she said, startled.

"I'm not. No idea how to use it."

She almost laughed. "Let me guess. You had this idea a while back that we might need them."

His arm tightened around her, and then he released her. "Twenty seasons ago, I saw an owl weaving a tapestry that had a picture of me on it. I traded for the wool and a loom with some Navajo. I have carried it ever since, looking for the owl." Cheveyo smiled, a bit ruefully. "I think that would be you. Come out back into the real world and let me get it for you. You might be in for a shock."

Nascha gave him a dubious look, but stepped out into the real world. The other spiritwalkers had gone, leaving Nascha and Cheveyo's horses in the scant shade afforded by some of the nearby rock formations. She could hear them as a background murmur in her mind; they had gone to find a place to camp.

Cheveyo walked to his tall black mare, and pulled the packs off his back. His horse eyed him with amusement. He dug into one of the packs, coming up with a pair of wrapped packages. One of them was a bag tightly packed with carded wool. The other, he unwrapped and without comment handed to Nascha.

"I didn't know the woman I traded with until the day I met you," he told her. "These were hers. Her name was Shadi."

All she could do for a moment was looking between him and the loom she held in her hands, utterly astonished. "This belonged to my mother?"

"Yes, it did."

Her eyes were full of tears as she ran her hands along the edges of the loom. Yes, this had been her mother's; she could feel it in the marks on the wood and the way it curved to meet her hands. It was a simple open frame with pegs, but underlying the simplicity of it was decades of craft and practice, bringing this small loom into the realm of the sacred. This was a tool that, used with the right hands, would make things of beauty.

Nascha felt overwhelmed. The day that her family had died, the tents had been burned, and her mother's looms had burned with them. She didn't even think that the skinwalkers had bothered taking any of the weavings. That this small thing survived... "I think I might almost be happy to start weaving again, on this," she said quietly.

"I think you will," Cheveyo said, and there was such a look in his eyes of happiness and gratitude.

She set the loom down carefully, and pulled Cheveyo close, hugging him hard and kissing him. "Thank you, Cheveyo. How on earth did you convince Shadi to part with one of her looms, by the way?"

He chuckled, and she could feel the vibration of the sound in his chest. "It wasn't easy, and she is a tough bargainer."

"Yes, she was. What did you end up giving her?" she asked.

"Do you remember twenty seasons ago, just about everyone in your family and extended family getting new clothes from deerskin, and new buffalo hide blankets? That was me."

She gasped, and then laughed. "I remember that! I loved the dress my mother made for me. I wore it until it was really far too short." The deerskin had been marvelously soft, a pleasure to wear even on warm days. "No wonder Shadi was so pleased with herself."

"Too bad you don't have it. That would be worth seeing you in," he said, smiling. "She thought I was crazy, so did I."

"It got made over into clothes for Nastas." She let out a breath, thinking about the day her mother had told her that she had gotten far too tall for that dress. She'd protested, but her mother had insisted. "Crazy, but it's a good thing you followed that vision."

"I usually do. Sometimes it takes many seasons for me to understand them. That had to be one of the strangest."

"I'm sure. An owl, weaving. It makes sense, in retrospect," she said thoughtfully.

Cheveyo stroked her braided hair. "Try telling that anyone else," he said.

"What, they don't believe you?"

He snorted softly. "Would you?"

She thought about it for a moment. "At this point, I would. Before I got to know you, I'd probably have thought you were a bit crazy."

"It's why I don't really tell the rest where we are going," he said. "They would likely believe me but it's best not to say, 'I need a loom so an owl can weave'."

"Probably." she said, and smiled. "I can see why Adoeete said that you were meant to be a shaman."

He raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "Why do you say that?"

"Shamans see things the rest of us can't, and I think they don't tell the rest of us about those things because it would be hard to believe them. But you ended up a spiritwalker instead."

Cheveyo nodded. "Maybe someday I can just be a shaman. I think that would be easier."

"I hope you live long enough to find out, love. I really do," she told him.

They were standing now in the shadow of the stone; the sun was going down, the light going orange and turning the colors of the rocks around them to flame. Nascha heard one of the horses snort and stomp, and the swish of tails brushing away flies. The wind had died, and it seemed like the whole world had fallen quiet.

"I hope you will come with me," Cheveyo said.

Nascha smiled up at him. "I will, if I live to see the day."

"Good." He paused, and when he spoke next his voice sounded very careful. "I don't know Navajo tradition, but by Apache tradition we are already married, just without the ceremony."

"It takes a bit more than that in my tradition, but I'm willing to go with Apache tradition, here. My blood family is mostly dead, and I'm a widow." There would be no marriage basket, no ceremony before their families. That life, and those traditions, were no longer hers, as much as it hurt sometimes to admit it.

Cheveyo's voice was still careful. "How long is your mourning time?"

"Widows don't often remarry, and when they do they're generally young, like me. The mourning period is as long as it takes for the heart to heal."

He stroked her hair again, moving his hand slowly. "Has yours healed enough for me to call you wife?"

Nascha thought about it, giving the question all of the consideration it deserved. The thought of Tse was no longer an open wound in her. It was not entirely healed by any means, but she no longer felt like her love for Cheveyo was a betrayal of the young man she had loved and lost less than a season into their marriage. The promises she had made then were the promises of a child she no longer was.

"It has," she said finally, and meant those two words with her whole being.

Cheveyo's eyes were lit with a deep joy. "Nascha my wife has a good feel to it."

"I like the sound of that," she said. "Cheveyo, my husband. That one sounds good, too." The words were strange, but also strangely comfortable. I do not want anyone else. Only you.

"She feels good to touch too," he said, and his hands were roving over her, familiar by now and unexpectedly beloved. Her hands were roving too, sliding up under his shirt, and they undressed each other and then pulled a blanket out from Cheveyo's open pack to lie on.

They had most of a day and a night before the others would leave without them, and they put that time to good use. Being so near where spiritworld and this world overlapped, their lovemaking was filled with strange silent things, places where their bodies and spirits seemed almost to merge around the edges.

They only slept a little that night, and the next morning went to join the others.

Nascha told them about Spider Woman, and what she had said, and about the blanket that she had told them to find. The other spiritwalkers were by turns doubtful and a bit awed and a little disbelieving, but they accepted what Nascha told them without argument. "I'll be glad to see Moki again," Ahiga said to her later. The elder had been a friend of his grandfather's.

"So will I," Nascha said.

Ahiga was still eyeing her. "There's something going on between you and Cheveyo, isn't there?" he asked. "I mean, other than the usual."

She smiled. "We more or less figured out that we're married," she said. "In the Apache tradition, at least, since without much living family our own traditions of marriage don't mean much. I mean, it doesn't change anything other than what we call each other, but..."

Unexpectedly, her brother reached out and pulled her into a hard hug. "Good," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Little sister, you deserve happiness. He's a good man, and a good leader. Your mother and grandmother would approve."

Nascha felt the color rise in her cheeks. "Thanks," she said, hugging Ahiga back. "I think they do." She let him go. "Let's get to the horses."

They mounted and rode south towards the great canyon. It was turning colder, and over the next three days the sky turned leaden and began to spit drizzle occasionally. They reached the great canyon three days later, and turned east to find a place to cross.

That turned into many days of wandering the rim of the canyon, listening to the sound of the wind sighing through the rocks below at night. Occasionally, four of them would go off in spiritworld to hunt and bring back what could be found, rabbit and dove and deer.

"I think this is it!" Wahcommo said, pointing. "See the path?"

They peered over the edge, to see that a thin track led down into the canyon. The sides were gentler here, the canyon shallower, and the river was wider and calmer. Nascha stepped into spiritworld and began to carefully walk the path, looking for tracks.

No more than three spiritworld steps down the path, she paused. There was something very wrong here. There were no tracks whatsoever, not of human nor animal. She would expect that the local deer would use this track, but she was seeing not even a trace of them. "Either there haven't been any animals here for months, or someone's gone to a lot of trouble to cover their trail," she said silently.

The others had been leading their horses down into the canyon, and at her words, she saw them stop. "I would bet on the latter," Cheveyo said.

"Ambush ahead, probably." She came out of spiritworld, looking around. "Probably some sort of trap having to do with the landscape itself. Send the horses back and go ahead on foot?"

Cheveyo nodded, and they started backing the horses back up the trail. They got to the rim once more. "Cheveyo, me, Delsin, Ahiga down in the canyon," Nascha suggested. "The rest of you stay here."

They split as she'd suggested, and the four who were going started walking down into the canyon. The path narrowed and edged along the side of the cliff with a drop-off on the other side. The erased point was here, and just ahead the path curved around a big rock and out of sight.

"If there's a trap, it's there," she said.

"Nascha, step in and out of spiritworld quickly," Cheveyo said. "See if they are there. If not, then we will move forward."

She nodded and did so, pushing into spiritworld and sidling ahead a little. She could see movement--a little black fox watched with great interest. Around that form flickered the image of Tokala. He grinned and began to run towards her.

She stepped back and out of spiritworld, pulling her bow and saying, "Tokala is here, there must be at least three more nearby--"

Tokala exploded out of spiritworld right behind her. She raised her bow, but she was mistaken about his target. The skinwalker was moving fast, and crashed into Delsin, wrapped his arms around him, and took him over the edge of the cliff with him.

"No--" Ahiga moved more quickly than she had ever seen him move, grabbing Delsin's flailing hand and bracing himself against Delsin and Tokala's weight. He went skidding a little towards the edge, and Nascha reached out to catch Ahiga's hand, trying to keep him from going over. She heard Ahiga hiss and then the thunk of arrows around her.

Above them from behind a stone outcropping, Chunta, Ituha, and a skinwalker Nascha didn't recognize were shooting at them. She flattened herself against the cliff, but Ahiga had already taken an arrow to the leg.

Cheveyo spoke silently, his voice a command. "Nascha. Let go, get up and shoot Tokala. I will draw their fire for a moment."

She nodded, squeezing Ahiga's hand and then letting go, pulling her bow and fitting an arrow to the string. Beside her, Cheveyo took a shot upward at the skinwalkers, and then made a run backwards along the trail, edging for a better shot.

Nascha leaned over the edge and shot down, the arrow hit him in the back. She could hear him grunt, but he did not let go. Instead, he was still fumbling for the hatchet at his side, freeing it, bringing it up and around. An arrow from above slammed into the ground next to Nascha's foot, and she pulled another arrow.

Tokala grew his hatchet back and Nascha let fly, giving a sharp cry as the arrow hit Tokala in the neck. The skinwalker's eyes went wide and his hatchet hand went limp, the weapon falling away. Then the arm that was holding on to Delsin loosened, and his body fell a hundred feet to a ledge below.

Ahiga pulled Delsin back up on the path, flattening the two of them against the cliff. Cheveyo stepped back in next to them, and Nascha's stomach twisted when she saw that he had an arrow in his shoulder. She said, quickly, "They have us pinned down here. Into spiritworld? We could get into a better position."

"Hold on," he said. "Hakan, can you see them from up there?"

Hakan replied, "They have gone from above you."

"Spiritworld quickly, don't look for them, run back to the horses," Cheveyo told them. "Delsin, help Ahiga."

They pushed in, running up to where the horses were, They dropped out of spiritworld, expecting pursuit.

There was none, and Cheveyo was frowning. "That's odd. They left?"

"I don't think so. I wouldn't, if I were them," she said. "So where are they?" She popped into spiritworld and went looking, finding the place where the skinwalkers had been hiding and tracking. They had moved down the trail to another ambush point. She showed the others the image. "Is that real, or are they bait for another trap? If I were them, I might have another group of four waiting nearby for us to find and attack these, since we know they're here."

"It's probably real and they probably have more waiting than just these three somewhere," Cheveyo said. "We can't go south, more ambushes and we can cross farther east but they will probably be that way. It's a long walk but we go west around the great canyon. Any other ideas?"

"Can we make them come up and fight on a ground of our choosing? Or lay an ambush of our own?" Nascha suggested. She had come back now, and she saw Cheveyo shake his head. "I don't know. Would you come up willingly? And how many of them are there? They threw Tokala's life away just to get one of us but missed. They might think they can outlast us in numbers."

"They might. And they might be back up to twelve. I can do a circle of this area of the canyon rim. Maybe I can tell you how many are here." She stepped back into spiritworld and started circling. She found tracks some distance away. Twelve horses. "All twelve of them are here, it looks like. With horses. They outnumber us, right now, and I'll bet the other eight are around here somewhere."

"Waiting," Cheveyo said. "Eleven now. But still."

Eleven skinwalkers, one of them a former member of their group. "I don't give us good odds if we go spring that trap."

"Me either, and we have two wounds. Best to go before we get surrounded."

Nascha sighed. "I think so. West around the canyon, I think. It's a long way, but I think it's worth it."

Cheveyo nodded, then closed his eyes. Without pausing, he put his hand on the shaft of the arrow on his shoulder and gave it a yank. The arrowhead tore free, the wound bleeding freely. "Pull Ahiga's, and let's go."

Nascha went to Ahiga, who was sitting down now. She apologized to him silently, and then pulled the arrow in his leg. He gritted his teeth, but was silent. Then she helped him mount his horse, an unassuming dun creature with doleful eyes and unexpected speed. "I want some distance between them and us," Cheveyo said, looking grim as he mounted. "Though, they could try to follow us in spiritworld. Delsin, shut down spiritworld around us if you can. That should mess with them."

They mounted and rode west through the day, only stopping to briefly rest and water the horses and relieve themselves, and pushed on until the horses gave out and it was too dark to ride any more. Then the next morning they began again. Four mornings later, it seemed as though they had lost their pursuit, and Nascha chanced dropping back behind them to see whether they really had. Delsin looked as though he was about ready to drop, and Nascha didn't think he'd slept at all.

They had been following, but had turned back a day ago, seemingly frustrated at having to follow by horse if she read the tracks and the images correctly. Ten horses were being ridden, two were not. When Nascha followed the tracks back a bit more, she saw a single footprint beside one of the horses. Adoeete's mage sprang up in her vision.

She held the image there, seeing the lean man who she had once counted as a brother. To see him like this was a sorrow that left her breathless. He was trapped, she knew, but that didn't really make it any better.

She returned to the others and told Delsin that he could let go of spiritworld now. Delsin slumped forward on his horse, as if whatever strength he had left had left him. To Cheveyo, she said, "Adoeete was with them, and left about a day before they turned back."

Cheveyo nodded, and sighed. "We speculated on this one. He joined them to form a peace treaty."

"I think so. Strange. It still feels like betrayal, even though I know why he did it."

Her husband made a face. "In the end, we will probably have to deal with him."

Nascha came forward, sliding an arm around his waist, feeling the way his body unconsciously moved to match hers. He had much longer legs than she did, and she liked the way the top of her hip pressed against his. "I know," she said silently. "I just wish it hadn't come to this. He wasn't a bad person, before, just stiff-necked. I think being a skinwalker isn't good for the soul."

"It will change you." His voice had an edge to it.

"It will. And Adoeete knows us, is the real problem."

"He will know our patterns, or at least mine," he said.

She nodded. "The ones he won't know really are the new ones."

Cheveyo leaned over to kiss her hair. "I will be needing you more, my wife, to help me outthink them. Adoeete probably knew we had to come that way."

Nascha smiled briefly, then lost the smile as she contemplated what she did not know. "How would he know, unless he somehow figured out that we're on our way to see the Navajo? I wonder if he think we're taking Sakhyo back to the tribe."

"It's the easiest place to cross the canyon for many days, and he might be thinking just that." he said. "Sakhyo would need help. They may have turned to find the Navajo to kill them but diverted us to buy time."

Her gut clenched. "Which means that by the time we get there, the Navajo may be dead."

"And Moki." Cheveyo's voice was devoid of humor. "That was the plan, to make us travel all the way around to buy time. Adoeete will know the spring home of the Navajo. We were there."

She nodded, gritting her teeth. "They're slowed down by needing to take the horses, but they know where they're going. The last I knew, our tribe didn't have any spiritwalkers. They'll all be killed." She took a breath. "Think we should go on foot through spiritworld, half of us, and let the other half bring the horses around?"

"I hate to do that, but you will travel faster that way." His body had become suddenly as tense as a bowstring, as a warp on the loom. "You will have to go. It will be quicker and we will have to split up."

"We might be able to warn them. As much good as it might do." Her stomach was still twisting. "I'll need to take those who aren't wounded. You and Ahiga will need to stay behind with the horses."

Cheveyo nodded. "I know, I don't like that one bit, but I understand. Take Wahcommo, he can travel the fastest if you really need speed."

She tightened her arm around his waist. "Trust me, I'm not happy about it either. I want Delsin with me, as well--he's our best hope if the skinwalkers attack while we're there. And Shappa, for some fighting ability."

"Good, stay tonight and leave in the morning. I need one more night with you just in case," he said, and there was a rawness in his silent voice that she almost flinched to hear. She wondered, briefly, whether he would be all right in the end, if she died. She didn't think so. He had survived the death of his first wife, but only barely. She didn't think he would survive the same catastrophe twice.

She tried to put it out of her mind, and raised her mouth so she could kiss him. "Me, too," she said after they had finished kissing lingeringly. "I don't really want to do this, but it needs doing."

"It does. You have to get to Moki before they do and get what Spider Woman wants us to know."

Nascha let out a long breath. "Yes. And survive long enough to figure out why she sent us after it." She turned towards him, breasts pressed against his chest, and put her head down on his unwounded shoulder. "You want to tell the rest what we're doing, or me?"

"Your mission," he said.

She hugged him a bit harder and then let him go. "I'll go tell them." She briefed everyone, and then came back to Cheveyo. "How's the wound?" she asked.

Cheveyo smiled briefly. "Hurts a bit."

She pulled him close again. "I can be gentle with you," she said. "But if I'm going to be gone--"

"I know," he said. "One more night." He bent his head to kiss her, and she closed her eyes. Their brothers and sisters paid them no attention as they went to spread out their blankets, and then returned to the fire for a bit to have some of the meal. Delsin had taken to at least participating in the cooking of most of the meals, a development that Nascha was more than happy with, since he was a decent cook and it meant that he was taking an interest in something other than his own death.

Then she and Cheveyo went to their blankets. She was gentle as promised, but they did stay up most of the night, alternately making love and talking. It was going to be almost the first night that they had been away from each other since they had started sleeping together. Instead of it becoming easier to say goodbye, she found it harder, as if she knew exactly what she risked losing now.

In the morning, Cheveyo kissed her and told her he loved her, and the spiritwalkers she had chosen left on foot. Wahcommo took his horse, of course, and they took off for the Navajo.

It was a walk of a few hours through spiritworld to get to the spring camp of the Navajo. They skirted the great canyon, moving quickly. They came out below the camp, and Nascha's heart was thudding painfully, fearing what she might find.

But as they approached, it appeared that all was well. Familiar sights and smells filled the air, boys playing at the edge of the camp taking one look at them and running into camp, shouting. It made Nascha wonder how she had physically changed. She knew her body had become hard and the way she walked had changed, but she didn't know if the travails of the last seasons were shown on her face.

She paused and asked a wide-eyed child where Moki was. "You've gotten so tall," she told him. "Your mother must be very proud." This was a boy who had about fifty seasons now, whose family had often had their wickiup near theirs when they had been with this camp.

The boy grinned. "She is. Are you really a spiritwalker?"

"And with the Apache, yes," she said. "Moki?"

"I'll go get him," he said, and took off. He returned a little while later, Moki in tow.

The elder took in Nascha and those with her, and belatedly she realized that he had not met any of those with her. They had all come after they had visited last. "Nascha, it is good to see you again," he said with a smile.

She smiled back. "And you, Moki. I've come with a warning, and a question."

Moki raised an eyebrow. "Certainly. Let's start with the warning, if it is dire."

Did she ever have anything other than dire warnings, she wondered? "We believe there's a group of eleven skinwalkers heading this way. There are a few days before they arrive, however."

There was a flicker of darkness across Moki's face. "Then we should be on our way, but following us will be easy. We make a lot of tracks to move."

"There may be a way to convince them not to come here. they're only coming here because they think that the spiritwalkers I'm with are coming here with Sakhyo, who is elsewhere."

"How do we do that?" he asked.

"I was thinking I might lay a trap that would catch at least some of them. You'd have to move, but it might only be temporary," she told him. "If we beat them here and they know it, they'd know there's no way we'd bring Sakhyo here."

"It's worth the try, either way we will move on." He eyed her, and once again Nascha wondered what he saw when he looked at her. "What is the question?"

She lowered her voice. "Would you tell me about Spider Woman's blanket?"

That was genuine shock on Moki's face. "How did you hear about that?"

"Spider Woman told me. It sounds crazy, but..." She trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

"That is crazy but that would be about the only way that you could know that."

She smiled briefly. "Spider Woman called us to come talk to her. Before she left, she told us to go to you and ask you about the blanket. So, here I am."

Moki gave her a long look, seeming to be weighing her. "In winter home for the Navajo, there is the place of the elder where we go to consult with the gods and on winter solstice to ask for the sun to come back. From a cave high up in the cliff above winter home where none but the eagle can get to and we only do by ropes, there lies Spider Woman's blanket."

"A blanket she wove?" Nascha asked.

He nodded. "She did, and gave it to us to teach us how to weave and to remember to tell our stories in our weaving so that we would never forget. That is the legend, anyway. I know that only once did the elders forget on a night that we were attacked hundreds of seasons ago and one by one they fell sick and died of spider bites. Nearly all the tribe was wiped out until one remembered the sacred blanket ritual had not been performed. Overnight, all that were sick recovered and never has it happened again."

Nascha considered this. "Spider Woman mentioned it, and I think it's important for me to go see it. I know we have a few days, at least, before the skinwalkers arrive."

"We will pack up and travel, you can make a trap or not. If you need the Spider Woman blanket, you know where it is," he said, nodding.

She tried not to let her shoulders sag. "Thank you, Moki."

"Thank you for the warning."

She only hoped that it would do some good. "I'm glad we were able to get here in time." She took a breath, and tried to smile but failed. "Tse and my grandfather died, by the way. Ahiga lives, and is a spiritwalker."

There was a sad look in Moki's eyes that made her think that he already knew. "I am sorry for so many losses that you have endured."

"And will continue to," she said, spreading her hands. "It's a part of the life I chose to live, these losses. Not a good part, but an inevitable one."

"I hope there is a good ending someday," he said.

"I do, too." Suddenly feeling oddly shy, she added, "I've married again, and if we both outlive the skinwalkers, we may have a good ending yet."

"I hope he is a good husband," Moki said.

She smiled, thinking of Cheveyo. She hadn't been away from him a day yet, and she missed him already. "He is. I love him, and I know he loves me."

"Then I hope you have a long life and many children."

Her smile faltered. We do not grow old. "Thank you. I'll let you get everyone started packing," she said.

Moki's look let her know that he had seen her falter. "Good luck, spiritwalker," he said.

"You, as well," she said. Moki nodded and walked away, and Nascha let out a breath. "Let's decide where to dig some traps," she told the rest. "We need three or four."

As the Navajo packed up around them, they chose places to lay their traps. Nascha kept on being interrupted by people she had known all of her life coming up and talking to her. Among them were Tse's mother and father, and it fell to Nascha to give them the difficult news of Tse's death. She told them, with a voice that shook still, how he had died, that the skinwalkers that pursued them now had killed him.

Tse had not been their only son, or their oldest, but he had been much loved. They had already known that he was likely dead, but to hear it confirmed seemed to be both comforting and upsetting to the two of them.

More people wanted to know what she was doing, why she had joined the Apache, if these were all the spiritwalkers there were among the Apaches. She didn't get much digging done, but the others more than made up for it that day, and the tribe was ready to leave the next morning. After they left, then Nascha pitched in her full share of work, feeling decidedly strange. She felt as though this place should feel comfortable and familiar, but it felt strange instead, as if either it or she had changed irreversibly.

She rather thought it was the latter.

Once the digging was done and the traps laid, three days later, Nascha led her brothers to the Navajo winter camp. It was backed up to a sheer cliff, and as she looked up she thought she could see the place that Moki had told her about. He hadn't been lying. The cave was nearly invisible if you weren't looking for it and inaccessible except by rope or by flying.

Because Nascha was not an owl and was not willing to become a skinwalker in order to acquire wings, the rope it was. "Me alone," she said to the rest. "If I fall and break my neck, all of you know the plan." There were nods all around, and Nascha took a breath and began the climb.

There were places to attach ropes on the way up, and Nascha took advantage of all of them she could find. There was a rhythm to the motions of climbing that she fell into, of skinned fingers and burning muscle and slipping and catching herself. There were several times when she thought she was going to fall, when her feet slipped in the scree, but she did not fall, and kept climbing.

She finally pulled herself into the cave. The entrance was narrow and low, but with a sucking in of breath she managed to wriggle headfirst into it and into the slightly wider passage beyond. She lay on the stone and scree floor, eyes closed, simply breathing. She was going to have to go back down eventually, but that was a thought that did not need to be examined right now.

After she had recovered, she opened her eyes and got to her knees, crouching to look into the darkness beyond where the light from the cave entrance fell. There was something white back there, something that almost glowed. She reached for it and her fingers brushed leather. Frowning, she pulled out a package wrapped in white buffalo leather. It was the blanket, it had to be. Nothing else was so sacred as to be wrapped in this leather.

Carefully, she unwrapped the package. The blanket spilled out over her hands, far more supple than anything but her mother's finest work. It was mostly white, shot through with blue. It was not a weave that even her mother could accomplish, and as she touched it with bruised and reverent fingertips, she marveled at the art of it.

The design almost seemed to sparkle in the meager light coming in through the cave mouth. Nascha let her eyes be drawn into the pattern. There was something in this blanket that she had been sent to understand. What it was, she had no idea.

Slowly, she began to lose awareness of her body, of her knees against the stone. She was thinking of her mother, how she would have given anything to see, much less lay her hands on, this blanket.

Shadi, I miss you.

She was seeing flickers, flashes at the edge of her vision. It was spiritworld, and Shadi came into view, looking pensively at something. It was her, in spiritworld, looking misty around the edges. "Mother?" Nascha said. Shadi gave no indication that she heard.

Nascha blinked. She could see, but not be seen, and evidently not be heard. Thinking of her mother led her to think of Sakhyo, and another vision flickered into being. This one was of Sakhyo, who had Nastas at her breast. There were tears standing in her cousin's eyes, and her free hand was slowly rubbing her swollen belly.

"Can you hear me, Sakhyo?" she asked, thinking that the living might be able to hear her. This wasn't the case, it seemed; Sakhyo did not react to her words. However, Nascha realized she could hear her cousin singing quietly, her voice sweet and aching as if her heart was broken.

So Nascha could see and not be seen, hear and not be heard. So perhaps...

She concentrated on Chogan. She saw him riding, his face hard, pushing the horses. There were nine skinwalkers with him. They were three, perhaps four days out, it looked like from the terrain they were riding through.

There was nothing more there for her, and Chogan led her to think of Adoeete. Here she struck water; Adoeete happened to be addressing the other elders, talking animatedly. "I have made sure that we never have trouble from the Arapaho as long as I live," he said, looking satisfied with himself. "I have established a bond with their spiritwalkers to help them protect our tribe as well. As Zotum is taking his time in choosing other spiritwalkers, this way we will be protected by two groups of spiritwalkers. We have seen sign of the rogue Cheveyo but he is still north of the great canyon. We hope that he isn't returning. His return will probably mean death to a lot of us, he will want his vengeance. I spent time with him and he without my guidance will turn again to his vengeful ways. He will try to pit us against the Arapaho again."

Nascha listened and tried not to judge him too harshly, but it was hard to listen to him continue to harangue in the same vein for minutes on end. He was the great Adoeete, unable to make a mistake. Cheveyo was the threat, always and only Cheveyo. She started to get angry, and then abruptly ran out of energy for it.

Adoeete was being Adoeete. Expecting him to think beyond the end of his nose was like expecting one of the horses to stand on two legs. He had learned nothing, and from the sound of things had gotten even more full of himself than he had been.

She was tired, and distantly she could feel her body again, enough to realize she was shivering with the cold stone. She wished Cheveyo were here, and she wondered how his wound was doing.

Thinking about him was enough to call a vision of him to her. He was riding, heading west. His shoulder was looking a lot better, she saw, well enough that the wound was sealed enough to be uncovered.

She smiled at seeing him. "Oh, good, I'm glad that wound didn't go bad," she said, more to herself than to him.

"It didn't," Cheveyo said. To her shock, he sat up, bringing his horse to a halt. He slid off of the mare's back before she had stopped moving, and ended standing in front of Nascha.

Her hand flew to her mouth. "You can hear me! Well, that makes sense, since we have the spiritwalker bond," she said. "Can you see me, too?"

Cheveyo smiled. "You look a bit strange, love, but I can see you."

"Strange, how?" she asked.

"Like you are in spiritworld as a spirit, pale," he told her. "I can see through you."

"Ah. Hold out your hand, I want to try something," she said.

He did, and she reached out to grasp his hand. He was solid, warm, and the moment he touched her he turned pale, almost translucent. It was as if she had pulled him in to where she was. "I missed you," Cheveyo said.

She closed her eyes briefly and pulled him into a hug, putting her forehead against his shoulder. "I missed you, too. So much." Her voice was hoarse, nearly a whisper. Cheveyo was holding her as if she were the only true thing in the world. "So this is Spider Woman's blanket. People who aren't you can't see or hear me, but I can see and hear them. I know where Chogan and his people are, now. Three or four days away from the spring camp, riding hard."

"Useful," he said. "We are a lot farther out than that. Are you coming back soon?"

"I think so. We've laid some traps for Chogan's people in the spring camp, and were hoping to convince them that Sakhyo's not with the Navajo, so he'll leave them alone," she told him. "It may involve leading them back to you."

"That's all right. We are healing," he said.

She smiled briefly. "I'm glad. I'm not sure I'll be able to kill any of them, but that's not really my goal."

"Stopping them from killing the Navajo is best," he said, warmth in his voice. "If you can make them chase you, it gives the tribe more time to move."

"That's the hope. And I hope Chogan takes all of his people to chase me."

He chuckled. "Four, against ten or eleven. He will follow. And, it's you." He raised a hand to stroke one of her braids. "I would follow you to the end of the earth, and so will Chogan. Just for different reasons."

Nascha smiled up at her husband. "I like your reasons a lot better than his."

"Me too," he said, and flashed that smile that she knew meant that he was having certain thoughts she liked very much. "So, how solid are we?"

"Not sure. Want to help me experiment?" she suggested.

"Always," he said, and she raised her mouth to kiss him.

She had missed him so much, missed the feeling of his skin on hers. She could always talk to him, but there was something in the touch of their bodies together that was irreplaceable. Wherever they were, the place that wasn't a place, this was an unexpected blessing. They made love to each other, Nascha still being gentle with Cheveyo's shoulder.

Afterwards, they lay holding on to each other, talking. Cheveyo talked Nascha into taking the blanket with her when she climbed down, telling her that Spider Woman had told her about the blanket for a reason. It hadn't occurred to Nascha to take one of the sacred objects of her tribe until Cheveyo mentioned it. They could return it by the next winter solstice. Nascha just hoped she was still alive at the end of those three seasons.

And so Nascha found herself using the last remaining light of day to climb down the cliff, with the precious blanket in white buffalo leather on her back. Going down was at least as hard as going up, and perhaps harder, as she was trusting her bare toes to find cracks in the rocks for purchase and couldn't see those cracks before she got to them.

By the time she reached blessedly horizontal ground, her arms were cramped and nearly useless and her hands were raw and bleeding. Wahcommo was the first to reach her, to slide his body under her arm as she staggered. "You got it," he said, his voice almost reverent.

"Yes," she said. "I need to rest, and then we should go back. The skinwalkers will be at the spring camp in three days, I think."

Shappa looked at her, disconcerted. "How do you know?"

"The blanket," she said quietly. "I don't know if I can explain it, and I'm not sure I should even try right now. Let me sit for a bit, and then we can go back."

Delsin stayed silent, watching and listening. She gave him a tired smile, and then got Wahcommo to let her sink down to the ground. She rested and then they stepped back into spiritworld and were gone.

Three days later, at the light of false dawn, the skinwalkers arrived.