A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) Read Free

lives. Lewis was a good example of that, and many times–”
    Wilson was tired from the night before and strangely unsettled. Badger sat in the second row and he couldn’t keep from looking at her. He tried to distract himself by staring at a blue and gold founder’s shield painted on the wall nearby. He didn’t understand what was wrong with him and why she wouldn’t get out of his head. Everyone knew everything about everyone else at Station and Badger was bad news. She didn’t socialize with the other girls and kept to herself. If she talked to anyone it was the men of the hunting parties and guard duty. They were all solitary types like her. They stalked deer and set traps for tribals who wandered over the perimeter. Wilson guessed the long, silent hunts attracted lone wolves. But was she born that way? Even when she was first brought to Station she’d been a quiet child––the black duck, as his grandmother used to say.
    He still thought she was beautiful.
    “Ensign!” Father Reed was frowning at him. A few children giggled.
    “Yes sir. Sorry sir.”
    Flushed, he quickly read from a sheet of hemp paper.
    “Weather is expected to be clear all week. A group of tribals are moving southwest, four kilometers from Yellow Creek. A small pack of dogs or wolves is following.”
    “Thank you, Ensign Wilson. Please bow your heads. The Shepherd watches me, I lack for nothing; he makes me lie in meadows green, he leads me to refreshing streams, he revives life in me. He guides me by true paths, as he himself is true. My road may run through a valley of doom, but I fear no harm, for he is beside me.”
     
    AFTER CHANGING OUT OF his heavy priest’s outfit Wilson walked to a hut on the western edge of the valley. Deer and wolf skins stretched over racks outside and the foul smell of ammonia and rotting flesh hung in the air. Inside, all grades and sizes of leather hung on the walls. His mother sat at a workbench sewing a moccasin with a thick needle and leather thong. Dark stains covered her yellow hemp blouse and brown trousers.
    “Hi Cubbie! I’m almost done.”
    “Mother, I’m seventeen, don’t call me that. I’ve been Ensign Wilson five years now.”
    She chuckled. “Don’t get so twisted up, dear. There’s nobody around.”
    “Why weren’t you at the meeting today?”
    “Too much work.”
    “Ma, that’s always your excuse.”
    She waved a hand at the walls. “That’s because I’m always busy!”
    “I’ll help you tomorrow, I promise.”
    “Son, I didn’t fall from the apple tree yesterday. I know that Reed twists his mind in knots just to find a project for you every single day. So don’t worry about your old mother.”
    “Don’t be like that, ma!”
    She knotted off her work and stood up.
    “Finished! Let’s take these to Brownie.”
    Sunshine cut through the cool droplets of mist as they walked toward the center of the valley.
    “Why so quiet, Cubbie? Is something wrong?”
    Wilson hesitated as a young couple passed, holding a wicker basket between them.
    “It’s just ... we buried Lewis today. I wonder if he’s with father right now.”
    His mother rubbed Wilson’s brown hair and hugged him tight.
     
    WILSON FINISHED HIS MID-DAY meal and walked through one of the underground corridors that connected sections of the village. He took a short-cut through the greenhouse. Now just a dark, empty space, in the winter it would be packed with greenery and bright lights. In the earthen ceiling above his head tiny dots felt his steps, glowed red to light the way, then faded to black.
    The far wall of the greenhouse and a tunnel emerged from the darkness. Wilson walked a dozen meters and turned left. The walls were painted with reflective white triangles, meaning an old earthquake had damaged the passage. Wilson thought it was stupid. All the kids used shortcuts and nothing ever happened.
    He passed a black opening, also marked with a triangle. A pebble cracked and rolled in the dark. Wilson