It Sleeps in Me Read Free

mingled together and wafted across the playing field.
    Sora took a deep breath and whispered, “Are you ready, Wink?”
    “Yes. Let’s see whom the gods favor.”
    Sora bowled the chunkey stone down the field. The four players broke after it, racing to the throw line. Cries rose from the crowd: some people cheering, others hissing.
    As Sora ran, she caught the glances of the men standing at the edge of the field. She ran lightly for a woman who had seen thirty-two winters. Their gazes followed the curves of her tall body as though they could see through her thin white dress.

    She gave Rockfish a worried smile as she raced past. He nodded his encouragement, silently telling her he didn’t doubt for an instant that she would win. The burly man who stood beside him watched as though his very life depended upon the next cast … . Grown Bear. That’s War Chief Grown Bear from the Loon Nation.
    Short Tail and Pocket Mouse reached the throw line first. Pocket Mouse cast.
    The crowd roared and pointed as the spear arced heavenward with the white chert point glittering in the morning sunlight.
    When they were five paces from the line, Wink called, “You or me?”
    Sora mouthed a prayer and shouted, “Me!”
    She quickly judged the speed and direction of the rolling stone, then, as her foot hit the line, cast her spear. Its flight was birdlike, sailing up into the cloud-strewn blue sky like a falcon.
    Pocket Mouse’s spear plunged down first. It landed ahead of the still-rolling stone.
    “Oh, gods,” Wink groaned. “The stone is headed for his spear. At this speed, the stone will fall right beside it.”
    Sora’s heart hammered against her ribs. She slowed, waiting for the final moment …
    And felt eyes upon her—not the ordinary watchfulness of the crowd, but something more intense. She glanced down the field, past the multitude of onlookers, and directly at Skinner. His expression was calm, intimately knowing, as though her darkest secrets belonged to him.
    Terror shot through her veins.
    What’s he doing here? I haven’t seen him in three winters, and suddenly …
    Wild cheers went up from the crowd, and she jerked her gaze back in time to see her spear bounce off the chunkey stone and cartwheel away across the grass.
    “You did it, Sora! You did it! We win! There will be peace!” Wink hugged her hard enough to drive the air from her lungs. People
rushed onto the field, shouting and embracing each other, the judges, the opposing villagers—anyone who didn’t shove them away.
    Rockfish trotted up and, in her ear, said, “You just saved lives. I’m proud of you.”
    “It was a lucky cast.”
    “Luck is the tool of the gods, my wife.”
    Shoulder-length gray hair fell around his wrinkled face as he bent to plant a gentle kiss on her mouth. At moments like this, when relief overpowered everything else, she felt genuinely contented.
    “The Loon People secretly sent a representative to watch the game today,” Rockfish whispered. “He wishes to speak with you.”
    “I thought that looked like War Chief Grown Bear. He’s brave—I’ll say that for him. Tell him I’ll speak with him this evening.”
    “I will.”
    Rockfish backed away to allow Short Tail and his clan matron, Wood Fern, to approach. Wood Fern, almost blind, held tight to her chief’s arm. She had seen fifty-seven winters. A white fuzz of hair covered her old head. She wore a buckskin cape adorned with iridescent circlets of conch shell and had a buzzard feather prominently displayed in her hair. She was known to be a great Healer. Buzzard feathers were worn only by those who could Heal arrow wounds. Fox skins were worn by those who could Heal snake bites; and if a person wore an owl feather, it meant he or she could trail an enemy in the dark.
    “You won today, Chieftess Sora.” Wood Fern cocked her head in a birdlike fashion, not quite certain where Sora stood. “But our problem remains. The Loon People are holding eleven men, women, and