People of the River (North America's Forgotten Past, Book 4)
Kathleen O'Neal Gear, W. Michael Gear
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
(note: The original source believes this copy is retail, though it's not my own so cannot confirm)
A gripping new saga of pre-historic America that takes us to the Mississippi Valley and the tribe known as the Mound builders. It is a time of troubles. In Cahokia, the corn crop is failing again and a warchief--and the warrior woman he may never possess--are disgusted by their Chief's lust for tribute. Now even the gods have turned their faces, closing the underworld to the seers. If the gods have abandoned the people, there is no hope--unless it comes in the form of a young girl who is learning to Dream of Power.
blue headband that kept his shoulder-length black hair out of his eyes. He had a round face and a small, forever-wiggling nose. Hy-catcher liked to smell things—some of them pretty putrid, Lichen thought. Once last spring he had taken her to a recently abandoned bear den to prove to her that he could distinguish the cubs' sleeping places from the sow's just by the smell of the urine. Lichen couldn't see any use to such knowledge. She could tell the difference just by the look of the feces. Who
then lifted her gaze to Wanderer, who had come to stand behind Lichen like a tall, willowy tree. Lichen saw Wanderer nod. Her mother stroked Lichen's hair in amazement. "I'm so proud of you. Lichen. I've known only one Dreamer in my life who could visit the Underworld." She smiled at Wanderer. "Yes, well," Lichen blurted happily, "Wolf Slayer told me that not many Dreamers can, but I got my Dreaming Power from Wanderer." Her mother's smile faded, then hardened into anger as she looked at
kill your own relatives? He caressed the blood-stiff painted feathers on his shirt. No tingle of Power remained. Even his Spirit Helper had abandoned him. "How about this cove, Badgertail?" Locust pointed her paddle at a tiny inlet. A dried clump of pussy-toes nestled against the rocky bank, their spoon-shaped leaves curled like fists. "Yes. Good." Locust jumped into the river and guided the canoe forward. Badgertail eased over the side, gingerly finding safe footing in the knee-deep water.
asked as she snuggled up beside him. "All of these rocks have voices," he answered. "But not everybody can hear them. You have to listen very carefully." The fissure smelled mustily of pack-rat dung. When her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she could discern the rat's nest of evergreen twigs and shiny bits of mica stuffed under a narrow shelf in the back. It looked abandoned. Too bad. Her stomach had been growling since noon. She could have used a snack before tonight's big feast. She wet her
drooping eyelids, secreting themselves in the brooding shadows of her thoughts. She dared not sleep. "Bird-Man? Why won't you come?" She slid out flat again, in the manner of Ground Squirrel sunning himself on a log. The tuft of branches beneath her chin made a lump under the sleekness of the worn hides. Lichen blinked lazily at the coral threads of light reflecting on the wall. "Bird-Man ..." Gritting her teeth, she growled, "Bird-Man, Bird-Man, Bird-Man!" A lonely wolf barked sharply,