Dark Moon Walking Read Online Free Page A

unnaturally loud. Brush tore at her clothes as she passed. Twice she tripped over unseen roots. Returning to the kayak took most of the night.
    By the time she emerged again on the other side of the island, the first glimmer of dawn lay on the water, touching the waves with a faint gilding of gold. The start of a new day. Normally she found it exhilarating, but today it only added to her fear as she felt the cloak of darkness slip away. Exhausted, her body cold and clammy and aching with every step, she clambered awkwardly up the rocks and slid into the familiar confines of the kayak. She was dirty and tired, so tired that she could no longer think straight. She needed to rest. Slowly her head dropped forward onto the paddle that lay across the cockpit coaming in front of her.

FOUR
    Walker used the storm as a gift. He rose early, stripped off his shorts, and hobbled outside into the rain. The heavy drops stung his shoulders, forming rivulets that ran down his body and pooled at his feet. Normally he bathed in the creek, but this was different; a cleansing rather than a cleaning. It cleared and focused his mind, made him feel more alive. It joined him with the creatures and spirits that inhabited the land with him. It heightened his senses and calmed his soul. Allowed him to hear the voice of Dzunukwa , the wild woman of the forest, carried on the wind that moaned through the cedars.
    He spread his arms and tilted his face up to the sky, relishing a feeling of well-being. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt at peace with himself. This was not an easy life, but it was a good one and it suited him just fine.
    The people had embraced him when he returned to his village. They knew his story, had seen it played out a thousand times as the legacy of loss created by the white man spread its diseased tendrils through the nations and tribes and clans. They had mourned his pain and celebrated his spirit. The elders taught him well. They shared their knowledge, gave him back his name and his clan, taught him new skills, honored his being, gave wings to new dreams. But it still wasn’t enough. He needed a purpose, a place, a role to play in life.
    He was helping two of his uncles shape a canoe, carefully adzing the wood to tease the boat out of the tree, when he’d first met Percy. Percy had been his salvation. Percy, with his simple philosophy and deceptively complex program, had taught him how to live again.
    Breathing deep, Walker shook the rain from his hair and headed back to his cabin. He would spend the next few days doing chores: sort and store his food cache, make new fishing gear, repair the net he had made from strips of cedar bark. Then, when the storm had cleared, he would head out again in search of the fish that would see him through the winter.
    The salmon that graced the crest of his clan, his 'na'mima , had always been generous and gave themselves to him freely. Perhaps he would take some back to the village, give some to his grandmother and to old Joe. He hadn’t been back since spring, and it would be good to see his people again. He could stop off at Percy’s camp on the way. It would take him several days and more to get back, and the storms were already starting. He would need to go soon.
    Two days later, shortly after sunrise, with both the wind and the rain still slanting noisily into the cove, Walker lifted his head from the net he was working on. He was not sure, but he thought he had heard a new sound. Not quite a sound, but more a change in the tone of the storm. He closed his eyes and reached his senses out into the swirling air, but nothing reverberated. Still, he thought there had been something.
    He pushed open the door and walked outside, but there was only the steady hiss of the rain as it beat on the saturated ground, the angry howl of the wind in the trees, and the roar of the waves crashing on the rocks. He would have to wait till it cleared to load his gear into the canoe,