“Not with black eyeballs, they haven’t,” Stanton said.
“My eyes?”
“I’m beginning to think that the color shift must be the result of an altered energy state within the stone, or perhaps an alteration of the stone’s interaction with your physical person—”
“Spare me,” Emily hissed. Her pique amused the Indian men vastly. One of them clapped Stanton on the shoulder and said something Emily doubted was entirely polite.
“So they’re friendly, at least?”
“If they weren’t, we’d be in the belly of that ugly beast right now,” Stanton said. “I’ve had dealings with this tribe before. Native magics are an expanding field of inquiry in my profession. I was a guest of their Maien—their Holy Woman—last spring, before my arrival in Lost Pine.”
“They let you study them?”
“It’s a simple matter of professional courtesy.”
“Professional courtesy?” Emily lowered her voice to a whisper. “They’re savages!”
“Savages who just saved your life, and who have invited us back to their camp for rest and food.” Stanton frowned at her. “But if you’d rather sleep on the ground and hope that there aren’t other Aberrancies roaming the area …”
“No, no.” Emily stared at the massive corpse of the demon raccoon around which the Indians were circling, long knives drawn. “That’s quite all right.”
CHAPTER SIX
Lawa
Most of the Indians remained behind to skin the massive raccoon, but one—a man with a licorice-colored braid that snaked from under a black felt hat—took them back to the Miwok camp. He and Stanton chatted as they walked ahead together along the overgrown path; Emily hung well back, brushing dripping foliage away from her face.
She followed them to a wide clearing on the shores of the slow Sacramento River. It was ringed with oaks and shaggy cottonwoods, and within it stood several round dugouts, domed with willow and tree bark. Campfire smoke drifted against the gray afternoon sky. Children chased one another, making high hooting sounds; dogs nipped at their heels. Women chatted over stone mortars, clay pipes clamped between black-stained teeth.
When they stopped, Emily slid down from her saddle. The man in the black felt hat took both horses’ reins; without a word, he led the animals away.
“Hope you see your horses again,” Emily muttered, watching as a group of young boys clustered around the animals, laying light brown hands on their warm glossy sides.
“Spoken with all the broad-mindedness and generosity of spirit I’ve come to expect from you, Miss Edwards,” Stanton said. “He’s taking them to food and water. Come along … Komé will be waiting.”
“Komé?”
“Komé is the tribe’s Maien, of whom I spoke earlier. She’s a very powerful practitioner. I want to get her opinion on the stone in your hand.”
“So you meant to ride down here all the time?” Emily said. “You could have told me.”
“And listen to you complain about it all the way from Dutch Flat?” Stanton looked at her sidelong.
They stopped before a long low house, much larger than the other dugouts. They stood outside and waited for what seemed quite a long time. Long enough for the rain to pick up again. Emily pulled her hat down and peered at Stanton from under the brim.
“Well? Shouldn’t you knock or something?”
“She knows we’re here,” Stanton said.
And indeed, a few moments later, an old woman came out of the long house, ducking underneath the low door. She leaned heavily on a feather-tipped staff. She was followed by a large dog, wrapped in a brightly colored blanket … but no, Emily thought, it was not a dog. It was a girl who couldn’t be more than fourteen, whose back was bent so drastically that she could not stand, only creep along in a painful shuffle. She kept her balance with one hand on the ground, her long black braids dragging in the dirt as she hitched herself along. When she looked up at Stanton and Emily, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Emily knew it was rude to stare, but she could not take her eyes off the girl, who came to rest by the old woman’s feet.
“Hiti weychin, Komé,” Stanton said, raising a hand.
The Holy Woman was cheerful and chubby, with bright white teeth. Her skin was a rich russet, and black tattoos ran from the bottom of her lower lip over her chin and down her throat, disappearing into the collar of her soft doeskin tunic. Her ears were pierced with thick cylinders of blackened, polished bone, and beads glittered from where they had been woven into her salt-and-pepper hair. Even the cut-glass beads, however, could