Clark took over the tale, explaining what the expedition had encountered since the spring thaw, especially the attack of the fire demon, and how the evil sorcerer had been wounded, weakened.
“My husband is his anchor,” Sacagawea said, her voice growing more urgent. “He remains in a spell, in a trance, but that is how we can fight the dragon sorcerer. I need the help of our tribe’s shaman, so we can rescue Toussaint.”
Cameahwait nodded. “The Snake People are only half a day from here. We can take you in the morning.”
Though he had no reason to be suspicious, Meriwether half-expected them to be attacked in the night, but other than a small disturbance, the sentries claiming to see the three Whiskey Revenants lurking about again, they had an uneventful sleep. Waking early, they packed and prepared to make their way to the camp of Sacagawea’s people, the “snake people.” Not a very auspicious name, he thought.
The camp of the Shoshone was a small village, the dwellings covered in long grass, rather than the customary buffalo hides. During the long march that morning, Meriwether spoke with Cameahwait, who explained that most of his tribe had been killed or kidnapped in the same raid by the Hidatsa that had taken Sacagawea captive. They’d recovered some of their members, but not all. The Hidatsa’s superior strength had forced the Shoshone to move away from the buffalo-rich lands and closer to the mountains.
“The attacks began before my sister or I were born. For a long time, my tribe could only hunt in buffalo country for some months a year, then we would retreat to the mountains, where we could defend ourselves. Now that the buffalo are growing more scarce with the turmoil in the land, we have had more trouble with our enemies straying here, looking to steal what they can.” He narrowed his eyes at Meriwether. “The fire demon burned out many of their camps, which turned them loose to prey upon other villages. The Snake People are very poor right now.”
Meriwether understood that the raiding party had intended to steal the expedition’s supplies, if they could get away with it. Fortunately, Sacagawea had stopped them. But now Cameahwait’s band of warriors was returning with no food or weapons to help his people survive.
Looking at the man’s face, Meriwether could see wrinkles of worry. Would he have done the same, if his mother, his family, faced starvation? He could defend himself against the raiding party, but perhaps he should not judge them. Cameahwait was the chief of his tribe, and he bore the responsibility for their survival.
Their arrival was greeted by several young women who rushed forward after the tall warrior called out that their sister had returned. They threw themselves into Sacagawea’s arms, exclaiming with joy to find her still alive. Pompy awoke, fussed, but Sacagawea displayed her son and passed him around to the eager arms. Then, devoted to her duty, she went back to her senseless husband. He lay on a litter carried between two horses. She directed two younger men from the tribe to carry him into one of the grass huts.
Meriwether felt awkward, knowing he could not follow to ask her what was happening. He hoped that someone from her people could bring Charbonneau’s mind back to such an extent he could help them find, and then storm, the dragon sorcerer’s lair.
For now, he and Clark had to observe the important customs of their initial meeting with new friends. Natives were as punctilious and exacting as any society in making sure the observances of politeness were met.
Gifts were exchanged, the Snake People offering garments made of buffalo hide, which were much appreciated, since the rigors of the expedition had left many of the men with ragged and threadbare clothes. After a hundred setbacks and travails, the men were starting to look disreputable. In exchange, after much consideration and discussion, the expedition offered a dozen rifles and a considerable amount of ammunition as their valuable gift.
Cameahwait and his village received the weapons with great joy, for that gave them the ability to hunt buffalo more efficiently, and even to defend themselves against their enemies.
Finally, when the reception of visitors had progressed to the point when they sat down and exchanged food, Meriwether noticed the absence of Sacagawea. He was concerned about her, and he stood, leaving the cook fire as if to relieve himself in the trees, and slipped off in the direction of the grass hut he’d seen Sacagawea enter.
Finding the Spirit
He found Sacagawea in the shelter, sitting on her heels beside Charbonneau, who remained unresponsive, his eyes glazed, as he had been for days. She looked up, startled when Meriwether entered.
“I came to see how you were,” he said, embarrassed. “Can your people help him?”
She made a face. “The shaman was not here. He is gathering leaves and mushrooms for his work, and two young boys were sent to call him back. Until he arrives, I know nothing more than I did before.”
He leaned against one of the poles supporting the structure. “What if your husband cannot be brought back? Can we still find the dragon?”
She nodded. “With difficulty. But I was hoping for more. Toussaint made the focus of the dragon sorcerer’s magic, and I suspect he has some insight into what flaws the magic might have. We need to know anything that might make it easier for us to defeat him. As you and Captain Clark said before, our chances of winning are very small indeed.” She gave Meriwether a sad smile. “Besides, he is my husband, my son’s father. I need to rescue him.”
“Yes, I understand that.” He felt a strange impatience that was not justified by the woman’s quite reasonable explanations. “But what if the shaman can’t waken him? Can you lead us to the evil lair? Can we still attempt to defeat the enemy?”
She hesitated. She opened her mouth, closed it, then finally said, “We can at least try, Captain. And I would want instruction from the shaman on how to approach our fight. This will be a magical battle as well as a physical one, and in magical battles, shamans are useful people to know.”
Meriwether heard the sound of feet running outside, and a young boy poked his head into the grass shelter and said something in the Shoshone language.
Sacagawea stood up from her husband’s side and brushed the wrinkles from her tunic. “The shaman comes,” she said, apparently expecting Meriwether to leave. And perhaps it was logical for him to leave, but Meriwether felt a great need to stay, both to learn what was about to happen, and also to see how reliable this shaman might be. He wanted to form his own opinion on whether the man was a charlatan. For centuries, Europeans had assumed all shamans were fakers, creatures pretending to great magical powers.
But after the comet, after the Sundering, anything might be possible.
Like the sorcerers and witches of Europe, shamans in America had come into their own. As a young man, Meriwether had seen shamans perform what seemed like miracles. But it all depended on tribal lore, and the individual in question. As with European magical lore, some of it seemed to work and make sense, while some was merely the remnants of tricks and dissembling.
He thought it more and more possible that at some point in the past there had been another event like the Sundering, and that magic had existed for a while. Some people had found ways to control it and use it, but then magic had vanished from the world again.
The question was, how real was this shaman of the Snake People? And how much did he truly know about fighting the dragon sorcerer?