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  “I dreamed you last night,” said Alvin. “I dreamed I was on top of Eight-Face Mound, and you were with me, explaining things to me.”

  “Don't count on it,” said Taleswapper. “I doubt there's a thing on Eight-Face Mound that I could explain to anybody.”

  “How did you come here,” asked Ta-Kumsaw, “if you didn't know you were coming to the Land of Flints?”

  “She told me to come up the Musky-Ingum, and when I saw a white boulder on the right, I should take the fork that led left. She said I'd find Alvin Miller Junior sitting with Ta-Kumsaw by a fire, roasting fish.”

  “Who told you all this?” asked Alvin.

  “A woman,” said Taleswapper. “A torch. She told me you saw her in a vision, Alvin, inside a crystal tower, not more than a week ago by now. She was the one who pulled the caul from your face, when you were born. She's been watching you ever since, in the way a torch sees. She went inside that tower with you and saw out of your eyes.”

  “The Prophet said someone was with us,” said Alvin.

  “She looked out of his eye, too,” said Taleswapper, “and she saw all his futures. The Prophet will die. Tomorrow morning. Shot by your own father's gun, Alvin.”

  “No!” cried Alvin.

  “Unless,” said Taleswapper. “Unless Measure comes in time to show your father that he's alive, that Ta-Kumsaw and the Prophet never harmed him, or you either.”

  “But Measure left days ago!”

  "That's right, Alvin. But he got captured by Governor Harrison's men. Harrison has him, and today, maybe even right now, one of Harrison's men is killing him. Breaking his bones, breaking his neck. Tomorrow Harrison will attack Prophetstown with his cannon, killing everybody. Every soul. So much blood that the Tippy-Canoe will flow scarlet and the Wobbish will flow red clear to the Hio.

  Ta-Kumsaw leaped to his feet. “I have to go back. I have to–”

  “You know how far you are,” said Taleswapper. “You know where your warriors are. Even if you ran all night and all day, as fast as you Reds can go–”

  “Noon tomorrow,” said Ta-Kumsaw.

  “He'll be dead already,” said Taleswapper.

  Ta-Kumsaw shouted in anguish, so loud that several birds cried out and flew away from the meadow.

  “Now, hold your horses, just wait a minute. If there were nothing we could do, she wouldn't very well have sent me on this chase, now, would she? Don't you see we're acting out a plan that's bigger than all of us? Why did it happen that Alvin and Measure were the two boys that Harrison's hired Chok-Taw kidnapped? How do you happen to be here, and me also, at the very day when we're most needed?”

  “They need us there,” said Ta-Kumsaw.

  “I don't think so,” said Taleswapper. “I think that if they needed us there, then there we'd be. They need us here.”

  “You're like my brother, trying to make me fit into his plans!”

  “I wish I were like your brother. He has visions and sees what's going on, while all I get is a letter from a torch. But here I am, and here you are, and if we weren't supposed to be here, we just plain wouldn't, whether you like it or not.”

  Alvin didn't like this talk of what was supposed to happen. Who was doing all this supposing? What did Taleswapper mean– they were all poppets on sticks? Was somebody making them move any old way, whatever he felt ought to happen? “If somebody's so all-fired in charge of everything,” said Alvin, “he hasn't been doing too good a job of it, getting us into a fix like this.”

  Taleswapper grinned. “You really don't take to religion, do you, boy?”

  “I just don't think anybody's making us do anything.”

  “Nor did I say so,” said Taleswapper. “I'm just saying things never get so bad we can't do something to make them better.”

  “Well I'll be glad to take suggestions. What did this torch lady think I ought to do?” asked Alvin.

  “She said you're supposed to climb the mountain and heal Measure. Don't ask me more than that– that's all she said. There isn't a mountain worthy of the name in these parts, and Measure's in the root cellar behind Vinegar Riley's house–”

  “I know that place,” said Alvin. “I been there. But I can't– I mean I've never tried to heal somebody who wasn't right there in front of me.”

  “Enough talking,” said Ta-Kumsaw. “Eight-Face Mound called you in a dream, White boy. This man came to tell you to go up the mountain. Everything begins when you climb the Mound. If you can.”

  “Some things end on Eight-Face Mound,” said Taleswapper.

  “What does a White man know about this place?” asked Ta-Kumsaw.

  “Not a thing,” said Taleswapper. “But I knelt by the bed of a dying Irrakwa woman, many years ago, and she told me that the most important thing in her life was, she was the last Irrakwa ever to stand inside Eight-Face Mound.”

  “The Irrakwa have all turned White in their hearts,” said Ta-Kumsaw. “Eight-Face Mound would never let them in now.”

  “But I'm White,” said Alvin.

  “Very good problem,” said Ta-Kumsaw. “The Mound will tell you the answer. Maybe the answer is you don't go up and everybody dies. Come.”

  He led them along the path the land opened up for them, until they came to a steep hill, thickly grown with trees and brambles. There was no path. “This is Red Man's Face,” said Ta-Kumsaw. “This is where Red men climb. The path is gone. You can't climb here.”

  “Where, then?” asked Alvin.

  “How do I know?” said Ta-Kumsaw. “The story is that if you climb a different face, you find a different Mound. The story is that if you climb the Builders' Face, you find their ancient city, still alive on the Mound. If you climb the Beasts' Face, you find a land where a giant buffalo is king, a strange animal with horns that come out of his mouth and a nose like a terrible snake, and huge cougars with teeth as long as spears all bow before him and worship. Who knows if these stories are true? No one climbs those faces now.”

  “Is there a White Man's Face?” asked Alvin.

  “Red Man, Medicine, Builder, Beast. Four other faces we don't know their names,” said Ta-Kumsaw. “Maybe one of them is White Man's Face. Come.”

  He led them around the hill. The Mound rose on their left hand. No path opened. Alvin recognized everything they saw. His dream last night was true, at least this much: Taleswapper was with him, and he circled the Mound before climbing.

  They came to the last of the unknown faces. No path. Alvin made as if to go on to the next face.

  “No use,” said Ta-Kumsaw. “All eight faces, none will let us up. The next is Red Man's Face again.”

  “I know,” said Alvin. “But here's the path.”

  There it was, straight as an arrow. Right on the edge shared by Red Man's Face and the unknown face beside it.

  “You are half Red,” said Ta-Kumsaw.

  “Go on up,” said Taleswapper.

  “In my dream you were with me up there,” said Al-vin.

  “Maybe so,” said Taleswapper. “But the fact is, I can't see this path the two of you are talking about. It looks just like all the rest of the faces. So I reckon I'm not invited.”

  “Go,” said Ta-Kumsaw. “Hurry.”

  “You come with me, then,” said Alvin. “You see the path, don't you?”

  “I didn't dream of the Mound,” said Ta-Kumsaw. “And what you see there, it will be half what the Red man sees, and half a new place that I should never see. Go now, don't waste time anymore. My brother and your brother will die unless you do whatever it is the land brought you here to do.”

  “I'm thirsty,” said Al.

  “Drink there,” said Ta-Kumsaw, “if the Mound offers you water. Eat if the Mound offers you food.”

  Al set his feet on the path and scrambled up the hill. It was steep, but there were roots to grab, plenty of footholds, and before long the path crested, leveled, and the underbrush ended.

  He had thought the Mound was a single hill, with eight slopes. Now, though, he could
see that each of the eight slopes was a separate Mound, arranged to form a deep bowl.in the middle. The valley seemed much too large, the farthest Mounds much too far away. Hadn't Alvin walked around the entire Mound this morning with Ta-Kumsaw and Taleswapper? Eight-Face Mound was much more inside than it seemed to be outside.

  He walked carefully down the grassy slope. It was tufted, irregular, the grass cool, the soil moist and firm. It seemed much farther going down than it had been going up. When he finally reached the valley floor, he stood on the verge of a meadow, with silver-leafed trees, just like in his dream. So his dream had been true, showing him a real place that he could not have imagined.

  But how was he supposed to find Measure and heal him? What did the Mound have to do with anything at all? It was afternoon now, they'd taken so long circling the Mound– Measure might already be dying, and he didn't have any idea how to go about helping him.

  He couldn't think of anything to do but walk. He thought he'd cross the valley and see one of the other mounds, but it was the strangest thing. No matter how far he walked, no matter how many silver-leafed trees he passed, the mound he walked toward was always just as far away. It made him afraid– would he be trapped up here forever? –and he hurried back in the direction he started from. In just a few minutes he reached the place where his footprints came down the slope. Surely he had walked away from that spot for much longer than that. A couple more tries convinced him that the valley went on forever in every direction except the one he came from. In that direction, it was just like he was always in the very center of the Mound, no matter how far he'd walked to get where he was.

  Alvin looked for the gold-leafed tree with the pure white fruit, but he couldn't find it, and he wasn't surprised. The taste of the fruit was still in his mouth from the dream the night before. He wouldn't get another taste of it, waking or dreaming, because the second bite would make him live forever. He didn't mind much, not getting that bite. Death didn't breathe all that heavy down the neck of a boy his age.

  He heard water. A brook, clear cold water flowing rapidly over stones. It was impossible, of course. The valley of Eight-Face Mound was completely enclosed. If water ran so fast here, why didn't the valley fill right up to make a lake? Why wasn't there a single stream running off the mound outside? Where would such a stream come from, anyway? The mound was man-made, like all the other mounds scattered all through the country, though none of the others was so old. You don't get springs coming out of man-made hills. It made him suspicious of this water, to have it be so impossible. Come to think of it, though, quite a few impossible things had happened to him in his life, and this was far from being the most peculiar.

  Ta-Kumsaw said to drink if the mound offered him water, so he knelt and drank, plunging his face right into the water and sucking the water straight into his mouth. It didn't take away the taste of the fruit. If anything, it was stronger after he drank.

  He knelt on the bank, studying the opposite shore of the brook. The water was flowing differently there. In fact, it was lapping the shore like ocean waves, and once that thought occurred to Alvin he saw that the shape of the opposite shore was just like the map of the east coast that Armor-of-God showed him. The memory came back clear and sharp. Here where the shore bowed outward, that was Carolina in the Crown Colonies. This deep bay was the Chase-a-pick, and here was the mouth of the Potty-Mack, which made the border between the United States and the Crown Colonies.

  Alvin stood and stepped across the stream.

  It was just grass. He didn't see no rivers or towns, no boundaries, no roads. But from the coast, he could pretty much guess where the Hio country was, and where this very mound would be. He took two steps, and all of a sudden there he saw Ta-Kumsaw and Taleswapper, setting on the ground in front of him, looking up at him as surprised as could be.

  “You climbed up after all,” said Alvin.

  “Nothing of the sort,” said Taleswapper. “We've been right here since you left.”

  “Why did you come back down?” asked Ta-Kumsaw.

  “But I ain't down at all,” said Alvin. “I'm down here in the valley of the mound.”

  “Valley?” asked Ta-Kumsaw.

  “We're down here below the mound,” said Taleswapper.

  Then Alvin understood. Not so as to put it into words, but well enough to use it, to use what the mound had given him. He could travel across the face of the land like this, a hundred miles in a step, and see the people that he needed to see. The people that he knew. Measure. Alvin touched his forehead in salute to the two men who waited for him, then took a small step. They disappeared.

  He found the town of Vigor Church easy enough. First person he saw was Armor-of-God, kneeling in prayer. Alvin didn't say nothing to him, for fear Armor might take it as a vision of the dead. Where would Armor be, though? In his own house? In that case Vinegar Riley's place would be back this way, east of town. He turned around.

  He saw his own father, setting with Mother. Pa was smoothing out some musket balls he'd cast. And Ma was whispering to him, all urgent. She was angry, and so was Pa. “Women and children, that's what they are in that town. Even if the Prophet and Ta-Kumsaw killed our boys, them women and children there didn't do it. You'll be no better than them if you raise a hand against them. I won't see you come back into this house, I'll never see you again if you kill one soul of them. I swear it, Alvin Miller.”

  Pa just kept on polishing, except once when he said, “They killed my boys.”

  Alvin tried to answer, opened his mouth to say, "But I ain't dead, Pa!

  It didn't work. He couldn't say a word. He wasn't brought up here to give a vision to his parents, neither. It was Measure he had to find, or Pa's own musket ball would kill the Shining Man.

  It wasn't far, not even a step. Alvin just inched his feet forward, and Ma and Pa disappeared. He caught a glimpse of Calm and David, shooting their guns– probably at targets. And Wastenot and Wantnot, ramming something– ramming shot down the barrel of a cannon. Glimpses of other folks, though because he didn't know or care about them he didn't see them clear. Finally he saw Measure.

  He had to be dead. His neck was broke, judging from the angle of his head, and his arms and legs were all broke, too. Alvin didn't dare move, or he'd travel a mile in an instant, and Measure would disappear just like the others. Alvin just stood there, and sent his spark out into the body of his brother, lying before him on the ground.

  Alvin never felt such pain in all his life. It wasn't Measure's pain, it was his own. It was Alvin's sense of how things ought to be, of the right shape of things; inside Measure's body, nothing was going right. Parts of him were dying, the blood was packed into his belly and crushing his own life out, his brain wasn't connected to his body no more, it was the most terrible mess Alvin ever saw, everything wrong, so wrong that it hurt him to see it, a pain so sharp he cried out. But Measure didn't hear him. Measure was beyond hearing. If Measure wasn't dead he was half an inch from being dead, and that was sure.

  Alvin went to his heart first. It was still pumping, but there wasn't much blood left in the veins; it was all lost in Measure's chest and belly. That was the first thing Alvin had to mend, heal up the blood vessels and get the blood back where it belonged, flowing in its channels.

  Time, it all took time. All the broken ribs, the cut-up organs. All the bones, joining them without so much as a hand to help move something into the right place– some of the bones were so out of line that he couldn't heal them at all. He'd have to wait until Measure woke up enough to help him.

  So Alvin got inside Measure's brain, the nerves running down his spine, and healed it all, put it back the way it had to be.

  Measure woke with one long, terrible scream of agony. He was alive and the pain was back, sharper and clearer than it ever was before. I'm sorry, Measure. I can't heal you up without letting the pain come back. And I got to heal you, or too many innocent folks are dead.

  Alvin didn't even notice that it was already night,
and half his work still lay ahead of him.

  Chapter 14 – Tippy Canoe

  In Prophetstown, no one but the children slept that night. The adults all felt the circling White army; the bidings and hexes cast by the White troops were like trumpets and banners to the land-sense of the Reds.

  Not all of them found they had the courage to keep their oath, now that iron-and-fire death was hours away. But they kept the oath this far: They gathered their families and slipped out of Prophetstown, passing silently between companies of White soldiers, who neither heard nor saw them. Knowing they could not die without defending themselves, they left, so that not one Red would mar the perfection of the Prophet's refusal to fight.

  Tenskwa-Tawa was not surprised that some left; he was surprised that so many stayed. Almost all. So many who believed in him, so many who would prove that trust in blood. He dreaded the morning; the pain of a single murder close at hand had cursed him with the black noise for many years. True, it was his father who was killed, so the pain was more; but did he love the people of Prophetstown any less than he had loved his father?

  Yet he had to fend off the black noise, keep his wits about him, or all their deaths would be in vain. If their dying accomplished nothing, he wouldn't have them do it. So many times he had searched the crystal tower, tying to find some way to approach this day, some path that would lead to something good. The best that he could find was the land divided, Red west of the Mizzipy, White to the east. Even that, though, could be found only through the narrowest of paths. So much depended on the White boys, so much on Tenskwa-Tawa, so much on White Murderer Harrison himself. For in all the paths in which Harrison showed any mercy, the massacre of Tippy-Canoe did nothing to stop the destruction of the Reds, and, with them, the land. In all those paths, the Red men dwindled, confined to tiny preserves of desolate land, until the whole land was White, and therefore brutalized into submission, stripped and cut and ravished, giving vast amounts of food that was only an imitation of the true harvest, poisoned into life by alchemical trickery. Even the White man suffered in those visions of the future, but it would be many generations before he realized what he had done. Yet here– Prophetstown– there was a day– tomorrow– when the future could be turned onto an unlikely path, but a better one. One that would lead to a living land after all, even if it was truncated; one that would lead someday to a crystal city catching sunlight and turning it into visions of truth for all who lived within it.