Less Than Nothing by Robert Reed

One-Less-Than-One had left the world. But he had promised to return before the next full moon, fresh buffalo on his back and his mouth full of stories about the hated demons. One-Less was known as a talented hunter and an adequate shaman, a fine husband and an exceptional father. And he never came home late from the demon lands. But the moon passed full days ago, and the People had been worried for three nights. On this particular evening, they should have been sharing the good fire with their friend, listening while he described how he had fooled the demons with his magic and his guile. What happened to One-Less? When should someone go out searching for him? Worry was quickly growing into despair, and it seemed to Raven, sitting quietly in his usual place, that no one could say one word about anything now but the missing man.

Raven Dream was dusty news. As a boy, he had walked out into the demon world, and then he had come back again, safe but changed. Everyone could see that he was different. The People agreed that Raven was a man, though he wasn't grown enough to sit shoulder to shoulder with the other men, speaking whenever he found words dangling in his mouth. He had to be quiet and respectful at all times. Even his older brother—Snow-on-Snow—possessed a larger, more important voice. Which was the way it should be. Wasn't manhood the beginning of a journey ending only with death? Yet when Raven anticipated this moment, he imagined a well-earned pride in his accomplishments. Leaving the world should have made him wiser and more confident. He certainly hadn't expected to feel sad or hollow, or pitifully small, or as numbingly cold as he felt now. His grandfather—the wisest, oldest citizen among the People—was watching him now, taking his measure of this new man. And his mother was sitting on her hands instead of wiping the smudges off his suddenly manly face. But other than that, nothing had changed, and it seemed as if he had never left this little place.

If only he hadn't, Raven thought to himself.

The People were gathered in the main room, sitting about the common fire, and as they discussed the missing man, One-Less-Than-One silently emerged from the dark earth, looking at everyone before claiming an empty seat directly across from Raven Dream.

One-Less was a dead man.

Raven knew this because Raven had killed him.

When the boy went out into the demons’ realm, One-Less had followed. When Raven found two young demons in desperate trouble, he had done his best to help them. But One-Less had been a stubborn, narrow-minded man who didn't approve of his kindness. Following ancient traditions, he had tried to kill the helpless demons. Raven had chosen to fight, and in the end, he had had to gut the man with his own knife and bury the corpse away from the river, in some nameless place several days’ walk from here. But if a living man is stubborn, then his dead form can be relentlessly obstinate, particularly if he is angry and feels wronged. This particular dead man had unearthed himself and come all this way to sit among the People, letting the fire warm his ghostly form while he listened to stories told about a life that was finished now.

"He is a good man, honorable and kind,” his widow proclaimed, staring at the fire, unable to see him. She was not a young woman. Long ago, she lost her first husband to the demons and her only child to the river. But One-Less-Than-One had taken pity on the grieving widow, marrying her when he was little more than a boy and then giving her three children, two of which still lived among the People. “He is a brave man and my best friend,” she continued. “But he promised to be in my bed three nights ago. And he is never late, not by more than a breath."

Raven stared at the tiny fire, trying to ignore the ghost.

Someone asked, “Are you certain that you didn't see him?"

An elbow jabbed Raven in the ribs. He jumped and then realized it was his brother's elbow telling him to pay attention.

"My husband went upriver,” said the two-time widow. “You journeyed upriver too. Didn't you, Raven?"

"A long ways,” he said.

"You didn't meet my One-Less?"

How many times already had he lied? Raven shook his head, trying to appear sure. But when his eyes lifted, he saw the ghost staring at him, smiling in the most hateful way.

Others noticed his gaze.

"Not even a footprint?” she persisted.

"No,” Raven managed. “I saw no sign of him."

The dead man's children were sitting near their father, unaware of his presence. One of them admitted, “I'm scared."

The other said, “Don't be."

"But something's gone wrong,” said the first child.

"That's stupid,” his sister told him. She was older than her brother—a grown woman nearly fourteen years old—and she had no patience for fear or gloomy thoughts. “Father is out there fighting the demons. That's all. With his magic, he's making their wicked lives miserable."

Everyone was a demon, except for the People.

"Do you think that he is?” asked the little boy.

"Absolutely,” said his big, brave sister. Then she looked at Raven, smiling without happiness. “Did you hurt any demons while you walked their lands?"

Raven almost said, “No."

Then he came close to weaving a new lie. “I did hurt a few, yes,” he said inside his mind, the words forming against his tongue and then dissolving before they could do any lasting harm.

All the while, he stared at the dead man. An endless river of blood was leaking out of One-Less's ruptured kidney, and the bloodless face grinned with its slack empty mouth while sunken eyes glared at him, fury mixed with a cold, cold humor.

Raven rose to his feet.

Everyone was watching him.

Standing still, he announced, “I need to relieve myself."

"So do it,” his brother advised.

The People lived in secret rooms buried deep inside a great hillside. Every door was hidden with camouflage and with magic. Cautiously, Raven stepped out into the light of the waning moon. The piss holes were narrow wooden pipes that took away urine and its stink. He was using a hole when someone else followed him outside. Thinking that it was his grandfather, Raven took a breath and held it. But it was only the ghost, thankfully. Even the angriest spirit was no more dangerous than a hard wind, he knew, while a wise old man could inflict endless misery on a young man.

One-Less pulled out his own shriveled penis and bled a few dark drops into the adjacent hole. But he never stopped staring at Raven, and after a while, Raven said to him, “I did what had to be."

"What had to be?"

The voice came from behind him. Two men had come out of the ground, one of them remaining invisible.

"What did you do, Raven?"

The People's new man pulled up his trousers, shivered, then he turned slowly to face his grandfather.

The old man had one good arm and a thousand types of magic, plus seventy years of hard experience ready for times such as this. Quietly, he said, “Tell me."

Raven said nothing.

"Or don't tell me. You are a man now. Make your own choice."

"I have,” Raven allowed.

Grandfather nodded, using experience and magic to peer into the sad soul. “For a man who has walked among the demons, you are remarkably silent about your adventures. Are you afraid of being prideful?"

"No, sir."

"So you have no pride?"

"I did something,” the new man replied.

Grandfather remained silent, waiting patiently.

"Something awful,” Raven confessed. Then he shook his head and glanced at the ghost that was still pissing blood into the pipe. “I found demons in need."

Large eyes grew larger. “How many demons?"

"Two of them, Grandfather."

"In what need?"

"One of them was dying. Both were lost. They needed help, and that's what I gave them."

Raven hoped that this was his worst crime, and confessing to the People's leader would begin the healing and the forgiveness. Perhaps later, when One-Less was a little forgotten, the rest of this story could be told. People had killed People in the past, and maybe there was some way for the others to look at what had happened as being private and honorable, or at least ugly but inevitable.

"These two demons saw you, did they?"

Raven nodded. “The girl did. The boy was too close to death to notice."

"And you told the girl a good lie, did you?"

"Yes. Of course."

Grandfather nodded. Then he glanced in the direction of the ghost, wondering aloud, “Did you learn these children's names?"

"Mara,” said Raven. “And Greggie."

"Bounty,” said Grandfather, finishing their names.

Raven held his voice deep in his belly.

Yet the old man seemed relieved. Even as he said, “Those are two very important children in the demon world,” it was as if he had imagined that things were much blacker than this. “And if it is as you say, and if the girl believed your lie—"

"I think so,” Raven said.

"Then maybe this means nothing."

Raven nodded hopefully. “I shouldn't have helped the children. I know that now."

"Except some demons are helpful to the People,” the old man said, staring into the darkness. “In the right circumstances, of course."

"Maybe this will help,” Raven began.

Then Grandfather stepped close. Their eyes met, and the old man's expression brought with it the ages and his wisdom and a scorching rage that had been hiding for the last few days and nights. “But what about One-Less-Than-One?” he snapped.

"I do not ... what do you mean...?"

"You lied,” his grandfather assured him. “Just now, when you told his family you never saw him, I could see you lying. To them. To me. To all the world."

Raven dropped his gaze.

But the good hand grabbed Raven by the chin and forced the young eyes to rise. Then Grandfather told him, “I know how you can make everything better. And so do you, I think."

"I can tell you what I did,” said Raven.

"But you already have,” a low, tight voice replied.

"Do I confess to his widow?"

"If you want her to push a knife into your heart, yes. Or that little boy of hers will wait for you to sleep, and then he will avenge what he will see only as the most wicked crime."

Raven began to cry.

"Go find our missing friend,” said the old man.

Raven glanced over at the ghost.

His grandfather studied him. Then again, he brought the young eyes back to his. “This is what I will tell the others. You have left us to hunt for One-Less-Than-One, and when you find him, however he is, the world will be well again."

"Will it?” Raven whispered.

"If you have his bones and a reasonable story. Perhaps."

He nodded.

"And his spirit must be at rest too. More than the bones, that is what matters."

Raven felt the dead man glaring at him, blood running down his back and out through the front of his trousers, making the ground slick and black. Nothing about this spirit would ever be at rest, Raven sensed. But he nodded and felt one awful burden lifted from his shoulders, his breath tasting cleaner when he promised, “I will leave before dawn."

"No,” Grandfather warned. “You will leave in the next few heartbeats, with exactly what you are carrying now."

Raven had no knife or fishhooks, no charms or much else besides his clothes. But he gave a little nod, glad for the chance to survive the night.

"What about my mother?” he asked.

"Let's leave my daughter thinking the best of her new man-son. Shall we?” Grandfather shook him by one shoulder, the gesture strong and meant to feel just a little comforting. “And take your ghost with you, please,” he added. “To me, he feels as grim and moody as One-Less ever was."

The summer world was rich with food. Old turtles and fat frogs lived on the river's edge. Every rotting log hid an army of pale worms, while the night air tingled with the presence of sweet bugs and sour ones.

Young grouse slept too deeply to notice the hand that was about to snatch them by their necks. A young man without the simplest tool could still raid the nests of mice and voles, plus the occasional pack rat midden jammed with trash and treasure. And if that same young man found a scrap of metal tucked inside a midden—the rusting hinge of an ancient demon door—he could dismantle the hinge and sharpen its pieces well enough to make a kit of tools, including a little spear and a toy axe for working with sticks and digging into the softest ground.

But summer was a visitor to the world. Soon the days would cool and nights would freeze, the bugs would die away or vanish into deep hiding places, and what animals remained would turn scarce and wise.

Raven would feel hungry before the next full moon.

The moon after that would see him skinny and probably sick, and his last few breaths would come and go with the first snow.

Then he would walk the world as a spirit, weightless but for the eternal burdens that he had earned for himself. He would become a shadow moving in the corner of a living eye, and he would be a cool place in the midst of sunshine, and when the demon world was swept aside and the People were reborn, he would feel none of it. Forever, he would be an apparition shuffling through the tall grass, his dim little mind trying to recall how he had come to this endless end.

"I blame you,” he told One-Less.

The ghost never responded, yet a thin, undeniable pleasure showed in its tortured features.

"And I blame myself,” Raven continued, knowing he should say those words, even if he didn't quite feel them. “I didn't have to kill you. I could have helped you murder those children. But then we'd have two ghosts trailing after us. Do you see? That's one reason I did what I did. A single haunting is better than two."

One-Less responded with a sneer.

"And now that I think about it, you aren't much of a spirit,” said Raven. “I almost like having you here, as company."

It was late evening, the sun falling out of sight of the world, long shadows merging into a darkness that soon would allow both man and spirit to move easily in the open. The two of them were kneeling together, down where the world's river pushed beneath a wire fence and out into the demons’ realm. Near the river's winter bank, past a row of ragged little juniper trees, stood a weather-tight shelter and several other buildings, and a famous demon was standing behind the shelter's largest window, watching the sunset.

Blue Clad was a strong, heavy-chested man, not young anymore but not quite old either. He had short hair, black but with more gray, and skin that turned ruddy brown in the summer. Born into a family of ranchers, his name came from the color of fabric that he preferred to wear. Countless stories about the People involved his clan. For generations, Blue Clad's ancestors had owned all of the land along the river, and they had always known about the secret souls living in their midst. Yet they never told anyone else. Mostly, they were good demons. Whenever there was famine, they would help the People with food. Bad diseases came on the wind, but they found medicines. And on occasion, they protected the People from the demons who wandered onto their lands.

But those times were nearly finished. Save for Blue Clad, the ranchers had vanished. Grandfather had admitted as much to Raven and to everyone. “His neighbors have sold out and moved away,” the old man reported, his expression pleased but not pleased. The country was empty, but the reasons made everyone uneasy. With a sour little smile, Grandfather had said, “The other ranches have been stolen by new demons. On all sides, we're surrounded by forgotten homes and tall fences."

Young buffalo were walking across the abandoned ranches, conjured out of water and dirt by odd magic. And there were prowling grizzly bears and wolves and cougars, as well as little ponies with stiff manes, and herds of elk such as the old days had known. And sometimes, odd scents came drifting on the wind—hints of animals that bore no name, at least none that the People knew.

"Blue Clad won't abandon us,” Grandfather had promised. This conversation happened last winter, the chill of the world seeping into their buried home. Huddling by the fire, warming his good hand and his bad, the white-haired man explained, “After Blue Clad dies, his short-hairs will be sold and gone. And then all of the fences will be pulled down, letting the wild herds come for our grass."

"Just as the Prophet promised,” One-Less had remarked.

Raven glanced at the ghost squatting beside him, remembering the moment.

"'The buffalo will return to the People,'” One-Less had said, quoting the prophecy uttered by a shaman dead for more than a hundred years. “'They will walk at our feet, and we will walk among them.’”

But Grandfather had remained unimpressed.

"Seeing the future is a tough venture,” he had warned One-Less. But he had looked at Raven when he spoke. “Just because your promised tomorrow seems to be here, you shouldn't let yourself believe in it. There are many ways to deceive, but the best deceptions come dressed as the truth."

One-Less had been unimpressed by an old man's doubts.

"I never liked you,” Raven said to the spirit. “If I had liked you, I don't think I would have killed you."

The dead face turned toward him.

"I probably would have cut your hamstring and crippled you, and that would have been the end of it."

The hollowed-out eyes turned forward again.

Blue Clad's wife had joined her husband behind the big window. Her name was Stone Face—a small golden-haired woman who must have been pretty when she was young. Together, the married demons spoke to each other. Raven studied their bodies and the little gestures of their hands, reading worry and then happiness. What were they saying? He could only guess. Maybe they were talking about the land and how to remain here until they were dead. Maybe they were discussing their only child—a young man named Yellow Hair who had recently left home, going off to some faraway school. Or maybe they were talking about the People, wishing them well as they watched the sun vanish from the world.

A final few words were spoken, and then the old couple vanished.

After another long while, the inside lights were extinguished, and save for a few lamps above doorways and on a tall wooden post, the entire ranch had tumbled into darkness and sleep.

Raven crept down low and crawled into the demons’ realm.

The ghost followed after him, stepping through the barbed wires without bending its insubstantial body.

"This is my plan,” Raven explained, speaking with the softest possible whisper. “I will borrow what I need and only that. Tools and scrap metal and maybe a good knife or two, if I find them. Then I'll move into the new lands, hunting buffalo calves and prairie dogs. When I store enough dried meat, I will find your grave. By then, the worms will have cleaned you up. I will finish their work and polish your bones and use my magic with them, giving you a voice."

The ghost seemed interested in what it was hearing. The mouth opened wider and then closed again, teeth chewing on the swollen black tongue.

"If you have a voice, you can explain yourself to the People,” Raven said. Then with a slender bit of confidence, he added, “Both of us will return home and tell the whole story, and our families will either banish me, or they will see that what happened was for the best."

The ghost slowed its gait.

Raven's companion acted worried about the demons. But Blue Clad and Stone Face were two old people in bed, sleeping soundly, and Raven had studied the terrain for days, making ready for this moment.

He avoided their home, carefully approaching one of the other buildings. A giant door had been lifted and forgotten. In the darkness stood a wagon—one of the massive pickup trucks that every rancher cherished. Raven touched the wagon's skin, expecting to feel the chill of metal. But no, it was a different material, warmer and very slick, wrong-feeling in ways that he couldn't name. And the wheels weren't the same as the rubber wheels that he had touched a time or two, crazy with curiosity. They were wider but very thin, feeling like callused flesh under his fingertips.

On bare toes, Raven slipped past the wagon and into a little workshop. The smells of old solvents and spilled paint assaulted his nose. The room was littered with metal dust and colored tanks and lengths of hollow rope and machines that looked fierce even when they were dead asleep. Raven worked quickly, found a worn-out shirt and tied the sleeves and buttoned the buttons until he had a useful sack. Then he selected items that looked as if they wouldn't be missed. He claimed an old screwdriver and a half-package of razor blades and two wads of steel wool that could be used to make fire in the coldest winter. There was good rope and thick wire, and inside a closet, he found old coats, none of which looked as if they had been worn in years. He took the plainest coat and a paint-stained pair of heavy trousers, tying the trouser legs to make a second sack. Then he crept past the new truck again, pausing in the open doorway, deciding which of the other buildings to raid next.

The ghost was standing beneath the highest, brightest lamp.

Raven felt anger, then fear. But even if the demons were awake, what were the chances they would see a light-washed ghost?

Approaching his nemesis, Raven intended to lead it back into the trees and give up his scavenging for the night, if need be. He was so busy watching One-Less that he didn't notice what lay in the grass, like a thick rope under his right foot. But Raven knew what he had stepped on as soon as he made contact, and with the speed of youth, he yanked his foot just in time to avoid the snake's first jabbing bite.

But then Raven stumbled and fell.

The rattlesnake was buzzing furiously, curled into a tight mass of muscle and poison, and an instant later, the head of the snake was moving, twin teeth injecting a killing dose into Raven's exposed neck.

He was dead now.

His body still had a heart and heat, but those things were temporary. There was no worse place to suffer a rattlesnake bite than near the face, and he probably didn't have a hundred breaths left before his blood turned sour and choked him till he was blue.

Inside that moment, Raven Dream made his decision.

With the dead man watching his misery—smiling at him with an expression of considerable amusement—Raven ran to the ranch house, and as the pain rose to an unbearable state, he kicked at the front door and used both fists, pounding until he heard voices, and then pounding even harder.

Raven was asleep for what felt like days. In his dreams he walked with the dead, and they eventually told him that no, it was not his time. After that, he came awake slowly. Eyes accustomed to the good shapes of the world—soft edges and sloppy circles—found themselves staring at straight lines and sharp, jarring corners. A square white sky hung just above him, smooth and empty except for a rectangle of frozen smoke fixed to the sky's center. Raven was lying on his back, weak and trapped beneath smothering slick blankets. But his hands could crawl, and his fingers had feeling. Touching his own naked body, he found life, and on his swollen neck, a small square bandage.

Raven listened to his slow breathing. Then he closed his eyes and another day passed, or twenty days, and he woke again, finding his head turned to the left. Beside the bed stood an empty table and empty chair. The wall beyond was flat and sharp-cornered, wearing the color of old rust. Buried inside the reddish wall was a white rectangular door. The door wasn't quite closed, but when he peered into the thin gap, he saw nothing of the world beyond.

Fighting the pain and heavy blankets, Raven rolled to his right. The opposite wall was the same size and color, but with a rectangular window in place of the door. Long hunks of dangling fabric dressed the window. The sky was passing from day into night, trees swirling under a steady evening wind. Everything about this place was strange, but strangest was the green leaves in those high branches. They were full of summer, which was impossible. Raven was certain he had spent an entire moon hovering between death and this life, and when he realized that he hadn't, he stared at the ceiling, carefully rebuilding his thoughts.

When he found enough strength, he sat up. Past his toes, a demon man was hanging on the wall. Or perhaps it was a woman. Nothing about the face was purely male or female. The demon wore bright insubstantial clothes, and the sexless face was painted with twisted black worms, and cradled in the hands was a long pipe made of polished brass that had been tied into an elaborate knot.

When Raven looked at the demon's eyes, the demon moved. A wide smile blossomed, and the pipe lifted to its mouth, and with the fingers pushing buttons, it breathed out, making a string of hot, jarring noises.

Raven jumped back, banging against a wobbly headboard.

The demon was living inside the wall, unless it was standing somewhere else in the world. Who could say? But Raven had been seen. He was under the blankets when the bedroom door opened. The old woman walked into the mayhem, calmly touching the edge of the picture, and the musician fell silent, then vanished altogether.

"Tell me,” Stone Face said, using the People's language. “Do you know how to speak demon?"

Raven came out from under the blankets.

"Because I don't know your language much,” she confessed, settling on the farthest corner of the mattress. She looked pleased to see Raven sitting upright and alive, but then the pleasure melted away, leaving her features grim and wary. Again she asked, “Do you know demon?"

"Pieces of it,” said Raven, with demon words. Grandfather had taught him the language, and his mother had helped, and years before that his uncle had given him a few good words.

"Raven Dream,” she said twice. In his language, then hers.

He nodded.

"Do you know how lucky you are?"

The only honest answer was to say, “I don't, no."

"Well, first of all, the bite missed your artery. And second, we keep antiserum in our refrigerator. Sometimes a calf gets bit, and that's hundreds of dollars dying. Which is a lot of money, for us.” She paused a moment, then asked, “Do you remember any of this?"

Vague recollections surfaced and then slid away.

"Always keep the bite below the heart,” she reported. “That's what a doctor will tell you."

Raven nodded.

"He held you up by your ankles,” she said. “You're not a little boy, and he isn't as strong as he used to be. But he managed. We guessed your weight, and I mixed the antiserum and made the injection, and it worked better than I ever thought it would. I thought you were dead."

With a gentle hand, Raven touched his swollen neck and the bandage. “When did this happen?” he muttered. “How long ago?"

"Last night,” she said.

Again Raven looked out the window, staring at the trees.

Stone Face let her eyes wander until she found a different subject. “This is our son's room,” she told him.

Yellow Hair. Yes.

"He would be extremely proud, if he knew you were in his bed."

Raven could think of nothing to say.

"So there was trouble, was there?” she asked.

He closed his eyes, and he breathed deeply.

"Trouble between you and the others, apparently. I'm just guessing, I know. But if you're in such a mess that you've got to steal trash from our garage, then you've pretty much been banished. Is that what happened?"

Once more, Raven looked outdoors. But there was too much sun for even the angriest ghost to appear. “I did something wrong,” he admitted, surprised by the lack of concern of his own voice.

"How old are you now? Ten?"

"This is my tenth year."

"Nine years and some months. Okay.” She stood, her face hardening in the way that the People had seen for years. Even when Blue Clad's wife was pretty, she wore a stern, cold expression. Particularly when she was angry. “You're just a child,” she muttered. “And they sent you off to die."

"I'm not a child,” he reported.

She said, “Bullshit."

He was a grown man, which was why he gathered the blankets close now. He was naked and should remain hidden to another man's wife.

"And you, of all people!” (Or did she say, “Of all the People"?)

"What do you mean?” Raven asked.

"Never mind."

"And how do you know my name?"

She laughed quietly. “You and the others ... you're the only neighbors we've got anymore. Every other ranch has cleared out, and those old friends have moved off to Kansas City and Florida and who knows where.” Stone Face stared at his bandaged wound, then added, “He cares about you, you know. A great deal."

"Blue Clad helps the People,” Raven allowed.

"Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't,” she said. “I'll warn you, my husband and I don't always agree on what constitutes help."

Raven shook his head until his wound burned.

"But when I talk about him caring,” she said, “I mean that he has feelings about you. About the big strong boy named Raven Dream."

The blankets couldn't be pulled any closer.

"We get rattlesnakes around the house, on occasion. They crawl out of the hills, and do you know what he does? He catches them. Always. He has a special pole and lasso, and he grabs the snakes up and puts them in a sack and drives them back to the prairie. Even though snakes kill calves, robbing hundreds and thousands of dollars out of our pockets, he takes the time and accepts the danger to save the snakes’ miserable little lives."

Raven had no idea where this story was traveling.

Her narrow mouth pulled flush against her teeth. “But after I'd injected you with the antiserum and after he set you down again ... the first thing he did was go outside with his lasso and stick and catch the snake that bit you, and he put his foot on its head, and then he started to cut it up, six inches at a whack. The tail first, and he worked his way up the body to the head, and he made sure it died in misery, because he didn't know if you were going to live out the night.

"Which says quite a lot, Raven Dream. Particularly if you know a little more of the story."

Blue Clad had driven to some far place for medicine. He returned in the night, the bright lights of his truck washing across the ranch house, pushing their way through the gaps in the closed drapes. Then his heavy boots sounded on the floor outside the closed bedroom door. Raven listened to the boots and then the man's deep, quiet voice and his wife's louder, more casual voice. “No, he's awake,” she reported. Then she said, “No.” Followed by, “Yes.” Then she called him by his demon name, which was, “Edward,” and told him, “If you want to, just poke your head in. Say your hello."

Moments later, the bedroom door opened partway and a square face peered through the gap.

Raven was sitting in darkness, the drapes drawn. He felt tired and nervous and very sore, his entire body aching from the poison and the residues of the antiserum. But despite his fatigue, he was awake, holding his breath, letting this important man gather up his own courage before stepping inside.

Suddenly a big hand slapped the wall and the smoke box on the ceiling caught fire, throwing a blue-white light across everything.

"Jeez, I couldn't see you,” Blue Clad admitted.

Raven blinked and let the sheets drop.

"I thought maybe you'd ... I don't know ... slipped out the window, maybe.... “The man's voice trailed away. His face was whiskered and flush with blood. He took a wet breath and stepped closer, staring at Raven's face and swollen neck. Then he took another deep breath before asking, “How do you feel?” He used the People's language, getting the rhythm just about right. And before Raven could answer, he asked, “Has she fed you?"

"I feel stronger,” Raven said. Then he nodded, adding, “A little meal, yes."

"Good.” The big man rocked back and forth for a moment, wrestling with many thoughts at once. “Good,” he said again.

With demon words, Raven told him, “Thank you."

"But I know Lakota,” Blue Clad said, continuing with that language. “You will be ten years old soon, is that right?"

Raven just nodded.

"Ten years,” Blue Clad said again. Then he glanced over his shoulder, whispering in the People's language, “How is your mother?"

"Well,” Raven answered.

The man's face brightened. Then his wife was behind him, standing close enough that Raven saw her golden hair past one of his broad shoulders. With his smiling face, Blue Clad said, “So there's been trouble between you and them.” He was using demon words again. “How can we fix this?"

Raven said nothing.

Stone Face whispered a few words to Blue Clad, who shook his head, dismissing her suggestion.

"I'll see what I can find out,” he promised. He looked tired but ready for more work. Starting out of the room, he forced his wife into the hallway with him. “Rest,” was his advice. “In a day or two, believe me, you'll feel miles better."

The door was closed and latched.

On soggy legs, Raven slipped out of the bed. The drapes felt stiff and a little warm, and he held them between his fingers for a moment before pulling them apart. One-Less was standing on the other side of the window, his gruesome face pressed close to the glass. Raven stared at the ghost for a long while, listening to the thoughts slipping through his own head. Then in a whisper, he confessed, “You are my best friend now. In this world, who do I know better?"

Sleep made Raven stronger. By the next afternoon, he had recovered enough to make fresh plans. He was thinking when he heard footsteps in the hallway and a hand pushing at the door, and then with his eyes almost closed, he watched her drift into the room. She was wearing a shirt and trousers, her hair was pulled into a knot behind her head, and her little feet wore what looked like pelts stripped from some unknown breed of animal. Raven watched the feet trying to be quiet and the arms crossed, holding a square book against her heart. As Stone Face set the book on the edge of the bed, he put a hand on hers, making her jump. “I don't know why I'm scared,” she said, using her own language. “I must look silly."

Raven sat up.

"I thought you'd be interested,” she offered.

She meant the heavy book. The binding was on the right. Raven opened the cover and she seemed ready to speak, then decided just to stand by and watch. A single image filled the final page—a piece of the past captured on a slip of glossy paper. Raven stared at the smiling face of her son, Yellow Hair, and behind him, the forested hillside where the People lived underground.

"Mark asks about you,” she said. “And the others, too. Of course."

Mark was Yellow Hair.

"He doesn't ask anything with words,” she continued. “Because we don't know who's listening. But we have a code. A method. Mark inquires about our prairie dogs, and one of us gives him the news."

Raven turned the thick page.

"Not that there's much to tell,” she allowed. “We don't see you often, or speak to you much at all. And really, you do an incredible job of hiding, even from us.” What she said triggered a quiet laugh. “When I first came here to live,” she explained, “I believed in you. I did. But after a year or two of seeing nothing ... not even a bare footprint in the sand ... it occurred to me that the People were just an elaborate and exceptionally cruel joke ... a joke being played on a foolish city girl...."

The next pages reached farther back in time, showing her son and husband posing together. They were fishing the river and standing beside a truck that died years ago. Suddenly Blue Clad had a younger face and black hair, and Yellow Hair was a tiny boy younger than Raven today.

"Maybe you don't know this,” she was saying. “Before I met my husband, the closest I came to this country was a family vacation. We drove our station wagon through on the way to Yellowstone. I didn't know one useful thing about ranching. Then I grew up and became an elementary school teacher, and Blue was a grown-up undergraduate at the Ag college. He was almost thirty years old, and he'd come to the city to get a degree. We dated for a full year before he brought me home to meet his family."

"You called him Blue,” Raven pointed out.

"That's what he called himself,” she said. “His given name is Edward, but his nickname was Blue. He'd chosen it when he was a boy."

Raven began to turn the page, but she held his hand down.

"This album ... we keep it locked away.... “Stone Face was nervous but determined. Standing beside the bed, she let both hands settle on the opened book. “But I thought you should see it. You have that right, I believe.” She looked over her shoulder for a moment. “Blue is asleep. Finally. He spent all last night putting out special charms, trying to arrange a meeting with the People. But nobody showed himself. Except for Blue, nobody wants to talk about you."

She lifted her hands now, but Raven left the pages alone.

"I was a young woman, and Blue was this wonderful rugged fellow. Colorful and obviously smart. When I met him, I asked, ‘Are you part Indian?’ Because of his complexion, I thought he might be. And he asked me, ‘Why? What do you think about Indians?’ I didn't know any, I said, but I liked the idea of them. Lame little words like that. Then Blue said a few very bad things about Native Americans. Insults, actually. Of course he was testing me. And after I jumped down his throat, he smiled, thrilled to hear me being angry with him."

She pulled the chair out from under the adjacent table and sat, her feet squirming inside those two dead animals.

"After a year, he brought me up here. Finally. He introduced me to his parents, and they got to know me over the course of a week, and when I was hiking in your pasture by myself, some decision was made. When I came back here, Blue asked me to marry him. But before I could say yes, he told me there were two big conditions. First, we'd have to always live on this land. Live here until we were dead. ‘And what's the second condition?’ I asked. Well, he couldn't quite tell me, at least not until after the ceremony."

Stone Face stuck a finger into the picture book, jumping backward several pages. “Here. This is our wedding. And these are his parents."

Raven saw a big ruddy-faced man that had to be Blue Clad's father, while his mother was dark-haired—a mixed-race who was tall and very beautiful. And with a single glance, Raven understood things he could only guess at before.

"We shouldn't look at this book,” Stone Face warned. Then she showed him a conspiratorial wink, adding, “But there's lots of places where I don't quite agree with his family's attitudes."

Raven didn't know what to do.

She flipped through more pages, leaping back in time. “These are Blue's parents getting married. Do you see where? The trees look different than they do now, but it's your pasture. Your hill. And behind the happy bride ... do you see the People...?"

Human-shaped smears stood in the shadows. He counted them until he passed twenty-five, which was more than were alive today. Then looked at Stone Face. “When did you believe in us?"

"In some ways, I never have,” she insisted. “Even now, for a lot of perfectly good reasons, I prefer to think that you're only myth and wishful thinking."

Raven reached deep into the past, pulling up a great handful of pages.

"What happened is, I finally saw one of you,” Stone Face said. “I was walking in your pasture, helping my new husband move his cattle, and out of nowhere, this boy appeared. Myth and wishful thinking are enough to conjure up flesh and bone, it seems. Because a child was suddenly standing in plain sight, watching me. A child not even five years old, wearing nothing but a few skins and holding a small bow in one hand."

Raven wondered who it had been.

But she anticipated the question. “I asked later. Judging by my description, Blue decided he must be his second cousin. One-Less-Than-One."

Raven held his breath.

Stone Face didn't seem to notice his mood. “It's amazing that any family can keep such a big secret for more than a century,” she continued. “But when that family marries into the secret, mixing its blood with theirs ... well, it's a very reasonable strategy, I guess you'd have to say...."

Breath leaked from his mouth, and then he gasped.

"Blue's mother came from the Pine Ridge Reservation. But she had relatives living among the People."

He said nothing.

"One-Less-Than-One,” she said. “Of course, that name literally means nothing. And your name is Raven Dream. And your brother, as I remember it, is Snow-On-Snow.” The woman shook her head and smiled stiffly, adding, “These are names for things that cannot be seen. It took me a long while, but I finally saw the logic."

The book's oldest pictures had no color—stolen by time, Raven guessed. He stared at a rancher sitting on horseback and his wife and children riding in a pair of tall wagons pulled by burly horses. There was also a single image of the People standing beside the river. It was winter. Nobody was looking at the camera, and everything about the image was smudged and indistinct. One of the People was the prophet, Raven guessed, but he couldn't tell even the sex of any smudge, much less its name. The People looked like ghosts, and when he pulled back his eyes, they merged with the gray trees and the white dashes of snow.

"There was a long time when I believed what you believe,” Stone Face told him. “When I was a young woman, it sounded exceptionally noble and good, some little piece of your great nation surviving in my own front yard. But there aren't as many of you anymore. And with the years, I've seen just how dangerous and hard your life is. A life that isn't going to get easier or better, and some things are inevitable. For a person, and for the People too."

Raven stared at her.

She named a dead woman and two dead children. Then she said, “It's a very hard existence."

How could life be any way but difficult?

"And what about that uncle of yours?” she asked. “Shadow-Below-The-Standing-Foot."

Several years ago, Shadow-Below had walked away from the People, going out to live among the demons.

"And now there's you,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Now they've banished you, too."

Raven took a deep, useless breath.

"Do you know how to read?” the woman asked.

He didn't answer.

"You don't know much about reading, I'd guess. And you don't understand anything about the world beyond your little pasture. Do you?"

Raven was suddenly tired of this woman.

"I taught my son to read and write,” she said. “I did well enough to get him into one of the best schools in the world. Maybe that's what you and I can do now. I've got all my old textbooks, and a link to the Internet, and there's more channels on our television than a good mathematician can count."

Raven reached for the pages that she hadn't wanted to see. She didn't stop him. He flipped through until he found the secret images, and nothing he saw was even a little surprising.

His mother was standing in the center of one picture, looking young and small, and Grandfather was there, and Raven's lost uncle, Shadow-Below. And standing with them was Blue Clad, dressed in his usual denim clothes and a black piece of fabric tied around his thick neck. Everyone was smiling at the camera and at Raven, and Blue Clad held his mother by the waist, pulling her clothes in close to show off the swollen ripe belly.

"She was an exceptionally pretty girl,” Stone Face allowed, her voice small and slow, holding tight to her emotions.

Raven touched the flat image of a lovely face.

"I bet she's pretty still,” the demon woman continued. “But I've told Blue, in no uncertain terms ... if he so much as looks at your mother again, I'll drive off this land and tell the world everything I know."

Raven looked up.

Stone Face laughed quietly and very sadly. “Which is a lie, of course. I never would. But let's keep that tiny admission as our own secret, all right?” She touched him on the back of the hand, rubbing at his bones as she whispered, “My husband's boy. Our little son."

The food was salty and hot, and the meat was cooked too long, leaving it brown and dry. But Raven was hungry enough to eat everything on the little table, and more. He ate the meat with his hands and both of the cooked grains with a steel spoon, and then he tried some kind of tuber that was huge and white and utterly tasteless. Then he licked the grease and bits of extra food off the nearly weightless plate.

"Dessert?” Stone Face asked.

Raven had never heard that word before. But he nodded, guessing more food was coming.

She retrieved the empty plate and vanished.

Blue Clad was sitting on his own chair. He had rolled it into the bedroom, and he filled it up with his wide sturdy body, leaning forward when his wife had vanished. When they were alone, he asked, “So how is your grandfather?"

Raven didn't want to talk, particularly about the People.

"But I'm sure he's fine,” Blue Clad continued. “I spoke to him a few months ago. He doesn't seem to change, does he? I think that man must have been born ancient, and he'll be the same for the next hundred years."

Stone Face returned, carrying a bowl filled with sweet brown ice. With relish, she said the word, “Chocolate."

Raven ate with his spoon.

"It's soy-based, so you don't have to worry about lactose intolerance.” She sat at the table, laughing about something, and Blue Clad leaned back again. Then she said to her husband, “We'll need to drive out and get food. A lot of food, I think."

The chair under the man creaked, but he said nothing.

"For clothes,” she said, “we can use Mark's old stuff. I've still got most of it boxed up in the pole shed—"

"No,” Blue Clad said.

"What?"

The man looked at an empty spot on the white ceiling. “I'm going out tonight again. I'm going to build a bonfire under the hill, and this time, I won't give up until his grandfather comes down to talk to me."

Raven set his spoon on top of the melting ice.

"Clare,” said Blue Clad. “This boy is not staying with us."

"Edward,” she said, her voice carrying more than just the name. There was doubt and disagreement in that word, and a hint of arguments older than Raven—the keen private hurts and despairs that every old couple share.

"I know,” said Blue Clad. “You don't approve of them living out there."

She gave a quiet snort, her little hands making fists.

"But that's where they live, by their own choice,” he continued. He showed Raven a little wink, asking, “Isn't that the truth? The People are doing exactly what they want to do."

Raven dropped his face, not wanting to speak.

"The world they left,” Stone Face began, then she stopped talking, stacking her fists on her lap.

"What about that world?” her husband asked.

"It's gone,” she said. “The reservations and the cavalry, the smallpox and all the other miseries ... that's what they were running from. But that world was wiped away by the world we helped build. We made everything different. With medicines and education, new laws and the march of civilization. And now that our world is being destroyed, a little more every day...."

Yet Blue Clad had to smile. And again, he winked at Raven. “I know everything's changing. I know. But that's because the shaman's predictions are coming true. The buffalo are back, and soon, the People will be able to—"

"Edward,” she snapped. “Just because a few prophecies might be coming true, it doesn't mean that you're right."

Raven remembered when his Grandfather said much the same.

"You can see anything you want in those old words,” she continued. “If you look hard enough, you can even see yourself standing by a bonfire, screaming at a hillside that doesn't want to talk to you."

The man's face colored and stiffened, and a quiet voice leaked out of him. “I don't care,” he replied.

Raven leaned back on his pillows.

Stone Face noticed. “Are you all right?” she asked.

"I'm tired,” he lied. “I want to sleep again."

"Good idea,” Blue Clad allowed. He rose and opened the door, shoving his chair into the hallway. “Rest up. And tonight, maybe I'll talk them into taking you back again."

Raven crawled through the bedroom window, dressed in demon clothes but barefoot. The light burning above the yard was bright and very blue, and it hummed quietly. The ghost was standing just out of its reach, waiting for him inside the long shadow of a towering cottonwood tree. But Raven had made himself ready for the ghost. He didn't let it startle him, brazenly motioning for it to step into the open and then walking straight at it, not allowing any hint of fear to slip free.

Blue Clad had driven upstream to argue his son's case.

Stone Face was inside the house, sleeping unaware.

"I killed you,” Raven began, pulling up just short of the apparition. “And now you have killed me too."

In the blue glare, One-Less looked thinner and less substantial, except for sharp features of the angry face. The black tongue moved inside its grimacing mouth. Eyes that could see nothing but the hated boy stared at him, resembling twin pieces of highly polished obsidian glass. The eternal wound in its back continued to seep blood, and the smell of the blood carried in the soft wind.

"Your name means nothing,” Raven continued. “And now that you have died, you are less than nothing. Which is how I am too. Banished and alone, I have no value and no good future, and you helped make me this way."

What might or might not have been pleasure showed on that hard face.

"Haunt me or leave me,” said Raven. “Either way, there is nothing more you can do to hurt me."

The ghost seemed to consider those words.

Raven turned and walked back to the machine shop. The ghost didn't follow after him. With the truck gone, the building felt larger and less dangerous than before. Everything Raven had stolen was put back in its place, and with the same thoroughness, he reclaimed each of those prizes. But this time he worked slowly, carefully knotting the shirt and trousers and packing each treasure to carry it easily. His plan, such as it was, took him far out into the demon lands, living alone for as long as necessary, waiting to grow old and then die. Sixty years of half-living was his plan, and he felt resigned to it and perhaps a little happy, carrying the shirt and the trousers and the heavy coat into the open before pausing, searching for snakes in the grass while wondering what else he might carry out of this place.

One-Less had vanished.

For a moment, that seemed like a good hopeful thing.

Raven sniffed at the breeze and smelled smoke, and for a moment he thought of Blue Clad standing beside a roaring fire, shouting madly at the hillside. But no matter how large, that fire would be too distant to smell here, even with a steady dusk wind. And this particular fire had the wrong taste, sharp and chemical against the tongue.

Raven's fragile hopes collapsed away.

He started to run, pushing upwind and guessing the very worst.

Beside the ranch house stood a small wooden storage shed. Some tiny whiff of fire had ignited a few rags and then solvents, engulfing the structure before the flames spread to the house, first to the abutting wall and then crawling across the roof's old shingles.

Raven leaped onto the porch and kicked the door twice, and when he heard nothing but the fire spreading, he put a hand on the knob and worked it back and forth until the latch released, letting him inside.

The old woman was still sleeping—a small bundle inside an enormous bed, her curled body hidden beneath a single light blanket—and Raven hesitated for a moment and then another, wishing that he could be a boy again. Wanting nothing more than that, or less. Then he reached for the top of her head, thinking to shake her; and Stone Face suddenly sat up, eyes opened, one hand meeting his while she shouted the word, “Smoke!"

Raven jumped back.

In nightclothes, the woman leaped from her bed, and with astonishing poise, she put on her animal slippers. Then she looked at him, asking herself one awful question before telling him, “Hurry,” and running out of the bedroom.

From the hallway, she called out, “Help me save my home!"

They used well water and two long hoses, and the old woman emptied five different little bottles at the base of the fire, the bottles full of white suds and gases that made them dizzy. And when the fire flared up again, she found a sixth tank, and Raven climbed into the coals with a hose, choking the last of the fire with water pumped up from the belly of the world. Then he told her how the fire must have begun. She hadn't asked how, or even looked at him with a questioning face. Yet he volunteered everything, including the story about the demon children and One-Less and what he had no choice but to do. He was crying before the story was half-done, and by the end, telling her about the ghost, he could barely speak because of his sobbing, and she had an arm around him and her voice was in his ear, saying, “There, there. You did what was right. There, there."

Blue Clad returned a little before dawn.

Seeing the damage—the blackened wall and the partly consumed roof—had no apparent effect on him. The heavy face couldn't wear any more pain. He stared at the house for just a few moments and then at his son sitting beneath the blue light. Then Stone Face came out of the house with a shovel full of ashes, and she spoke to him, but he interrupted her, saying, “I know already. His grandfather told me.” Then the man shook his head and stared at Raven again, for an even longer time now, gathering up his courage.

When he approached, Raven said, “I cannot stay."

"No, you can't,” said Blue Clad, in his own tongue. “What you need is some distance, and time."

But when the young man stood, he found a huge hand squeezing his shoulder, and a quiet certain voice said, “And you can't live out on the grass either. I won't let that happen, son."

"What then?” Raven asked.

"Your uncle,” said Blue Clad. “I have a number where I can reach him. I'll call and explain some of it ... just enough of it ... and then I'll take you to him. For now, you should live with him."

"But will he accept me?” Raven wondered aloud.

Blue Clad appeared genuinely surprised by the doubt. “Shadow-Below is a good man. A very good man, I think. I've known him forever, and he's very, very fond of you. So yes, he will take you. I'm sure of it."

Shadow-Below lived among the worst of the demons, in a world of comfort and great strangeness. Just the idea of joining him made Raven's head spin, and he had to lean against the big hand, letting it help hold him up.

Back in the cottonwood's shadow, the ghost was watching everything.

"I think it will follow me,” said Raven, nodding at the spirit while speaking barely above a whisper. “One-Less hates me that much."

Blue Clad studied the young face in front of him. Then he looked off in the proper direction, and maybe he saw something. Or maybe he didn't. Either way, his face stiffened for a few moments, and he took a long slow breath between clenched teeth. Then he told his son, “I can't pretend to know what it will do. But think of this, Raven. Think of all the rattlesnakes living between here and your old home. Did that ghost lure you across any of them? No. No, it waited till you were a few steps away from finding help. And that fire that it might have set? That's just a nuisance blaze. If a spirit wanted to be purely malicious, it would have dislodged a gas line and pumped propane into the house, then stood back waiting for a pilot light to blow everything to Hell."

Raven shook his head, admitting, “I don't understand."

"One-Less doesn't want to kill anyone,” his father promised. “He just wants you to be miserable in life."

As the sun rose, the ghost began to drift closer.

"And now that I'm thinking about it,” Blue Clad continued, “this might not be a bad thing to have. A spirit with a kind of power ... an entity that believes in most of the things you believe in...."

The ghost was dissolving into the first hard light of day.

"As hard as it is to accept,” said Raven's father, “your enemies can make the very best allies."

Startled, the boy stared at the lined face.

"And you know why, Raven? Do you? It's because when we pick our enemies, we look for our own qualities—we hunt for ourselves—deep inside other people's bodies...."