The Next Skywatcher: Prequel to The Last Skywatcher Triple Trilogy Series (The Last Skywatcher, Anasazi Historical Thrillers with a Hint of Romance Book 1) (25 page)

The guard scanned their surroundings, and then leaned close and whispered. “I would not like to be in his chambers today. We took a routing yesterday.”

“What happened?”

“This woman whose children we killed the day before attacked Pók and cut off his thumb.” The Fat Man nodded to encourage the guard. “And he went wild. We had already run at top speed from New Star Town, and then he made us charge into Last Trees Canyon.” The guard stopped and looked around nervously.

“You weren’t prepared properly,” prompted the Fat Man.

“Worse than that. A dozen new recruits, maybe more, were lying dead at the foot of Lost Trees. They were set up and left for us, leaning their backs against the rocks around the opening.”

The Fat Man glanced around. The boy looked as if he would become emotional. As if he had to get this off his chest. A private place would have been much better, but still, the young warrior talked.

“And the flute player was on the rim of the side canyon and he played and played, and we didn’t want him to kill us with his witchcraft, so we plugged our ears. A man wearing a red hat was up there with the flute player. Pók wanted him alive, he said. So he made us attack up the steep slope, and when we got near the top, archers jumped up out of the rocks, children, all of them just children, and they slaughtered us.”

“How many did you lose?”

“Half of us. I’ve never seen such a thing happen. I’d like to kill that red-hat man and his flute player with my bare hands.”

“How many guardsmen remain?”

“Thirteen. Two are so injured they barely made it here.”

“So what are your orders?”

The man looked around again as if he’d regained his senses. They’d gotten lucky. No one had noticed. “It’s hard to tell. Pók just screams and doesn’t make sense. The captain is one of the injured. Pók said if they’re not on their feet by tonight, he’s going to give them to the cooks.”

“What about the regulars?”

“I don’t know. I guess they’ll stick around a while. But they may not follow orders after this.” A call came from another warrior and the guardsman backed away. “I must go.”

Outside the palace, as they had for a couple days, regular warriors made a ring of camps with small fires. A constant flow of wood-carriers arrived from the western hills carrying firewood. The Fat Man had a deal and every fifth load found its way to his fires. The regulars manning the gate into the plaza harassed the Fat Man for free services. “How about a little two-for-one action tonight with your girls, Fat Boy!” said one. Other regulars laughed and crowded around. “We got two free ones doing business right under your nose, though they’re about used up by now. We need us some fresh ones.”

“What is your name?” the Fat Man asked.

“Who needs to know?” asked the regular with the mouth.

“I do. So I can tell my people to give you everything in the house two-for-one. I’ll make the offer good until first light tomorrow morning.”

The man guffawed and looked around at his buddies, then shouted his name, which sounded like “Garr-oos.” He’d not heard a name like that, but he nodded. Other men began yelling, asking for their own deals, but the Fat Man put up his hands and shook his head. They finally let him through and he walked outside the palace walls. At a rear doorway along the curved side of the enormous structure, a line of men stood as if waiting their turn and the Fat Man suspected two of his missing girls ran their own shop inside, the two free ones Garr-oos mentioned. He pitied them. He wondered if he should send a man tonight to put them out of their misery, but decided the regulars used to the free service wouldn’t like that.

The Fat Man walked across the open space toward his buildings that hugged the base of the cliff, facing south for good winter warmth. They weren’t pretty, but they were comfortable. At the moment, they burst at the seams. People milled about everywhere. A much larger number gathered for this muster than for any the last three summers. Women, in particular, more than he’d ever seen before, which puzzled him a moment, but he didn’t dwell on it. He would have a few of his men recruit a few fresh girls. That was always good for business.

The Fat Man looked at a few faces, picking out the youngest, and wondered if they were part of The Pochtéca’s entourage of warrior-killing children. He thought a couple seemed unusually watchful, and suspected them, but he couldn’t be sure. Outside his own room where his bodyguard sat, he paused to think about how he could make the most use of the highly coveted red-hat man who had miraculously walked into his clutches.

Nuva cradled Wooti
like an infant while she warmed a jar of herbed corn mush for breakfast. After Wooti delivered her message from Black Stone, she stopped talking again. Nuva didn’t mind for the moment. The girl weighed no more than a baby. She needed to be fed as much as possible for a while. Nuva reminded herself to ask Cook for a big piece of the fattest meat she could smuggle out of the kitchen. Meanwhile, Nuva got a few bites of the mush down Wooti’s throat.

“How are we going to help him?” asked Chumana.

Nuva stood and began to pace, snuggling Wooti high on her chest. “I don’t know yet.”

“We’re stuck here.”

“We are, yes. But we have tendrils out into the world.” Wooti fell asleep and Nuva gently tucked her between two blankets.

“They’re too slow!” Chumana sat on her sleeping mat rocking back and forth.

“Everything is coming together. It will be fast enough.” Nuva hugged herself as if she still held Wooti and continued pacing the length of the small room, sometimes bending at the waist to avoid a pocket of smoke from the fire.

“The only power we have is what I tell The Builder,” Chumana said. “So what is that? I don’t trust myself to say the right thing anymore.”

“That’s not our only power. I re-issued the sharp-stick order to the Sisterhood through Cook. And we know a lot. Cook said a runner she fed said half of Pók’s guard has been wiped out by warrior children, and his thumb was cut off by a mother because he killed her children. More children than Cook’s butchers can count have been murdered in the last few days.” She stopped as a shiver went through her. I wish, she thought, that mother had cut away his heart, not his thumb. “And we know that our Tuwa and Choovio are alive and back.” Her throat constricted and tears welled in her eyes. “With others: Sowi, Kopavi, a man wearing a red hat called The Pochtéca, and a dozen orphan children. And we know that it must have been Tuwa and these orphans who have been killing warriors, even half of Pók’s guard yesterday.” She paused and paced, thinking.

“And the flute player is with them,” said Chumana.

“That’s right. The whole canyon is buzzing like a handful of bees about the witchery of flute music and children killing warriors.”

“And more people than ever are swarming here for the Summer Council muster.”

“More women than ever. Our women. Our Sisterhood, with sharp sticks and the order to use them. And Tókotsi and all the chiefs from the Southern Alliance are here. Everything is about to change.”

“The Builder is more anxious than I’ve ever seen him,” said Chumana.

Nuva paced. More sounds than usual echoed down their hallway. The kitchen was crowded and frantic. Several sentries had crept by during the night. One stopped and stared into their room. Nuva feared he saw the dim shape of Wooti, so she let out a cooing sound and asked if he would like to come inside for a better look. The man startled and ran, afraid of the albino witch woman. Nuva chuckled at the foolishness of men and finally relaxed enough to doze, the only sleep she had gotten.

“It’s a dangerous time,” Nuva said.

“Things could erupt at any moment,” said Chumana. “If Pók’s guard is suddenly weak, the regulars will take advantage. Things will get worse. If the canyon fills with more black-hearted Southerners—we won’t have a chance.”

“The regulars might test their power, you’re right. With who as their leader?” Nuva asked.

“Ihu,” said Chumana.

“Yes. They like Ihu. Is he still recuperating here?”

“He’s with Tókotsi. I forgot to tell you.”

“Yes. So Ihu is Tókotsi’s new Ráana.”

Chumana groaned. “Everyone in the canyon is against us. We have to warn Tuwa to get out and stay away. I wish he hadn’t come back.”

“Not everyone,” said Nuva. “You underestimate our Sisterhood. They blend in, serving the Southern Council, working the kitchens, carrying water and food. Never before have we asked them to have their sacred sharp sticks ready with orders to stand behind every warrior and kill them if they can at our signal.”

“What signal?”

“The trilling.” Nuva loved that signal, and saved it for this special moment. A woman trilling her voice could be heard across the canyon and far up and down it. Hundreds of trilling women would frighten the men to death even before sharp sticks were plunged into their backs. She hoped it would be so easy.

“Are you sure they got through?” asked Chumana. “You’ve sent out that order twice, and we’ve heard nothing!”

Nuva nodded. The silence worried her, too. “There are others we mustn’t forget. Remnants of the old Northern Alliance. Skywatchers who hide like hermits, watching the sky. Entire villages dispersed into small family groups, farming in pockets away from most eyes. We hear snatches of their existence. We must have faith that they will do what they can.”

“I know, but what can they do? It’s mostly old men and women.”

“I don’t know,” said Nuva. “But if strength is within, then so is weakness.” She paced, searching for more they could do. “We need to weaken the weakest parts of those who are against us. That is how we can help Tuwa the most.”

“So, what is their weakest part?”

“Who is losing power right now?” asked Nuva.

Chumana said nothing, then looked up in surprise. “Pók!”

Nuva nodded. “Pók.”

They heard a cough in the hallway, and Nuva smiled. “Finally,” she whispered, “things are happening.”

Cook appeared in the doorway. “It’s like a storm in the kitchen,” she said, shaking her head and fanning herself with her apron. She turned behind her and motioned for someone to come along, and a young woman hurried into the room. “Be careful,” said the cook. “Some regulars got in earlier and upset the whole kitchen before I ran them out. I’ve got to go.”

The woman glanced at Chumana and bowed her head a moment, then focused on Nuva. “You do not know me, Grandmother Wise Woman, Nuva of the Village of Twin Giants, adopted daughter of Grandfather Skywatcher, Center of the Sisterhood, Superior Mother of All.”

“My,” said Nuva. “I haven’t been called that since….”

“Since Three Waters when I was a little girl?”

Nuva looked more closely at the woman. “Do I know you?”

The woman smiled. “You have no reason to remember me. I was very young. But you knew my aunt. Hakidonmuya. Aunt Haki.”

Nuva’s eyes brightened and she took the woman’s hand and inspected the tips of her fingers. She smiled, and placed her own three faded dots against the woman’s. “Oh, I remember a little girl now. You are…,” she put a finger to her lips.

“Hita,” the woman said.

Nuva opened her arms and they hugged just as Wooti awoke and sniffed.

“Ah, Wooti, come here. I want you to meet someone. This is Hita. When she was as young as you, she was Haki’s helper just like you.”

Wooti looked with suspicion. Hita knelt and inspected Wooti’s face. She smoothed Wooti’s hair, then took her fingers and looked at the tattoos. “What happened to you, my little sister?” asked Hita.

Wooti looked up at Nuva with panic in her eyes.

“Someday she will tell us,” said Nuva. “She just brought us a message from Haki in Black Stone.” She put her hand on Wooti’s head. “It was hard for her, but she spoke it well.”

Hita smiled. “I had a dream about Haki. She was old and weak. She tried to speak to an angry man who had no intention of listening. I felt great sadness.”

“Yes,” said Nuva. “We fear for her as well.”

With no encouragement, Wooti crawled into Hita’s lap and Hita stroked her back. Nuva marveled at that. Just moments ago, Wooti seemed frightened of Hita.

Cook came in carrying a steaming earthenware cauldron. “They’ll never miss it. It’s like a swirling dust storm in the kitchen, everything out of place, people coming and going. We haven’t had a crowd this big in the canyon since…,” Cook sat down the pot and put her hands on her wide hips. “Since you know when.”

Since the Day Star That Faded three summers ago.

“Why so many this time?” asked Chumana. She cut her eyes at Nuva, who wondered why she asked. They knew very well.

“Because everyone has heard,” said Hita.

“Heard what?” asked Chumana. “I mean, I know, but tell me. I’m cooped up in here and only imagine what they’re saying out there. Tell me what they’re really hearing.”

“About the children, girl, the children,” said Cook. “And the witchery of flutes. Everybody’s in a dither.” Then she shook her head, wiped her face with her apron and fanned herself. “I brought liver and kidney stew. From a black she-bear, bless her spirit. Hita brought it. I just heated it a little. The Builder would kill me if he knew I didn’t save something so powerful for him. But too bad!” She turned and left as suddenly as she’d arrived.