The People of the Black Sun (13 page)

In a low deadly voice, the Chief replied, “We're not going to feed them.”

Negano let that sink in. “Very well, but it is my duty to inform you that I believe capturing them will be harder than you perhaps realize. Despite the fact that we have one thousand seven hundred warriors left after this afternoon's battle, the Standing Stone clans will have spent all day repairing their damaged palisades—
and three rows of palisades surround each village,
” he added forcefully, and saw Nesi nod in approval. “They are not fools. We nearly destroyed their entire army yesterday. They must be expecting us to return to finish the job. By the time we arrive, they will be prepared for us. We—”

“Get to your question.”

“My Chief, we have less than one-quarter the warriors we did when we attacked yesterday. If we assault their palisades, it will be a long drawn-out struggle. We will lose at least half our current forces, leaving us with perhaps eight hundred. Truly, my Chief, I do not believe it's worth the blood. Our warriors are tired, they wish to go home. Next Spring we can undertake such a campaign with the full force of our army and—”

“Are your ears filled with pine sap?”

Negano shifted. “How have I offended you?”

“We are not going to assault their palisades.”

“But how will we get hostages if we do not attack?”

“Oh,” he replied in a gloating voice, “they'll walk right out of their gates and into our arms. You see, we're going to starve them to death.”

Negano stood perfectly still. The old chief was clenching and unclenching his grotesquely deformed hands, as though ready to twist Negano's head off.

He glanced at Nesi and the former War Chief's stern expression gave him no leeway. Negano said, “My Chief, I feel I must make you understand what's going on in our warriors' hearts. It's not just the wounded and dead that concern them. Yesterday was like a blunt beam swung to their bellies. They are stunned. It appeared to them”—
and to me
—“that Elder Brother Sun obeyed Sky Messenger's commands. He has become a walking, breathing legend. They're terrified of him. Not only that, your own War Chief defected to Sky Messenger's side yesterday.” He spread his arms. “Chief,
your own daughter
fought on Sky Messenger's side. Your daughter!” More softly, he continued, “Your warriors are reeling. They need to think about all this. If you insist that they immediately engage in another battle, they may—”

“Insolent fool!” Atotarho roared in rage. “Pray you don't find yourself staring as your guts come tumbling out of your belly in the middle of the night!”

Negano had no doubt but that his life was in danger. There was more he needed to say, and should say. Instead, he opted to protect his own hide, and bowed deeply. “Forgive me, my Chief. I realize you have not yet finished your plan. When you do, I would appreciate it if you could explain it to me in detail.”

Behind the chief, he saw Nesi roll his eyes and throw up his hands. He thought Negano a coward—which is exactly how he felt.

Atotarho ordered, “Leave me. Find and dispatch the messengers as I instructed. If you're still alive, I'll call for you again in the morning.”

“Yes, my Chief.”

Negano turned and, with as much dignity as he could, walked down the hillside, but he could feel Nesi's stare lancing through the back of his head.

 

Ten

The high-pitched scream punctured the night, waking Hiyawento from a sound sleep. Instinctively, he leaped to his feet with his war club in his hand. Breathing hard, he frantically tried to identify the threat. An uproar rose as other sleeping warriors threw off their blankets and grabbed for weapons. In less than ten heartbeats dozens of people had gathered around Hiyawento's fire, murmuring, asking questions. Conversations carried on the frigid night breeze.

It took Hiyawento a few instants to hear Zateri say, “Hush, you're all right. We're safe.”

He swung around to see his wife holding Kahn-Tineta against her chest. Their daughter clutched Zateri's sleeves in sheer terror, and her huge eyes darted over the darkness.

“But Mother, I saw him! He was right there!” She thrust an arm toward the dense sumacs to the north. Their leafless branches had a spiky appearance.

Their camp stretched over the hilltop like a glimmering blanket, dotted with hundreds of campfires. Though camped close together, each village had separated. Coldspring Village occupied the southern portion of the hilltop. Riverbank was to the north, and Canassatego Village stood on the highest point to the west. In the distance, to the east, the Forks River twisted through the bottom country like a silver serpent.

Hiyawento held up a hand and called, “Forgive us, please return to your bedding hides. Everything is well.”

Warriors muttered and eventually drifted back to their own camps, leaving Hiyawento and Zateri alone with their wildly sobbing daughter. All three of them had cut their hair in mourning over the deaths of little Jimer and Catta, his murdered daughters. As well, they were mourning the passing of the High Matron of the People of the Hills, Zateri's grandmother, Tila.

Virtually no one these days had hair longer than his or her shoulders.

Zateri asked, “Are you better?”

“No!” Kahn-Tineta choked out and buried her face against her mother's cape. “He's still out there.”

As the panic drained from Hiyawento's muscles, his heartbeat began to slow, and the feeling of impending doom that had become his constant companion returned. He couldn't seem to shake it. It was as though he could feel Sodowegowah's icy breath upon his cheek.

As he walked toward Zateri, Kahn-Tineta shrieked, “Father! Father!”

She wriggled out of Zateri's arms, and ran to him, her arms up, her fingers working in a “take me, take me,” gesture.

Hiyawento lifted her, and her legs went around his waist. He kissed her hair, and said, “Let's sit down beside your mother.”

Kahn-Tineta had her chin propped on his shoulder, and every muscle in the girl's body trembled. He stroked her hair softly. “You're all right,” he whispered. “Look around you. The camps are quiet and still.”

“The witch is out there, Father! I saw him!”

Hiyawento lowered himself to a cross-legged position on the hides beside Zateri and shifted Kahn-Tineta to his lap where he could look into her wild eyes. “Where did you see him? Show me.”

“Right there!” she pointed again. “He sneaked from the trees and was watching me. He's going to get me!”

Zateri gave him a wrenching look. Firelight flickered over her flat face with its wide nose. Her two front teeth, which stuck out slightly, made her lips appear to protrude. She mouthed the word, “Again.”

This was the second night in a row that the “witch” had come to Kahn-Tineta in her dreams.

Hiyawento stroked his daughter's back and gazed directly into her dark eyes. “I told you, my daughter, the witch is dead. I killed him. What did I do after that? Do you remember?”

“You dismembered his corpse and scattered the pieces far and wide so that no one could ever find him and Sing him to the afterlife.”

“That's right. Dismemberment also immobilizes the angry Spirit of the Dead, so it can't run off seeking revenge.”

She sobbed. “But he came back to life, Father! Just like the stories said he would. He can't die! He's still after me.”

Zateri folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself, and lifted her face to study the moon-silvered night sky. A few Cloud People drifted across the charcoal background, their edges gleaming. It had only been seven days since they'd left Kahn-Tineta with her grandmother Tila and trotted off to war with the Standing Stone nation. How could they have known that Zateri's father, Atotarho, would hire Ohsinoh to kidnap their last daughter so that he could use the little girl as leverage against them? He was unnaturally canny. Even then Atotarho must have suspected that Coldspring, Riverbank, and Canassatego villages were secretly aligning against him.

“Well, don't worry,” Hiyawento said, pandering to her fear. “If he returns, I'll shoot him through the heart and crush his skull again. He'll never get you. I'll—”

“He got me once! He stole me right out of Atotarho Village!”

He adjusted her cape, straightening it around her small body. “Well, I wasn't there to protect you, but I am—”

“Father, I—I wish Sky Messenger was here to protect me.”

Hiyawento smiled sadly. “I wish he were here, too. I miss him. But if he were here, do you know what he would tell you about the witch?”

She blinked wide eyes. “What?”

“Sky Messenger would tell you that condemned souls change after death. When souls discover they can never reach the Land of the Dead, they are so overwhelmed with grief, they seek out the comfort of loved ones. Usually, they return to their home villages to move unseen among their relatives. They eat the dregs from the cooking pots—that's why we often hear them rattling for no reason at night. Lost souls take comfort from familiar surroundings. They are too distraught to even think of kidnapping little girls they barely know.”

Kahn-Tineta tucked a finger in her mouth and began sucking on it … a thing she had not done in five summers, since she was three.

In a firm voice, Hiyawento said, “You're safe, Kahn-Tineta. I give you my oath.”

His daughter slowly began to relax in his arms. Her cries became less choked, but still punctuated with occasional sobs.

“Not only that…” He reached down to pull the small medicine bag from her cape. It hung around her neck, suspended on a braided leather cord. “Your mother is one of the greatest Healers in the land. She makes powerful Spirit medicines.” He held the bag up to his daughter's nose. “What do you smell?”

She sniffed. “Wood nettle and white oak.”

“That's right. They can counteract even the most powerful witchcraft. That's why your mother told you never to take this off.”

Kahn-Tineta angrily wept. “Why didn't Mother give it to me before you both left to go to war? Maybe the witch wouldn't have gotten me!”

As her fear receded, it was replaced with anger, which was a good sign, but the words seemed to tear Zateri's heart. Tears filled her eyes. She rose. When she ambled over to the fire to place two more branches on the flames, sparks swirled up around her. An orange gleam coated the tears on her cheeks.

“We were just overwhelmed and not thinking right,” Hiyawento explained. “It won't happen again.”

Kahn-Tineta stared hard into his eyes, as though judging the truth of his words, then her arms went around his neck in a stranglehold, and she pressed her cheek against his. “Give me your oath as a warrior of the Hills nation.”

In a deep solemn voice, Hiyawento replied, “On my life, as the War Chief of Coldspring Village, I give you my oath that you will never be alone again. One of us will always be with you to protect you.”

She pushed away to stare at him, judging his sincerity. “I believe you.”

“I appreciate that.” Hiyawento kissed her forehead. “Now, if you'll try to sleep, I'll stand guard.”

“Will you? Really?”

“I'll be standing right there.” He pointed to the place where Zateri stood by the fire.

Kahn-Tineta rested her head on his shoulder and sighed deeply. “Thank you, Father.”

Hiyawento rocked her in his arms until she fell asleep, then he carried her back to her bed and drew the hides up around her throat. When he started to rise, her tiny hand shot out and grabbed his, clutching it. Her eyes were still closed, half-asleep, but she wouldn't let go.

Hiyawento knelt at her bedside, holding her hand until sleep loosened her grip. Only then did he tiptoe away, and walk to the fire to stand beside Zateri.

“She's asleep?”

“Yes. Finally.” Unconsciously, he lifted his hand to massage his injured left arm, just below the shoulder, where Deputy War Chief Negano's war club had connected. The bruise ran deep, probably all the way to the bone. The pain was intense.

“Hiyawento, you must sleep tonight. You're hurt and exhausted. I'll find someone else—”

“If she wakes in the night, I want her to see me standing here.”

When Zateri gazed up at him with tormented eyes, his own unbearable grief returned. He wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders and hugged her. “I'll be all right.”

Neither of them spoke for a time. Between them lay the indestructible bond of two people who have seen their worlds destroyed, of childhood captivity and torture, of horrific battles, and friends lost … and two people who have held beloved children in their arms while they convulsed and died. They had been through so much together, but never before had Hiyawento felt this gut-deep mixture of rage and despair. The emotion was unnatural, even inhuman. It covered everything like an impenetrable black cloak, blotting out the light, draining joy from the very air he breathed.