The People of the Black Sun (44 page)

They crowd closer to me and Hiyawento says, “When? How do you know that?”

“Baji escaped the massacre. She came after me.”

“She's here? With you?” Hope strains Hiyawento's voice as his eyes scan the trail and the trees. “Where is she?”

I gesture vaguely over my shoulder and am surprised when the entire crowd goes still and turns to look up the hill. “Hiding in the trees up there. She has no idea if any other survivor of the massacre made it home to the Flint nation.”

“Massacre?” Towa's eyes went hard. “How many were killed?”

As the crowd pushes closer, hemming us in, I whisper, “Hundreds.”

“Dear gods.” Hiyawento rubs his forehead. “Then Cord may be unable to—”

“If he lived,” I say. “Baji says he was badly wounded.”

Tagohsah's gaze darts over the hungry faces surrounding us. “Whether he's alive or dead won't matter. The Mountain People will reach Bur Oak Village long before Chief Cord could pull together a war party and get there to help them.”

We all turn to stare at him.

“What are you talking about?”

He gestures to the east. “On my way here, I passed a huge Mountain army. They said they were on their way to join Atotarho's forces. They told me they were going to annihilate the Standing Stone nation and split up the country between them.”

Rage fires my veins. “How many warriors did you see?”

“They were scattered through the trees, I don't know. Thousands.”

Towa and Hiyawento whisper to each other. My gaze shifts to the tree line, searching for Baji and Gitchi. Where are they? My eyes are trained to identify Gitchi's coat even in a tight weave of grass. I don't see him.

Hands touch the back of my cape, subtle, almost not there. Then people grow more bold, pushing one another to get closer to me. Whispers pass from mouth to mouth: “…
the Mountain People have joined Atotarho … great darkness is almost upon us … Elder Brother Sun is ready to turn his back … that's where they were headed … Hills People going to destroy the Prophet's nation … we should help … starving … not enough warriors to…”

I ignore the grasping hands, reach out, twine my fingers in Tagohsah's cape, and drag him close. When our faces are less than one hand's breadth apart, I hiss, “I want you to deliver a message for me.”

“What message?”

In a voice loud enough for everyone around me to hear, I call, “Run to every village in the land. Tell them I have foreseen the destruction of Chief Atotarho. Tell them it happens just outside Bur Oak Village!”

I shove him away and the crowd rumbles, a mixture of gasps and voices relaying the message through the ranks.

Tagohsah stumbles and looks at me with half-panicked eyes. “Is it true? Have you?”

I straighten and let my eyes roam the masses. Hundreds of gazes are riveted to my face, as though waiting for me to continue.

I lift my hands, and shout,
“I have foreseen the destruction of the evil Atotarho, the man who murdered so many of your loved ones, and it happens right outside Bur Oak Village! Landing warriors are there standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the rest of the alliance! I have seen it! We stand as One. Together, we will do this!”

An awed hush falls, then several people shove through the crowd and run back to Shookas Village, carrying my words, hopefully, to the Ruling Council.

“Sky Messenger,” Towa says as he steps around behind me and begins shoving people back, “we have to get out of here. Now.”

“Wait.” Hiyawento steps in front of me, and shouts, “I need thirty of the greatest warriors of the Landing People to serve as personal guards for the Prophet! Come forward! Who will help me protect him from his enemies?”

Men and women murmur and blink. Feet shuffle, creating an ominous rumble. There seems to be a discussion going on, people talking between themselves about what they should do. I see several heads shake violently and men and women back away.

“He is the greatest Dreamer our Peoples have ever known! Help him!” Hiyawento lifts his war club and waves it over his head so people can see him.
“I need thirty warriors!”

Hiyawento has placed them in a difficult position. In essence, he has asked them to swear loyalty to me without the approval of their Ruling Council. It could be construed as treason. Not only that, each knows that Shookas Village needs every warrior in the nation now. The Landing People are more vulnerable than they have ever been, and despite what Tagohsah says, no one can be sure that the huge Mountain army won't return here to destroy Shookas Village.

“Hiyawento, you know they can't—”

“These people chose to follow you up the hill without the approval of their elders,” he answers. “I have to know now how much faith lives in their hearts. Enough to willingly follow you all the way back to Bur Oak Village? Let them make the decision, my friend.”

Towa's back presses against mine, and I wonder if he's been crowded against me, or just chosen to stand so close. When he stumbles, shoving me into Hiyawento, I know the answer. The crowd is growing too brave.

Hiyawento cups a hand to his mouth. “I'm only asking for thirty warriors. Just thirty! The rest of you must return home to help protect your nation.”

Slowly, as though accepting their fate, a handful of warriors come forward. Then more. One by one, they shoulder to the front of the crowd, circling me. Most are big burly men with quivers and bows slung over their shoulders. A few are strong women with hard eyes. I count only sixteen, but their eyes glow when they look at me.

Hiyawento studies them, deciding their worthiness. He pounds fists into arm muscles judging strength, scrutinizes bows and arrows to see how well they've been cared for, and looks into each person's eyes assessing something far more subtle, character. He is a renowned War Chief, greatly feared by the Landing People. These warriors clearly respect him, but several glare into his eyes. Have they fought against him? Will they obey him when the time comes?

A tidal wave of questions rolls through the crowd. People shift, arms extend to point.

I turn.

At the top of the hill, Baji stands with her long hair blowing around her broad shoulders in the soft winds of evening. She has her bow nocked and aimed at the ground, but her chin is held high as she scans the crowd. Gitchi lopes nervous circles around her, hair bristling, guarding her. I know without a doubt that he will fight to protect her until he cannot fight any longer. The sight of them standing together is like a Spirit plant rushing in my veins.

Everyone sees her! Look at them. They're all looking at her. She's here … Blessed Spirits … she's here.

Hiyawento lifts a hand to Baji, and she lifts a hand back and gives him a firm nod.

Hiyawento yells, “Guards, we have to move up the trail to that hilltop in the distance where we can protect the Prophet. Do whatever you have to to keep the crowd back as we walk!”

 

Forty-four

As High Matron Kelek made her way across the dark plaza of Atotarho Village with her guard, her old heart thumped. She felt weary beyond exhaustion. White hair hung about her wrinkled face like a cloud of spiderwebs. The meeting with the village councils from Turtleback and Hilltop had not gone well. All day long Atotarho Village had been in an uproar. Accusations had flown about like diving falcons. No one had been left unscathed, especially Kelek. She felt as though she'd been pecked to pieces by a flock of rabid turkeys.

The sight of the Bear Clan longhouse made her utter a deep sigh. She longed to sleep. As she parted the entry curtain, she shivered in the sudden warmth, and headed toward her chamber at the far end of the house. Her guard dutifully stuck close behind her, his war club in hand.

At just past midnight, the six-hundred-hand-long house appeared still and quiet. Less than a dozen people sat around the thirty fires that sparkled down the center aisle. A few of the curtains had been drawn closed across chambers, but most remained opened to the warmth from the hearths. People slept beneath piles of hides with dogs curled up beside them.

When she reached her chamber near the south entry, Kelek turned to her guard. Thirty summers old, with short black hair, he wore a greasy cape streaked with soot. He'd just returned from the Standing Stone battle, like so many other warriors, and looked as though he hadn't even changed clothes. It was disgraceful.

“Be vigilant, Hakowane.”

“I will, High Matron.”

His voice was utterly devoid of emotion, which she found peculiar after the day's emotional turmoil.

Kelek scrutinized him. He was slender now, but as a child, he'd been known as a glutton. He'd seemed to spend every waking moment shoving food into his mouth, which is why she'd never really liked him. Not only that, he had a pointed face that resembled a long-tailed weasel's, the eyes dark and beady, the nose pink, and ears too big for his small head. When he smiled, his pointed teeth resembled fangs.

“You're from the Eti'gowane's lineage, aren't you?”

“Yes, Matron.”

“
High
Matron,” she corrected.

“Forgive me, High Matron.” He bowed in apology.

“The Eti'gowane has been a good Matron of the Cornfields.”

“It's kind of you to say so, High Matron.”

The man seemed distracted, his eyes shifting around as though he expected monsters to emerge from the night shadows. She reached over to unhook her curtain from its peg. As it fell closed across her chamber, he vanished, but as the curtain swung, she glimpsed him slip his war club into his belt and draw a chert knife. An odd choice. Any warrior worth his reputation would have stood guard with his war club. It was more threatening.

At this moment, however, she didn't have the strength to care.

Kelek walked over and sank down on the deerhide-covered bench that lined the rear wall. Her chamber was large, four paces long by three wide. Pots and baskets nestled on the floor beneath the bench, and sacred masks hung upon the divider walls.

As she tiredly leaned her head back, a soft groan escaped her lips. The Wolf and Snipe clans had been especially vindictive today, going so far as to threaten to Outcast the entire Bear Clan, but she'd paid them little attention. It was the Bear Clan elders who had stunned her. For the first time in her life, her relatives had accused her of shaming them. It had been a difficult fight, almost unbearable.

“The old fools have no vision. If they'd leave me alone, I would make our clan legendary!”

She blinked up at the dried plants that hung from the roof poles. The corn husks had been peeled back from the ears and braided together into long ropes, allowing the kernels to dry faster. Each time someone walked by outside, his or her shadow danced over the corn braids, sunflower heads, and bean vines. Occasionally she heard soft voices, people briefly speaking with Hakowane.

Cold and desperate for sleep, Kelek didn't bother to undress. She stretched out on her sleeping bench and pulled the hides up over her cape.

Some time later—she couldn't say how long—Kelek was jerked from deep sleep by what sounded like someone entering her chamber. Her eyelids felt like granite weights as she fought to open them. The fires must have burned down to ashes. The only light in the longhouse came from the campfires of the dead. Streaming down through the smokeholes, their gleam coated Kelek's chamber like a faint wash of gray paint.

She blinked at the dimness, saw nothing, and closed her eyes again. The door curtain had probably just been carelessly brushed by Hakowane.

She was almost back to sleep when she heard someone breathing close by. Barely audible, the rhythmic puffs fluttered her hair across her cheeks. Like slow poison, terror crept through her veins. Her eyes jerked open.

Less than two hands away, wide feral eyes blinked down at her. She tried to scream, but a heavy hand clamped over her nose and mouth.

He whispered in her ear, “I have been instructed to tell you that I am not Wolf Clan. I am Bear Clan, sent by our clan elders.”

He struck like lightning, the sharp knife slicing her throat in one clean stroke. When he removed his hand from her mouth, she tried to scream, but her lungs didn't seem to have air. For twenty heartbeats she flailed on her bench, while warm blood spurted over her shoulders and chest.

Her murderer stood by watching, apparently ordered to remain until it was over.

Anger filtered through her panic.
The Bear Clan bargained with the Wolf Clan. To prevent a war of retribution, they must have offered to eliminate the problem themselves …

As her vision started to go gray and sparkling, her muscles relaxed and her body went featherlight, floating.

She faintly heard her door curtain whisper when her murderer left.