The People of the Black Sun (15 page)

A strange silence caught her attention. Her right hand unconsciously tightened around CorpseEye while she searched the longhouse roofs and leafless branches of the surrounding trees. “There are no birds.”

“Hmm? What?” Kittle stared at Jigonsaseh as though her soul were loose.

Jigonsaseh's senses abruptly sharpened, focused on sound, and sound alone. She sifted out the village noise, and let her attention drift beyond the walls of the palisade. No dove calls. No finch chirps. There was no flutter of panicked wings in the air.

Because they'd already burst into flight or taken cover.

Any decent warrior knew to stop and listen when animals started warning one another. The fact that she'd barely noticed the flock of panicked jays spoke to the gravity of her morning.

The warriors on the catwalk stirred. Two men ran to the side overlooking Reed Marsh, and a clipped conversation broke out.

The scouts in the trees.

Panicked cries rose from the marsh.

Kittle looked up. “What's happening?”

As Jigonsaseh started to back away, to run for the catwalk, she said. “Get everyone inside the palisade.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it!”

Jigonsaseh ran hard for the nearest ladder. Hundreds of arrows leaned against the palisade wall behind the ladder, along with pots of water, wooden drinking cups, and bags of jerky to be used only by warriors protecting the village.

In the plaza below, Kittle shouted at two young men, “Tell everyone in Yellowtail Village to grab what they can, and get inside our palisades immediately!”

“Yes, High Matron.” They dashed away.

Just as Jigonsaseh set foot upon the catwalk, cries came from the warriors in the field to the north … then more came from the south. A corresponding roar went up from the warriors on the catwalk, and they started charging around, scrambling for a better position.

“Matron?” War Chief Wampa called. “Our lines are falling back! War Chief Deru must have ordered them to flee!”

Jigonsaseh leaned on the palisade to survey the situation. To the north, over the top of Yellowtail Village, she caught glimpses of warriors fleeing through the trees. The northern line had broken and warriors sprinted for Bur Oak Village like terrified mice with a mountain lion bounding behind them.

Jigonsaseh strode for the knot of warriors who stood gaping, their gazes leveled on the grassy plain to the west, beyond Reed Marsh. Several gestured wildly with their arms.

“Where is the enemy? Show me.”

Wampa used her bow to point. “Look at the tree line, Matron, just out of bow range. They just appeared.”

Jigonsaseh scanned the weave of trunks and brush with a practiced eye. Barely visible, enemy warriors casually lined out, as though they had all the time in the world to get into position. She swung around. “War Chief Wampa, dispatch teams to gather arrows and stack them on the catwalk. After that, not a single warrior leaves his or her position without my permission. Do you understand? Keep the gates open until the Yellowtail Villagers are inside, then open it only as necessary for our retreating warriors to enter.”

“Yes, Matron!”

Wampa ran. First she assigned warriors to bring up the arrows, then she trotted to the portion of the catwalk overlooking the gates, where she leaned over and shouted to the men below, “Open the gates! But I want them closed the instant our last warrior is inside. After that, open them only on my order or the order of Matron Jigonsaseh!”

“Yes, War Chief!”

Along the eastern palisade wall of Yellowtail Village, people flooded, carrying armloads of belongings. More supported litters. The wounded and dying moaned each time one of the rushing litter-bearers stumbled.

Tutelo and her young daughters trotted beside the litter carrying her dead husband, Idos. He'd been washed and dressed in his finest war shirt, the one with blue beads down the sleeves. His eyes had sunken, his lips pulled back from his gums.

“Wampa?” she shouted. “Leave the dead outside along the walls. There's no space for them inside!”

Wampa nodded and leaned over the palisade to relay the latest order.

Tutelo drew her daughters against her sides and watched as her beloved husband's body was gently lowered onto the pile of dead stacked along the eastern wall.

Blessed Ancestors, there would be no time now to perform the proper rituals to send the dead on their journey to the Land of the Dead. Thousands of afterlife souls would be wandering around the village, crying out to their relatives.

Frightened voices erupted from the plaza. Jigonsaseh turned. A group of elders surrounded High Matron Kittle and the flurry of conversation was growing louder. Matron Daga shook a fist in Kittle's face. Chief Yellowtail kept speaking to her in a tranquil voice, trying to calm her down.

Jigonsaseh's thoughts began working out the permutations, trying to decipher her enemy's strategy. Who was Atotarho's new War Chief? Did she know him? What were his weaknesses? Not that such knowledge would give her much time. If the Hills army encircled Bur Oak Village and laid siege, eventually they would walk right through the front gates, kill all of the elders, and take the women and children hostage to serve as slaves. After that, they'd burn the villages so that anyone who escaped had nothing to return to.

Her duty was clear. She had to keep her people alive for as long as she could, and make certain that Atotarho knew the valor of the Standing Stone nation. If it took the last breath in her body, she would make sure his losses were staggering.

Jigonsaseh unslung her bow, pulled an arrow from her quiver, and nocked it. As she monitored her retreating lines, she prepared herself for the worst she could imagine.

 

Twelve

As twilight engulfed the valley, the falling snow resembled wavering sheets of gray silk blowing in the faint wind.

Jigonsaseh stood beside Sindak with her legs braced, staring out at the field of dead to the west. For more than two hands of time, Atotarho's warriors had been stripping corpses, and mutilating the bodies.

“What's he doing? Why hasn't he attacked?”

Sindak wiped snow from the bridge of his hooked nose. “He knows feeding the army comes first. Men with empty bellies desert and flee. As to the mutilation, he's feeding his warriors' souls. Condemning your relatives to wander the earth forever will make Atotarho's army feel better.”

Clan war cries erupted, and she saw several men start dancing, holding severed heads in their fists.

Sindak said, “I've tried to get a rough count, but people have been shifting around so much, I haven't been able to. How many men, women, and children are in this village?”

“Too many,” she answered, seeing no reason to lie to him. “Around two thousand four hundred. Most are elderly or children.”

His gaze bored into hers. Snow had accumulated on his black hair. As though he'd just realized it, he brushed it off, and flipped up his hood. The edges of the tan leather caught the firelight and framed his narrow face with a flickering oval. “You're in serious trouble, Matron.”

She laughed grimly and turned away.

Sindak asked, “Do you know why Atotarho allowed all of your warriors to return unharmed today? They were fleeing like rabbits. He could have dispatched a few hundred men to chase after them, and they would have killed many. But he didn't. He let them return to the safety of the village.”

His features had set into hard unyielding lines. The lines of a War Chief 's face, a man struggling to understand every possible nuance of his enemy's actions.

While she stared into his eyes, blood surged so loudly in her ears it dimmed the noise in the plaza. “Blessed gods, I've been so occupied with the council and the village's defense—”

“That you haven't had time to think like Atotarho? Of course not. Besides, I know him better than you do, and I have had the time.”

Jigonsaseh massaged her brow as she cursed herself for being a fool. “Atotarho knows that no matter how much food and water we managed to pack into the village before he arrived, it will run out eventually.”

“Yes, and the more mouths that need water and food, the faster it will run out. How long can we last?”

The fact that he'd said “we” interested her. Had he truly thrown his lot in with theirs? Wind flapped his hood around his face. He reached up to clasp it beneath his chin, holding it in place until the gust passed.

She answered. “If it was just food, we could last seven days with what we have stockpiled inside Bur Oak Village, and if we can get to our buried caches outside, we could last all winter. But—”

“How much water is there?” The crow's-feet at the corners of his eyes deepened. He looked at the longhouses.

“Three or four day's worth, but the marsh is ten paces away. If we're lucky, we'll be able to send out teams in the night—”

“You won't,” he cut her off. As he shook his head, firelight gilded the hook of his nose with an edge of flame. “Accept that fact now. The marsh provides excellent cover. He'll have it surrounded by noon tomorrow. Maybe even tonight. Anyone who steps out of this village will be dead. The cover of darkness won't matter.”

“Maybe, but the cover of darkness works both ways. The hunters can easily become the hunted.”

Jigonsaseh's fingers tightened around CorpseEye until her hand ached. Of course, Atotarho had men to waste. If his warriors were killed, he had plenty more. She did not. She would have to institute drastic measures to conserve their water. Suddenly, every flake of snow drew her attention.

She lurched forward and called, “War Chief Deru?”

Deru, who stood ten paces away down the catwalk, tramped toward her with his red cape swaying around him. He was a big, muscular man with a squashed nose. His left cheek had been crushed by a war club many summers ago. As he walked passed Sindak, he gave his former enemy a slit-eyed glare. Clearly Deru didn't trust Sindak.

Sindak just stared back, expressionless.

Deru bowed. “Yes, Matron?”

“I want you to organize teams. Find every pot in the village not already full of water and empty it. We need to dispatch people to the marsh to fill them. After that, as they are emptied, I want the pots placed along the drip lines of the longhouses to catch the snow runoff.”

“I'll see to both immediately.”

He started to turn away, but she gripped his arm, forcing him to look back at her. They'd fought side-by-side for many summers. He'd once been her deputy war chief, yet she had no idea how he would respond to her next order. Quietly, she added, “I must discuss this with the Ruling Council before we can implement it, but I want you to begin making preparations. Mark every dying victim in the village. Consult with the Healers, Bahna and Genonsgwa. If they agree that there is no hope of the victim's recovery, we need to stop wasting food and water on them.”

Deru's jaw clamped. A swallow went down his throat. He briefly looked over her shoulder, out at the campfires. “You and I must talk soon. I need to know what you know.” He gave Sindak an unpleasant glance, as though blaming him for the order.

“Give me one-half hand of time, Deru, then meet me here.”

“Yes, Matron.” Deru strode away.

Jigonsaseh's gaze must have been like a lance. As though in defense, Sindak folded his arms beneath his cape, shielding his vulnerable chest.

“The time for pleasantries is over,
old friend.
I need to know every detail of Atotarho's army, every possible vulnerability, Atotarho's quirks, his habits, every weakness of the new War Chief, every—”

“Matron, I'm not sure who the new War Chief—”

“Speculate.”

Sindak rubbed his jaw. He probably hoped that once Atotarho was dead, the Hills nation would reunite and he and his warriors could return home to take up their old lives. But if that did not happen, Sindak would become the most hated traitor in the history of his people, his name cursed forever. His actions would also cause all of his warriors to be declared Outcasts by Atotarho's faction of the People of the Hills. None of them would be able to return home again.

He seemed to be thinking about that. After what seemed a long time, he replied, “Maybe Negano. He was in charge of Atotarho's personal guards for five summers. The chief trusts him, but it could just as easily be—”

“Tell me about Negano.”

Sindak tightened his folded arms. Muscles bulged through the leather of his cape.

Through a tense exhalation, he said, “His weaknesses … all right. First, he's inexperienced. While he carried the title of deputy war chief, he's never actually served as one. He was the leader of Atotarho's personal guards, composed of five or six warriors. He doesn't understand how an army works. As well, if he's been promoted over other more worthy people, there will be a lot of resentment. As the leader of the chief's personal guards, he's used to respect. It will be a shock for him. He's going to stumble for a while as he finds his way and earns the trust of the men and women who were passed over.”