The People of the Black Sun (19 page)

“Zateri,” Kwahseti said with a touch of malice, “she ascended to her position as High Matron through underhanded negotiations with Atotarho. You know it's true. Atotarho must have assured Kelek that she would become High Matron in exchange for something. What?”

Hiyawento said, “In exchange for retaining his position as chief. He knew that as soon as Zateri became High Matron she would remove him.”

Zateri nodded. “I would have.”

Thona spread his feet and squared his broad shoulders. “How do we survive long enough for the clans to take action? And I think we must fight back if Kelek does not step down as High Matron.”

Zateri quietly said, “I don't think so, War Chief. I agree with my husband. We must take no action against Kelek or the rest of the nation. It's not up to us. No matter what Kelek has done, punishing her must remain the prerogative of the Bear Clan. If a Wolf Clan matron had ascended to the position of High Matron through treachery, we would claim the right to deal with it ourselves, wouldn't we?”

Kwahseti nodded. “Absolutely, and if any other clan tried to depose her, regardless of her crimes, we would declare a blood oath and hunt them down.”

Gwinodje turned to look at her war chief. “Waswanosh? You have not spoken in a while. Should we fight, as Thona suggests, or merely defend ourselves while we rally the support of the other ohwachiras?”

“Forgive me, Matron. I am … off-balance. However, I find myself more in agreement with High Matron Zateri. If we
can
use the ohwachiras to accomplish our task, we should. Thona is right, too, though. There must be a time limit. If we wait too long, we will be two nations forever.”

Zateri waited for more comments.

They all stared at her.

“I fear our patience will be determined by what we find at Riverbank Village tomorrow.”

“And at Canassatego Village the day after,” Gwinodje said with trepidation in her voice. “If all of our villages are gone…” She sucked in a breath at the thought. “I will cast my voice with War Chief Thona and commit my warriors to destroying Atotarho, and anyone who sides with him, no matter the cost.”

Kwahseti nodded, then Waswanosh. When Zateri turned to Hiyawento, she found him staring directly at her with slitted eyes. “My husband?”

His teeth ground for several moments, while he met each person's eyes. “That will be for the rest of you to decide. I won't be there.”

Thona half-shouted, “
What?
You would leave at a moment like—”

“I would,” Hiyawento interrupted in a commanding voice. He and Thona glared at each other. “I must be at Sky Messenger's side when the end comes. I
will
be at his side.”

Thona leaned toward him threateningly, his hand on his belted war club. “Without you here to lead your warriors, it may come faster than you anticipate.” He turned to Kwahseti. “Matron, with your permission, I will return to my duties before I cause a disturbance.”

“You may go, Thona. Thank you for your counsel.”

Thona bowed to the matrons, glared at Hiyawento again, then stalked away with his cape jerking around him.

Kwahseti vented a sigh. “Please excuse him. He's desperate.”

“As we all are,” Hiyawento countered.

Gwinodje stared at her hands, twisting them in her lap. Waswanosh stood silently behind her.

Quietly, Zateri said, “If there are no more issues to be presented, I will dismiss this council.”

 

Fifteen

Snow fell from the night sky like weightless white feathers, drifting down around Sonon, frosting the hood and shoulders of his black cape, and softly alighting on the bowed head of the woman kneeling in the trail five paces in front of him. Leafless maples swayed gently behind her, their branches already shining with a thin white crust.

The woman was exhausted, gasping hoarse lungfuls of air. She'd unbraided her long hair, and it draped in perfect glistening waves around her beautiful face. Tiny arcs of snow crested her high cheekbones and iced the lashes that fringed her large black eyes. She'd been running all day without a break, desperately trying to reach Sky Messenger.

Unbeknownst to her, Sonon had been at her side the entire time. Sooner or later, he knew she would see him.

She collapsed in the middle of the path and curled into a fetal position. She made no sound, but when she succumbed to shivering, the dark curve of trail seemed to tighten around her, holding her tall body in a lover's grasp.

Sonon tilted his head.

There were always souls whose burden of suffering seemed so great that it became an obscenity, a thing that could not be borne by any sane person. At the age of twelve summers, her village had been burned, her parents killed, and she and her two sisters had been sold into slavery. All three of them had been brutalized. Then her sisters were sold to bad men and hauled away. Within hours they'd both been murdered—leaving her alone. Or rather, in the company of a small group of children from many nations. Among them, Wrass, who was now called Hiyawento, Tutelo, Zateri, and the man she knew as Dekanawida.

She had lost so much.

He hurt for her.

For a time, he watched the snow fall. The forest had gone silent. He could hear each flake that settled upon the branches and rocks.

The woman on the trail shoved up on one elbow. Snow-covered jet waves cascaded around her slender, muscular body. Her shoulders heaved. Was she weeping? He couldn't see her face. She'd rolled onto her hands and knees, and fought to shove to her feet, but her legs shook too violently.

Flakes whirled and spun around the woman, tousling her hair over her eyes. The woman angrily brushed it aside, sat up, and propped her elbows atop her knees as she massaged her temples. Forlorn, she murmured, “Dear gods, I can't believe I'm lost. I know this country.”

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Sonon moved out of the trees and onto the path directly ahead of her. His black cape must be almost invisible in the darkness and falling snow.

But Baji was a warrior. She saw him.

Fast as lightning she lunged to her feet and pulled the war club from her belt, ready to swing it with deadly accuracy. Her legs wobbled so badly, they barely held her. “Show yourself now, you worthless worm!”

He opened his arms, revealing that he carried no weapons, and called, “I mean you no harm.”

Her eyes widened, and the war club in her fists trembled. Barely above a whisper, she called, “
Shago-niyoh?
Dear gods, please tell me Dekanawida is all right?”

It didn't surprise him that her first question was not for herself, but for the only man she'd ever loved. “He is well enough.”

Her shoulders sagged. The white chert nodule lashed to the club's head dipped toward the snow, blended with it. She spread her feet to brace her weak knees. “There are warriors after him, trying to kill him. Do you know that?”

“Yes, I know.”

Angry, she said, “Then why are you here? You should be with him!”

He walked toward her and she stiffened. When he stood less than three paces away, he said, “I thought, perhaps, you might have questions for me.”

Using the sleeve of her war shirt, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Get away from me. Dekanawida is the one who needs you.”

Sonon cautiously took another step toward her. She did not back away, but her fingers clutched her war club so tightly that her nails went white. The scent of her fear pervaded the night air.

Softly, he asked, “How are you feeling?” and gestured to her head wound. Blood caked the area behind her right ear.

Baji ignored him while she tied the club back to her belt. A bold move, given how close he stood. “It's healing. I'll be all right.”

“And what of your father, Chief Cord? Did he escape?”

Her gaze searched the white-sheathed branches of the maples, and darted over the brush. Out in the forest, a few large boulders hunched like white-caped monsters. She stared at them. “I saw him carried from the field of battle, but I … I can't…” She shook her head and dread twisted her features. “I can't remember. Gods, what's wrong with me?”

Gently, he said, “Head wounds. They knock the souls loose for a time.”

Her black eyes riveted on Sonon's face, at once pleading and demanding. “Is Father all right? Do you know?”

“No, I'm sorry. I followed you when you left the battlefield. I don't know what happened after that.”

Apprehensive, she asked, “Why did you follow me?”

He replied gently, “Most people have questions. About themselves. About where they are. I know these trails very well.”

She sucked in a breath and turned around, bewildered, studying the forest. The white veil was growing heavier by the instant. “The only thing I want to know is how to find Dekanawida. Is he on this trail?”

He heaved a sad sigh. “Yes.”

“How far ahead of me?”

“Are you sure you wish to find him? You don't have to, Baji. There are other—”

“I
must
find him!” The slightest hint of panic entered her eyes, then it turned into a glare. “I told you, he's being hunted by murderers. The last thing Atotarho's warrior—”

“And you believed him.” She must have or she wouldn't be here.

She gave Sonon a withering look. She'd always had a fierce way about her. “You mean he lied to me?”

“No. There are two warriors on Sky Messenger's backtrail. It's just that your belief is what—”

“Blessed Spirits, he has no weapons!” she cried. “Don't you understand? Stop wasting my time and tell me how far ahead he is. He needs me.”

She clamped her jaw and her beautiful face went as hard as granite. Her patience was wearing thin. He could tell from the killing glitter in her eyes.

“Baji, he does need you. He always has, but just this once, you must think of yourself. You—”

“Can I help him?”

The straightforward simplicity of the question touched him.

Blessed gods, she knows … and she doesn't care. I underestimated her.

He stood still for a long time, holding her gaze, before he nodded. “Yes, but there is a great risk. You could be a distraction, and many people get so turned around here that they never—”

She stalked by him, just brushing his shoulder with hers, and broke into a shambling dog-tired trot.

“Baji, please don't do this.”

She didn't slow down, but called, “You did, didn't you?”

She disappeared into the darkness and storm.

Sonon hung his head and studied the place where she'd lain in the trail. Her body had sculpted the snow. When she'd seen twelve summers, he'd often charted her course by such impressions. Her course and those of the other captive children. What had he expected her to do? He was, after all, the ghost that inhabited the murdering place. She had always chosen life, especially life for those she loved.

Nothing could stop her from trying to save them, not even the threat of losing her own soul and being condemned to wander the earth forever.

The snowfall dwindled and through breaks in the clouds, he glimpsed the brilliant Path of Souls that led to the afterlife. The campfires of the dead sparkled and winked, as though the ancestors passed back and forth in front of them.

Such longing swelled his heart that he had to look away.

An old hermit, a Trader from the far West, had once told Sonon that those who suffered long enough for the sake of others would always be found. He said that while all lost souls would be shown the way to the Land of the Dead after the human False Face wiped the world clean of evil, even before that there was hope—because faithful friends never gave up.

He wanted to believe. For her sake.

Unbidden, a face flashed and vanished behind his eyes.

Hopocan.

He tried to block the images, but like all true horrors, they paid no attention to individual wants and needs.

She, too, had been a great warrior woman. In his sixteenth summer, Sonon and Hopocan had been trotting down the war trail, side-by-side, smiling at each other, when the attack came. An arrow pierced Hopocan's back. He'd carried her home and covered her with soft elkhides from which she never again rose. At first, she'd grown ashen and corpselike. Then her real suffering began. The evil Spirits of gangrene edged from her wound and slithered into her body. Puss leaked from her mouth and enormous worms lived in her flesh. Her muscles decayed, hanging together only by transparent sinews. Had her affliction come from a natural source, she would blessedly have died one moon earlier. But the malignant living creature had been sent by the Ancestors. Sonon had rocked her in his arms until it was over.

He lifted his eyes to the Cloud People. Grandmother Moon's light slivered their edges as they traveled south, trailing the veil of snow beneath them. Hopocan was up there somewhere, sitting before the campfires of the dead, laughing and telling stories. He prayed she had forgotten him. The possibility that she might be waiting for him was too great a burden to bear.