The People of the Black Sun (21 page)

Gitchi had his white muzzle up, dutifully scenting the air for danger, but the breeze was blowing in his face, shoving the man's stink back over Baji. Gitchi's eyes, too, clung to the pawpaws.

With ghostly skill, Baji used the massive sycamore trunks—four times as wide as her body—as cover, slipping from one to another, slowly moving around behind the unknown man. He seemed oblivious to her presence.

She flared her nostrils. The odor of the man's sweat carried a particular pungency that she recognized. Despite his smile, he was afraid. Dekanawida was a formidable warrior. Even without weapons, if he got close enough, he would snap his assailant's spine in less than three heartbeats. Not only that, if this man had been involved in the battle at Bur Oak and Yellowtail villages, he'd seen the freak storm rise over the eastern hills, and crash down upon him like a ferocious monster. He was probably terrified that Dekanawida's Spirit Helpers were, even now, secreted in the forest shadows, waiting to attack anyone who attempted to harm the Dreamer.

Baji silently lifted her foot, tested the ground for snow-covered twigs that might snap beneath her weight, then eased her moccasin down. The hired killer paused suddenly, as though he'd heard something, and turned to look in her direction.

Baji shifted enough that she could just barely see him from the corner of her vision. Eyes drew eyes. Even in the darkness. It was an almost unnatural thing. A warrior may not see weapons, or capes, or distinctive human shapes, but his gaze would rivet upon other human eyes as though he sensed more than saw them. Once eyes caught his attention, everything else fell into place: arms, legs, weapons.

The man fidgeted, uneasy, as though he knew he was being tracked, but saw nothing behind him. He looked back at Dekanawida and Gitchi, who'd continued up the trail, and were now too far ahead of him for a sure bowshot. The unknown man's lips moved in what appeared to be a curse, and he foolishly hurried to catch up.

As he dodged behind trees and carelessly crunched twigs beneath his moccasins, Baji patiently stalked him.

The forest always knew what was about to happen long before humans did, and the land exuded an exotic fragrance. To Baji's right, thirty paces distant, a single lynx eye shone, half-hidden behind a boulder, focused on a snowshoe hare's glistening ears, almost invisible in the white blanket that littered the ground. There was an air of expectancy, as though the animals waited for the final moment so that they could thaw their muscles and continue on their nightly search for food.

When the killer was again in range of Dekanawida, he halted, leaned his shoulder against a tree to brace his shot, and drew back his bow.

An unearthly calm descended, as though the silence of eternity had smothered the pitiful sounds of the world's struggle. Peaceful eons seemed to pass as Baji spread her feet and aimed at his broad back. The white spirals on the fool's black cape provided excellent targets. She took a breath, held it, and let fly. The arrow glistened in the moonlight as it sailed between the tree trunks, hissing slightly as it lanced the darkness.
Shish-thump.
It was a soft sound, but the man stumbled and loosed his arrow. The shot went high, clattered in the branches over Dekanawida's head.

Gitchi barked, whirled, and lunged for the man.

Dekanawida breathlessly spun around.

Gitchi leaped upon the warrior, knocked him to the ground, and transformed from warm companion to a snarling whirlwind of muscled fur. When the dying man's scream erupted, it seemed to come from nowhere, directionless and terrifying.

As the lynx and snowshoe hare thrashed away into the forest, flurries of startled wings erupted from the branches. The night sky suddenly filled with birds.

Baji nocked another arrow and charged forward, leaping fallen branches, trying to get to the man before he could pick up his bow again.

Dekanawida must have seen her. He dashed for the dying man, too.

Just before she and Dekanawida converged, Gitchi ripped the murderer's throat out and danced back, barking and growling, leaving Baji and Dekanawida to finish the job. The man, who'd managed to get on his knees, toppled face-first into the snow.

Baji kept her bow aimed at him, but her first arrow had done the job. Taking him through the left side, it had pierced his lung. A dark stain spread across his back. The man briefly struggled, groaned. His fingers clenched nothing but snow.

When the killer sagged and his limbs stopped twitching, Baji looked up.

Dekanawida stood frozen, staring at her. His mouth was open, his brown eyes wide, as though stunned. “Baji. What … what are you doing here?”

She slung her bow over her shoulder and stalked forward to glare at him. “What's the matter with you? How could you let anyone get this close? If I hadn't been here, you'd be dead.”

Sputtering with surprise, he said, “I—I thought I saw someone … ahead of me on the trail. I never even heard this warrior.”

“Obviously,” she chided. “Has your Dream killed your warrior's instincts?”

Gitchi, who'd waited as he'd been taught and now understood the danger was over, loped forward and leaped up to put his big paws in the middle of Baji's chest. She staggered beneath his weight, and ruffled the thick fur of his neck. “Gitchi, the warrior dog, good work!”

The love in his eyes was palpable. His tail swiped the air.

When Gitchi jumped down, Dekanawida embraced her hard enough to drive the air from her lungs. Tears filled Baji's eyes.

“I can't believe you're here. Blessed gods, how did you find me? I didn't myself know the trail I'd take, let alone—”

“Shh,” she cautioned.

The feel of his muscular arms around her somewhat eased her panic, but her eyes continued to scan the forest over his shoulder, searching for the second killer she knew was out there somewhere.

“Where did you think you saw the other man?”

Dekanawida reluctantly released her and turned. He dipped his head, indicating a dense copse of pawpaw saplings to the right of the trail. “Over there.”

They stood side-by-side staring at it, their gazes sweeping the shadows, moving across the moonlit snow.

Gitchi noted their gazes and sniffed the wind, then trotted to stand at Dekanawida's side.

“I don't see anything now,” Dekanawida whispered.

“Let's look for tracks, just to make certain.”

“I'll go left. You go right.”

“Not a good idea,” she said bluntly. “I have weapons, you don't. I can't protect you if we're widely separated. Come with me.”

Baji led the way, taking a few careful steps at a time, stopping to survey every moonlit shape, then taking a few more steps toward the saplings. As they neared the copse, she noticed the single gigantic pignut hickory that stood behind pawpaws. Twenty times her height, its leafless branches created a dark tracery against the moonlit Cloud People. The egg-shaped nuts had fallen all over the ground. They resembled a bumpy blanket beneath the snow. Dangerous to walk upon, they rolled beneath a warrior's feet.

“You're sure this is where you saw him?” she asked. “No warrior with sensibilities would walk here.”

“I know,” he whispered behind her shoulder. “But this is where I saw movement. It might have just been a deer … but it looked human-shaped.”

Baji's eyes narrowed. She veered right around the copse, glanced down at the ground, then up to scan the forest for the man. As she tiptoed around behind the pawpaws, she saw the fresh tracks.

“Well, there they are,” she murmured.

Gitchi bounded forward to sniff them.

“Just one man,” Dekanawida said.

He slid around her and went to kneel beside Gitchi, examining the tracks, while Baji kept her eyes on the forest. Snow had collected in the crook of the hickory and resembled a white sparkling nest. Against the cobalt background of moon-silvered forest, it seemed unnaturally bright. Deeper in the shadows, white cedars dotted the landscape. Half the height of the hickory, slender, bell-shaped cones hung from their evergreen branches. If she concentrated, she could just smell their sweet scent. Nothing moved out there. Even Wind Woman had fled this part of the forest.

“Baji, come take a look.”

When Dekanawida stood up and heaved a sigh, Gitchi trotted away, suddenly unconcerned, to sniff out a rabbit trail.

Baji worked her way over to Dekanawida, her bow still half-drawn, and glanced down at the clear tracks in the fresh snow. A big man, his feet had sunken deep, but there was something more interesting. As her gaze roved the area, she saw no tracks coming in or going out. It was as though he'd just appeared here, took a few steps, and disappeared into the moonlight.

Baji released the tension on her bow. “Sandal tracks. Herringbone pattern. Hills People.”

Dekanawida's handsome face relaxed. “But if Shago-niyoh came to see me, why didn't he stay to speak—”

“He may have come to see me.”

Dekanawida paused. “To see you?”

Baji listened to the night. The distant howling of wolves drifted through the moonlight. “Shago-niyoh visited me on the trail yesterday. Right after the battle.”

Dekanawida didn't seem to be breathing. “What battle?”

“The day we left Bur Oak Village, we were ambushed by Atotarho's forces.” A mixture of fear and hatred warmed her breast when she remembered the enemy flooding from the trees.
My fault. I am War Chief. I should have seen them long before we entered the valley. How many dead? How many friends …
“We lost hundreds in the first few moments. Father was wounded.”

Dekanawida gripped her arm hard. “Is he all right?”

“I—I don't know.” She rubbed behind her right ear. She'd combed out the caked blood, but the hair remained stiff. The swollen lump had given her an almost unbearable headache that dimmed her wits.

Dekanawida stepped around, pulled the long waves of her black hair aside, and sucked in a breath when he saw the club wound. “Blessed Ancestors, Baji! Why aren't you in bed somewhere? You should have stopped at the first village to see a Healer. You know better than to ignore a head wound—”

“There's another killer after you,” she explained.

He backed away slightly. “How do you know?”

“Just before I received this club wound, the man yelled at me: ‘Before I crush your skull, you should know that my brothers are hunting down your filthy lover right now.'”

“Sent by Atotarho?”

“Who else?”

Dekanawida eased her hair back into place over her wound, and reached down to tightly clasp her hand. “I was going to walk for most of the night, but I've changed my mind. We're making camp so I can tend that head wound.”

Baji let him lead her out of the pawpaw copse and to a place beneath the arching branches of the pignut hickory, where an old log lay. After he'd brushed the snow from the wood, he ordered, “Sit down and rest while I get a fire going.”

“Just for a moment.” She sat on the log.

As Dekanawida went about cracking dead limbs from the tree trunk, Baji forced herself to concentrate. Her legs were shaking. When had that happened? She pulled bow and quiver from her shoulder and propped them against the log beside her. Suddenly, she felt utterly exhausted. Her head now hurt so badly she knew it would explode at any instant. She leaned forward, braced her elbows on her knees, and massaged her temples. Fiery pokers stabbed behind her eyes.

Gitchi came around the log, apparently satisfied that the rabbit was nowhere to be found, and curled up at Baji's feet. She lowered one hand to pat his side, and went back to massaging her temple.

Dekanawida returned, dropped one armload of branches on the ground, smiled at her, and went back to gathering wood, cracking twigs from one of the nearby chestnuts.

Baji granted herself the luxury of closing her eyes. After all, Shago-niyoh was close. Surely, he and Gitchi would protect Dekanawida while she rested.

*   *   *

… A short while later, Baji sneaked through the forest, coming up behind the camp of the Hills warrior who'd shot Cord. The man sat with five friends before a campfire, tearing off big chunks of venison jerky with his rotted teeth, laughing too loudly. He liked to wave his hands as he talked. It made him appear a blustering fool. How strange. She thought she'd killed him. But here he was, surrounded by relatives, chortling like an imbecile, and obviously enjoying himself. One of the men had left a war ax lying at the edge of the trees. He'd probably been using it to hack off branches for the fire and forgotten it.

It lay half covered with snow five paces in front of her.

She might have let the man go if Dzadi hadn't appeared in the trees on the opposite side of the clearing and nodded his head to her, encouraging her to continue. Then her friend Ogwed appeared just to her right, and whispered, “We have them surrounded, War Chief.”

“Good.”

Ogwed led her forward, picked up the ax, brushed the snow off on his pants, then put it in her hand. “We all wish to kill him, but it is your right.”

Baji's fingers went tight around the handle. Glimmering through the trees, she saw the firelit faces of many friends—men and women she had fought with. They would guard her back while she completed her task.

Baji stalked into the clearing and the men around the fire leaped to their feet. From the trees, arrows hissed and each fell silently to the ground, leaving only her quarry standing.

“Hello, fool.”

Like the coward he was, the man rushed to put the fire between them. As he thrust out his empty hands, he said, “War Chief Baji! What are you doing here?”

Baji cautiously flanked him. She felt neither pity nor hatred, just the calculation of a warrior fulfilling her duty.

“Wait. Let's talk this over!” the man shouted, and tried to run.

Baji raced forward to cut off his escape. They circled each other.