The People of the Black Sun (28 page)

“May I dip you a cup of tea, Hikatoo?”

“That's kind of you. I would appreciate it, Matron. Thank you.”

The sweet fragrance of dried cherries wafted around Zateri's flat face as she dipped a cup of tea from the soot-coated pot hanging on the tripod at the edge of the flames, and handed it to Hikatoo. She thought his buckskin cape had black snipes painted across the middle, but the soot of countless campfires obscured the designs. “You are Snipe Clan, aren't you?”

He bowed slightly. “I am, Matron.”

“I know it must have been a dangerous trip, and you had no idea what sort of reception you would receive when you arrived here. Thank you for taking the risk.”

“Since my injury, I am not of much use in the fighting, so I go where my elders send me, Matron.” Hikatoo sipped the cherry tea and a smile came to his lips. “This is wonderful. We've eaten all the dried cherries at Atotarho Village. This is a special treat.”

“On our way here, we passed a grove with a few cherries still clinging to the branches. We grabbed as many as we could before we had to…”

Conversations broke out as people cleared a path through the longhouse for Kwahseti and Gwinodje, who hurried past without a word to anyone, heading straight as arrows for Zateri's chamber in the center of the Wolf longhouse. Wind-blown gray hair spiked up around Kwahseti's face. Gwinodje looked very short and thin striding beside her. Her heart-shaped face had reddened in the cold air as she'd crossed the plaza. Both wore half-frightened expressions.

When they reached Zateri's fire, Kwahseti shoved gray locks away from her catlike nose, and eyed Hikatoo severely. “Who sent you?”

Hikatoo bowed to her. “Matrons Yi and Inawa.”

Suspiciously Gwinodje asked, “You are not Wolf Clan. Why would they send you?”

Hikatoo's boyish face fell into stern lines. He spread his feet. “Matrons Yi and Inawa wish you to know that they have found witnesses.” He took a deep breath and calmly met each of their gazes in turn, before continuing, “And I am one of them.”

 

Twenty-five

Dusk came as a mournful solace to the long day. Tired, her headache pounding, Baji listened to the meltwater pouring from the roof of the rockshelter where they'd made camp. It drummed outside, sounding like the clattering hooves of panicked white-tailed deer.

Baji propped herself on her elbows in the warm nest of blankets, and her long hair scattered like black silk over Sky Messenger's chest and arm.

“I think Trade is the answer,” Sky Messenger said. He had his fingers laced beneath his head. His eyes focused on the soot that blackened the roof above them. Many campfires had burned in this shelter, though they had not built one. In the heart of Hills country, they couldn't risk being seen. “Trade is peace.”

“Trade?” Baji asked. “Why?”

The rockshelter stretched two body-lengths across and a single body-length wide, but rose five body-lengths over their heads. Like a dark gray eye-socket, it seemed to peer out into the densely forested hollow that surrounded them. Leafless cottonwoods and quaking aspens crowded near the mouth of the rockshelter. The location was, for the most part, windless. As a result, old autumn leaves clustered at the bases of the trees, contrasting sharply with the white bark of the aspens. The musty scent of moldering vegetation seemed concentrated in the rockshelter.

“The most important reason is that it's the answer to food shortages. If one village has a good summer and stockpiles lots of crops, it will be beneficial for them to be able to Trade that surplus for other goods they need—say Spirit plants, buffalohides from the west, salt, dried seafood, pots.”

Baji paused as she thought about it. Where he lay at the foot of their blankets, Gitchi shifted to prop his white muzzle on his forepaws. His yellow eyes fixed intently on the world outside, concentrating on seeing through the waterfall of runoff and beyond the shining rivulets that poured down the hillside into the aspens.

“That sounds good, but the truth is no one will be willing to Trade food unless they are certain they're safe. It's the grouse and the egg. Which comes first? Peace or Trade? We all hoard food because we expect to be raided. If we keep our surpluses hidden in a variety of locations, we know we can still feed our peoples through the winter even if half is stolen.”

As the brightest campfires of the dead appeared in the sky outside, their gleam played through the waterfalls and flickered over the rockshelter like cast handfuls of silver dust. Sky Messenger turned his head to look up at her, and his round face bleached to pale gray. The flicker danced in his short black hair.

“Baji, we can't go on like this. You know we can't. We're all starving.”

“Not all of us. This winter, the Flint People have food.”

“But only because you were ravaged by the plague that decimated your country. If half your population hadn't perished, you'd be just as desperate for food as everyone else.”

“True.”

“We are all weakening. Even the Hills People.” His wide mouth tensed. She could see his teeth grinding beneath the thin veneer of his cheek. “Every time Atotarho wipes out a village and enslaves the women and children, it compounds his problems. Next year there will be one less village growing food he can steal, and more slaves mean more mouths to feed.”

“That's not how he thinks of it. To him more women and children mean more people to cultivate, plant, and harvest the crops—and more warriors to guard the Hills nation.”

Gray mist rolled in the low places outside, seeping down the hills toward the dark hollows below. She could just barely see the starlike points of enemy villages visible through the dense weave of trees.

Sky Messenger said, “More women also mean more babies, and while in the end that will mean more workers and warriors, in the short term infants drain their mothers' strength and the slave women must be fed more to keep the babies healthy.”

Gitchi lifted his big head and his eyes narrowed, as though he'd seen something beyond the wall of water. Baji and Sky Messenger went still, listening, their glances moving from Gitchi to the darkening forest outside. Finally, two buck deer stepped out of the cottonwoods and stared at the rock shelter. The largest, his massive antlers shining in the glow, lifted his chin to sniff the air. He had one front hoof lifted. He took a tentative step toward the shelter, as though waiting for something. When his expectations did not materialize, both bucks trotted away into the striped forest shadows.

Gitchi slowly rested his muzzle on his forepaws again, and heaved a sigh.

Softly, Sky Messenger said, “No matter what it costs me, I have to convince the other nations to join our peace alliance.”

Baji stiffened. “Even if it costs your life? If they kill you, it won't help any of us. And what of your vision?”

She felt his shoulder move beneath her hair, tugging it. “That's simple. If I'm killed, it means my vision was false. It will come as a shock to me, of course, but—”

Baji chuckled, unexpectedly amused. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I don't see how that's possible.”

The reflected light flickered in his dark eyes. “I worry. Sometimes.”

“Not often, I hope.”

“No. Not often.” He pulled a hand from behind his head and stroked her long hair where it draped his chest. “How are you feeling? How's your head?”

“Healing. Too slowly for my tastes, but better today. Tomorrow, I'll be able to run.”

As his gaze moved across the undulations in the roof, he absently replied, “We'll see.”

For a time, Baji let herself drown in the soothing feel of his hand stroking her hair. Contented, she contemplated his Dream. Cord had said:
Believing is the doorway to believing.

Despite her best efforts, she could not escape the doubts and fears of the skinny, tormented girl she'd been at twelve summers. Believing was a hard thing. Life had taught her that. She'd grown up, become a strong woman, discovered her talents and purpose in life—yet that little girl continued to cry inside her. At odd times, especially when she felt safe and warm, pitiful sobs seeped from the invisible internal world where the girl lived. For a long time, those sobs had startled her. She did not understand, and probably never would, why that little girl never grew up. Did her twelve-year-old soul live solely to remind her to stay vigilant, that life could go terribly wrong at any instant? And what was that soul? Obviously it wasn't her afterlife soul. Was it the soul that remained with the body forever? She found the notion odd and unsettling. It frightened her to think of that scared girl locked forever in her deteriorating bones.

When Sky Messenger spoke again, his voice was soft. “What are you thinking? Every muscle in your body has gone taut.”

“Has it?” she asked in surprise and consciously willed her shoulders to relax. “I hadn't realized.”

“You were thinking about the old woman, weren't you?”

She gave him a bitter smile. “Strange, isn't it? That each of us can tell when the other is remembering those awful moons?”

A particularly fierce gust of wind surged over the hill above them, and old leaves showered down through the hollow, piling against the bases of the cottonwoods and aspens. Gitchi's ears pricked as he surveyed them.

“Not so strange, perhaps,” he said. “We had to protect ourselves. We watched each other so closely our senses are still tuned to the slightest shift in each other's posture. There are times when I'll be watching Tutelo combing her daughter's hair, and she'll hesitate for a split instant, and I know she's back at Bog Willow Village.”

“Do you ever ask her to make sure you're right?”

“I don't have to. I know. As I knew what you were thinking just now.”

The old woman's shadow seemed to hover over Baji again, blotting the starlight as wrinkled hands reached down to drag her to her feet and shove her into the arms of waiting men. Men who had paid a lot for the privilege.

Baji's muscles clenched again. As her frosted breath rose toward the Sky World, she struggled to understand why she couldn't let go of those memories. The sickening throb of her heart choked her. She swallowed. Then swallowed again, forcing the memory away. A tremendous sadness came upon her.

Sky Messenger reached over to clasp her hand hard. “Stop thinking about it.” A savage glitter lit his eyes. “She doesn't deserve your attention.”

“No. She doesn't.” But her veins felt as if glassy flakes of obsidian rushed through them. She couldn't move or breathe without pain.

His grip tightened, crushing her hand. “You're here with me. You're safe.”

“Not if you break my thumb. How will I draw back my bow?”

The ghost of his smile warmed. He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed warm lips to her thumb. Changing the subject, he said, “Anyway, I need you to help me think about the People of the Landing.”

“You mean how to approach them about peace?”

“Yes. Tomorrow, if we survive crossing through Hills territory, we should reach the border of the People of the Landing. Soon after, we will reach their villages.”

“Have you determined which village you will visit first?”

He stroked her palm while he contemplated the question. “Shookas Village. High Matron Weyra has a reputation for fairness and intelligence. At least among my People. What do the Flint People say about her?”

Baji shrugged. “Among my People, she's known as Slow Thinker.”

“That doesn't sound very flattering.”

“Well, she's called that because apparently she never makes rash decisions. She ponders matters for a long while, discussing every possible permutation with the clans, before bringing an issue before the Ruling Council. I've heard it can take weeks for any major decision to be agreed upon. Keep that in your heart, lest you hope to have a decision the same day you speak with her.”

“I don't.”

Baji watched him. “And what will you tell High Matron Weyra? You should begin with your Dream.”

“I will. Then I'll explain that our alliance already includes three nations—”

“Be specific. Say it includes the Standing Stone nation, the Flint People, plus three Hills villages.”

He frowned. “You're right. Yes. Then I will present the benefits of our alliance—”

“Explain them to me.”

His mouth quirked, and he gave her a crooked smile. “I haven't really figured them all out yet.”

“Don't you think you'd better?”

He heaved a breath. Moments later, he said, “Well … mutual defense, for one thing. We will also redistribute food to needy villages … and expand our Trade networks, as we spoke about earlier.”

Baji toyed with his hair. “May I question you as I believe High Matron Weyra will?”

He rolled to his side, braced his elbow, and propped his head on his hand. “I would welcome it.” His breath frosted in the cold air.