The People of the Black Sun (40 page)

A curious numbness had begun to filter through her body at noon, and totally possessed her by sundown, killing her emotions. She should feel glad that they had survived another day, but the only thought that came to her was that she had to figure out a way to make it just one more.
One more day, my ancestors, just let me fight for one more day.

The only good news was that the major fires had been doused … but it had required almost all of their precious water to keep the village from becoming one gigantic fireball.

“Matron?” a wounded warrior called from where he lay on the ground. “Matron, a moment?”

Jigonsaseh knelt at his side. She'd seen Bahna working on his wound earlier. He was one of Sindak's men. Barely seventeen summers old, with long filthy hair draped around his narrow face in stringy locks, the youth had kind brown eyes. She suspected he had a family back home in Atotarho village. He must be worried about them. “What is it, warrior?”

“I know we have … very little water, but … one sip?” He tipped his head to the pot that rested just out of his reach with a cup over the top, and gazed up at her with a pained expression.

She reached for the pot, poured a small amount into the cup and gently lifted his head to tip the cup to his lips. He drank the three swallows greedily, then sighed, “Thank you, Matron.”

She gently eased his head back to the blanket and reached to return the cup to its place over the water pot.

“Matron?” the warrior asked in an exhausted voice. “I can't feel my legs. Tell me why?”

She did not hesitate. “The arrow struck close to your lower spine.” His face visibly paled, and she added, “It didn't sever your spine. Our Healers say you will heal and walk again, perhaps in one moon. Be grateful. You will live to see your family again. Many others lying in the plaza will not.”

His gaze scanned the bodies, arranged in rows, and lingered for a long time on the wounded children and elders who'd stood on the palisade firing their bows until the very last. “I appreciate hearing the truth, Matron.”

She gave him a confident nod. “You fought bravely today. Your service to the alliance will never—”

“Will there be an alliance after tomorrow, Matron? Or will it die with us?”

Jigonsaseh stared into his eyes. Given the severity of his wound, it surprised her that he realized the truth of their situation. She reached down to take his hand in a powerful grip. “No one will forget what we did here today, warrior. What
you
did here. Our sacrifices will be the glue that will bind the alliance and keep it together for generations.”

He smiled at the absolute certainty in her deep voice. “Thank you, Matron.” When he released her hand, he sank into his blankets to close his eyes as though he couldn't stay awake for another instant.

Jigonsaseh rose to her feet. The warriors on the catwalks had begun to walk around briskly as their voices rose in pitch. To the east, she saw High Matron Kittle standing between Sindak and Gonda. Gonda leaned heavily on his crutch, trying to relieve the pain in his splinted leg, but he was pointing at something.

She put her head down, and marched to the closest ladder to climb up to the catwalk. As she made her way toward them, warriors buzzed with excited conversation. Out across the old battlefield hundreds of campfire had glimmered to life. Negano was taking no chances. He'd moved his entire army into a ring around Bur Oak Village, bottling them up tight, making certain no one could reach the marsh again. Just out of bowshot, hundreds of Hills warriors paraded around, some shouting. Others waved their arms furiously.

As she walked up, Gonda turned. His round face had a pain-stricken expression. He maneuvered his crutch so he could hobble around to face her. “Something's going on out there.”

She squinted out across the battlefield. The commotion was spreading through the ranks, men and women stalking around like stiff-legged dogs while they cursed.

Kittle said, “What do you think is happening? It looks like a riot.”

A grim smile turned Sindak's lips. He laughed softly and looked at Jigonsaseh. Ash coated his lean face. “Saponi did it.” Pride filled his voice. “He did it.”

*   *   *

“What do you mean all the food is gone! Our warriors are starving!” War Chief Negano shook both fists in face of the warrior hunching before him. Qonde's hawkish face had a tortured expression, as though he expected Negano to strike him. “What happened to it? When I left before dawn, we had plenty—”

“Negano, it's not my fault!” Short and stocky, Qonde bravely straightened to his full height and clenched his fists at his sides. Sweat matted his black hair to his cheeks. “After you left, a group of wounded warriors came to me asking to speak with the chief! They said they wished to be useful, and Atotarho told them to reorganize the food stores. They said they were hauling the deer haunches into the forest shadows to keep them cold. It made sense, and the battle had just stared, I was watching—”

“When did you discover all the food was gone?”

“Not until late afternoon! I sent warriors to search the ground, even the tree branches, thinking they might have—”

“Dear gods.” Negano rubbed a hand over his stunned face.

His warriors had fought hard all day long. Exhausted and with empty bellies, most had just miserably walked away when the news had come. But around two hundred had encircled Negano. Shouting curses, they shook war clubs and fists in the air, ready to kill whoever was responsible for denying them a well-deserved supper.

Fear twisted deep in Negano's belly. “Where is the chief?”

Qonde's shoulders hunched again. He swung around to point to the northern end of the camp. “I warn you. He's not happy, Negano.”

Negano squeezed his eyes closed and massaged his forehead. “It's too late to send out hunting parties, which means there will be no food for breakfast tomorrow, either. Tell the chief that I expect many warriors will desert tonight, and more will vanish tomorrow. Even if we—”

“You want
me
to tell him? I'm not War Chief, you are! You tell him!”

His nerves humming, Negano grabbed Qonde by the front of his cape, shook him violently, and shouted in his face, “Do it!
I gave you an order!
”

 

Forty

Baji and Dekanawida had avoided the main trail that led to Shookas Village, choosing instead a narrow trail that wound through the eastern hills. Though they ran through forest, the acrid scent of forest fires clung in the air.

She felt a new stirring in the land. Oddly, the knowledge came to her not by sight and sound, but something deeper. As though she could extend her soul beyond her body and out into the forest, every part of her, muscle and sinew, felt the land awakening. The animals felt it, too. Bounding deer chirped the news, squirrels leaping between branches chittered about it, Great Grandmother Earth tried to beat the awareness into Baji each time her moccasins struck the ground.

When she broke into a run, passing Dekanawida on a downward slope, he gave her a curious glance and pounded after her.

He must sense it, too. We are almost there. The last meadow in the belly of the clouds awaits us.

As they careened down the slope and headed up the next rise, Shookas Village appeared. Dekanawida let out a low confused sound and staggered to a stop, staring at the fire-devastated landscape. His round face streamed sweat. Breathing hard, Baji halted beside him to assess what they saw. Hundreds of camps dotted the flats around the village, and thousands of people milled around them.

“Why are so many people here?” he asked.

“It looks like the end of the world to me. And I feel it, don't you?”

Sky Messenger sucked in a breath and exhaled the words, “All I feel is scared, Baji.”

Gitchi growled as he paced back and forth in front of them with his neck fur bristling and rippling. The old wolf had lived a long, strong life, filled with battle, and bitter cold, and hunger that stalked the souls. He knew without being told that war was in the air he breathed.

“I fear,” Baji said, “that they are preparing a giant war party.” Her gaze scanned the crowded palisades and lightly skimmed across the hide huts. “Weapons are everywhere.”

Dekanawida said, “I don't see Hiyawento.”

The dread in his voice made her smile. She reached out and clasped his hand. “Has he ever let any of us down? No. Not even when we were children. He's here. I'm looking forward to seeing—”

“Baji, I want you to stay here,” he said suddenly. He turned to stare down at her, and his cape flapped around his tall body, whipping into snapping folds when the wind gusted just right. His broad chest expanded and shrank with his panting lungs.

Calmly, she asked, “Why?”

“When this is over, if I survive, I'll meet you on this very spot.”

She tilted her head. “Why do you want me to stay behind?”

“Because”—he reached out to still the long black hair that blew around her face—“if things go wrong in there, I'll be so worried about you that I will forget everything else I must do.”

“Is that it, really?” she asked mildly. “Or are you afraid that no one else will be able to see—”

“That's not it. I swear it.” He shook his head as though denying something he knew in his heart. “Please do this? Just stay here and wait for me.”

She searched his taut expression. “I'll do whatever you need me to. You know that.”

He heaved a relieved breath, as if she'd removed a great weight from his shoulders, and bent down to kiss her. His lips were warm and soft, caressing. When he drew back, he said, “I'll return as soon as I can. No matter what happens, never forget how much I love you.”

Baji smiled and gestured to the trail. “Stop stalling. I'll be waiting right over there in the trees, watching for you.”

Dekanawida backed away and his eyes narrowed. “Gitchi, stay. Guard Baji.”

The wolf trotted over to Baji's side and stood looking up at her. She scratched his head.

As Dekanawida trotted away, Gitchi's big front paws nervously kneaded the ground, as though eager to run after his best friend.

Baji looked down at him. As he leaned against her leg, she said, “He's afraid to lose you, too, you know?”

Gitchi's ears pricked, listening attentively. She petted the wolf's neck for a long time, letting his soft warmth seep into her, before she walked off the trail through the frozen brown leaves to stand beneath the arching branches of a beech tree.

She braced her shoulder against the smooth gray bark and gazed upward at the crows sailing through the sky with their ebony wings flashing in the sunlight. Gitchi stood beside her, his nose up, sniffing for danger.

Baji tingled. She didn't understand it, but every time she got off the trail and stole cat-footed into the forest shadows, a supernatural vitality filled her. Life seemed to rear up and charge through her veins with such exquisite freedom she felt she would burst with the sheer ecstasy of it.

I feel so alive.

Her entire life, in one form or another, she had existed in perpetual fear of things seen or unseen. Now all that was gone. Like white water rushing away down a river, it had receded into the far country.

Gitchi whimpered.

She lowered her fingers to absently stroke his head. As though the wolf understood more than she did, he whimpered again.

Baji looked down. His yellow eyes had a tight look, as though he sensed her leaving him, and didn't want her to go.

“I'm still here, fool,” she teased.

Gitchi gently licked her hand.

 

Forty-one

When they reached the eastern-most periphery of the camps, Towa slowed to a walk and lifted his hand to every person he saw. Almost everyone recognized him and smiled in return. Hiyawento carefully examined them. These people's capes hung about them in shreds, and their moccasins and leggings were a patchwork of sewn-up holes. No jewelry clicked or glinted.