The People of the Black Sun (45 page)

Forty-five

The Path of Souls glittered brilliantly across the dark night sky, sparkled through the forest, and reflected from the branches with a liquid-silver intensity. Voices and laughter rose from around the hundreds of campfires that scattered the valley below. The air felt warmer tonight, cold, but not bone-cold, which probably meant they had a few warm days coming. Winter solstice was still about two moons away. If they were lucky, they'd have more than a handful of unseasonably pleasant days before winter's frigid presence arrived in earnest.

Saponi lay on his belly in a dogwood thicket, staring down at Bur Oak Village. The palisades had been devastated. Glowing orange gaps flared as the breeze shifted. A short distance away, Yellowtail Village stood like a black burned-out husk.

“Gods, the battle was terrible. I really felt for them today.” Disu, who lay stretched out beside him, shook his head. “I wonder how many they lost?”

Saponi didn't answer for a time. “More than Matron Jigonsaseh could afford to lose.”

“That's for certain. If she lost only one-third of her trained warriors, that means she has less than two hundred left.”

“Two hundred against perhaps one thousand Hills warriors … and there are another two thousand Mountain warriors on the way.”

When they'd heard the story racing through Atotarho's camp, it had stunned them. Mountain warriors joining forces with their old enemy, the Hills People? One moon ago no one would have believed it possible. Not just because they'd spent half of last summer killing each other, but the Mountain People were in a bad way. The plague had hit them hardest of all. Many Traders had carried the tale far and wide. The Mountain People had been so sick they hadn't even been able to harvest their crops. Their corn had moldered in the fields, and their sunflowers been plucked clean by birds and squirrels. Any other crops that had survived had been taken in raids by their neighbors.

“I hate to say it, Saponi, but it's hard to imagine how the Standing Stone nation can survive another assault.”

Saponi turned to look at his old friend. Disu had seen twenty-four summers. A thin, lanky man, he stood two heads taller than Saponi, but what Saponi lost in height, he made up for in muscles. His burly shoulders spread twice as wide as Disu's.

This was the first either of them had spoken since they'd made it to the southern hilltop at midnight, less than a hand of time ago. The future was just too terrible to think about.

“I believe in Sky Messenger's Dream, old friend,” Saponi said with a sudden fervency. “I
believe
he can stop this war. Whether he can do it before his own people are gone … I do not know. Perhaps the destruction of his nation is what triggers the unfolding of his Dream. If it is, he'll pay a terrible price.”

Disu hesitated. His hood, which lay upon his back, waffled in the wind, creating a soft thumping sound. “We're never going to make it back into Bur Oak Village with this food. You know that, don't you?”

He squinted at the campfires. “I know.”

War Chief Negano had apparently decided to take no chances. He'd lost many warriors today. Though Saponi couldn't guess how many, at least two hundred bodies were visible in the flickering firelight. That meant many more lay freezing in the darkness beyond. Rather than moving his forces back to their camps across the valley, Negano must have known that he had to keep the noose tight, or Matron Jigonsaseh would manage to restock the village with food and water. The noose was tight indeed. Camped approximately one hundred paces from the walls, Negano's warriors completely encircled the village and the marsh. No one could get in or out.

Saponi shifted to brace himself on one elbow so he could look back over his shoulder at the twenty-eight warriors gathered in the shadows. Sixty packs of food made a dark hump behind them, piled in a small clearing surrounded by leafless maples. Soft voices eddied, his men talking over supper, finally able to eat after a long day of tireless effort. They couldn't build a fire, but they'd filled their fire pots with coals before they'd left Atotarho's camp. The scent of roasting crickets, being tossed with hot coals, wafted on the cold breeze. That had been the real find today. Ten pots of crickets! Negano must have had warriors out in the forest kicking over every pile of leaves to find them. When parched in ceramic bowls, the crickets had a crunchy exterior and creamy interior that tasted just like crab legs. His mouth watered. They were all starving. They'd spent most of the day hauling food into the forest, supposedly to transfer it to shadowed area beneath the trees where it would stay frozen. Instead, they'd filled as many packs as they could carry back, two each, and buried the rest beneath piles of leaves and branches: bags of nuts and acorns, venison haunches, and rabbits that had yet to be skinned.

Their mission today had been a great success. He hadn't lost a single warrior, nor had they been forced to kill any of their relatives in Atotarho's camp.

Disu propped his cheek on a fist, and stared at Saponi with tight eyes. “From what I could see today, they poured a lot of water on the palisade.”

He left the question of
how much
to Saponi's reckoning. The glowing holes in the exterior palisade of Bur Oak Village stood as a mute testament; they'd probably been forced to use every drop they had to quench the flames. “Yes, and since we can't get back with our packs, they have very little food left, too.”

As Wind Woman's daughter Gaha softly moved around the village, fanning the smoldering logs, reddish light wavered over the bodies piled against the base of the palisade. Including the dead from the battle six days ago—corpses they hadn't had time to bury—there had to be six or seven hundred bodies total. Even from his position on the hilltop, he could see the contorted arms and legs, bent-back heads, and gaping mouths. White teeth glistened. Over the next few days, as the temperature warmed up, the stench of rotting corpses would become unbearable.

If they have a few days, which I doubt.

Disu said, “How many do you think deserted tonight?”

“I counted a group of around one hundred trotting away up the trail before it got too dark to see. More probably left under the cover of night.”

“I was surprised that Negano didn't try to stop them.”

“He didn't want to split his army in half. People would have been forced to take sides. If he'd tried to stop them, another two or three hundred warriors would have sided with them and left, too.”

“You're probably right. I always liked Negano. To tell you the truth, I feel sorry for him.”

Saponi toyed with the grass beneath his fingers, absently stroking it while he thought. “Don't feel too sorry. His army still outnumbers the Standing Stone nation by at least three to one, and he has reinforcements coming.”

Disu heaved a taut breath and sat up. “Well, there's nothing more we can do about it tonight. Let's go grab a bowl of roasted crickets before they're gone.”

 

Forty-six

Sky Messenger

In the middle of the night, Gitchi growls softly, and I hear Hiyawento call, “Sky Messenger?”

I roll over and sleepily blink up at the three people standing over me. Hiyawento, Baji, and an unknown Landing warrior, a tall square-jawed man wearing a ragged buckskin cape, stare down at me. Hiyawento has his jaw clenched.

I sit up in my blankets and rub my eyes with the back of my hand. Gitchi lays on the foot of the blanket, his yellow eyes fixed on the Landing warrior. While he knows and trusts Hiyawento and Baji, this man poses a threat, and he knows it. “What's wrong? Where's Towa?”

Hiyawento squats beside me and props his war club across his knees. Exhaustion lines his tight eyes. “He's in charge of the guards tonight.”

Below Hiyawento, I see men and women standing in a ring around the small hilltop with war clubs clutched in their hands. Their attention is focused on the people bedded down on the slopes below. It's dark. No campfires glow. Snores and coughs ride the wind that sweeps up the hillside.

Hiyawento extends a hand to the Landing warrior. “This is Deputy War Chief Tiyosh, formerly of Agweron Village.” The man bows respectfully. I nod back. “We've been talking. We think you and Baji need to get away from here as soon as possible. If you run most of the night, you should be far ahead of the crowd by morning.”

Baji kneels beside Hiyawento and gives me one of those distinctive,
don't argue
looks. Wind flutters long hair around her beautiful stern face. “Tiyosh says most of the people who followed you when you left Shookas Village are desperate. Their villages were just destroyed. They're sure the Mountain People are coming to kill them. You are their only hope.”

Desperation can drive even the best of people to madness. “I understand, but how do you propose that we get out of here? We're surrounded.”

“Yes, Prophet,” Tiyosh says with soft reverence, “but most people are asleep. You and I are about the same height. I think if you exchange capes with me, and keep your hood pulled up to shield your face, you and War Chief Baji may be able to make it out without being recognized.”

My limbs feel like dead weights as I throw back my blankets and rise to my feet. Hiyawento and Baji stand up and move to either side of me, protecting me. I hate being treated like a fragile pot … but I know they're right. I saw the glazed, almost stunned, looks in my followers' eyes, and felt them shoving each other just to get close enough to touch my clothing. I pull my cape over my head and hand it to Hiyawento to hold, while Tiyosh removes his own cape and gives it to me. As I slip it on, I ask, “How long will Tiyosh be forced to feign being me? I'm not comfortable with this. I'm putting him in danger.”

Hiyawento looks at Tiyosh, who shrugs. “Before dawn, we will hit the trail and run hard. The new guards will keep Tiyosh surrounded so that no one can get a good look at him. Hopefully we will lose most of the crowd on the way.”

“Before we do this, I want you to consider what the crowd will do when they discover Tiyosh is not me. They will feel betrayed.”

Hiyawento's mouth curves into a half-smile, a determined expression I know well. He will do whatever it takes to keep me safe. He always has. “I have considered it. As has Tiyosh. All of your new guards discussed the matter thoroughly. We will tell them something. Now, you and Baji need to go. By the time you reach Bur Oak Village, we should be no more than a few hands of time behind you. I'll send a messenger ahead to tell you when we'll arrive.”

“How will I know the message is from you, and not someone claiming to—”

“I'll send you this.” Hiyawento's hand slowly drops to his shell-bead belt and he caresses it, his fingers slowly moving over the small human figures that decorate the front near the ties. Deep purple, they have childlike shapes. “I'll send my belt with the messenger so you know he speaks the truth.”

Gitchi rises and stretches, preparing his aching joints for the run ahead. His yellow eyes and thick fur glow silver in the light cast by the campfires of the dead.

Through a heavy sigh, I say, “All right. I'll be expecting the Truth Belt. We'll see you there day after tomorrow.”

Hiyawento's head dips in a firm nod. “Yes, you will.”

As he hands my cape to Tiyosh, the man's expression slackens. He puts it on and smoothes it down as though it is a sacrament, a rare ritual object with a soul of its own that must be handled with great care.

Baji flips up her hood and gestures for me to do the same. I hesitantly comply. All of this … this ruse … makes me feel dishonest, as though I'm pretending to be something I am not.

Baji grabs Hiyawento in a bear hug, and says, “I'll take care of him.”

Hiyawento hugs her back. “I know you will. I'll see you soon.”

Baji scratches Gitchi's ears and gestures to the winding deer trail that leads down the steepest side of the hill, where only a few people are camped because of the slope. “Gitchi, you go first. I'll guard his back.”

Gitchi looks at her with adoring eyes, then trots out into the starlight.