The People of the Black Sun (51 page)

Sindak didn't say anything for a time, letting her take it in before he softly commented, “With these new forces, I suspect we have a couple hands of time after dawn before the walls are breached.”

Jigonsaseh propped her elbows on the palisade beside Sindak, blinking awake, fighting to gain her desperately needed senses. “How many?”

“Maybe two thousand Mountain warriors, but he could have more in reserve in the trees.”

“I doubt it. From what I've heard, two thousand is about all they have left in the nation. Which means he's wagering everything on this battle.”

Sindak stared at her for a moment. “I hadn't thought of that, but you're right, and it means they're going to fight even harder.”

“What's Negano doing?”

“I can't tell, but something is not right out there.”

She shifted to face him. “How do you know?”

“It's more of a feeling than anything else.” Sindak stared at her and you would have thought they were the only two at the Dance. “Negano's warriors should be on their feet, each one facing the Mountain army. I only count perhaps three hundred fifty to four hundred.”

“Yes, but it looks like many are still sleeping. Perhaps he wants to give them—”

Sindak shook his head. “Doubtful. I suspect those rolled blankets are empty.”

Jigonsaseh's black eyes moved over the blankets. As the wind picked up and the light brightened, many could be seen flapping. “What makes you think so?”

“Earlier, I saw two men kicking over bundles. Blankets flew, but no one stood up.”

Gonda lurched forward, his heart thundering, to hiss, “Blessed gods! You mean hundreds deserted during the night?”

“I think it's a strong possibility.”

Jigonsaseh stood perfectly still. Only her eyes moved. Studying. “If you're right, and Negano has only around four hundred warriors left, he must know that Wenisa's archers could skewer his forces in a few hundred heartbeats.”

Sindak gave her a sober look. “As soon as it's light, Wenisa is going to come to that same conclusion.”

Jigonsaseh closed her eyes and rubbed them on her sleeve again. Gonda knew that gesture. She was tired, but she was also thinking, working out what she would do if that turned out to be the case. When she opened her eyes, she said, “Then, within a single hand of time, we may only be fighting a desperate Mountain army. And one greatly diminished. I suspect Negano's warriors will manage to get eight hundred arrows into the air before they fall, and they'll be letting fly from close range. Sindak, how many will Wenisa lose?”

Sindak's brows plunged down over his hooked nose. He blinked out at the warrior-filled meadow as he tried to calculate. “I say … six hundred. Probably three hundred killed outright and another three hundred down with wounds that take them out of the fight.”

“Gonda?” she turned to him.

He leaned heavily on his crutch. “I think Sindak doesn't want to get your hopes up, so he's guessing low. I'm going to guess high. If Negano forms his warriors up properly, he'll lose the front line of archers immediately, but it will give his remaining warriors time to loose four or five arrows each. “I say one thousand out of the battle.”

She nodded, mulling the information. “So … if they turn on each other first, instead of facing two thousand four hundred, we'll be facing somewhere between one thousand and one thousand two hundred.”

Sindak and Gonda nodded simultaneously. A frail tendril of hope twined through Gonda's chest.

“But I don't think that will happen,” Sindak said. “Wenisa is an overconfident fool, but not that much a fool. He'll want us to kill as many of Atotarho's warriors as possible to save him the trouble. Which means they won't turn on each other until the middle of the battle, maybe not even until the end.”

As she listened, Jigonsaseh continued her examination of the brightening meadow, noting the positions of warriors, trying to see the coming attack before it happened. When she abruptly gripped the palisade, both Gonda and Sindak went rigid. For a time she seemed to be holding her breath, then almost too soft to hear, she said, “The man on the ground in front of Atotarho—”

“We don't know who he is. Wenisa—”

“That's Sky Messenger.”

“What?” Gonda stumbled forward to grab the palisade and stare at the distant figure. He was stirring. He weakly rolled to his back. “That's not Sky Messenger's cape. And if so, where's Gitchi? Gitchi wouldn't leave—”

“They would have killed Gitchi first,” Sindak replied.

The man on the ground rolled to his knees and started wretching violently. He sounded like he was bringing up his insides. After five heartbeats, he collapsed again as though unconscious.

Gonda whispered to Jigonsaseh, “Don't jump to conclusions. You can't possibly know for certain in this light.”

She seemed to realize she'd slumped against the palisade, and her warriors were watching her. She straightened to her full height again, braced her feet and propped her hand on her belted war club. “That's Sky Messenger. Believe me.”

Sindak's teeth ground beneath his cheek. He studied her for a long time, before he said, “If you're right, Wenisa is going to use him against us. That's why he's still alive.”

None of them said anything for another twenty heartbeats, then Jigonsaseh responded, “Sky Messenger is more valuable to him alive. If Wenisa takes him home and parades him around as proof that he has greater Spirit Power than the renowned Standing Stone Prophet, Wenisa's reputation will soar.”

Sindak's head waffled. “Maybe.”

As the possibility that it really was Sky Messenger out there began to solidify, Gonda's chest seemed to hollow out and refill with panicked desolation. He blurted, “Then he won't kill Sky Messenger unless we force him to. Is there a way we can get to our son? If there's a break in the battle and we can send out a party to…”

Sindak and Jigonsaseh both stared at him as though his souls had flown away and his body was a senseless piece of useless flesh.
I'm a selfish fool. Any party sent out to rescue Sky Messenger will be slaughtered like dogs at a ritual sacrifice.
Jigonsaseh would never kill twenty in a vain attempt to save one. Not even her son. The suggestion had been ludicrous. He whispered, “I—I wasn't thinking.”

A small commotion erupted along the eastern wall overlooking the marsh.

Jigonsaseh ignored it and reached out to put a hand on Gonda's shoulder. “If I could, Gonda, you know that I…”

“War Chief Sindak?” Wampa called as she trotted down the catwalk.

Sindak stepped away from the palisade, and walked out to meet her.

Wampa glanced at the warriors nearby and very quietly said, “There's a man in the marsh asking to speak with you. He says War Chief Negano sent him.”

“Negano?” Sindak strode down the catwalk briskly, heading for the group of warriors who'd gathered to peer down into the marsh.

Gonda squinted after him. As did Jigonsaseh.

Less than two hundred heartbeats later, Sindak straightened and turned to Wampa. “Get every water pot and canteen you can find and lower them down to Yekonis. Do it now, before it gets light enough that he becomes a perfect target.”

Wampa didn't bother responding. She charged down the catwalk, tapping men and women on the shoulders. Her rushed words sent them scurrying down the ladders and toward the longhouses.

As Sindak's stride lengthened on the way back toward Jigonsaseh and Gonda, the news was already spreading around the catwalk like wildfire.

“…
Sindak working with Negano … not possible … Atotarho must have thought he could talk Sindak into betraying us … I don't believe…”

Sindak didn't bother to respond. He just clenched his jaw and kept his eye on Jigonsaseh.

Gonda saw her turn. By the time Sindak arrived, she stood facing him, her feet braced, a beautiful muscular woman with obsidian-hard eyes that could cut out a man's heart. She'd removed her foxhide cape and slung it over the palisade where the wind softly ruffled the fine red hair. She still had CorpseEye tucked into her belt, but her fingers had tightened around the smooth wooden shaft. She stared at Sindak: a silent question.

“His name is Yekonis, Hawk Clan, from Atotarho Village. He's going to fill as many pots and canteens as he can before full dawn. He's vowed to serve me as a loyal warrior.”

Her face showed nothing. “Why?”

“I made no promises. I wouldn't do that without your app—”

“What does Atotarho want?”

Sindak propped his hands on his hips and bowed his head slightly. Gonda watched him. He appeared to be hesitating because he didn't know what to make of the message himself. “It isn't Atotarho who's asking. It's Negano. He suspects Wenisa is going to betray them, and he wants to save as many of his warriors as he can.”

The breeze tousled Jigonsaseh's gray-streaked black hair around her still face. “Do you believe this?”

Sindak kept his head bowed, and Gonda suspected he was considering the fact that she hadn't yet asked him “how?” He'd known her a long time. Perhaps Sindak understood that how mattered less to her than his opinion of Negano's trustworthiness.

Sindak looked up. Their gazes held. Finally, he replied, “I don't think we have a choice.”

 

Fifty-two

As Hiyawento and Towa trotted eastward along the trail to Bur Oak Village, Hiyawento's body entered that timeless void of running where thoughts ceased to exist and there was nothing except motion and raw heightened sensation. He reveled in the brilliant streamers of orange that spiked up from the eastern horizon. They shot through the hearts of the drifting Cloud People, turning them a sulphurous shade of yellow he had never seen before. Across the forest, balmy air hissed through the trees, setting warm pungent scents loose to wander with the breeze.

When they crested a high point along the rolling trail, he saw smoke rising from Bur Oak Village. Towa momentarily hesitated, as though he wanted to stop, but Hiyawento didn't slow down. He plunged down the rise, heading for the small creek that crossed the trail ahead.

One hand of time ago, he'd sent a runner ahead with the Truth Belt to let Sky Messenger know they were very close. He'd instructed the runner to come back with information on what was happening there, so they'd have some warning of what they'd be facing. The man had not returned.

Hiyawento feared he'd been killed. Which probably meant a battle raged just head, and they'd arrive in the roaring chaos with a crowd of half-starved women and children at their heels.

Hiyawento wiped his sweating face on his sleeve. It felt like the Moon of Newborn Fawns. All along the periphery of the forest, huge columns of insects spiraled, their membranous wings creating glimmering torrents that spun like tornadoes above the tallest trees.

He and Towa had been moving fast, trying to outrun the weakest followers. They'd lost maybe two hundred of the elders, women, and children, but the heartiest clung to them like boiled pine pitch. They were dedicated, he'd say that for them. Hiyawento cast a glance over his shoulder to see how close they were.

Twenty paces back, Tiyosh ran encircled by fifteen guards, still wearing Sky Messenger's cape with the hood pulled up, despite the heat. He must be roasting alive. Another four hundred paces behind him, the ocean of humanity washed up and spilled over the rolling trail. How many? Three hundred? Four? Laughter drifted through the sea of waving arms as people whirled and clapped their hands in joy, singing their hearts out. They'd been dancing since long before dawn.

To see what Hiyawento was looking at, Towa jerked around, and his straight nose slung sweat. His handsome face ran with it. “I don't know how they have the strength to dance. Most have barely enough flesh left on their bones to walk. It's the most bizarre thing I've ever seen.”

“Especially since we're headed into the midst of a battle with Atotarho's army or the Mountain People, or both.”

“Exactly! What's there to be happy about? I swear they're demented.”

“They're true believers. Their faith is like a Spirit Plant in their veins.”

As they plummeted down the slope and through the low spot, Elder Brother Sun slid over the horizon and threw the onyx shadows of the trees across their path. The cool air felt wonderful. The scent of water swelled from the tiny stream that meandered across the trail. Barely one body length across, Hiyawento leaped it easily, and continued on.

Towa leaped, splashed, and cursed before he ran to catch up. “Yes, but Hiyawento, I also believe in Sky Messenger's Dream. The difference is that it scares the heart out of my body.” He cast another glance back at the celebration that followed them. “This jubilance is—well, it's unnatural.”

“Isn't everything these days?”