The People of the Black Sun (7 page)

Desperation and despair seemed everywhere. She briefly closed her tired eyes and rubbed them. When she opened her eyes, she found Sindak looking at her solemnly.

“We are not spies, Matron,” he repeated. “I give you my oath.”

“Will you and your warriors swear an oath of loyalty to the Standing Stone nation?”

He glanced down at his people. Many of them were staring at him, talking in low voices. “That, Matron, would be treason. Of course not.”

“Your warriors do not consider themselves traitors already? I'm fairly certain the Hills Ruling Council does.”

“Which Hills Ruling Council?” he countered.

She tilted her head. “Ah. I see.”

“Do you? Let me explain so that I'm certain we understand each other. We did not turn against our nation. We turned against Atotarho. So far as we are concerned, we follow the rightful leader of the People of the Hills, his daughter, High Matron Zateri.”

Down in the plaza five people started a round dance, their arms around each other's waists. As though nothing was wrong in the world, their voices rose in song. One man kept stumbling, laughing.

The sight left her hollow. Were they still so flushed from yesterday's “victory” that they thought themselves invincible?

As though reading the tracks of her souls, Sindak said, “I'm sure you've heard the same things I have, but just in case you haven't, your villagers are saying that it doesn't matter if Atotarho attacks again, because Sky Messenger will protect the Standing Stone nation.”

“I've heard that foolishness, yes.”

“Is it foolishness?” Sindak propped an elbow on the palisade and searched her face.

“You can't believe that. He's just one man.”

“True, but I was there when he called the storm. I saw it crash down over the hill, sweeping my army from the battlefield—”

“And every other army,” she added.

Curiosity lit Sindak's eyes. “You don't believe he called the storm?”

“What I believe is that he is right about this Peace Alliance. That is enough for me.”

A confused smile creased his lean face. “I wouldn't let that get around, if I were you. If his own mother does not believe—”

“I believe in peace, Sindak,” she replied in a firm voice.

The breeze tousled his hood around his face. “I remember the loathsome tone in your former husband's voice when he used to call you a Peacemaker. It still turns my blood cold.”

“Well, Gonda has changed.”

“Haven't we all?” Sindak frowned at the dancers. As the firelight fluttered in the wind, it cast the shadow of his beaked nose across his cheek. “If we were traitors why would we have volunteered to stay and help protect your villages? That doesn't make any sense.”

“It does if Atotarho specifically instructed you to turn against us during the next battle.”

“Oh,” he breathed, “now I understand. We are to commit suicide for our chief while killing as many of you as we can?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. It would help if you told me what you expect to get out of this arrangement, Sindak. Why are you here?” To leaven the tension a little, she asked, “You're not still smitten with me, are you?”

His lips quirked. “That was a long time ago, but I have never been ‘smitten' with you. It was undying love. I was a silly youth.”

She chuckled.

His head dropped forward until his chin rested on his chest. He had a thoughtful expression. “What do I expect to get? I haven't thought that far ahead. And I'm exhausted. Perhaps we should discuss this later in the morning, after we've both had a chance to—”

“No, now. Tell me what you hope to gain?”

He lifted his head, and his jaw went hard in annoyance. She could see his teeth grinding. “You remember that I'm a Hills warrior, correct? Maybe you should explain your perspective on the command structure here. Do you think I take orders from you?”

“You'd better.”

He actually laughed, and they smiled at each other. “All right. Let me try to force my foggy souls to think.” He paused for a long while, before saying, “First, I want Atotarho dead, and the People of the Hills reunited with Zateri as High Matron of all our people. Next, I want peace throughout the land, as you do. Beyond those things, I have no idea.” He shoved away from the palisade. “And now, I am off to find my blanket.” He strode down the catwalk.

She called, “Tell me one last thing?”

He turned. “What?”

“Where is Atotarho? Why don't we see his campfires out there? Our scouts haven't returned.”

Firelight reflected in his dark eyes. “I've been wondering the same thing. My guess is that he's on the trail.”

“Headed where?”

“If I knew that, Matron, my stomach would finally sink to its proper place.”

“Get some sleep, Sindak.”

He started to walk away, then stopped short, and turned back to give her an amused look. “With regard to your earlier question about my being ‘smitten.' Just so you know, a part of me will always be in love with you. That's your penance for being such a great war chief. Silly young warriors become obsessed.”

She laughed softly, and he gave her a sweeping bow, then continued toward the ladder.

 

Six

Elder Brother Sun had not yet crested the eastern horizon, but already the bellies of the drifting Cloud People shimmered, and a pale lavender glow lit the forest. As the leafless maple branches swayed in the morning breeze, soft rustling filled the air.

War Chief Baji of Wild River Village rose from where she'd been rolling up her blanket and stretched her aching back muscles. The battle yesterday had been fierce. As she turned left to examine the battlefield that lay between her camp and the partly burned villages of the Standing Stone People, her gaze lingered upon the dead. Strange things happened to corpses as they froze. Yesterday afternoon most of the bodies had been lying flat. This morning, misshapen arms with clawlike hands reached high into the air, as if pleading with the sky gods—or perhaps cursing them. Necks had twisted grotesquely. Mouths gaped in silent cries. Eyes, frozen in frosty pits, seemed to strain to see a familiar face, waiting for their loved ones to find them.

She glanced expectantly at the gates of Bur Oak Village. The snow had stopped, but a dusting still frosted the shoulders of the guards who stood there.

He's coming. I know he is.

Thin streamers of smoke rose from the charred palisades. Through the gaps, she saw people gathered, engaged in a village council meeting, trying to decide what to do next. Their forces had been devastated by Chief Atotarho's attack, leaving them more vulnerable than they'd ever been. Baji and her forces could not stay to help them. She felt hollow and guilty, but she and her People had their own problems at home, not the least being that they feared Chief Atotarho would take out his vengeance on the Flint nation for supporting the Standing Stone nation against him.

Behind Baji, wooden bowls clacked against horn spoons as men and women finished their simple breakfasts of cornmeal mush, spiced with whatever variety of jerky they'd had left in their packs. Coughing and laughter carried, as well as the deep groans and fever-laced cries of the wounded. Weapons clattered as war belts were tied around waists and quivers and packs were slung over shoulders.

Baji slipped her hand beneath her buckskin cape and massaged her left arm just above the elbow where she'd sustained a blow from a war club wielded by one of the Hills People warriors. The purple lump was the size of a balled fist. Fortunately, she was right-handed. It would not impair her ability to swing her own club, though it would scream when she drew back her bow.

Her gaze returned to the gates. She tried to force her thoughts to other subjects but, as always, Dekanawida—the man others called Sky Messenger—was there.

…
beneath me, smiling, staring upward through the veil of my hair, his brown eyes filled with a dreamy warmth. Rocking, sweat-soaked, pine pollen cascading from the trees, sheathing our nakedness in pale yellow that resembles the glitter of sunlight.

Memories from last summer.

As the light strengthened, burial teams with litters began to trickle out from the villages and course through the corpses, identifying and loading relatives.

Her adopted father, Chief Cord, also dispatched two teams for the same purpose. As he led the teams onto the battlefield, Baji watched him. His black cape decorated with turtle shell carvings, symbols of his clan, waffled around his long legs.

As though he sensed her gaze, Cord turned to look at her. He had a long pointed nose and a square jaw. The black roach of hair down the middle of his head gleamed.

To avoid his eyes, she picked up her rolled blanket, woven from twisted strips of rabbithide, and tied it around her waist, over her cape, then knotted her weapons' belt just above it. The bone stilettos clacked against the chert knives. She was tall and muscular, with a small nose and large dark eyes. Her long black hair hung to her hips when it wasn't braided. She'd heard men call her beautiful. Were it not for the ugly knife scar that cut across her chin, she might have been.

She looked back at Bur Oak Village again. The gates were still closed.

…
his deep voice singing lullabies to me in the middle of the night, holding me as though I am the only thing that stands between him and oblivion. Enough love in his eyes to sustain me for the rest of my life.

Cord frowned, broke away from the burial teams and walked toward her. When he got to within two paces, he said, “After yesterday's miracle, he must be overwhelmed with requests for audiences. Why don't you go to him?”

Baji jerked the laces of her cape tight beneath her chin, and reached down to pick up her war club. As she tucked it into her belt, she added, “Father, he is betrothed to another. Do you really think it's appropriate for me to march into his future wife's longhouse and ask for a private meeting with my former lover?”

Sympathy tightened his mouth, and she couldn't stand it. She turned away. “Camp is almost packed up,” she said sternly. “How much longer will it take the burial teams? We should be going soon.”

“We have some time. Time enough, I think.”

Baji knew that he meant,
Time enough to wait for Dekanawida.

“That's foolish, Father. The longer we are gone, the more likely it is that Wild River Village will be attacked. I think we should—”

The gates of Bur Oak Village swung open and Dekanawida stepped out into the sunlight. Just the sight of him made her clamp her jaw to contain the welling emotion. She couldn't seem to get a deep breath into her lungs.

Cord didn't even turn to look. He could tell from the expression on her face. “I'll take care of making sure the war party is ready. Take as long as you need.”

Father walked past her, leaving her standing alone, gazing across the expanse of frozen bodies to the only man she had ever trusted. He was very tall and broad-shouldered. He'd tucked his jet hair behind his ears. As he marched toward her, it swayed just above the shoulders of his black cape. Determination set his jaw. His slender nose flared with deep breaths. Gitchi, his old gray-faced wolf, walked at his side.

Baji strode to meet Dekanawida halfway. She suspected they both knew how things must be, though neither of them wished to admit it.

Gitchi's ears went up when he recognized her, and he loped forward to greet her with his tail wagging. Baji knelt down and put her arms around his thickly furred neck. “I miss you so much, Gitchi. How are your paws?”

She reached down to stroke his leg. His stiff joints hurt all the time, but he was still a great war dog. He'd saved her life many times. Gitchi whimpered and licked her face.

Dekanawida caught up and waited until Baji rose.

She gazed up into his eyes, and the world seemed to die around them. The voices of the war party ceased, the wind hushed. She heard only the pounding of blood in her ears.

Baji asked, “How is Tutelo? I heard her husband was killed yesterday.”

As though he knew she was deliberately avoiding the only subject between them, he softly replied, “My sister is grieving, trying to be brave for her young daughters.”

When they'd been slaves together as children, Tutelo had been the youngest, just eight summers, but she'd rarely cried. Love for her filled Baji. “Tutelo is the bravest person I know. I was so hoping to see her this morning, but we'll be leaving soon.”

“How soon?”

“As soon as we've finished collecting our dead from the battlefield.”

Their gazes held and the unbearable longing in his eyes left her feeling as empty as a shattered pot.

“I'm leaving soon, too, though I haven't told anyone yet.”

Baji straightened. “Where are you going? The new alliance needs your guidance.”