Seventeen

The Blessed Sun

As dawn blushed color into the surrounding hills and rocky terraces, shouts and screams rent the air, along with the constant twanging of bow strings being released.

Blessed Sun Leather Hand sat on the white-plastered roof outside his third-story suite, sipping hot cocoa from a beautiful black-and-white mug. The chocolaty fragrance was rich and exquisite. From his perch, he had a good view of warriors scurrying around the walls, shooting bows, or shoving heavy rocks over the edges onto the imbeciles below. The crazed attackers always came at dawn. What was wrong with their war chief? They were so predictable, it was depressing. Why, when he was a war chief, he’d have never established such a pattern. It gave the enemy all night to prepare for the next assault, and the defending warriors grew so practiced at their defensive tactics, they could laugh and jest the entire time they were killing the people who hurled themselves at the walls.

“Bunch of idiot farmers,” Leather Hand chuckled. “There’s no true leader out there.”

“Yes, Blessed Sun, so it appears,” Sunwatcher Cub agreed. The man stood to Leather Hand’s right, wearing a white cape, his hands folded primly in front of him. His hooked nose and abnormally triangular face caught the pale lavender gleam of daybreak.

Leather Hand took a sip of his chocolate, and smacked his lips in appreciation. He had the rare cacao beans, along with dried holly leaves for Black Drink, carried to Flowing Waters Town by Traders who traveled to far-flung cultures. Both drinks gave him a heady rush that helped warm his aching body, which seemed more and more necessary these days. Despite the firebowl of hot coals that rested before him, and the thick scarlet macaw feather cape around his shoulders, the morning chill had penetrated all the way to his bones.

“Any news from my daughter or Maicoh?”

Cub shook his head. “No, Blessed Sun. Stinger says that one or more of our signal stations has likely been destroyed by our enemies.”

“Then tell him to send out repair parties to rebuild them.”

“Yes, Blessed Sun. Though…” Cub hesitated. “I suspect he will tell you that he needs every warrior here to defend the town.”

“I don’t care what you suspect. Give him my order. Tell him to concentrate on rebuilding the masonry towers along the roads. One man, properly supplied, can hold off a war party for a moon from those towers.”

“Of course.” Cub bowed and hurried away.

Leather Hand watched the Sunwatcher climb up and down a series of ladders to reach High War Chief Stinger where he stood overseeing the archers along the northern wall. When Cub delivered the order, Stinger threw up his arms and began stamping around. Leather Hand’s eyesight might be dim, but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. Besides, Stinger was shouting at Cub, so it was hard to miss. After thirty heartbeats of being berated, Cub nodded, then left.

By the time Cub had climbed all the ladders to get back to Leather Hand, the Sunwatcher was breathing hard and his face was covered with sweat.

“What did he say?” Leather Hand inquired. “How many men will he dispatch to repair the signal stations?”

Cub’s pink tongue darted over his mouth, wetting his lips. “Blessed Sun, your war chief directs me to tell you that he has counted over two hundred enemy warriors assaulting our walls, and he is absolutely sure that anyone who tries to leave will be immediately cut down. Not only that, he says that opening our gates, or even lowering a ladder over the walls, will create a breach through which our enemies may—”

“Send him to me.”

Cub sucked in a breath, then bowed. “Yes, Blessed Sun.”

While Cub climbed up and down ladders, Leather Hand tottered to his feet and walked into his ten-room suite, where he pulled out a large, tightly lidded pot. He had to wrap both arms around it to carry it outside and lower it to the rooftop beside his glowing firebowl. The intensity of the screams had gone up a notch. When he turned to look in that direction, he saw his warriors pouring pots of boiling fat down upon the attackers. A foolish waste of good fat! Fat fed people. Rocks did not. If they were out of rocks to brain the enemy, then Stinger was at fault for not ordering his men to haul up more.

With a groan, Leather Hand slumped to the rooftop again, and reached for his cocoa, sipping it as he watched Cub and Stinger climbing ladders.

When they arrived, both men bowed to him. Stinger was a burly man. Muscles bulged through his red knee-length war shirt. Thick white scars wormed across his face. His lips were pressed into a tight bloodless line.

“The signal stations must be repaired, War Chief,” Leather Hand said.

Stinger looked like he might explode. “I understand, Blessed Sun. However, every warrior I have is currently engaged in defending Flowing Waters Town. I cannot spare anyone to undertake such a mission. As soon as I have an opportunity, I assure you, I will—”

“Take these—” Leather Hand gestured to the big pot—“and have your warriors throw them right into the midst of the attackers.”

“What’s in there?” Stinger glanced at it.

The red pot, decorated with stunning black and white geometric designs, gleamed in the sunlight.

“Dolls.”

“Dolls? You want my warriors to throw dolls at the attackers?”

Leather Hand aimed a knobby finger at Sunwatcher Cub. “Open the pot and remove one of the dolls for Stinger.”

Obediently, Cub knelt and wrenched the lid off the big pot to look inside. Curious, he gingerly lifted one of the dolls, about the length of two hands, and gave it to Stinger.

Stinger frowned at it. The dolls were formed of unbaked clay and painted with very lifelike features, down to the delicate black eyelash fringes above the red eyes. Only one feature was not lifelike: Each doll had two faces. One face to make people sick, the other to take them to the Land of the Dead.

Stinger thrust the doll back into Cub’s hands, and Cub quickly placed it back in the pot. “Why do we need bewitched dolls?”

Leather Hand chuckled. He’d been making these dolls for decades, taught by an old witch up near Cliff Palace to the north. “Don’t worry. They will not harm you so long as you don’t break them open.”

“I’ve seen how they work.” Stinger wiped his hands on his red shirt, as though alarmed that he had touched one. “But what’s their magic?”

“When you cast these over the walls, the dolls will break open and old rags and special, sweet corn will spill out. The people out there are hungry.” He absently waved a hand toward the attackers. “They will scoop up every kernel and carry it back to their camps.”

“But how do they kill?” Stinger asked.

“The evil Spirits in the rags have been feeding off the sweet corn for moons. They have infested it. They will coat the fingers of the people who touch the kernels, and the Spirits will fly from hand to hand throughout the camps until each person carries an evil beast in his heart.” Leather Hand took another sip of his cocoa. It was starting to get cold, which displeased him. “In a few days, you’ll have your opportunity to dispatch repair parties to the signal stations.”

Cub’s mouth dropped open, his face resembling a wet clay mask deliberately pulled too hard to make it appear misshapen. “But Blessed Sun, what happens if the evil Spirits cling to the broken fragments of the dolls? Anyone who walks outside—”

“When the attackers are gone, we will send out teams of slaves to sweep the area and burn any remaining traces of the dolls.”

“Won’t some of them get sick?”

Leather Hand glared at the Sunwatcher. “Are you truly as stupid as you sound? None of the slaves will ever reenter Flowing Waters Town.”

“Oh.”

Leather Hand could tell the instant Cub understood that the slaves would, of course, be killed. Probably shot down from the walls, but maybe just left to be eaten by the same evil Spirits that had killed the attackers. Leather Hand thought about it. No, they’d have to be shot down. It would not improve his relations with neighboring Straight Path villages if infected people wandered into their midst.

He had used that tactic before, and it always had unintended consequences. Right after he’d first become Blessed Sun, he’d often allowed his temper to get the best of him. The worst time was about twenty winters ago. Food had been running low, and one chief kept demanding that Leather Hand open his storerooms and give out more corn and beans to neighboring villages. Instead, Leather Hand had ordered that a fine feathered cape be pulled off a dying clan matron. He’d given the cape to a very pretty young woman and sent her to deliver a message to the annoying chief. By the time the young woman stumbled into the man’s chamber, the evil Spirits had eaten half her insides.

Naturally, the troublesome chief had also died—that had been Leather Hand’s intent—but so had most of his village. By late summer, the entire village was abandoned, and the evil Spirits were flying far and wide, moving through the land like wildfire. The consequences were disastrous. When it was over, there were seven fewer villages sending tribute to Flowing Waters Town.

He’d never repeated that mistake—though delivering infested dolls to enemy chiefs was still his preferred method of solving problems. It saved the lives of his own warriors, because attacking those villages became unnecessary. The enemy villages simply faded to nothing and ceased being a problem.

Leather Hand waved a dismissive hand at Stinger. “Tell your warriors to start throwing the dolls into the midst of the attackers immediately.”

Stinger cast a worried glance at Sunwatcher Cub, bowed, and said, “Yes, Blessed Sun.”