Twenty-six

The Blessed Sun

Pulling a deep breath into his old lungs, Leather Hand could smell the sweet nutty fragrance of giant rye-seed bread drifting over the rooftops of Flowing Waters Town.

“Who’s frying that delicious-smelling bread?”

Sunwatcher Cub, who has been plodding along behind him, catching his arm when he tottered, said, “I think that’s coming from Junco’s fire.”

“When it’s finished cooking, bring me some. I want it warm and soft. Not crispy around the edges.”

“Yes, Blessed Sun.”

Leaning on his walking stick, Leather Hand took another two steps before he had to stop and breathe. Then another two.

What a lovely autumn day! Sunlight had warmed the white plastered walls of Flowing Waters Town enough to drive away the morning chill, and people sat on rooftops weaving fabrics and grinding cornmeal in trough-like mealing bins. Warriors gathered in small groups along the walls, talking in low ominous tones. As Leather Hand passed by, he gave each man a grisly toothless smile, and they went utterly silent, always afraid he might take offense at some small thing they said or did.

When he reached the edge of the highest wall in town, he gazed out across the ridges and rolling hills to the far horizon. The camps were abandoned now, the dead bodies of his enemies stacked in orderly rows. Ghosts meandered through the ruins, picking things up, laying them down. Most wept, but a few shouted angrily. How strange. He remembered a time, long ago, when he could not see the dead. Now they were as real to him as the living.

The black haze that covered the stacked bodies drew his attention. When he squinted at it, it resolved into a big flock of well-fed ravens.

He’d been magnanimous this time, generous to a fault, and granted freedom to those slaves brave enough to clean up the rotting bodies. His only requirement was that, after they’d completed their tasks, they go home to their own people. By now, he supposed, the slaves had either perished on the long walk home or they’d carried the fever to new enemy villages. Which would be a great boon.

Or would it?

He scratched his wrinkled throat as he considered the matter, and had the vague sense that he’d thought of all this before. Maybe even discussed it with his advisers and suffered through their rants of disagreement. But, if so, he could not recall the discussions.

The rhythmic cracks of antler-tine hammers striking chert and obsidian cores carried across town. Down in the plaza, he saw men knapping arrow points, knives, fleshers, and other tools.

“What about the signal stations?”

The Sunwatcher glanced at Leather Hand. “As you instructed, we dispatched teams to repair them. Two warriors will remain at each station to keep them secure and make certain messages get through.”

“How long ago were they dispatched?”

“Two days ago, Blessed Sun. I told you the instant they were dispatched.”

Cub glanced uneasily at Leather Hand, which made him grimace in return. All his advisers believed he was senile. The traitors.

“Then, by now, they have repaired the closest stations.”

“Yes,” Cub said with a nod, “but it will take at least one-half moon to repair them all the way to the lands of the Canyon People.”

Leather Hand grunted in disapproval. “That’s too long. Tell High War Chief Stinger I said so.”

“Of course.”

A gust of wind tore through the cottonwoods down along the river and veils of yellow leaves whipped across the hills. “No word from my daughter or Maicoh?”

“No, Blessed Sun. You ordered me to update you every morning over breakfast, which I faithfully do. I’m sure they are still many days away and traveling a route where there are no operating signal stations.”

Leather Hand clutched the knob of his walking stick and leaned onto it. Despite the bitter concoctions brewed by his Healers, his hips and knees ached constantly.

“Where’s my fetish? Have you found it yet?”

Cub looked like a twenty-three-summers-old child. His shoulders hunched forward, and he nervously licked his lips. It especially annoyed Leather Hand because there was a hint of guilt to it.

“Your priests and priestesses have searched every chamber, Blessed Sun, but to no avail.”

“You must find it!”

“I’ll make sure they understand your urgency, Blessed Sun.”

A dire possibility occurred to him. “Dear gods! Do you think someone stole it?”

“Who would be brave enough? You’d eat them if they were discovered, and they know it.”

If he had not simply misplaced it, then someone must have stolen it. And it must have been a man or woman of high rank, for no ordinary slave would dare such a thing. Leather Hand’s problem was that there were too many possibilities to narrow it down.

“What about that dead priestess, the one killed in OwlClaw Village? What was her name?”

Cub looked shocked. “Priestess BoneDust. Why would you think of her? She was utterly loyal. She cannot be the culprit.”

“Are you sure? Didn’t I threaten to kill her? Maybe it was revenge.”

“You did threaten her, but she was still utterly devoted to you and the old gods. I would wager my life on it.”

Leather Hand fixed him with a slit-eyed glare. “Your life, eh?”

Cub paled. Squaring his shoulders, he said, “The dead priestess could not have taken it.”

Leather Hand’s knees started to quake. “Why are you defending her so fiercely? You didn’t collude with her, did you? Maybe you took it and gave it to her?”

“Of course not! I am innocent. I’m sure you just misplaced it, and we will find it.”

Leather Hand spread his feet to brace himself and gripped his walking stick harder. “I’m growing weaker. Can you feel it? Without my breath-heart soul close at hand, my strength is failing. My memory is failing. When I lie down at night, I feel like a weight has dropped on my chest. My lungs can’t find enough air to breathe.”

“We will find it, Blessed Sun.”

“For your sake, I hope so. Without that fetish, Nightshade’s soul pot is irrelevant. Find it.”

“We will. I g-give you my oath,” Cub stammered. His breathing had gone shallow.

Leather Hand turned away. In the middle of the ridge to the south, across the Spirit River valley, a rumpled band of flowering rabbitbrush formed a yellow sash, but he saw nothing moving out there. Except birds. Flapping birds. Cawing birds. Eating dead bodies.

When the wind changed direction, it brought with it the stench of rotting human flesh. He lifted his sleeve over his nose.

“When will those bodies be buried?”

Cub straightened his back. “You freed all our slaves, Blessed Sun. Except for your personal slaves, they are all gone. As soon as we acquire more, we will—”

“What about some of our surplus potters or weavers? Surely we can spare a handful.”

Cub’s gaze slid sideways to meet Leather Hand’s hard eyes. “If we order the citizens within our own walls to go out there to perform the duties of slaves, they will consider it a betrayal. They’ll tear us all to pieces, and no number of warriors will be able to stop them.” He paused to take a breath. “Besides, we have no surplus. Our women are making pots as quickly as they can. And the men are weaving fabrics and making arrow points in every spare moment—”

“You’re right. Never mind. That was a bad idea,” Leather Hand admitted. He really was becoming a dull-wit; it worried him. If he started sacrificing his own people on menial tasks, eventually not even his legendary White Moccasins would be able to protect him. To comfort himself, he looked around the plaza and walls, noting where each of his elite warriors stood. They were distinctive with their knee-high snowy moccasins and arrogant walks.

Cocking his head to look up at Cub, Leather Hand said, “You are one of my few advisers brave enough to tell me the truth. I’m lucky to have you advising me, Sunwatcher.”

Cub relaxed a little. “I try to provide wise counsel, Blessed Sun.”

Leather Hand reached out and placed bony fingers on the man’s forearm, making Cub flinch. “Tell High War Chief Stinger to send a small detachment up the trails to find Maicoh and escort him here safely.”

Cub bowed. “Of course, Blessed Sun.”