Fifty

Tsilu

A muscular man with a heavily scarred face edges around the Blessed Sun and strides forward with Wasp Moth behind him. When they enter the chamber, the scarred man orders, “I am High War Chief Stinger. Remove all your packs, belt bags, and any other personal items you’ve brought into this chamber. Wasp Moth, collect them and pile them somewhere out of reach.”

This must be standard procedure for all guests entering the Blessed Sun’s presence. Pulling Kwinsi’s pack from my shoulder, I give it to Wasp Moth as he moves around the firebowl, collecting each person’s possessions. When he reaches Maicoh, my brother places a hand protectively on the Wolf Bundle and shakes his head.

“I’m not giving you the bundle.”

“You will give it to me, or—”

“I will not. It’s the first thing the Blessed Sun will wish to see. Besides, she’s ordered me not to give you the bundle.”

Wasp Moth’s extended hand wavers.

Stinger glances at him and walks forward with his war club in a tight fist. “Who? Who ordered—”

In unison, Wasp Moth and Blue Dove say, “Nightshade.”

Stinger’s gaze lowers to the rounded shape inside the bundle. “Are you telling me her soul pot—”

“Let him keep it,” Blue Dove orders. “He’s right. It’s the first thing Father will wish to see.”

Stinger bows and backs away. “As you command, Blessed daughter.”

Wasp Moth carries the rest of our belongings over and unceremoniously dumps them before the Black Ogres, then both warriors leave.

Voices rise outside as warriors leap to form two lines, creating a pathway for the king to walk to his chambers. They resemble ants as they scurry against a background of night sky.

When I see him clearly for the first time, it’s a shock. Leather Hand the Cannibal, the man I have feared all my life, looks nothing like I imagined. Old, hunched over, with sparse white hair clinging to his age-spotted scalp. The way his mouth sinks in over his gums, I know he’s toothless. Frail and ancient, he’s barely a shadow of the grand legendary war chief who had once terrorized the land.

With agonizing slowness, the Blessed Sun props his walking stick and starts forward down the aisle.

Blue Dove waits until he stands silhouetted in the doorway, then runs up to embrace him. “Father!”

The Blessed Sun endures the embrace for barely a heartbeat before he shoves her aside. “Where is Maicoh?”

“The albino claims to be Maicoh.” She backs away. “Stand up, you fools!”

As my brother rises to his feet, he bows. “I am Maicoh, Blessed Sun.”

Leather Hand gives him a distasteful appraisal, then slowly hobbles across the chamber.

In the meantime, Crane and I help Grandfather totter to his feet. He has to brace his legs to stay upright. His breathing is ragged, tortured. The pain in his swollen knees must be unbearable.

The Blessed Sun stops in front of Maicoh and studies his long white hair and too-white skin, then moves over his dusty clothing. My brother’s blue cape appears purple in the reddish gleam.

“You are Maicoh?”

My brother respectfully inclines his head. “I am.”

Grandfather’s trembling is growing worse. I hold tight to his arm, supporting him, but I fear that very soon he’s going to collapse.

When I glance up worriedly, I discover that Grandfather is gazing down at me with love in his eyes. He whispers, “Just a small step along the Blessed path, Tsilu.”

“What…”

The young man named Cub enters the chamber and walks straight to the Blessed Sun to take his elbow in a steadying grip. “Let me help you to the pallet, Blessed Sun.”

“Yes, I need to sit down.”

Leather Hand allows the man to guide him to the thick coyote hides that cover his sleeping pallet on the north side of the firebowl. After he eases Leather Hand down atop the hides, the young man turns to us. “I am Sunwatcher Cub. We welcome you to Flowing Waters Town. May we get you food or—”

“They won’t need food,” Leather Hand interrupts him. “Now, go stand somewhere out of my sight. I hate looking at you. The rest of you may sit down.”

The Sunwatcher bows and retreats to stand behind Leather Hand, right in front of Cold Bringing Woman.

“You can let go of me now, Tsilu,” Grandfather whispers.

“But, Grandfather—”

“Thank you for helping me.”

I reluctantly release him, and Grandfather almost topples forward into the firebowl.

“Grand—!”

“I’m all right.” He smiles at me, manages to regain his footing, and lowers himself back to the elk hide.

I drop beside him and slide closer, pressing my shoulder against his, so he can brace himself against me. Crane sits on the other side. My brother kneels beside Blue Dove, near the teapot hanging from the tripod, but his gaze is on Grandfather. For the first time, I see fear in his eyes.

“You must be thirsty, Father.” Blue Dove fills a tea cup and hands it to him. “After convening with your priests—”

“Set it down. I don’t wish to hold it.”

“Of—of course, Father.” She places the steaming cup on the floor within his reach. “I want to assure you that Maicoh carries Nightshade’s soul pot in that wretched old bag tied to his belt, but you should also know that when we were out on the trail, we—”

“Produce it,” Leather Hand orders and glares suspiciously at Maicoh. “I don’t believe it. Nor do I believe you are Maicoh. None of the stories I’ve heard, and I’ve heard hundreds over the summers, ever mentioned that Maicoh was an albino.”

“I said the same thing, Father! In fact, I accused him of being a charla—”

Leather Hand shouts, “If you speak one more time without my permission, I will have you whipped to within a hair’s breadth of your life. If you weren’t the last female who can carry on the line, you’d already be dead.”

“F-Forgive me, Father.” Blue Dove lowers her eyes to the firebowl.

Her personality has completely changed. Out on the trail she was arrogant and Powerful, but here, in the presence of her father, she reminds me of a pathetic child. My thoughts spin, trying to figure this out. Long ago, Grandfather told me that the rulers of the Straight Path nation, the First People, traced their female lineage back three hundred summers. Such dynasties do not exist among the Canyon People, so it’s hard for me to imagine what that means. Except for the fact that Blue Dove and her future husband are destined to rule after Leather Hand the Cannibal is gone.

The Blessed Sun extends both hands and wiggles knobby fingers toward Maicoh. “Put it in my hands.”

While my brother unties and draws open the laces of the Wolf Bundle, I stare at the veins that crawl across the king’s hands like distended blue worms.

Gently, reverently, Maicoh removes the black pot from the bag. He whispers to it before he gives it to the king, and it occurs to me that the most evil witch on earth now possesses the most Powerful Spirit object on earth.

As Leather Hand brings it back to his lap, his faded old eyes widen. “Blessed gods, this is it. I saw this pot in the old woman’s hands many times. It was filled with gray datura paste.”

Blessed Sun rotates the pot in his lap.

Crane finally takes the lull as an opportunity to lean forward. “Blessed Sun, may we speak of the reward? I led Blue Dove to Tocho who had the pot. So, you see, I deserve—”

“Shut your mouth! You…” Leather Hand’s eyes suddenly narrow and he stares hard at Crane, as though he vaguely recognizes him. “Do I know you?”

“No, Blessed Sun, but—”

“Then get out!” He flings an arm out as though to wipe the room clean. “All of you. Out!”

Sunwatcher Cub steps forward with his hands out to urge us to leave. “I’ll escort you to your chamber. The Blessed Sun has had a long day and needs his rest. He’ll speak with you tomorrow.”

Just before we step outside into the night, I see Leather Hand lift the pot, place it against his lips, and laugh against the ceramic exterior: “Greetings, old enemy.”