Eleven

In front of their house, Cornsilk stood quietly in the morning light while her mother draped a red-and-white striped cape around her shoulders. Thistle had been fussing with Cornsilk’s clothing and pack ever since they’d finished breakfast, over a hand of time ago, making certain she had enough food and water, that her extra clothing would equal any change of weather.

People watched from the roofs of Lanceleaf Village, shading their eyes against the morning sun. All were curious, but too polite to ask the real reason for Cornsilk and Fledgling’s departure.

Thistle retied the laces on Cornsilk’s pack—for the second time—and grimaced. Her mother always fiddled with things when she had something to say but hadn’t yet decided how to put it.

Thistle wore a deep reddish brown dress; the color came from a dye made with ripe prickly pear fruit. A tan blanket draped her shoulders.

“You look beautiful, my daughter,” her mother said. “Don’t forget to tell Deer Bird that this will only be for a short time. Just until we know for certain whether the Tower Builders plan to attack us or not. When we know we’re safe, we’ll come and get you.” She stroked Cornsilk’s hair tenderly. “I miss you already. I must have you back in my life as soon as possible.”

Cornsilk gazed into her mother’s agonized face. Lines etched the skin around her dark eyes, and she looked as if she might cry. “Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll be fine. I should be going. Fledgling is already waiting for me on the trail.”

“Yes, I know, but…” Her mother spread her hands the way she did when coming to an important decision. “Just a moment, Cornsilk.”

Thistle ducked into the house, draping the curtain over its peg. Through the open doorway, Cornsilk could see her as she crossed to the big painted pot at the foot of her bed. She lifted the stone that weighted the top, set it on the floor with a solid thump, and dug around inside.

Cornsilk swallowed hard. She’d never seen anyone open that pot! From her earliest memories, her parents had forbidden her to touch it. For once, she had obeyed. Strange sounds came from that pot late at night, hisses and taps, as if something alive were trapped in there. Something dangerous enough to require that huge rock to keep it in.

Her mother pulled out a folded blanket and held it to her heart before ducking back outside. “Cornsilk,” she said, “if something happens to you or Fledgling—and nothing will, but just in case—I wish you to have this. It’s very precious to me.”

Cornsilk watched in awe as her mother unfolded the blanket. Polished chunks of turquoise studded the centers of the red, black, and blue diamonds that had been woven into the cotton fabric. Copper bells jingled at each corner.

“Where did it come from?” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

Thistle carefully tucked it into Cornsilk’s pack, then retied the laces once more. “It was a gift to me many sun cycles ago.”

Cornsilk girded herself, carefully considered the question, then looked at Thistle. “A gift … from my real mother?”

Thistle’s hands hovered over Cornsilk’s pack. A difficult swallow went down her throat. “Cornsilk … forgive me. I always meant to tell you.”

Tears filled Cornsilk’s eyes. The admission was like a blow to her stomach. She couldn’t speak. She stood there in silence, her mouth open, as the tears spilled hotly down her cheeks.

“Oh, Cornsilk.” Thistle left the pack on the ground and rose to embrace her. Holding Cornsilk tightly, she kissed her hair and whispered, “I love you so much. You will always be my daughter, even if I am not your birth mother. I—”

“Who is?” Cornsilk gazed up at her. “Who is my mother? And my father?” Desperation tickled the base of her throat. She had to know this.

Thistle shook her head. “I don’t know. Truly. I wish I did.” Gently, she stroked Cornsilk’s back. “When you return, I will tell you everything I know, and all the things I suspect. For now, remember that … that I did not tell you before because I feared for your safety. If my suspicions are true, you would make a great prize, or a target for some ambitious warrior, Cornsilk. Tell no one about this. Promise me.” When Cornsilk just stared at her, Thistle demanded, “Promise me! You must not even tell Fledgling. No one! Do you understand?”

Cornsilk managed to nod. “Yes.”

Thistle lifted the pack and held it out for Cornsilk. Numb, she slipped her arms through the shoulder straps and knelt to retrieve her bow and quiver from where they leaned against the wall by the door. She slung her quiver over her left shoulder.

“Mother, I wish you to know that I love you more now than I ever have. For … for all the kindness you have shown me. I promise to take very good care of that blanket.”

Thistle put her hands on either side of Cornsilk’s face and said, “There is one more thing, my daughter: if you are ever in trouble and need help…” Words seemed to have evaporated from her lips. Finally, her gaze hardened and she continued, “If you are ever desperate, take that blanket to Talon Town and present it to the great priest Sternlight. Tell him that I gave it to you. He will understand.”

“But isn’t he a witch? Why would—”

“Don’t ask me, my daughter. I can tell you only that I believe he will help you.”

Questions plagued Cornsilk, and things she longed to say. Was Sternlight her father? Where was her mother? Still at Talon Town? Why had neither of them ever come to see her? Even secretly, just to get a glimpse of their little girl?… Didn’t they care about her?

She hugged Thistle’s shoulders. “I love you, Mother. I’ll see you soon.”

In a strained voice, Thistle answered, “I know you will. I love you, too.”

With their arms around each other, they looked down over the familiar sights of Lanceleaf Village—the square of buildings that enclosed the plaza, the kiva that made a circle on the ground to the left. Two old men leaned against the ladder that stuck up through the roof of the holy structure, smiling, talking. A group of laughing children raced across the plaza with dogs barking and leaping at their heels.

Cornsilk turned to the road where Fledgling stood with their father. Beargrass wore a long gray shirt and red leggings. His black braid hung down his back.

“Fledgling is very frightened by all this,” her mother said as they walked. “You are braver than he is, Cornsilk. Please, try to ease his fears as you walk him toward the split in the road.”

Cornsilk squinted against the sun. Her heart had gone dead in her chest. “Should I walk him all the way to Grandfather Standing Gourd’s village?”

“No, just to the split in the road. Deer Bird expects you to arrive before dark tonight. He’ll be worried if you’re late.”

“All right, mother, I—”

Her mother suddenly hugged her so hard it forced the air from her lungs. Cornsilk jumped in surprise.

“Oh, my daughter,” Thistle said as she nuzzled her cheek against Cornsilk’s. “You are my joy. Never forget that.”

Cornsilk kissed her mother’s temple. “I love you, Mother. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. And so will Fledgling. I won’t let anyone hurt him. He is like … he is my brother. We’ll see you when the threat of war is over.”

Thistle released Cornsilk, her dark eyes moist. At that moment, Leafhopper ran from the gate with little Brave Boy sprinting at her heels. Five summers old, Brave Boy wore a perpetual grin. Leafhopper, however, looked sad. Every time one of her feet hit the ground, her chin-length black hair flapped over her ears like wings, and her chunky body jiggled.

“Cornsilk!” Leafhopper cried as she threw her arms around her. “You were leaving without saying good-bye?”

“I’ll only be gone for a short time, Leafhopper.”

“I know, but I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. Try to stay out of trouble.”

“I will … if you’ll promise not to let any raiders catch you.”

Cornsilk forced a smile, remembering what her mother had said about her being a prize or a target. “I won’t. I promise.”

Brave Boy grabbed Cornsilk around the leg and squeezed. “Goodbye, Cornsilk.”

She brushed tangled hair away from his round face and smiled at him. “Try to be good, all right?”

He looked up with wide eyes. “I will. And I won’t play hoop-and-stick with anyone else while you are gone!”

“I will miss you, Brave Boy.”

He grinned, said, “Good-bye, Cornsilk,” and raced away toward the village.

Leafhopper reached out to touch Cornsilk’s arm. “Come home soon.”

“I will, Leafhopper.” Cornsilk indicated the watching people with a jerk of her head. “No matter what they think about me being a witch, that’s not why I’m leaving.”

“I know,” Leafhopper said in a disbelieving voice. Then she backed away, turned, and ran for the plaza. Cornsilk watched until her friend disappeared through the gate.

“Ready?” her mother asked.

Cornsilk nodded and turned away.

Thistle held Cornsilk’s hand tightly for the rest of the walk. Fledgling and Beargrass were standing where the trail led off toward Deer Bird and Standing Gourd’s villages. From the looks of it, they’d been having a father–son talk. Fledgling clenched his fists nervously as they neared. Wind tousled the hem of his tan-and-brown cape. His brows, usually arched with mirth or curiosity, were drawn down above his pug nose.

Her father smiled. “Are you ready, Cornsilk?”

“Yes, F-father. Don’t worry about us.” When the word “father” stuck in her throat, Beargrass frowned.

He leaned down, cupped her chin with his hand, and looked at her with love in his eyes. “I’ll worry every instant you’re away. Protect yourself for me.”

Cornsilk hugged him hard. “I will, Father. You and Mother take care of each other for us, too.”

“We will.”

Her father patted Cornsilk’s back, rose, and cocked his head at Fledgling. Her brother looked miserable. He fumbled with the quiver over his shoulder, then ran his hand down the smooth wood of the bow tied to his belt. Tears filled his eyes.

Cornsilk winked at him. They had planned well. They would run straight past the fork in the road and head for the rock shelters that hollowed out the cliffs a half day’s walk to the south. They had camped there with their parents last summer, and knew it to be a beautiful place. A cool spring bubbled up from the sandstone, and fragrant juniper trees blocked Wind Baby’s evil antics.

“Come on,” she called to Fledgling. “I’ll race you to the split in the road!”

Cornsilk took off like a fleet-footed antelope, dust puffing beneath her sandals. She ran with all her heart, ran until the ache in her breast was overwhelmed by the panting of her air-starved lungs.

Fledgling pounded behind her, but she could hear him crying.

They turned around only once, on the crest of the hill, to wave to their parents. Then they sped down the other side toward the juniper grove that marked the split in the road.

*   *   *

Beargrass put his arm around Thistle. As though his attempt at comfort brought pain, she wept, but her eyes never left the horizon.

Tiny clouds of dust sprouted from the opposite side of the hill. Thistle’s gaze clung to each one. In the crystal blue sky above, two golden eagles soared, their wings glinting in the sunlight. Beyond rose the cliffs of Little Runt Canyon. At this time of day, shades of mauve, violet, and deep red glimmered. Ghosts Danced there, whirling and shaking human fingerbone rattles.

Beargrass rubbed his chin over Thistle’s dark hair. “It’s all right. While you fed them, I spoke with Stone Forehead. He’ll check on both of them tomorrow on his way to Talon Town. If anything is wrong, if they got lost or hurt, he’s promised to let us know.”

Thistle slipped arms around his waist and embraced him. “I thank the blessed thlatsinas for you. Did you know that? Every day of my life.”