Fourteen

Father Sun had vanished from the sky, but echoes of his brilliance lingered, reflecting from the flat faces of the cliffs, turning the juniper-filled hollow where Cornsilk and Fledgling sat into a luminous mosaic of purple, deep green, and the palest of golds.

Cornsilk pulled her red-and-white cloak tight about her shoulders. They couldn’t have found a more perfect place. Water bubbled up from the sandstone and trickled down a pine-choked crevice in the rock. A small pool glistened at the base of the slope, surrounded by deer, rabbit, and bird tracks. It made hunting easy. They had already snared a rabbit for dinner.

While Fledgling skinned and rinsed the animal in the cool water, Cornsilk removed a handful of charred cotton from her pack, along with two chert cobbles. A shallow depression in the sandstone had old charcoal in it. She cleaned it out and mounded up her cotton, then carefully sprinkled dried pine needles and twigs over the top. You couldn’t add too many, or the tinder would smother the cotton and it would just smoke, rather than catching fire. She reached for her cobbles and struck them sharply against each other. They sparked. After several attempts, the cotton smoldered, then flared. Cornsilk quickly put her cobbles aside and bent to blow on it.

Orange flames crackled through the pine needles and licked up around the twigs. She added larger and larger pieces of wood until she had a good blaze going, then moved their tea tripod to the edge of the flames to warm. She had collected shriveled rose hips and juniper berries and added them to the water earlier. The gut bag swung, creaking.

“Fledgling?” she called. “How is the rabbit coming?”

Fledgling held up the skinned carcass, smiling. “Almost ready.”

His stubby hands caught the sunset gleam as he lowered the rabbit to the pool and rinsed it one last time. He had their mother’s broad cheekbones and their father’s eyes, but his own pug nose. Long black hair fell down his back, blending with the charcoal diamonds woven into his tan shirt. He looks so much like them. I don’t. Why have I never seen that before?

Uncertainty gnawed at her soul. Cornsilk surveyed their camp. Junipers, she decided, could grow anywhere. The smallest dirt-filled gap in the stone held a tree twice her height. As the cool of evening deepened, they released their sweet scent and set it loose on the wind.

Fledgling walked back and knelt beside her. “Where’s that sharp blade you had?”

“Here, in my pack.” Cornsilk drew out her obsidian blade. As long as her hand, it was only a finger-width across.

“I’ll hold the rabbit,” Fledgling said, “if you’ll butcher it.” He pulled a back leg straight and held it out for her.

Cornsilk carefully sliced through the pink muscles and down to the leg joint. She had to work her blade through the tough tendons to get inside the joint, pop it loose, and continue through the meat on the opposite side of the joint.

The leg came off in Fledgling’s right hand and the remainder of the rabbit swung in his left. “Let’s cut off the other hind leg, and save the rest for breakfast.”

“All right. Here—let me skewer that leg and get it started. Then I’ll cut off the other one.”

Cornsilk pulled a long thin stick from the woodpile by the firepit and slid it through the leg. She propped it near the edge of the flames and picked up her blade again.

As she cut, Fledgling looked up at the twilight sky. “It might be a clear night. If so, it’s going to get very cold.”

“Hard frost by morning.” She watched her blade to make certain she didn’t slice off any of her brother’s fingers. “After we eat, we’ll gather more wood, then we’ll move our blankets close. We’ll be all right.” She glanced up and saw Fledgling’s brows draw together in worry. “What’s wrong, brother?”

The leg came off in Cornsilk’s hand and she reached for another stick from the woodpile. Fledgling watched her slip the stick through the tendons on the lower leg and lean it close to the flames. The first piece of rabbit already sizzled, dripping fat onto the gleaming coals. It smelled delicious.

Fledgling rose and took the rest of the rabbit carcass to the nearest tree. Removing the cord he wore as a belt, he tied it to the rabbit’s forelegs and looped it around a high branch, to keep the meat from hungry animals. After he’d knotted the cord, he turned. The carcass swung behind him. “You’ve been very quiet,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

Cornsilk longed to tell him how confused she felt, that she was the hidden child, but she’d promised her mother. She looked away, tucked her chert cobbles in her pack beneath the magnificent turquoise-studded blanket, then leaned back against the pack to watch the fire glow flicker over the towering cliff. The light moved like silent golden wings, fluttering, swooping. “I’m just tired, Fledgling.”

“Cornsilk?” Fledgling returned and sat cross-legged beside her. His hair fell over his skinny chest. “I’ve been thinking.”

Cornsilk reached for their clay cups, sitting close to the tripod, and used hers as a dipper. She filled her brother’s cup first, handed it to him, then dipped out her own. The rich fragrance of rose hips encircled her face as she sniffed the steaming brew. “About what?”

Fledgling looked at her over the rim of his cup. “Do you remember much from when we were little?”

Cold leeched up from the rock, biting at her legs like tiny teeth. She shifted to a new position. “No, not very much.” And how I wish I did.

“Do you remember that Mother and Father said we were born at Talon Town?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“I remember many things,” he said, “but nothing of Talon Town.”

“Why would you? Mother said we left there right after we were born. It would be stranger if you did remember it.”

Wind Baby barely breathed tonight, tenderly touching the juniper and pine needles, fanning the flames of their fire. The scent of faraway rain carried on the breeze.

“Do you think people there remember us?” Fledgling asked.

“Somebody must.”

The gleam of the fire tipped his lashes as he looked over at her. “I was wondering if Ironwood would recognize … one of us.”

Fear prickled her veins. “And I wonder if any of Ironwood’s enemies would recognize us.”

Fledgling fumbled with the fringe on his blanket. “I know it’s dangerous, but I—”

“You or I could end up dead.”

A pained look creased Fledgling’s face. “Cornsilk, I must know who my parents are. I—I want to go. To ask Ironwood myself.”

Cornsilk turned both rabbit sticks, taking her time so she could think. “Fledgling, I have been asking myself many questions over the past two days, and the scariest question of all is about Ironwood. I mean, haven’t you wondered why he would give up his child?”

“Yes.”

“He was War Chief, even then. Such a powerful man could have kept his child if he’d wished to. Couldn’t he?”

“You mean he wanted to be rid of me, don’t you?” Fledgling looked miserable.

Cornsilk used her charred poker to draw slithering black designs on the sandstone around her feet. They resembled a nest of baby snakes. “You or me.”

“Maybe he didn’t wish to give me up, but someone told him he had to.”

“Who?” Cornsilk scoffed. “Only an idiot would dare to tell the War Chief to get rid of his child.”

“An idiot or someone more powerful than the War Chief.”

Cornsilk had to fight to keep from pulling the pack from behind her back. The turquoise-studded blanket had been filling her dreams, as if it had a soul, and were struggling to speak with her. “Who?”

Fledgling leaned toward her to breathe, “Crow Beard. Ironwood would have done anything the Chief ordered him to.”

“It’s possible, but why would the Blessed Sun demand such a thing?”

“Incest?”

Fear fluttered in her chest. “No.” She shook her head. “If incest were involved, they would have just killed the child. Or—”

“Maybe it wasn’t incest,” Fledgling said. “Maybe Ironwood mated with one of the First People. A child from such a union would bring great shame on the First People.”

Cornsilk studied the roasting rabbit legs. That actually made sense. She turned and squinted at her brother. “Which of the First People at Talon Town would stoop to coupling with a lowly Bear Clan man?”

Fledgling frowned into his cup. “I’ve only met one of the First People in my life,” he said. “Do you remember him?”

“Who?”

“The Blessed Webworm. He hasn’t come in many summers, but he used to stop at Lanceleaf once every other spring. I remember because Father laughed a lot at the stories Webworm told.”

Cornsilk searched her memory. Many old friends, both male and female, surprised her parents with visits. “Wait … was he a warrior?”

“Yes.”

Cornsilk’s thoughts soured. She did remember him. He used to look at her very strangely—as though she were a grown woman instead of a child. He had frightened her. When Webworm visited, Cornsilk had always stayed very close to her mother. “Perhaps he came to keep an eye on you, or me?”

“I don’t know, but—”

They both jumped when a man stepped out of the shadows, tall and muscular, with two short braids that fell to his broad shoulders. He took another step toward them, and firelight gleamed along the yellow threads in his long shirt, as if he were netted all over with a web of flame.

“Stone Forehead!” Fledgling yelled as he leaped to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

The warrior trudged forward. “I have been tracking you since early yesterday morning.” Dirt caked his face.

“Why?”

Stone Forehead crouched by the fire and extended his hands to warm them. “I am on my way to Talon Town, and your parents asked me to check on you, to make certain you had reached your relatives’ villages. At the split in the road, I knew you’d had other plans.” He shook a finger at no one in particular. “Which one of you decided to climb through every rock outcrop on the way here? I nearly broke my ankle!”

Fledgling glanced at Cornsilk.

“Well,” she said, “we didn’t wish anyone to track us. How did you?”

Stone Forehead smiled. “Every so often the yucca bottoms of your sandals left a light-colored scratch on the sandstone. But it took me forever to work out your trail.”

Cornsilk grumbled, “I knew we should have worn our moccasins.”

“They don’t turn the cactus as well as sandals,” Fledgling said, “and we waded through a thorny sea today.”

“Are you hungry, Stone Forehead?” Cornsilk asked, and gestured to the half-butchered rabbit in the tree. “We could cut off another leg for you.”

“No.” He held up a hand. “I have been chewing jerky for the past hand of time. But I could use some of that delicious-smelling tea.”

Cornsilk said, “Where’s your cup?”

He shrugged out of his pack, unlaced the top, and dug around until he found it, then bent forward, filled it, and drank. Steam bathed his face. He refilled his cup and drank some more. “This is very good,” he said.

Fledgling smiled.

Cornsilk, however, watched him glumly. Her parents had said they wanted to hire him to go to Talon Town to monitor happenings there and notify them if Crow Beard died. Her parents must also have feared Cornsilk might do something unpredictable—as was her habit. On the one hand, their concern warmed Cornsilk’s heart, and on the other …

“Stone Forehead.” An unpleasant tickle taunted her stomach, as if doom had walked in with him. “Now that you’ve found us, what are you supposed to do?”

He stretched his stocky body out across the sandstone and gestured with his cup. The glow of the fire sheathed his dark eyes with a sunrise sheen. “Your parents said to make certain you got to your relatives’ villages. Tomorrow morning that is what I will do. We will walk back to the fork in the road, then I’ll—”

“You’re going to drag us away, even though we don’t wish to go!” Cornsilk said indignantly.

Stone Forehead grinned, his white teeth flashing in the firelight. “Exactly. At the point of an arrow, if necessary.”

Cornsilk reached over, took the two sticks with rabbit legs, and thrust one into Fledgling’s hand. He took it sullenly.

She sank her teeth into the hot meat. As she chewed, she glowered at Stone Forehead. “It’s a good thing you brought your own food.”

Stone Forehead grinned. “You’ve always been a problem. I expected—”

“And a good thing you brought your bow,” she added, “because I’m not going.”

The twinkle vanished from Stone Forehead’s eyes. “What are you talking about? You have no choice.”

“You mean you’re going to kill me? Perhaps beat me into submission? I can’t wait to see the look on my parents’ faces when they hear the news.”

“Cornsilk,” Stone Forehead warned, “don’t force me—”

“Go ahead.” She smiled evilly at him. “Try to force me to go.”

Stone Forehead jumped to his feet. “So help me, Cornsilk, I swear, you’ve … Ever since that time you shot those four grouse when I only shot one, I knew you were impossible!” He threw up his hands. “By the Blessed Ones! You are the most stubborn woman I have ever known!” He glared at her through weary eyes, shoulders slumped in defeat. “What did I ever see in you in the first place?”

She lifted a shoulder.

“Cornsilk, you will shame me! Is that what you wish? To make me look bad before our entire village?”

She smiled and took another juicy bite of rabbit.