Sixteen

Webworm knelt in the doorway of the Blessed Sun’s chamber, keeping guard, his gaze drifting over the land beyond Talon Town. Frost coated the fallow fields and lay upon the golden ledges of the canyon. Every flat rock shone. Down near the wash, the people bustled in Streambed Town. Like Talon Town, Streambed Town curved in a huge half-moon shape, but it was much smaller. About eighty people lived there. Priests dressed in white stood in the plaza, along with several brown-clothed slaves. Cottony tufts of cloud hovered just above the canyon rim.

What a magnificent morning—not that he could enjoy it. The Chief’s chamber overflowed with whispering dignitaries, all waiting for the Blessed Sun to breathe his last. Webworm secretly wished the Chief would just do it. Then he and everyone else in Talon Town could get back to their normal lives.

His gaze drifted to the empty plaza, where slender coils of smoke rose from the kiva roof entries. The smell of burning juniper wafted up to him. He inhaled deeply and shivered against the chill. What he would give to be down there.

Sternlight said something soft, inaudible. Creeper asked, “What? Is he waking?”

“No,” Sternlight answered. “It was just a moan.”

Creeper glanced at Webworm and they exchanged an exasperated look. Webworm liked Creeper, despite the fat little man’s peculiarities. Creeper had a bad habit of overhearing private conversations and repeating every word. But he had always treated Webworm with kindness and respect, probably because Creeper was in love with Webworm’s mother, Featherstone.

Badgerbow, of the Coyote Clan, leaned against the south wall, a blanket over his shoulders. His knee-length kirtle had been painted with thunderclouds and mountains. He had brought twelve bunches of prayer feathers to hang from the ceiling.

Webworm watched the sacred offerings trembling in the air currents of the room.

Creeper hunched forward like a small black bear, hissing in Badgerbow’s ear. Badgerbow nodded. He had a long misshapen face, deeply scarred in battle, and only half a head of black hair. He had been poorly scalped by the Mogollon many sun cycles before, leaving the pitted bone of his skull naked on the left side of his head.

On the walls, the thlatsinas watched and listened, their painted bodies reflecting the sunlight that flooded the room. Webworm studied them warily. People said they were holy, but Webworm felt only evil coming from those masked figures. The Wolf Thlatsina had his fangs bared, his ears pricked, his yellow eyes wide and alert. No matter where Webworm moved in the chamber, Wolf tracked him, as though distrustful of Webworm’s presence.

He glared at the gaudy thlatsina. Though the bestial figure had a wolf’s head, his body was human, the lower arms and legs painted black with white spots. His chest shone pure white. If I were Chief, false god, I would replaster the walls over the top of you, burying you forever. You would never look at anyone that way again.

Wolf’s eyes glimmered, and a faint smile seemed to turn up the corners of the thlatsina’s muzzle. Or a snarl?

Webworm’s fingers tightened around the deerbone stiletto tied to his belt.

“In beauty it is begun,” Sternlight softly Sang. “In beauty it is begun.”

Sternlight walked around the dying Chief, sprinkling cornmeal to the four directions. Despite his forty-three summers, the priest looked remarkably young. He had bathed at dawn and left his waist-length hair loose. Against the pure white of his long shirt, it glinted blacker than black.

Soon, Webworm promised. Very soon. I will expose you for the witch you are, cousin.

After Wraps-His-Tail’s death, Webworm had searched everywhere for Sternlight, without success. The Buffalo Dancers had seen him leave the Chief’s chamber, but he had not been in his room when Ironwood ordered he be found. Half a hand of time later, Sternlight had walked up the trail from the wash, humming pleasantly, his white shirt blazing in the starlight.

And had the audacity to say he had not even heard the commotion!

“He’s waking,” Night Sun said.

She sat in the northwestern corner, her graying black hair twisted into a bun on top of her head. Her triangular face with its long eyelashes had gone deathly pale. She wore a scarlet dress fringed with seashells.

“No, he’s not, Mother.” Snake Head sat on the floor beside her. Starkly handsome, he had a perfect oval face, large dark eyes, and full lips. A priceless purple shirt decorated with copper bells and macaw feathers draped his tall body. “It was just a deception of the light. A cloud moved across the face of Father Sun. That’s all.”

Webworm had to bite his lip to keep it from twisting in disgust.

Snake Head’s haughtiness grated on him like sandstone on raw flesh. The man had never suffered, not in his entire twenty-four summers. He had been treated as delicately as a precious Green Mesa pot. Because of that, he remained a boy in a man’s body. He was intolerant and quick to judge. As Snake Head gazed upon his dying father, he showed no emotion at all. He might have been gazing upon a dead rabbit—or been a dead rabbit himself. The youth cared for nothing. No … Webworm shook his head. That wasn’t quite true. Snake Head cared very much about his own enjoyment. More than anything, Snake Head relished watching people die.

Webworm peered out the doorway at the sunlit plaza and fervently prayed for Ironwood’s return.

People had emerged from their chambers and begun their daily duties. Slaves with water jugs walked down the dirt path that led to the wash. A few women had tumplines around their foreheads, bearing the weight of the cradleboards they wore on their backs. The whimpers of an infant carried on the air, high and breathless. Two old men, white-haired and hunched over, crossed the eastern plaza with small square looms and balls of cotton yarn under their arms. Webworm could hear their laughter.

Then he saw his own mother, Featherstone, roaming around outside the town. Wearing her best cape, made of buffalo fur and macaw feathers, she looked regal—like a woman on her way to a grand ceremony. And, perhaps, that’s where she thought she was. Webworm’s heart ached. Dark gray hair lay tangled around her withered face. She used her walking stick to tap the dusty ground, then hobbled around in a circle, her lips moving in words too distant to hear. At times, she could be completely lucid, loving, and funny … but she had bad days. Days when she didn’t even recognize Webworm, and begged over and over for him to tell her his name.

Love swelled within his soul. Featherstone had once been very Powerful. At the age of ten summers, she had been chosen by the priests of the Straight Path nation to be Sunwatcher. Then she had been captured by Fire Dog raiders, and they had clubbed her in the head so often that many of the cords which tethered her soul to her body had been severed; it hung by a thin thread now—sometimes in her body, other times gone.

Featherstone tripped over a rock and staggered. Webworm went rigid, fighting the impulse to rush to her, but she did not fall. She had fallen two summers ago and snapped a bone in her wrist. It still hurt her on cold days.

Sternlight knelt and placed his ear close to the Chief’s mouth. “His breath is about the length of my finger. He must be on the road to the skyworlds.”

Webworm glared at Sternlight. If my mother had not been captured and beaten by the Fire Dogs, she would be Sunwatcher now, and you would be nothing.

Creeper blinked his wide black eyes and whispered, “Look, Crow Beard’s moving!”

The Chief groaned.

Badgerbow sucked in a breath and edged forward expectantly. Night Sun rose to her feet, but did not approach. She stood in the corner with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her beautiful face tense. Snake Head remained sitting on the floor, eyes half-lidded. He watched his father like a warrior standing over a wounded enemy.

Sternlight leaned forward, and his long black hair framed his beautiful serene face. “Good morning, Crow Beard.”

“Dune? I wish … Dune.”

Sternlight answered, “The Derelict is not yet here. But he will be, soon. Swallowtail just returned to say they are coming, and the watchers in the signal towers reported two men on the north road. Give them perhaps another two hands of time. Dune is old.”

The bruised circles around the Blessed Sun’s eyes had turned black, making the rest of his face seem very pale. “His Bashing Rock … do you think he brought it?”

“Of course,” Sternlight replied in a comforting voice, and tucked the corners of the blanket around Crow Beard’s throat. “He promised you he would on your eighteenth bornday, didn’t he?”

“He’s getting old. Sometimes, he forgets.” The Chief’s head lolled sideways, and he squinted at Sternlight, as if trying to make out his features.

“He hasn’t forgotten about this, my chief. Now rest. They will be here before you—”

“My wife,” Crow Beard whispered. His age-spotted fingers fumbled at his blankets. “Where is … my wife?”

“Oh, Crow Beard.” Night Sun hurried forward like a woman who had just heard her death sentence commuted. She knelt by Crow Beard’s side and gripped his hand. “I am here, my husband.”

The chief seemed to be struggling to find the strength to speak. His eyes drifted before he could focus on her face. When he did, the lines of his forehead deepened. “Before I … I die,” he said. “I wish you to know … I—I forgive you.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I love you, Crow Beard. Don’t leave me.”

Breath rasped in his lungs. “Tell me … will you?”

Night Sun leaned closer to him. “Anything. What is it, my husband?”

“Almost seventeen … summers ago … I went to trade … with the Hohokam. When I returned … ten months later…”

Night Sun’s face suddenly went gray, and Webworm feared she might be about to faint. He got to his feet, preparing for the worst—and saw Snake Head smile grimly at his mother’s back.

She gripped her husband’s hand tighter. Against the brightly colored background of Dancing thlatsinas, Night Sun looked as still and grave as a corpse. “Yes? What about it?”

“I knew…” Crow Beard’s head dipped in a nod. “Could tell from the marks … on your belly.”

“W-what?” Night Sun exchanged a panicked glance with Sternlight, and Sternlight’s jaw set. “I had been sick, I—”

Crow Beard shook her hand weakly. “Do not lie … not now. Tell me … the child?”

“There is no child, Crow Beard,” Night Sun insisted. “I swear to you! That is the truth.”

The blanket over Crow Beard’s chest rose and fell rapidly. His breathing had gone shallow. “The child … where did you … put it?”

Webworm stared at the elders, but they appeared as stunned as he. Creeper’s round face had slackened until his mouth hung open. Badgerbow stood rigid, the bare half of his skull sickly yellow in the sun. Had Webworm understood correctly? A child? Night Sun had birthed a child nearly sixteen summers ago? While her husband had been gone? And Crow Beard knew nothing of the child’s fate? At the terrible implications Webworm’s muscles contracted, bulging through his red warrior’s shirt.

In a shaking voice, Night Sun said, “You are ill, my husband. You should sleep.”

Night Sun tried to rise, but Crow Beard’s fingers dug into her hand with a strength Webworm would not have thought he possessed. The Blessed Sun pulled his wife to the floor again, and Night Sun let out a small cry.

“Crow Beard, listen to me. Please! You do not know what you’re saying. There is no child. Let me go. Please, I—”

“A boy?” the Chief rasped. “Or a … a girl?”

Sternlight stepped forward with the silent grace of a deer. He dropped to Night Sun’s side. “My chief,” he said softly as he gently tried to pry Crow Beard’s fingers from Night Sun’s hand. The Chief fought him, tightening his hold. “Night Sun is tired. She has not left your side—”

“I must know!” Crow Beard demanded. “Tell me, Night Sun, or gods help you … I—I will never leave this place. I will walk at your side every day for the rest of your life. I will kill you … over and over … in your dreams. You’ll never sleep without me beside you, never look upon the world without seeing me. I promise you, I will never give you peace—”

“Crow Beard!” Night Sun sobbed. “I beg you—”

“You must answer me, my wife. The child … may have a claim. If so, I have last duties … to perform.”

Snake Head suddenly lurched to his feet. The macaw feathers on his purple shirt shimmered in a rainbow of red, blue, and yellow. “A claim? On my pitiful share of the wealth! Father, are you saying my mother betrayed you? I mean, we’ve all heard the rumors, but I never believed them!”

Sternlight lifted his head and in a silken voice said, “Didn’t you?”

Snake Head’s eyes slitted. “What are you saying?”

Webworm stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Adultery was punishable by banishment—even death. The clans would go mad. A woman of the First People had never been found guilty of such a crime!

As though his strength had failed, Crow Beard’s hand fell back to his blankets with a soft thud. Night Sun quickly got to her feet and backed away, breathing hard, rubbing her wrist.

“Mother?” Snake Head demanded.

She shook her head. “He’s ill, my son. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Then you deny having a child by another man?”

“Yes, of course, I do!”

Crow Beard’s hands knotted in his blankets. “Ironwood? Must tell … Jay Bird’s brood. Where is Ironwood? I want my War Chief! Ironwood? Ironwood?”

As though terrified, Night Sun placed a hand over her mouth.

Snake Head chuckled darkly, and Night Sun jerked around to stare at him.

Webworm gave her a questioning look as he walked by, but she would not meet his eyes. He bent over the Chief’s bed. Crow Beard’s nostrils had pinched, as though he could not get enough air. “Ironwood is bringing Dune, my chief,” Webworm said. “I am Webworm, his deputy.”

“Closer…” Crow Beard’s eyes wandered, as if seeking him through some growing mist. “Closer.”

Webworm knelt. “What do you wish, my chief?”

An eerie gleam entered Crow Beard’s eyes. “My sister-in-law’s grandson … yes, I remember. You have always served me … loyally. Do you … do you realize that if … if a savior rises now … you have Fire Dog blood. Do you understand?”

Webworm frowned. “No, my chief. Try to tell me what you require of me. I will do anything you ask.”

Crow Beard reached out feebly and touched Webworm’s moccasin in trust. “I wish you to … to find the child,” he said. “Do you hear me? Find the child?”

“Yes, find the child. And after that?”

“K-Kill it.”

Night Sun blurted, “Crow Beard, for the sake of the gods! There is no child!”

Crow Beard fumbled at the leather fringes on Webworm’s moccasin. “Find the child,” he repeated. “You—you must … kill the child.”

Webworm lifted his head and fixed Night Sun with a hard look. “Where is the child?”

Night Sun folded her arms and hugged herself. “I have told you the truth, grand nephew. No child exists.”

Snake Head grabbed his mother’s sleeve and spun her around. His purple shirt contrasted with the deep red tones of her dress. “My father says you bore a child while he was away Trading. Where is it? Answer me!”

Night Sun’s expression changed from desperate worry to rage in less than a heartbeat. She slapped her son with all the strength in her slender body. “Do not ever speak to me that way again, my son.”

Snake Head’s mouth puckered into an enraged pout, but he backed away.

Webworm propped his hands on his hips. “What do you wish, Snake Head? If there is a child, we must learn where it is, or we cannot carry out the Blessed Sun’s order.”

Snake Head seemed to be weighing possibilities. “Creeper?” He turned to the fat little man with the jet black hair. “You are Elder of the Buffalo Clan. What are the wishes of your people? Whom do you believe?”

Creeper gave Webworm a pleading look. For many summers, Creeper had been like a father to Webworm, teaching him the things a boy should know, telling him the ritual stories. Creeper was the only other person in the world who understood and loved Featherstone. And Featherstone loved Night Sun. Webworm knew this was a terrible trial for Creeper—deciding the fate of Featherstone’s aunt.

Creeper flapped his arms helplessly. “We must know. If there is a child, then we—”

“We must force her to tell us!” Badgerbow shouted. He clenched his teeth and glowered at Night Sun. She met his gaze squarely, her eyes blazing. Badgerbow said, “The order to find the child may have been Crow Beard’s last. We are obligated to carry it out!”

Webworm said, “When the people discover this, they will go wild. No woman of the First People has ever been caught in such a crime. Oh, some will demand her execution, but most—”

“Most will defend her,” Sternlight said as he walked in front of Night Sun, standing between her and her accusers. Shining waist-length hair draped the front of his ritual shirt.

Night Sun placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t,” she whispered to him. Sternlight turned halfway round to look into her eyes. As though exchanging some silent secret knowledge, they stared at each other for a long moment, then Night Sun hoarsely murmured, “Don’t endanger yourself. I never meant for this to happen. Not to you. Not after all you have—”

“Hush!” Sternlight ordered. “Do not speak another word!”

Creeper and Badgerbow edged forward, breathlessly awaiting the outcome of this private conversation. Snake Head, too, seemed rapt. He stood like a stone statue, his large dark eyes wide. One of the copper bells on his right sleeve caught the sunlight and projected a tiny gleaming star on the wall.

Night Sun returned to Crow Beard’s side and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest.

Timidly, Creeper asked, “Sternlight? We are waiting. What should we do? You are Sunwatcher. It is your duty to advise us on moral matters. If Night Sun is guilty, she must be punished. Banished, or—”

“Or killed,” Snake Head said. “And if there is a child, it, too, must be killed, as my father ordered.”

“Perhaps—” Sternlight’s voice came low, insistent. He seemed to be searching desperately. “Perhaps, Night Sun might be spared, if you knew the location and identity of the child.”

Night Sun jerked around. “What are you talking about?”

Snake Head shot her a glance, then tipped his chin toward Sternlight. “Possibly, but I doubt she will confess—”

“I will tell you.” Sternlight swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

“You?” Webworm asked. “How would you know?”

No one seemed to be breathing. Creeper and Badgerbow both peered unblinking at Sternlight.

Only Night Sun moved. She rose on trembling legs and said, “Sternlight? What are you saying?”

“Please,” Sternlight hissed, “trust me.”

“But what are you saying? You told me—”

“Yes, I know I did, but—”

“She’s guilty!” Snake Head pointed a condemning finger. “I knew it! My mother betrayed my father! She deserves to die for this! This will shame all First People! Hallowed gods, the taint will last for generations. Even my children will bear the blame! Oh, Mother, how could you do this to me?”

Sternlight’s face mottled with rage. He stalked to stand face-to-face with Snake Head. Snake Head leaned backward slightly, obviously frightened.

Webworm’s spine tingled. Not once in forty-one summers had he seen his cousin angry. No, Sternlight moved through life like dandelion seed held aloft on a breeze, looking down at people and events, never becoming involved. What had happened those many summers ago that would evoke such behavior today?

In a hoarse whisper, Sternlight said, “I will tell you only once, Snake Head. The boy lives at Lanceleaf Village. He is the son of—”

“A boy?” Snake Head shouted. “He will demand a share of my wealth! In Lanceleaf Village? Isn’t that where—”

“Yes,” Sternlight answered, “where Beargrass, son of Black Rock Woman, took his wife and children almost sixteen summers ago.”

Night Sun shook her head, apparently just as stunned by the words as everyone else in the room. “No,” she said. “No, Sternlight. You—you’re lying! Why are you saying this?”

Webworm glanced back and forth between them. Stern-light’s expression silently begged Night Sun to say no more, and Webworm’s hand crept to the deerbone stiletto on his belt. He had not seen Beargrass in summers, but he still considered him a friend. They had fought many battles together. “Blessed gods,” he whispered.

“Do you know this man?” Snake Head demanded. He took the opportunity to step away from Sternlight and seemed to breathe easier as he turned toward Webworm.

“Yes,” Webworm answered. “Beargrass was Ironwood’s deputy long before me, and I—I have visited his house in the past, whenever I ran the road that goes by Lanceleaf Village.”

“Good,” Snake Head said. “Then you know what his children look like—”

“No! No, I don’t. I haven’t seen the children in many summers.” Well, he remembered Beargrass’ beautiful daughter very well, but truly he couldn’t recall the boy at all.

Snake Head irritably waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Find the boy. Kill him and be done with it.”

Night Sun had broken out in a sweat. Beads of moisture dotted her straight nose and forehead. She stared blankly at Sternlight. The priest simply stared back.

“Sternlight?” Night Sun said.

At a soft gasp everyone spun around.

Crow Beard’s head rolled to the side, and he lay very still.

“Oh…” Night Sun whispered.

Snake Head rushed over and placed a finger over the large vein in the Chief’s neck, checking for a pulse. After several moments, he announced, “My father is dead. As the only male in my lineage, I rule now. I—”

“Wait,” Sternlight said. He knelt beside Snake Head and examined the Chief’s face, touching his temple, then picking up one of Crow Beard’s hands and pressing on the thumbnail to see if the blood retreated and did not return. “He may be dead, but we can’t be certain. He has done this five times in the past sun cycle. He may be on another Soul March to the afterworld. We must put him in a kiva for a few days to see if he returns to us.”

Snake Head’s lip curled. He turned to Webworm. “Regardless, he looks dead, so I am in charge. My first act is to name this man, Webworm, as the new War Chief. I have always wanted my cousin Webworm at my side.”

The abrupt advancement staggered Webworm. At first, he didn’t understand, and then, in a moment of sheer terror, he realized the meaning. A sick feeling settled in his gut, as if he’d stabbed Ironwood in the heart. A new Chief with even a thread of respect would have allowed Ironwood the chance to step down on his own. Dismissing him as War Chief would dishonor Ironwood, and the brave warrior did not deserve such treatment.

Snake Head gestured imperiously at Webworm. “Go, War Chief. Carry out my father’s wishes. Find my mother’s wretched spawn and kill it.”

“Yes, my chief.”

But as Webworm backed away, he noticed that neither Sternlight nor Night Sun had moved. They continued to stare at each other like frozen corpses.