Thirty-Eight

Thistle trotted along the trail ahead of Leafhopper. Their way threaded through the hills, cutting south from the holy road that angled southwest toward Humpback Butte and High Stone Village that stood at its base.

So much had changed, her yellow dress smudged with soot and dirt, her fine-boned face coated with dust. All of her life, she’d been so fastidious, much to Cornsilk and Fledgling’s dismay. Now bits of grass and twigs clung in her black hair that hung in a single braid down the middle of her back.

Leafhopper didn’t look much better, smudged, scratched, and hollow-eyed. The soot stains from the night Lanceleaf Village burned still clung to her clothing.

They had crossed the desolate sage-speckled flats south of Straight Path Canyon and now followed a winding trail southward through low buttes speckled with juniper and piñon. Dunes supported patches of sagebrush that gave way to halos of ricegrass higher than the greening junegrass and bluegrass. The squat buttes were capped by sandstones that covered tan, white, and yellow soils.

To the west lay Humpback Butte, while immediately to the south, across the broken terrain, they could see the rising silhouette of forested mountains, blue with haze, that marked the boundary between the Straight Path people and the Mogollon. Thistle’s path would take her through the gap between those pine-covered ranges, and then south into the mountains controlled by Jay Bird’s warriors.

The fiery face of Father Sun squatted just above the western horizon, casting long shadows over the irregular land. Radiant filaments stretched from his body and touched the delicate wisps of Cloud People that drifted across the blue, turning them molten. An amber glow flooded the rolling sage-covered hills.

The vista appeared so peaceful. How could such tranquility lull a country where the storms in peoples’ hearts tortured the body and soul? Thistle bit her lip. She needed but to look inside herself to see the source of the ugliness.

Thistle heard Leafhopper stumble. Had she fallen again? Thistle slowed and looked back. Leafhopper’s pudgy legs trembled and she weaved from side to side as she tottered down the dirt trail. Sweat drenched the young woman’s green dress and matted the cotton fabric to her squat frame. Chin-length black hair straggled about her round face. Eyes glazed, mouth hanging open as she gasped for air, Leafhopper appeared ready to collapse.

Thistle had been running as though pursued by witches flying on rawhide shields. But she could run all day. She had been a mason her entire life, and despite her slim appearance, wiry muscles packed her body. Leafhopper, on the other hand, had spent her short life caring for children and grinding corn. Several times today, the girl had crumpled in the trail, and Thistle had been forced to turn back and coax her to continue.

Leafhopper looked up and saw Thistle watching. “Thistle?” she panted eagerly. “It’s late. Shouldn’t we make camp?” Leafhopper stopped and braced her legs. “Please?”

Thistle wiped the sweat from her fine-boned face. “If we just run a little longer, Leafhopper, we can make it to—”

“No! Please? My legs feel like boiled grass stems.”

Thistle looked longingly southward, then, after a moment, nodded and walked back. She took Leafhopper’s arm in a friendly grip. “I’m sorry. You’ve been doing so well.” She pointed to a line of low hills just visible through the tops of the piñon and juniper. “How about making camp up there? On top of one of those hills, where we can keep an eye on the trail.”

Leafhopper nodded. “Thank you. I couldn’t run another step. I swear.”

Thistle put her arm around Leafhopper’s hot, sweaty shoulders and helped her toward the cluster of hills. Leafhopper’s knees kept trying to buckle. “You’ve been very brave, Leafhopper. Not even Cornsilk”—she flinched, and continued more softly—“not even Cornsilk could have done so well today. I’m very proud of you.”

The words seemed to soothe Leafhopper. She patted Thistle’s hand.

Slabs of sandstone lay tumbled down the slopes beneath the fractured rimrock. In the fading gleam of sunset, pale blue light struck the flat faces at different angles, creating an iridescent mosaic of purple and lavender.

“I pick that hill,” Leafhopper said, gesturing to the closest one.

Thistle smiled. “I think that will do nicely.”

When they reached a narrow game trail that led up the face of the hill, Leafhopper climbed doggedly, setting one foot ahead of the other, probably anxious to get to the top so she could collapse. Sprigs of wild onion and biscuit root grew among the stones. Leafhopper plucked and chewed them as she edged around boulders and canted slabs.

Just as they crested the hill, Thistle caught a hint of movement from the corner of her eye.

“Blessed gods!” She tackled Leafhopper from behind, dragging her to the sandy ground.

“What—”

Thistle clamped a hand over Leafhopper’s mouth with such strength that Leafhopper cried out and squirmed like a snared rabbit.

“Shh!” Thistle hissed. “Don’t make a sound and don’t move!”

Leafhopper silently peered at Thistle through frightened eyes. Thistle’s gaze was riveted on the sheltered valley that lay cupped in the midst of the hills. Faint voices rose from the warrior’s camp.

Thistle let Leafhopper look, then released her and crawled behind a tan boulder. Leafhopper did the same, craning her neck to see.

“Who are they?” Leafhopper whispered.

Dozens of men moved through the valley, packs, quivers and bows on their backs. Some carried shields. At some signal, they slowed, broke into groups and began twisting out sagebrush, snapping off juniper branches, and removing their packs. One young man immediately trotted for a high spot just to the east. A lookout, no doubt.

Thistle whispered, “Fire Dogs. See the short haircuts and the knee-length capes they wear, black on top, white on the bottom?” She pointed to a man standing by himself on the south side of the camp. “And look at the flat woven yucca hat he’s wearing. They’re Mogollon, all right.”

Leafhopper paled. Now that she’d lain down, her whole body shook with exhaustion. “But—but what are they doing here? So close to the sacred South Road?”

“I don’t know, but we should get far away from here. Come on, let’s back down—”

“Oh, Thistle, please,” Leafhopper begged. “Let me rest for a short while. I need a drink of water.”

Thistle grimaced at the warriors. The men were rolling out blankets, taking cooking pots from their packs and building fires. She watched as a warrior walked through the camp, pointing to high points, and sentries were dispatched to keep watch.

“Just for a moment, Leafhopper. Then we must go.” Thistle chewed her lip, frowning thoughtfully. This was a disciplined party, not just a group of men who’d decided to raid Straight Path lands.

Unslinging her pack, Leafhopper took out her gut water bag, and began gulping. Her arm trembled so badly that trickles spilled down her dress. She sighed, “Oh, I needed this.”

Thistle untied her own water bag from her belt and took three swallows, just enough to wet her mouth and ease her stomach. She kept her eyes on the warriors. As twilight deepened, draping the hills like charcoal veils of mist, the warriors’ cloaks blended with the night, turning them almost invisible.

Thistle started to take another drink and halted midway, the bag suspended before her chin. A man in a long red shirt walked across the camp. Short and stout, he wore a large coral pendant around his neck, and his long black hair hung in a braid down his back.

“That’s…” Thistle’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a Straight Path warrior.”

Leafhopper jerked around. “What? Where?”

“In the red warrior’s shirt.”

Leafhopper wiped water from her mouth with the back of her pudgy hand and pulled a bag of dried venison from her pack. “But why would one of our warriors be in a Fire Dog camp?” She gave Thistle a confused look.

Thistle ground her teeth, thinking. The Straight Path warrior walked right through the middle of camp. Even from where she sat, Thistle could see his tension. When he reached the base of the hill, he disappeared behind a jumble of boulders. Another part of the camp, hidden from view? Silently, Thistle counted warriors. Forty-four. Given the growing darkness, and the number of rocky niches, she’d probably missed several.

Leafhopper’s fear had begun to outweigh her exhaustion. “I think I’m ready to go now.”

Thistle touched her arm. “Don’t move. With those sentries out, we can’t leave here until it’s completely dark.”

Leafhopper’s eyes went wide. “Will we be safe?”

Thistle examined the big rock they hid behind. “I think so. At least for another hand or two of time.”

As night deepened, the six fires in the valley twinkled brilliantly, and the scent of burning sage drifted on the cool breeze.

Thistle murmured, “Why such a large camp?”

“Do you think they’re massing to attack one of our villages?” Leafhopper asked through another mouthful of dried venison. The venison bag lay on a rock in front of her.

Thistle reached over and pulled out a piece. As she chewed, she tried to place the closest villages. High Stone was immediately north of Humpback Butte, but, living this close to the Mogollon, its brawling warriors had a reputation even the Fire Dogs respected. “Maybe, but raiding parties rarely have more than twenty or thirty members.”

Beargrass’ handsome face appeared on the canvas of her soul, serious, a hard glint in his brown eyes. Seventeen summers ago, they’d been sitting outside of Talon Town, Beargrass knapping out a fine chert arrow point, while she stirred a length of cloth in a vat of fermented prickly pear fruit juice. The cloth had been soaking for seven days and had turned a beautiful reddish brown. Beargrass frowned thoughtfully, and said, “Ironwood told me this morning that a raiding party of more than thirty is almost impossible to control. He said that the more men you take, the more quarreling breaks out.” He gestured with his half-finished point. “Someone always becomes dissatisfied. Men split up and choose leaders for their own clan groups within the party—then the trouble begins.…”

Thistle clenched her fists, trying to forget his smile, and how very much she missed him. “No one would take this many warriors on a simple raid for slaves and food.”

“Maybe they’re planning on splitting up,” Leafhopper suggested, “to dispatch two or three parties from here.”

“It’s possible. But who’s that Straight Path warrior? Why is he walking free? The Fire Dogs should have killed him right off, or tied him up and tortured him, if nothing else. This doesn’t make sense.”

Thistle lifted her head to peer down. A golden halo of firelight swelled around the tumbled rock below; it silhouetted the tilted rocks and showed three men standing at the edge of the firelight. The Straight Path warrior stood among them, sipping a cup of tea. He had his head down, frowning.

“The other possibility,” Thistle said to Leafhopper, “is that they need this many warriors not for an attack but to protect a very important person.”

“Who?”

“That’s what I must find out. I need to go down there, Leafhopper. I want you to stay here. If I’m not back in a hand of time, sneak down to the holy South Road and find a place to hide. I’ll meet you. If you don’t see me by dawn, run as fast as you can for Talon Town. Do you understand?”

Leafhopper’s mouth trembled. “Let me come with you.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“But w-what are you looking for down there?”

“I need to see if this really is a raiding party, or some sort of escort. Then I’ll be back. It shouldn’t take long.”

Leafhopper wet her lips. “Thistle, I—I’m afraid to go to Talon Town. I don’t know anyone there, and I’ve heard that many witches—”

“Cornsilk is there,” Thistle said, and cupped Leafhopper’s chin to peer into her frightened eyes. “I’m almost certain of it. But I will be back in one hand of time, Leafhopper. Don’t worry.”

She nodded bravely.

Thistle said, “Remember, stay behind this rock, and don’t move around too much or one of those sentries might see you.”

“I promise, Thistle.”

Thistle smiled at her, then started down the hill, sliding on her belly a few hands at a time. She fell into a watchful rhythm that Beargrass had taught her: slide, stop, look, listen, slide …

Blackness swallowed the dusk as Thistle crawled through the rocks and cactus that dotted the hillside. As she slithered to the sandstone rim, she saw that the caprock had been undercut, and the whole hillside had slumped and fallen, toppling square sandstone boulders down the slope.

Cupped in the midst of this cluster of low hills, the narrow valley made a perfect hiding place. Unless right on top of the camp, no one could see the fires, or hear the warriors’ soft voices.

Pushing with her toes and pulling with her hands, she worked her way into the tumbled landslide of boulders, some as huge as small houses. The odors of packrat dung and urine rose strongly. When Thistle eased into the shadows between two tilted rocks, little feet scurried and tiny eyes peered out at her from a crack in one of the rocks. Thistle smiled at the packrat and tried to still her heavy breathing.

A man walked by, no more than two body-lengths away.

He unrolled his blankets at the base of the slide and returned to stand by the fire. Thistle edged forward. Five men now stood around the flames, talking quietly. A tea pot sat at the edge of the coals. Black-and-white cotton capes billowed around the mens’ broad shoulders. One wore a turquoise plug that curved through a hole in his lip.

Her breathing went shallow. She’d never been this close to Fire Dog warriors.

The tallest man yawned and tossed the contents of his cup onto the fire. The flames sizzled and spat. He had an ugly, deeply scarred face. He said, “A pleasant evening to you. I think I’ll—”

“Wait, Howler,” the Straight Path warrior said. “I’m still worried. This must work perfectly or—”

“How can it go wrong? Hmm? Unless you’re not telling us everything.”

Thistle frowned. They both spoke the Straight Path language?

“Of course I’m telling you everything. If we make this happen, both of us will gain.”

“I’m tired, Cone,” Howler said, “It was a long day. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“We’re running out of time! The Chief’s body is almost ready. We wouldn’t have had this much time if old Dune hadn’t had to send for his pack. There are things we must discuss tonight!”

Thistle edged forward another hand to get a better look. Short and stout, the Straight Path warrior had his back to her; she couldn’t see his face, but that voice … she knew that voice. No, no. It can’t be.

Howler propped his hands on his hips and the hem of his cape whipped and crackled. “Well, then, what is it?”

Cone tossed the dregs of his tea onto the ground. “I’m not sure we have enough men. Perhaps we should wait to attack. If we gather another twenty warriors, then—”

“Then we’ll have eighty warriors, and far too many to make a quick, clean strike! What’s the matter with you? I thought you said your friend Snake Head is bringing only five warriors?”

“Yes, but, what if—”

“Stop worrying. Jay Bird knows what he’s doing.”

Jay Bird! Thistle edged closer. But is he here, or still at the Gila Monster Cliffs?

“I’m not so sure, Howler.”

Howler gestured irritably. “Even if Snake Head brings fifty warriors, we have surprise on our side. Besides, didn’t you say the new War Chief—what was his name?”

“Webworm,” Cone murmured.

“Yes, Webworm. Didn’t you say he was a weak fool? That he jumped at the sound of moth wings and did anything people told him? How could such a man refuse the orders of the new Blessed Sun?”

Cone turned toward the fire, and Thistle saw the round face, pug nose, and small eyes—she’d seen him the day he’d run into Lanceleaf Village with Wraps-His-Tail, bringing the news of Crow Beard’s illness. He was one of Ironwood’s most trusted deputies. What happened?

Cone frowned down into his empty cup and said, “I never told you that Webworm was a fool. I told you that he lacked imagination—and had no sense for politics. What if he smells the trap and decides to scout the road before the burial procession starts out from Talon Town? That’s just the sort of thing he would do. I fought at his side for eighteen summers, Howler, I know how he thinks!”

“Your new Chief has said five warriors. That was his promise to us. Can’t he control his own War Chief?”

Cone stared uneasily into the fire. “I hope so, for all our sakes.”

Howler extended an arm and pointed across the valley to the largest fire, where more than twenty men sat. “Go and tell these doubts to Jay Bird—”

Thistle’s head jerked in that direction.

“—I’m sure he will wish to know that his well-paid Straight Path rabbit is so frightened of his old friend he wants to go crawl into a hole and hide!”

Blood rushed in Thistle’s ears as the twists of the maze became clearer. She didn’t yet know why or how, but the gods had just shortened her journey by three days.

“You make a worthless warrior, Howler,” Cone said contemptuously. “You don’t have the head for it. My people should have kept you as a slave. Perhaps you’d like to go back and cut a little stone, eh? Or empty some piss jars?”

The thick scars on Howler’s cheeks twitched. He took a threatening step forward. Two of the men around the fire leaped to their feet and grabbed him, holding him back, speaking to him in the strange Fire Dog tongue.

“That’s right,” Cone said. “Tell him that killing me before I can carry out my final duty is suicide.”

Howler shook off their hands and glared at Cone. “My brothers tell me you are right, we still need you, but as soon as—”

“What? What will you do? Your Chief has promised me safe passage! Shall I inform Jay Bird you don’t like his promises? That you would break them to salve your own petty pride?”

Howler’s nostrils flared. He stood rigid a moment, then, in a low voice, asked, “Tell me something, rabbit, doesn’t it hurt your conscience to betray your Chief?”

“Not a bit,” Cone answered without hesitation.

Howler folded his arms. “And what about the others? The people who will be accompanying the burial procession? Perhaps some of your old friends will be there, eh? People you care about?” A cruel smile turned his lips. He leaned forward with his chin stuck out. “I hope so, rabbit. I truly do.”

Howler stalked to his blankets on the north side of the fire and rolled up with his back to Cone.

The other Fire Dogs mumbled darkly to each other and walked for their own blankets, leaving Cone standing alone in the orange gleam of the flames.

Cone’s mouth pursed, as though with disgust. He threw his cup on the sand by the fire and walked right in front of Thistle’s face, so close she could smell his acrid sweat. He trudged up the hill a short distance and sat on a rock overlooking the firelit valley. For a time, he did nothing. Then, suddenly, he picked up a pebble and heaved it at nothing. A pained groan escaped his lips.

Thistle crept through the boulders and stood quietly in the black shadows at the rear of the slide. Monstrous slabs canted at odd angles around her.

Cone sat ten body-lengths up the slope, his round face lit by the gleams of the fires. He chucked another pebble down the hill, then dropped his head in his hands.

Thistle swallowed, took a deep breath, and walked straight toward him, as though part of the camp.

When he heard her coming, he squeezed his eyes closed and demanded, “What is it?”

“Please don’t call the camp guards,” she spoke softly. “I must speak with you, Cone.”

As if struck, he leaped to his feet. “Who—who are you? What do you want?”

She made a quieting gesture. “It’s Thistle, Cone. From Lanceleaf Village. Remember me?”

“Thistle?” he whispered her name disbelievingly, and took a step closer to study her face. His eyes widened, and he glanced over the dark hillside. “Great Spirits, where’s Beargrass? He’s not here, is he?”

“No, Cone. I’m alone,” Thistle said. “Please, listen to me. My husband is dead. Killed by warriors from Talon Town. That is why we must talk.”

“Dead?” Cone asked softly. “Beargrass is dead?”

Thistle eased down on the rock where he’d been sitting. “The new Blessed Sun sent his warriors to kill Beargrass and destroy Lanceleaf Village. My husband is dead. My son is dead—and his head is in Talon Town. My sister and brothers are dead. My house is burned. I have nothing left.”

Cone glanced over the hill again, still fearing a trap, then asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I was on my way to the Gila Monster Cliffs, to find Jay Bird.”

Cone stared unblinking. “Because you wish to die? To join your husband in the underworlds?”

Thistle laced her fingers in her lap. In the dim firelight her yellow dress glowed a rusty orange. “Cone, we have very little time, so I’m going to tell you as quickly as I can. Sixteen summers ago, Sternlight gave Beargrass a baby and told him to take it and go far away, to hide the child forever.”

“What child?” Cone asked. His brow furrowed.

“A little girl. She was the daughter of a slave named Young Fawn. I think her father was your good friend, Ironwood. You remember Young Fawn, don’t you? She was killed about the same time Beargrass and I moved away from Talon Town.”

Cone shook his head, then stopped and seemed to be thinking. “Yes, yes, Webworm found her body in the trash mound. Just after Solstice celebrations…” He came forward like a man walking through a field of rattlesnakes, and sat on the rock beside her. “Wasn’t Young Fawn the daughter of Jay Bird?”

“Yes, Cone, she was.”

“Thistle, are you telling me that you raised Jay Bird’s granddaughter?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. And that’s why Beargrass is dead, and my son is dead, and Lanceleaf Village is gone, and I—”

“Gone?”

“Burned to the ground, Cone. Webworm murdered everyone he could, old people, infants on cradleboards—”

“But that’s crazy! Webworm would never—”

“He had orders from Snake Head.”

Cone’s eyes narrowed. He sat back on the rock and studied the six fires and the warriors who stood before them like black ghosts. “Snake Head ordered Webworm to find Jay Bird’s granddaughter? That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I don’t know how Snake Head found out, but he was willing to kill everyone in Lanceleaf Village to get her, and Cornsilk is now being held prisoner in Talon Town. Snake Head—”

“You mean he captured her? He—He didn’t come to kill her? Snake Head sent Webworm to capture the girl?” He stared at her with huge eyes.

Thistle nodded.

Cone sat very still. “Blessed Ancestors! He’s hedging his bets! Holding the girl in case Jay Bird breaks his promises! But I—I can’t just walk over there and tell him! There have been too many delays as it is. Snake Head keeps changing things. Jay Bird is already suspicious of me. The trouble with being a traitor is that no one trusts you. What do you expect me to do, Thistle? After all Jay Bird’s effort to lure Snake Head here, first of all, he’ll think I’m lying about the girl, and second, he’ll kill me!” Sweat beaded on Cone’s pug nose. “And, anyway, why should I believe you?”

“Because if you don’t,” she said calmly, “and this attack results in the death of my precious daughter and Jay Bird’s granddaughter, I assure you, I’ll tell Jay Bird it was your fault. That I came to you begging help to save her, and you turned me away. You wouldn’t even let me speak with him.”

“If you’re alive, Thistle.” He tapped the deerbone stiletto on his belt. “I suggest that you—”

“No,” Thistle said, and lurched to her feet. “Threats won’t work, Cone, because I have only one thing left to live for: the daughter I raised and love with all my heart.”

Thistle started walking down the hill toward Jay Bird’s camp, and Cone leaped up to drag her back. “No! Thistle, wait. I’m sorry. I—I live my whole life in terror these days, and sometimes … I say and do things I regret.” He released her arm and propped his hands on his hips. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“What is this about, Cone? What are you doing here? I always thought you were dedicated to your people.”

He took a deep breath, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing. “I am, Thistle. Listen, Snake Head cannot remain as the Blessed Sun. If he does, he’ll destroy our people. Crow Beard was bad enough … but his son will be worse. If Snake Head is gone, captured and killed by the Mogollon as he carries his father’s body down the south road, the Straight Path people will be unified in grief. Snake Head becomes a martyr instead of a despot. Night Sun can marry another, one more suited to rule.”

“Yet, you work with Snake Head even as you betray him?”

“I’m working for my people, not Snake Head, and it’s a dangerous game, one made more so by your presence here tonight.”

Thistle folded her arms and shivered, thinking hard. She had to make this seem completely plausible, or these trained warriors would know she was lying. “Let me ask you this? Snake Head will be holding Cornsilk in Talon Town to use as a hostage, won’t he? I mean, he wouldn’t bring her on the burial procession with him, would he?”

“No. Never. He’d want her safe in Talon Town. Hidden away for that moment when he might need to use her.”

Thistle nodded. “Good. I thought so.”

Cone ran a hand through his black hair and squinted across the narrow firelit valley. “Well, help me to think. You’re right. I must tell Jay Bird about Cornsilk. But how? That’s the question. I have to find a way of doing it so that he doesn’t kill me first and worry about whether or not I was telling the truth later.”

“Cone,” Thistle placed a hand on his, “I want to tell him. Since the day of Cornsilk’s birth, I’ve been her mother. I love Cornsilk. I’m sure Jay Bird loved Young Fawn. Jay Bird will believe me. I promise you.”

“If not,” Cone whispered, “he’ll suspect treachery, and we’ll both be dead.”

Thistle nodded.

Cone rose to his feet. “All right. But stay here for now. I’m not allowed to speak directly to Jay Bird. I must convince Howler to intercede for me.”

*   *   *

Night Sun paced back and forth across Ironwood’s small chamber. Her blue dress shished against her black leggings, and her copper bell eardrops made a soft tinkling sound. Her graying black hair swung in a long braid as she walked. Despite the evening chill, perspiration coated her face, and she kept blinking it away from her dark eyes. Since the altercation with Snake Head at dawn, she’d been hiding in her chamber, afraid to come out until darkness fell. When the plaza emptied, she’d hurried for Ironwood’s chamber … only to find him gone.

He’ll be back soon. He must come back soon!

Shaky, terrified, she did not know what else to do … who else to turn to.

Starlight streaming down through the roof entry lit the brightly painted faces of the thlatsinas Dancing on the walls, Buffalo to her left on the east wall, Ant in the south, Bear glaring down at her from the west wall, and Badger tall and stoic in the north.

Night Sun opened her soul and gazed imploringly into Badger’s face, silently begging him to heal her wounded heart, to give her some way out of this. His black mask with the turquoise eye slits, the eagle-feather headdress, and long muzzle filled with sharp teeth, seemed to be peering down at her with vague curiosity about her presence. She had never been inside Ironwood’s chamber—not even in the days when she’d risked almost anything to be with him. Now, she began to actually look around, to see his home.

His red-and-black blankets lay neatly rolled atop his sleeping mats on the west wall. Had he lain awake staring at the ceiling as often as she had over the past sixteen summers? Had he, too, slammed his fists into the walls, fighting not to think of her—as she had him?

Above the blankets, a ring of scalps encircled the Bear Thlatsina, the guardian Spirit of warriors. Ironwood had arranged the scalps so that black, gray, and silver alternated. A fine sheen of corn pollen sprinkled each scalp. Around the scalps hung an array of weapons: bows, lances, stilettos, four magnificent shields made from tightly-woven yucca fibers and decorated with zigzagging bolts of red lightning, and a buffalo hide helmet.

Baskets and pots sat neatly along the north wall to her right, and, in the corner, stood his pack. His full pack.

Suddenly weak, she sank down atop his sleeping mats and leaned back against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. All day long she had been filled with wild thoughts, longing to flee before it was too late. Several times, she’d contemplated killing Snake Head to remove the threat, then she’d remembered the day he’d been born, and the joy in her heart … and knew she could never do it. No matter how much she hated the man he’d become, a smiling little boy lived inside her soul, and she couldn’t manage to wish him dead. If only she could go back.…

Steps outside. The ladder creaked as someone climbed.

Night Sun stiffened, breathing hard.

Then rushing feet, and a man called, “Ironwood? A moment, please?”

Steps retreated back toward the ladder. Ironwood said, “Webworm? I didn’t see you. What did you need?”

“I was hoping you might be able to give me some advice?”

Night Sun frowned. Webworm sounded worried, his voice tight. The roof creaked as the men moved. A shadow flitted over the roof entry and she looked up, but saw only brilliant stars twinkling and glittering.

Ironwood said, “Of course. Do you wish to come into my chamber?”

Night Sun’s heart rose into her throat, but Webworm answered, “No, I don’t need much of your time.”

“Very well.”

A pause, then Webworm murmured, “I am having a problem with Snake Head. He is so childish and headstrong! He cannot see reason!”

“What’s he done now?” Ironwood asked through a tired exhalation.

“Day after tomorrow we leave with the burial procession for the sacred Humpback Butte, and we should take at least thirty warriors to guard the Blessed Elders who will be making the journey. You always took thirty. But Snake Head has ordered me to take no more than five.”

“Five?”

“Yes. Even a pitiful war party could kill everyone in the procession, and I wouldn’t be able to do a thing to stop them.” The roof groaned as one of the men shifted. “I do not wish to disobey his order, Ironwood, but I cannot, in good conscience, follow it.”

Ironwood didn’t say anything for a time. Finally, he murmured. “No, you cannot. But you must appear to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, if I were you, I would take five warriors with the procession, just as the Blessed Sun ordered. But I would also send out scouts to provide an advance warning. And another party of twenty-five or thirty warriors following close behind who could rush up at a moment’s notice. Your instincts are right, Webworm. It is your duty as War Chief to assure the safety of the elders. Just tell your warriors to stay out of sight, but within range. That way, you will be following orders, and carrying out your responsibilities to the people of Talon Town.”

Webworm sighed. “Thank the Spirits, I feel so much better. I’ve needed to speak with you since yesterday, but only mustered the courage tonight. I—”

“Courage? To speak with me?”

“Yes, I—I know it was silly, but I feared that after Snake Head dismissed you so dishonorably you might think I had something to do with it.”

Ironwood said kindly, “My fault. I should have spoken with you right after it happened. Webworm, if it had been my choice, I would have selected you to replace me. You were the finest of my warriors. I wish you nothing but success. If you ever need my advice, or my fighting, you have only to ask.”

The roof creaked again. Softly, Webworm said, “You are my friend, Ironwood.”

“Yes, now get some rest. You will need it for the journey south.”

“Yes, I’m sure I will. Good night, Ironwood.”

“Goodnight.”

Ironwood crossed the roof again and started down the ladder into the chamber.

Night Sun watched him descend. His knee-length buckskin shirt accented the breadth of his shoulders and narrowness of his waist. The fringes on the sleeves and hem swayed in the starlight. He wore his gray hair in a bun at the back of his head.

When he stepped to the floor, Night Sun whispered, “Don’t die of fright. It’s just me.”

Ironwood spun and stared at her wide-eyed. Then he glanced at the roof entry, to make certain no one could hear. “Night Sun? What are you doing here?”

“It seems everyone needs your advice tonight.”

A frown lined his forehead. He walked across the room and knelt in front of her. Starlight sheathed his handsome oval face and reflected in his brown eyes. “Are you all right?”

“No. I’m not certain either of us is.”

“Why not?”

Night Sun clasped her hands and held them together over her mouth for several moments, before answering, “I went to Crow Beard’s chamber before dawn this morning, just to—to see it, and Snake Head found me there. He told me things that terrified me.”

Her hands started to tremble, and Ironwood reached out and closed his fingers around them. “What things?”

“Snake Head knows about us.”

Ironwood squeezed her hands. “I feared as much.”

“You…” She lifted her head and stared at him. “You knew?”

“The night you were imprisoned, I went to see him, to try to convince him that holding you was foolish, that it would split the people apart. He told me that he’d never trusted me or my judgment. When I mentioned that his father had trusted me, Snake Head said, ‘But he never knew about my mother’s fondness for you.’ It was the way he said ‘fondness,’ that convinced me.” Ironwood placed a warm hand beneath her chin and his gaze went over her taut face. “Did he say how he knew?”

She nodded. “He used to follow us. Every time we—we were together, he…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “And he relayed enough of the details of those precious times, Ironwood, that I have no doubt he did see us.”

Ironwood did not move, but the crow’s feet around his eyes deepened. “And what did you say?”

“I acted stupidly. I threatened him, told him if he told anyone that I’d make sure he suffered as much as I.”

Ironwood released her and sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged. The fringes on his shirt brushed the hard-packed dirt. “Snake Head will have taken that threat seriously, Night Sun, and already be preparing to counter any charges you make against him.”

“Yes, well, I’ll be making plans, too. Ironwood I … I can’t go away with you. I must marry again. You understand, don’t you? This is the only way.”

Ironwood tipped his face up, and seemed to be glaring at the Bear Thlatsina. He spoke very tenderly. “You can’t win, Night Sun. Don’t you see that? Yes, if you remarry you’ll depose Snake Head, but he’ll make certain you fall with him. He’ll drag in every witness he can find or bribe. No matter what you say, the suspicion will be enough to doom you.”

She searched his eyes. He was right. She knew he was right. But before she had time to think about it, her mouth said, “No. No, the elders would not condemn me based upon suspicions. They’ll demand proof, and … and there isn’t any. I’ll be all right. I just have to marry quickly.”

Ironwood took her hands and stared into her eyes. “Who will you marry?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking about Blue Racer from Starburst Town. He…”

Ironwood bowed his head and clutched her hands so tightly they hurt. His arms shook. It took several moments before Night Sun realized he was suppressing tears, not rage.

She whispered, “I never meant to hurt you, Ironwood.”