Forty-One

Poor Singer tried to stop gaping at the First People’s kiva. The sheer size of this circular ceremonial chamber, over a hundred hands across, left him humbled. The kiva in Windflower Village spread about half this size, and while beautiful, it could not compare with the majesty of this chamber. The yellow, red, and blue benches, topped by the white walls, engendered a sense of wonder in Poor Singer, as if, just by standing here, he had become part of the gods’ world.

He lowered his eyes and sewed the shroud around Crow Beard’s swollen body. Dune stood at his shoulder, watching with mild eyes. Across the way, a grim-faced Sternlight sewed on the shroud for Cloud Playing.

The small fire crackling in the rectangular fire box threw a wavering orange gleam over the thlatsina masks hanging above the thirty-six wall crypts. They seemed to be watching the final burial preparations with predator-like intensity. The sharp teeth and polished beaks shone, and Poor Singer could feel those hollow eye sockets gazing upon him.

He ran the thread through the last hole and tied the knot, then straightened, his bone needle in hand. “What should I do next, Dune?”

The frail little holy man lifted his chin, peering down his small nose at the stitching. Crow Beard had been totally encased. “I couldn’t have done better myself. That’s fine.”

Sternlight glanced up from the turquoise-studded blanket that encased Cloud Playing’s body like a cocoon. He smoothed and tucked the last’ strands of her hair into the blanket and began sewing it shut. “Crow Beard will be grateful for the work you’ve done, Poor Singer.”

Rolling the bone needle between his fingers, Poor Singer struggled with the sense of pride that tried to rise in his breast. Would it always be a battle like this?

Dune’s thin white hair stuck out at odd angles around his deeply wrinkled face. He wore white, as Sternlight did. They’d all been working hard since before dawn, and sweat soaked their clothing, making Dune’s shirt cling to his skeletal body like a second skin. His ribs showed through the fabric.

Dune turned away. “Now that that’s finished, why don’t you help me bless and purify the burial ladders?”

“I’d be happy to, Dune.”

Poor Singer followed Dune around the foot drum to the fire-pit, where the two pine-pole ladders lay propped against the lowest, the yellow, bench. Four small pots of cornmeal rested in between the ladders. Dune reached for one and said, “Hold out your hands.”

Poor Singer did, and Dune poured cool white meal into them, then set the pot down on the yellow bench and pointed to the ladder on the left. “Rub the cornmeal into the ladder. We are consecrating the wood for the journey, and appeasing any angry Earth Spirits who might have inhabited the tree we cut down to make the ladders. White meal signifies the blessed east, and purity. It will heal any hurt feelings.”

Poor Singer bent over and began smoothing the finely ground meal on the long side poles of the ladder. “Shall I rub it into the sinew which ties the rungs to the poles?”

“You shall, and after you’ve finished with the white meal, rub on red cornmeal, then the yellow, and finally the blue. By joining the colors of the sacred directions we are bringing the Great Circle of life fully around, tying the ends together. The old is over and done. All hurts are forgiven. Crow Beard and Cloud Playing now have a chance for a new beginning.” As he sat on the bench and worked white meal into his ladder, Dune sighed. “And the gods know, Crow Beard needs one.”

Sternlight looked up and gave Dune a kindly glance. “Indeed, he does.”

“I have heard,” Poor Singer ventured with care, “that he did some unpleasant things during his life.”

The wrinkles of Dune’s ancient face rearranged themselves in contemplation. “Many. But all of that is over. We have cleansed his soul and cleared his eyes. He can see his errors now. The punishments he inflicts upon himself will be far worse than any we humans could impose.”

Sternlight gazed at Poor Singer. “Crow Beard will spend the rest of eternity trying to make up for wrongs he did people. I think he will make a good rain god. He will want to take care of the people he hurt.”

Poor Singer’s gaze went to the sewn-up blanket on the foot drum in front of Sternlight. “And Cloud Playing? What will she do?”

Sternlight gently placed a hand on the body. “She had little to atone for. Everyone … almost everyone … loved her. She played with the children, cared for the sick, helped the elderly, fed the hungry. I know few people who gave as much as Cloud Playing did.”

“Or suffered as much,” Dune said as his eyes narrowed. “For a woman her age, she endured far too many blows. I can’t understand why anyone would wish to murder her.”

“She was murdered?” Poor Singer asked in a hushed voice.

Sternlight’s handsome face tensed. “Yes, killed just beyond the walls of Talon Town by an unknown man. It happened right after her father’s death.”

Poor Singer finished applying the white meal and scooped out a handful of red. He began rubbing it over the ladder. In the muted gleam of the fire, the two holy men looked deeply sad, as though they missed Cloud Playing. But neither of them seemed to miss Crow Beard. That was intriguing. Poor Singer studied his companions from the corner of his eye.

Windflower Village received news from Traders and travelers, which generally meant they heard about the most dramatic events. Poor Singer knew that Cloud Playing had been the daughter of Night Sun and Crow Beard, but he’d heard very few stories about her. Crow Beard, however, had been a topic of constant discussion, almost all of it appalling. Poor Singer had never really listened to the terrible stories, because his mother had once told him that people in powerful positions, like Chief Crow Beard, got blamed for everything bad that happened, whether they were responsible or not. All of his life, Snow Mountain had taught Poor Singer to respect the Chief, and to love him for the good things he did for the Straight Path nation.

“I remember once,” Poor Singer said, glancing first at Dune, then at Sternlight, “when Windflower Village ran out of food in the middle of the winter, Crow Beard and Night Sun opened the storerooms here at Talon Town and sent us corn, beans, and squash. I had only seen five summers, and I was very hungry. The deep sense of gratitude I felt still lives in my heart.”

Sternlight smiled. “Yes, in that sense, they ruled well together.”

“A man can be a good ruler, and a very wretched man,” Dune said. “Which, the thlatsinas know, Crow Beard was.”

Poor Singer frowned. “It’s just like you to spoil a splendid moment of reverence, Dune.”

“Well, I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression. If you wish to see Crow Beard, then see him as he really was. Nearly every good thing he did, he did because Night Sun advised him to. Never forget, the Matron makes the decisions about who gets food and when. The Blessed Sun merely decides how best to carry out those decisions. How many men to send along to protect the food, which route to take. All of the terrible things, the brutal raids, the pillaging of villages, and slaughter of women and children—Crow Beard made those decisions alone.”

“I hope I get to meet the great Matron,” Poor Singer said. “I’ve heard many stories of her charity and goodness.”

Dune’s bushy white brows drew together. “You will meet her. Night Sun has needed privacy since she was released from the Cage. But soon—”

Poor Singer’s hands stopped on the wood. “She was imprisoned? But who would dare?”

Neither of the holy men spoke for a time. They just stared at each other, as though some silent communication passed between them.

Very quietly, Sternlight said, “Dune, I’m finished here. I think that I will return to my chamber and eat something. I didn’t have time this morning, and it’s almost midday.”

“Yes, of course. Go. We’re almost finished, as well.” He indicated the ladder with a waggling finger. “Providing Poor Singer keeps his mind on his sacred duties and continues sanctifying Cloud Playing’s ladder.”

Poor Singer winced and swiftly rubbed the red cornmeal over the last rungs, then reached for the pot with the yellow meal.

Dune turned to Sternlight. “After the ladders are finished, Poor Singer and I will roll the bodies onto the ladders and leave them resting on the foot drums for the burial procession to take tomorrow. And then,” he heaved a tired breath, “we, too, will be going home.”

Sternlight pulled himself up, pressing his hands into the small of his back, as if it ached. “I have appreciated your help, Dune. And yours, too, Poor Singer.” He hesitated, gazing at Poor Singer with those luminous eyes. “What will happen with Silk?”

“I don’t know, Sunwatcher. She hasn’t found any family here. She’s alone. I think I’m her only friend in the world.” He glanced uneasily at Dune. “I was hoping … perhaps…”

Dune arched both brows, and growled, “We’ll discuss it.”

Poor Singer smiled. “Thank you, Dune.”

“If that doesn’t work out, Dune,” Sternlight said, “I’m sure we can arrange something here.”

“Thank you.”

Sternlight bowed slightly to Poor Singer and turned back to Dune. “Will you be taking supper with me this evening, Dune?”

“Yes, if you’d like.”

“I would. I’d like one last conversation about the natures of the thlatsinas before you go.”

“Gladly. I’ll see you then.”

Sternlight started across the kiva, his white shirt flashing in the firelight as he climbed the stairs to the altar room.

Poor Singer dipped up a handful of blue cornmeal and began carefully rubbing it into the sinews binding the rungs to the side poles. “He seems like a very holy man.”

Dune scratched the back of his neck. “Most people think he’s a witch. What do you see when you look at him?”

Poor Singer blinked.

“Keep rubbing,” Dune ordered.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” As he rubbed, Poor Singer thought about how to put it. “I’ve heard people say he’s a witch, but I just know he’s a very good man. I feel it.”

“Ah,” Dune smiled toothlessly and his ancient head bobbed in an approving nod. “You’ve stopped looking with your eyes and started looking with your heart. You are improving.” He flicked a hand. “Now, keep working. You’ll have summers to improve your heart’s vision, but only a day to get this done. Work, boy. Work.”

*   *   *

Sternlight walked across the plaza. Rising against the background of buff-colored cliff, Talon Town’s white walls possessed a blinding pearlescent gleam, and he squinted as he watched his sandaled feet. The hard-packed dirt glinted with sherds of broken pottery and shiny bits of chert, obsidian, and quartzite, the refuse of stone-tool making. Three slaves worked in the shadows of the five-story walls, making rattles for the upcoming Equinox celebration. Fist-sized gourds from last cycle’s crops had been dried and hollowed out. The slaves sat in a row, each completing a separate task. Mourning Dove dropped pebbles into the hollow gourd, then Swallowtail applied sticky pine pitch to the small hole in the base and attached a wooden handle. Lastly, old woman Antelope Doll painted bird tracks and falling rain on the rattles.

As Sternlight passed, they all averted their eyes, and he sighed.

Two dogs rose from where they’d been sleeping and trotted to meet him, their tails wagging.

“Hello, Bright Moth,” he said to the larger, black-and-white dog, and reached down to pat her silky head.

The smaller dog leaped up, dancing on her hind legs. Pure black, she had soft brown eyes.

“And you, too, Beanpod.” Sternlight scratched her ears. “Thank you for coming to see me. You made me feel better.”

He bowed reverently to the Great Warriors who peered down at him, their masks shining, before he climbed the ladders to his chambers. As he ducked beneath his door curtain, the scent of dried wildflowers struck him. He kept them in pots on the south side of his chamber, and on warm days like this, their fragrances rose sweetly into the air.

Sternlight gazed at the thlatsina masks on his walls, sixteen in all, sensing something. Not all messages came in words. He closed his eyes a moment, trying to find the source of the discomfort, then turned and looked at the White Wolf mask. It had its ears pricked, its fangs glinting in the light. Its furry face and long muzzle seemed to move faintly, as if …

“Sternlight?” a timid voice called.

He sucked in a breath and swung around. “Silk?”

“Yes, it’s me. I—I was hoping I might be able to talk with you.”

“Of course.” He walked over, pulled up the door curtain, and draped it on its peg.

Silk stood outside, her long hair loose about her shoulders. What a pretty young woman. Her oval face with its pointed nose and dark probing eyes possessed a curious power. She carried a teapot in one hand and a pack over her shoulder.

“Please, enter, Silk.”

She stepped inside and looked around, anxiously studying the thlatsinas. “Are you certain you aren’t busy? I could return later.”

Sternlight smiled. “The only business I have right now is with you. Won’t you sit down?” He gestured to the willow sitting mats near the warming bowl. Last night’s coals had burned down to ash that puffed up whitely when she knelt and set her pot on the floor.

As she unslung her pack, she said, “I know you’ve been working since very early. I thought you might be hungry and thirsty.” She opened her pack and removed a small bowl of red corn cakes filled with piñon nuts, and set it beside the teapot. She looked up at him, fear in her face. “I didn’t know when you’d return, so I made these two hands of time ago, but I’ve been keeping them warm. I hope they’re all right.”

“How very kind of you to think of me. As a matter of fact, I’m starving.”

A sudden smile brightened her face, and it reminded him of spring sunlight in the canyon: breathtaking, fragile, and swiftly gone. “Preparing burials sounds like difficult work. Is it?”

Sternlight walked across the room, picked up two teacups and sat cross-legged on the mats opposite her. He lifted the pot and poured the cups full. “The really hard part is not the physical work, but looking into the faces of people you’ve loved, and knowing that they’re gone. It drains a person’s strength.” The ache in his voice surprised him. Over the sun cycles of handling the dead, he had learned a certain detachment, but Cloud Playing’s death had wounded him deeply.

Silk nodded. “I understand.”

Sternlight sipped the tea. “Oh, this is good, Silk. Did you blend flowers?”

“Yes, I brought dried sunflower and rose petals from Dune’s house in the north.” She placed the bowl of corn cakes between them. “Please, help yourself.”

Sternlight took one of the cakes and eagerly bit into it. The sweet flavor tasted delicious. “These have a red color. You mixed prickly pear fruit with the cornmeal, didn’t you?”

She nodded and her black hair fell over her shoulders. It was so long that its ends dragged the floor beside her. “Yes, my mother”—pain tightened her eyes—“she always made red corn cakes with fruit and nuts. I don’t know any other way to make them.”

“You don’t need to know another way. These are perfectly delicious. I’ll wager Poor Singer loves them, too.”

Her eyes glowed. “Oh, yes, very much. But I think he likes anything I make.”

“That’s because he loves you, Silk, though I don’t imagine he’s told you that. But it’s obvious.”

She took a bite of her corn cake. “Is it?”

“Very. Every time he says your name he smiles. Haven’t you noticed?”

Silk swallowed her mouthful, and took a sip of tea. “Well, actually, I have. Once or twice.”

“I would have been surprised if you hadn’t. I’m told that women know these things before men do.”

She finished her corn cake and sat back on the mat. “I made the rest for you,” she said, and pointed to the bowl. “I’m not very hungry.” Fear flitted through her eyes as she looked around the room.

Sternlight picked up another cake and chewed slowly. “Poor Singer told me that you haven’t found any family here, but you mustn’t give up hope.”

Tears suddenly filled her eyes.

Sternlight lowered his half-eaten cake to his lap. “Are you all right?”

Silk blinked the tears back. “Sternlight, I have something very important to speak with you about.”

“I’d be happy to help if I can.”

Silk glanced uneasily at the open doorway, as though fearing they might be overheard.

He gestured to the door. “Shall I lower the curtain?”

“Yes, if—if you wouldn’t mind.”

He placed his cake in the bowl, rose, and went to let the curtain fall closed. A bright outline of sunlight gleamed around it.

She lifted her head and watched him as he walked back. A glow lit her eyes.

He crouched on the mats to her left and said, “Now, what has you so frightened?”

She pulled her pack onto her lap and looked up at him as if he knew more than the gods themselves, and she feared him just as much. In a trembling voice, she said, “My mother told me that if I was ever in trouble, I should come to you.”

“Your mother?”

Silk pulled a blanket from her pack. As she unfolded it, and he saw the red, blue, and black diamonds studded with the finest turquoise, his legs went weak.

He sank to the floor, staring at her unblinking, and saw for the first time the distinctive golden color of her skin, so exactly like her father’s, and the pointed nose identical to her mother’s. “Blessed thlatsinas,” he whispered. “Cornsilk?”

She nodded.

Sternlight closed his eyes a moment, fighting the tide of emotion. He had helped bring her into the world, cut her birth cord, seen her take her first breath, and heard her utter her first cry. He looked at her again. “I don’t know where to begin.”

She shrugged lightly. “I know so little, any place will be fine.”

On impulse, he reached out and touched her hand. “I’m so happy you’re safe. We were very worried after the attack on Lanceleaf. We feared you might have been—”

“Why couldn’t you stop the attack, Sternlight? You’re very powerful. Couldn’t you have ordered Webworm to leave us alone?”

He drew his hand back. “By then Crow Beard was dead, and Snake Head had become the new Blessed Sun. Webworm had to follow his orders. My protests meant nothing. And your father was away at the time, I—”

“My father?” She searched his face. “You mean, you’re not my father?”

He felt as if he’d been bludgeoned. He couldn’t speak. Then a smile crept over his face. “No, but after hearing that hopeful tone in your voice, I’m sorry I’m not.”

“Sternlight, please tell me who is? And my mother? I need to know their names.”

Sucking in a fortifying breath, he said, “There are some things I wish to tell you first, about my part in all this. Then I will go and prepare your father. I suspect he will need a little time.” He gently placed a hand on her cheek. “Your father has spent half of his life working to protect you, Cornsilk. He has placed himself at great risk more than once. When he sees you, he’ll probably be terrified. Please, be kind to him.”

She nodded against his hand. “I promise.”

Sternlight tipped his face and frowned at the ceiling. “Hallowed gods, I’ve explained all of this to you a thousand times in my dreams. Why am I suddenly at a loss?”

“Sternlight? Please? Is Ironwood my father?”

He looked down into her frightened eyes and a curious pang tightened his chest. “Yes, he is. But let me start before that, Cornsilk. This story begins almost seventeen summers ago. Ironwood had been War Chief for less than a sun cycle, and Night Sun—”

“Wait.” Cornsilk held up a hand. “Before you start, I should tell you that Snake Head came to see me. He—he climbed right down into our chamber without being invited, and he told me … he asked me about Lanceleaf Village and a girl named Cornsilk. I don’t think he was certain, but he seemed to think I might be Cornsilk. He said he wanted to talk with his ‘misbegotten half sister.’ And then … then he made threats. Told me I wasn’t to leave Talon Town.”

Sternlight felt ill. He bowed his head and grimaced at the white-plastered floor. “Then I’d better hurry.…”

*   *   *

Ironwood took the rungs of the ladders two at a time on his climb to the fourth story. People, disturbed by his haste, rose from the plaza, shielded their eyes against the slant of the afternoon sun and watched him curiously, whispering. Yellowgirl walked out into the middle of the eastern plaza to frown up, probably wondering where he headed in such a hurry. Her blue dress whipped about her legs. Gnat, who stood guard over the entry, also turned to stare.

Blood rushed so powerfully in Ironwood’s veins his whole body tingled. He hadn’t the time to worry about what they thought.

As he sprinted across the third-story roof for the next ladder, his gaze scanned the canyon. The cliffs looked golden against the sere blue sky. A flock of piñon jays whirled over his head, trilling and uttering sharp rack-rack-racks. People sat against the exterior wall of Streambed Town, women grinding corn and men weaving multicolored blankets. Their laughter carried on the cool dust-scented breeze that swept the desert.

Ironwood halted outside Night Sun’s door. She had the curtain lowered. He called, “Night Sun? Night Sun are you in there?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Just a moment.”

Ironwood spread his legs and clenched his jaw. Gnat and Yellowgirl continued to watch him with their brows lowered, but the others in the plaza gradually dispersed and went back to their chores. It seemed to take forever.

When Night Sun finally lifted her door curtain and draped it over its peg, Ironwood stared. She wore a long larkspur-colored dress and her graying black hair hung loose about her shoulders. She smelled of yucca soap and pine needles.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “I just finished my bath. What—”

“I need to come inside.”

Night Sun saw the panic on his face and stepped back with a frown. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Ironwood entered, lowered the door curtain again and stood in front of her breathing hard. Her dark eyes searched his. He said, “Night Sun … Cornsilk is here. In Talon Town.”

Her face slackened in understanding. “She’s here? Where? Where is my daughter? I want to see her.” She headed for the door, and Ironwood reached out to grip her arm.

“I want you to listen to me first.”

Night Sun glanced at his hard hand on her wrist, then said, “Go on.”

Ironwood released her and took a deep breath. “The young woman who arrived with Poor Singer is our daughter. She escaped the Lanceleaf Village slaughter, but—”

“Thank the gods. Is she all right? What happened—”

“But,” he said insistently, and lifted his fists to silence her, “before any of us knew who she was, Snake Head went to visit her. I don’t know how he knows—but he does.”

Night Sun shook her head in confusion. “But how could he? If none of us realized—”

“That doesn’t matter, Night Sun!” he shouted, and immediately regretted it. He closed his eyes a moment, calming himself, and forced himself to speak in a low voice. “He asked her questions about Lanceleaf Village and threatened her. Told her he suspected she was his ‘misbegotten half-sister.’ Do you understand what I’m saying? For the sakes of the gods, Night Sun. He has the proof he needs to execute you! You must leave! It doesn’t have to be with me, Night Sun, but you—”

“Yes,” she said, staring unblinking at him. “I understand.”

Turning away, she slowly walked across her chamber to stare out the window. Propped Pillar sparkled with an amber brilliance in the afternoon sunlight. The eagle nest on the top was empty, the parents no doubt out hunting in the canyon. As she tipped her face to gaze up at it, long hair fell down her back, the gray strands glimmering whitely against her purplish blue dress.

Ironwood vented a halting breath and folded his arms tightly across his breast, giving her time to think it over.

“Your life is at stake, too,” she said softly, without turning. “When are you leaving?”

“Tonight. I’ll meet Cornsilk at dusk, then I’m grabbing my pack and getting out. I have no desire to face the elders. This time, they’ll have no choice but to—”

“Ironwood.” Night Sun turned. Her beautiful face was sheathed with sunlight, her dark eyes glimmering. A strange serenity had possessed her. “I don’t want to live anywhere hot. Let’s go north, to the mountains.”

After a moment’s hesitation, long enough for her meaning to sink in, Ironwood strode across the room and embraced her so hard it drove the air from her lungs. He held her in silence for a time, then said, “We must wait until it’s completely dark to leave. Sternlight will distract Webworm when we’re ready to go. I’ve already worked this out with him, though he thought it would be just Cornsilk and me, but—”

Night Sun pushed back from him. “Cornsilk could stay, Ironwood. She has the right. If she wishes to accept the position as Matron of Talon Town, my disgrace will not disqualify her.”

Ironwood’s gaze darted about while he thought. “I will speak with her about it.” He looked down. “Night Sun, I would like to talk with her first … alone. I do not mean to—”

“Of course, Ironwood,” she interrupted. “You have taken care of her for many summers. It is your right. Perhaps after you speak to her, you could bring her to my chamber? Or we could have supper together? Something?”

He nodded. “Of course, and then…”

Night Sun looked at him so sternly, Ironwood backed away in confusion. They stood six hands apart, their gazes locked. An odd expression creased her beautiful face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did I say something—”

She steepled thin fingers over her mouth and gazed at him as though about to deliver a life or death ultimatum to an enemy chief. “You will never regret this, Ironwood. I know I’ve caused you much grief in the past, but I love you more than I could ever tell you. I promise I will make you happy.”

He went still, staring at her.

When her jaw trembled, Ironwood stepped forward and clutched her tightly against him. It took several moments for him to realize the warmth in his hair was not her breath, but tears.

He gently kissed her temple. “As long as I’m with you, I can face anything. Now, let’s talk seriously. We have to make plans.…”