Forty-Five

Wind Baby blew through the darkness, spinning along the hillsides as though frantic before flying to the sagebrush. Amid the shrieking wind and flailing plants, Cone’s movements were barely audible.

He slithered on his belly around patches of cactus, edging closer to the firelit camp where Webworm, Snake Head, Creeper, Badgerbow, and Yellowgirl sat hunched against the wind, eating their supper. Webworm’s red shirt contrasted sharply with the white worn by the elders and Snake Head’s gaudy blue. In the dancing firelight, the red and yellow macaw feathers sewn to the chest of Snake Head’s shirt glimmered and flashed as the wind tugged at them.

The sounds of low voices and horn spoons clacking against clay bowls rose and fell with the gusts. Dust sparkled faintly in the orange gleam, whipped up by Wind Baby. The seventy warriors had separated into ten groups, each with its own fire. Cone scanned the dark rolling hills. Six lookouts stood on the highest points, little more than black silhouettes against a starry sky.

Webworm had made camp one thousand hands from the sacred South Road, where enough brush still grew to feed their cooking fires. Burning sage and roasting venison taunted Cone’s nostrils. He’d had nothing to eat since breakfast, and hunger knotted his belly. He forced it from his thoughts. He had to concentrate.

He inched closer, his bow and one arrow gripped in his right hand. His quiver and eight more arrows rested against his left shoulder blade—but he’d better not miss. With all these warriors, he wouldn’t have a second shot, and the very survival of his people might depend upon him this night.

The thought left him shaken and sick to his stomach. Cone’s eyes blurred. It doesn’t matter what happens to you! Someone has to do this! He had, in his own way, been hoping that Jay Bird would do it for him. But that was not to be.

He silently inched his way to a six-hands-tall sagebrush and squinted at the camp. Snake Head’s insidious laugh carried, high and shrill, like that of a cruel child tormenting a helpless animal.

“That’s because you’re a fool, Creeper,” Snake Head said. Across the fire Creeper looked like a whipped puppy, his round face taut. “If you knew anything about the Mogollon, you’d know they were worthy of being our allies. If we had them on our side, we—”

“But, Snake Head!” Creeper objected. His short, plump body strained against the fabric of his white shirt as he leaned forward. He wore his black hair in a short braid. “The Mogollon have never been trustworthy! What makes you think that suddenly they—”

“Because I am dealing with them. That’s what. My father was a fool—” his gaze fell on each of the elders sitting around the fire “—all of you knew it! Don’t try to look as though you don’t know what I’m talking about! Crow Beard didn’t have the skill to manage such an alliance, but I do.”

Creeper glanced around the circle and lowered his gaze. His hands fluttered restlessly in his lap. “Well, if you think you can do it.”

Badgerbow shifted, and the scalped side of his skull gleamed in the firelight. He glowered distrustfully at Snake Head. “You are the Blessed Sun,” Badgerbow said gruffly, “and I must respect that. But before you dive into such negotiations with our enemies, I recommend you seek the advice of the elders. I will be happy to call a council to hear you out.”

Snake Head’s spine stiffened. His handsome face turned stony. “I’ll let you know if I require such a meeting, elder.”

“You listen to me, boy!” Badgerbow glared, his jaw set askew. “If you do not consult with the elders of our people before you place us all in jeopardy—”

Snake Head lurched to his feet, towering over the fire. His blue shirt snapped and billowed in the wind. “Don’t tell me what to do!” he shouted. “I am the Blessed Sun! I tell you what to do, Made man! You do not ever—”

Cone drew back his arrow, sighted on Snake Head’s back, and smoothly let it fly. His arrow struck Snake Head squarely between the shoulders, lancing through at least one lung.

Snake Head staggered, gaping at the people around the fire. Then a hideous scream broke his lips. “I’m shot!” he shrieked. “Oh, dear gods!”

“Webworm!” Creeper shouted. “Go—”

But the War Chief was already on his feet, running toward the darkness. Snakehead’s stagger made it impossible for Webworm to tell exactly where the arrow had come from. Cone watched him race off to the northeast, shouting to his warriors to follow.

Snake Head’s knees went weak. He sank to the ground and clawed at the bright black point that protruded just beneath his right breast. “Help!” he cried. “Help! Help me…?” Blood bubbled at his lips. “Somebody … save me!”

The elders gathered around him, studying the wound, shaking their heads. Snake Head coughed up more blood, choking on it, his eyes bulging.

With the stealth of Rattlesnake, Cone crawled backward through the sage, praying the whining gusts of wind would cover his retreat.

When he reached the deep darkness at the base of the hill, he got to his feet and ran with all his might, swerving around the hill and running flat out across the desert.

He heard arrows hissing. One landed in front of him, missing by a body-length. The next slapped him in the side like a thrown rock. He stumbled, winced at the fiery pain in his kidney, and trotted unsteadily forward, clutching the brightly feathered shaft.

Feet pounded behind him; another arrow slammed into his back and sent its terrible sting through his breast. Cone wobbled, lost his footing, and tumbled to the ground, his face in the sand. He brought up his knees, struggling to crawl.…

A moccasined foot brutally kicked him over onto his back. Cone stared up at the glistening Evening People and the shocked faces of his one-time friends: Webworm, Toehold, Little Rat.…

“Cone?” Webworm cried, and fell to his knees at Cone’s side. The expression of stunned horror on his face left Cone feeling hollow. “Cone, what are you doing out here? Why did you do this? I would never have thought—”

“Come closer, old friend.”

Webworm leaned over him, studying Cone’s twisted face and the blood that ran warmly over his chest.

“Listen,” Cone gasped as he struggled to grip Webworm’s red sleeve. He twined his fingers tightly in the fabric. “Snake Head … betrayed our people. I’ve been carrying messages between him … and Jay Bird.”

“Jay Bird!”

“Yes, and … Jay Bird tricked Snake Head … into bringing eighty warriors—”

“Why was Snake Head talking to Jay Bird?”

“Snake Head … trying to establish alliance … behind the backs of the elders.”

“I understand,” Webworm said as his eyes searched the darkness. “Where is Jay Bird now?”

Cone tugged weakly on his shirt. The arrow had struck the bottom of his right lung, and he could feel it filling with blood, swelling his chest, cutting off his air. Soon, the warm liquid would rise into his throat, and his other lung would fill. “Jay Bird … he’s … at Talon Town. Attacking Talon Town.”

Webworm bowed his head and Cone saw him clench a fist. “Gods, forgive me. We have to get home! I’ve left the town—”

“Too late … for that. You can try … to cut Jay Bird off … on the southwestern trail … probably has … captives.”

Cone coughed, and frothy blood poured from his lips. He felt tired, so tired, as though all of his strength had drained away. “Webworm,” he said, trying to hurry. “Glad … you’ll be next Blessed Sun … Mourning Dove knew. She … she wanted you to rule. Me, too. Sorry … I won’t … be there.” His hand suddenly went numb. His fingers loosened and his arm thumped to the ground.

He felt like thistledown borne on the wind. I should be afraid.

Despite the gray fog at the edge of his vision, Cone saw Webworm’s mouth moving. The War Chief must be talking, but he couldn’t hear anything, not even the ferocious wind that whipped Webworm’s hair around his square-jawed face. A terrible weight pressed down on Cone’s chest. For an instant, when he realized he wasn’t breathing, panic surged through him, but it rapidly melted into a sublime sense of acceptance. Cone closed his eyes against the darkening mist and let himself drift away …

*   *   *

Heart pounding, Webworm rose on shaking legs and looked down at his friend. He allowed himself a moment to feel the hollow sense of loss expanding in his gut, then spun and tramped back for camp. Cone’s blood had been hot as it spilled. Now the wind turned it icy cold, sticky and clotted on his fingers.

Creeper saw him coming and stood up from where he crouched over Snake Head. Blood splotched his white shirt. A large red stain spread over his belly. The other elders halted their efforts around the Chief and breathlessly waited for Webworm.

He stopped by the fire, his jaw clenched, fists trembling. “It was Cone. He shot Snake Head.”

“But why?” Creeper said.

Warriors crowded around them, staring at Snake Head with curious eyes, whispering to each other. The scent of dust filled the air.

“He said that Snake Head had betrayed us. Our Blessed Sun has secretly been meeting with Jay Bird for at least a moon, and he—”

Badgerbow gasped and rose to his feet. “Jay Bird? The Great Chief himself? But that’s insane!”

A stinging sensation built in Webworm’s heart and filtered to his fingertips. He realized that Snake Head was dead. Bitterly tired, barely able to concentrate, he fought to work out what must be done next. If only Ironwood were here! He’d know what to do—and perhaps together they could see the correct path. He massaged his forehead. You only have yourself. You must choose a course of action.… And the Blessed thlatsinas help you if you’re wrong!

Creeper came to Webworm’s side and squeezed his arm gently. “Where is Jay Bird? If he’s been meeting with Cone—”

“Jay Bird”—Webworm took a breath—“has apparently tricked Snake Head, Creeper. Tricked him into pulling out most of our warriors, then Jay Bird ran straight for Talon Town. By now, he’s attacked and is scurrying for home.”

Yellowgirl glared down at Snake Head with loathing. “Blessed thlatsinas,” she murmured. “Our families may be dead.”

“Or taken as slaves,” Badgerbow reminded.

Yellowgirl’s mouth puckered. She was muscular, with sallow cheeks and black hair that hung even with her chin. An expression of pure hatred strained her thin face. She spat upon Snake Head’s body and slowly rose to her feet to pin Webworm with her gaze. “What should we do now, War Chief?”

Webworm swallowed down his tight throat. “Split our forces.” He turned. “There’s no time to waste. I must try to cut off Jay Bird’s retreat, and you, Creeper, must see that the bodies of Crow Beard and Cloud Playing are properly buried, so they can ascend to the skyworlds. When that’s done, Snake Head must be taken back to Talon Town. If I leave you twenty warriors, will that be enough?”

Creeper searched Webworm’s face. “It will have to be. If you’re planning what I think you are, you’ll need the rest.”

Yellowgirl stepped forward and cocked her head knowingly. “You’re going after them?”

“I am. Cone said we might be able to cut them off if we ran cross-country to the southwestern trail.” He extended his icy hands to the warmth of the blaze and shivered lightly. Cone’s blood had caked on the backs and under the nails. “I have to try. This … this is my fault. If I hadn’t listened to Snake Head and pulled out so many warriors—”

“This is not your fault!” Creeper snapped in the harshest voice Webworm had ever heard the little man use. Creeper stepped forward and glared up at Webworm. “You were obeying the orders of your Chief! That’s all there is to it! Your duty now is to try and gain the release of the slaves Jay Bird’s taken.” His voice softened, and he tenderly patted Webworm’s arm. “We will all be looking forward to your return, War Chief. We wish you a speedy journey.”

As Creeper started to walk away, Webworm gripped his shoulder. “When you get home…” Webworm whispered, and glanced around uncomfortably. All eyes were upon him. “I’m afraid for Mother. If they took her with them as a slave, she’ll never make it to Fire Dog territory. We both know that. She’s too frail. But if they didn’t take her … you know that when she goes ‘vacant’ she can’t care for herself. And, well, Mourning Dove may not be there—”

“What? But why wouldn’t…” Pain laced Creeper’s voice. Apparently it had not occurred to him until now that she might have been released during the raid. Webworm could see Creeper’s face change as the truth dawned. “But of course, you’re right. It’s just that … I had not thought … she’s always been so loyal.”

“This was her chance for freedom, Creeper. I wouldn’t blame her if she took it.”

Creeper lowered his gaze to the sand. “Nor would I.”

Webworm glanced up at the other elders. They stood silently by the fire, staring at Snake Head’s corpse. The Blessed Sun lay on his back, eyes wide and disbelieving. Clotted blood had leaked out of his mouth and down his cheek to shine blackly in the wind-whipped firelight. Badgerbow scowled while Yellowgirl glowered at the flames, as if by looking she could snuff them out.

What have you done to us, Snake Head? Webworm struggled with an urge to kick the corpse, to beat the dead flesh with sticks and rocks.

The rest of his warriors stood about uneasily, bows in hands, quivers over their shoulders—as if fearing the Earth Spirits might rise up and swallow them whole.

“Creeper,” Webworm said hoarsely, “I must sleep for a few hands of time. Will you wake me at midnight?”

“You can’t leave in the middle of the night! What purpose would it serve? Get a good night’s rest, then—”

He shook his head. “I must leave as quickly as possible. If Cone was telling the truth, Jay Bird may have attacked earlier today and will have a good head start on us. Wake me at midnight.”

Creeper looked away, but nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Thank you.” Webworm gripped Creeper’s shoulder, then strode toward the other campfires, already sorting men in his mind, idly wondering what Cone had meant about him becoming the new Blessed Sun.

*   *   *

Featherstone sat in the plaza with her eyes closed, her gray head in her hands, listening to the reedy voice of Weedblossom speak to Moon Bright and fidgety old Whistling Bird. She’d never met with these esteemed elders. Oh, she knew them all right. Each of the First People knew the others. But what would such elders wish with her? They had always spoken kindly to her when they passed, but hurried away, as though worried Featherstone might suddenly go vacant on them, and they’d have to look into her empty eyes, or touch her soulless body. So why did they sit here today with frowns on their withered faces?

“I cannot agree!” Whistling Bird shouted. “What if she loses her soul at some critical moment? Do you have any idea what kind of devastation—”

“Our kinship system was established just after the First People emerged from the underworlds, Whistling Bird!” Weedblossom said sternly. “Shall we abandon it because you now think it’s inconvenient?”

“Not inconvenient, Weedblossom. Dangerous!”

Featherstone opened her blurry old eyes and looked at them. When she’d been a child and flown on the back of Dragonfly, she remembered looking down upon Center Place with awe. Weedblossom had always been the greatest of the elders to her. Ever kind, she was considerate to those of low status, and a very great Singer. All of the homeless ghosts who came to Weedblossom, begging her to help them reach the afterlife, went away feeling joyous. Featherstone knew because she often felt the ghosts’ emotions as they trotted past Talon Town.

Brilliant sunlight fired the white plaza, making Featherstone squint. The slaves had run away. Made People wandered about soberly picking up refuse, trying to piece their lives back together. Several of the children had been hauled off as captives, young Toadboy from the Buffalo Clan, Red Spark from the Ant Clan … she ached for them all, remembering how the brutal Fire Dog, Crooked Lance, had hurt her.

“We have faced danger before, Whistling Bird,” Weedblossom said.

“But never from the inside! Don’t you understand? This”—he gestured to Featherstone—“could be the greatest threat the Straight Path people have ever faced!”

Featherstone frowned. The elders had come to Talon Town at dawn, surveyed the damage caused in the raid, then called out Featherstone. So, here they sat, on willow-twig mats, Moon Bright to Featherstone’s left, Weedblossom to her right, and Whistling Bird directly in front of her. Because they were in mourning after the deadly raid, they all wore long red robes belted at the waist with white sashes: red in memory of the bloodshed, white to cleanse the hatred from their grieving hearts.

Featherstone gazed methodically around the circle. Hunchbacked Moon Bright nervously smoothed her fingers over the dirt of the plaza. Her silver hair blew in the warm breeze that swept Talon Town. Deep wrinkles lined her face, reminding Featherstone of a winter-killed buffalo carcass, shrunken and brown. Moon Bright didn’t seem to know what to think. The diminutive Weedblossom, on the other hand, looked determined. Her knotted fingers rested on her knees like sharp talons. She wore her white hair in two short braids. She kept glancing at Whistling Bird with fury in her eyes. Whistling Bird didn’t seem to notice. He stared unblinking at Featherstone, as if evaluating her fitness. His bald head gleamed golden in the sunlight.

“Featherstone?” Whistling Bird asked. “Do you think you can do it?”

Featherstone blinked and frowned. “Do what?”

Whistling Bird shook his head. “See? What did I tell you? She doesn’t even know what we’ve been speaking about! How can she possibly—”

“Featherstone?” Weedblossom tenderly patted Featherstone’s cheek. “Try to listen. We’re discussing something very important.”

“What?”

Moon Bright wet her lips and leaned closer, as though proximity might help Featherstone understand better. “You, Featherstone, are the last female member of a once great family. Seven generations of Red Lacewing women have ruled Talon Town. If Night Sun does not return, and we think it likely, you have the right to claim the position of Matron of the First People. What will you do? Do you think you are fit to rule?”

Featherstone sat back, stunned. “Hallowed rain gods,” she whispered. “I am next in line?”

“You are the end of the line, Featherstone,” Weedblossom said gently. “Which is why I think that, no matter the risks, you should take your place.”

“Well,” Whistling Bird said sullenly, “she is old. Perhaps she will not rule long enough to cause any—”

“Hush!” Weedblossom snapped. “Have you no heart?” Then she turned back to Featherstone. “Would you like to rule, Featherstone?”

As though awakening from a long sleep, Featherstone suddenly understood what they were trying to tell her. She pulled herself up straight, looked Weedblossom in the eyes, and said, “It’s my duty to serve, Weedblossom. My wishes are of no concern. Besides, I’ll have my son to help me. I—I pray.” Off and on throughout the morning, she’d cried, terrified for Webworm and Creeper. “My son is all that I need to rule well.”

Weedblossom peered at Moon Bright and Whistling Bird. “Which of you dares to deny a Red Lacewing woman the right to rule her people?”

Moon Bright said, “Not I.”

Whistling Bird threw up his arms. “All right! I can’t fight all three of you!”