People of the Silence (53 page)

Leafhopper whispered, “
Is
Cornsilk being held in Talon Town?”

“That’s where I told her to go if something happened and she needed help. If she did as I told her—” Thistle took a deep breath, praying that for once Cornsilk had obeyed her “—she’s there and safe.”

“Not a captive, then?”

Thistle massaged her aching shoulders. “I don’t think her real father would allow such a thing. I suspect he’s the one who paid for her rearing for so many summers. But maybe not. And her father may even be dead by now. I can’t be sure of anything, Leafhopper.”

“Yes, you can. There
is
one thing you know.”

“What?”

A tiny dagger of flame entered Leafhopper’s eyes. Her voice cut like finely flaked obsidian. “If Jay Bird thinks that his granddaughter is being held in Talon Town, he’ll want to get her back.”

“
If
Jay Bird and Downy Girl believe me. And they’ve no reason to. I just think I can—”

“Many of the warriors who attacked Lanceleaf Village will die in the war.” A grim smile curled Leafhopper’s lips. She lifted her face to the heavens and closed her eyes. “I want to be there. To see it.”

Thistle stared at her. Could this be the same fun-loving young woman who had romped with her daughter only a half moon ago? Thistle’s soul turned cold.

Kneeling, she pulled her blanket from her pack and drew out two lengths of pemmican: meat, fat, and berries stuffed into a tube of deer intestine. They’d killed a yearling fawn two days ago, eaten as much as they could hold, and made pemmican from the rest. She handed a length to Leafhopper. The girl took it.

Thistle wrapped up in her blanket and curled on her side, facing south. As she untied one knotted end of the tube and squeezed pemmican into her mouth, wind flapped her blanket about her feet. She caught the waving corner and pinned it beneath her ankles. The delicious tang of venison and juniper berries soothed Thistle’s raw nerves. She snuggled deeper into her blanket, ate more, and listened to the night. Wind Baby whistled as he skipped through the drainages. Sagebrush rustled. Almost too far away to hear, a lone coyote yipped.

She pictured Jay Bird’s village. Though she’d never been there, she’d spoken to Traders who had. It sat near a pine-covered mountain and a river. Cottonwoods choked the water.

Cries of outrage would go up when she and Leafhopper boldly strode into a Mogollon village. It would be a miracle if they lived long enough to find someone who spoke their language. But if they did, Jay Bird would have to see them, out of curiosity, if nothing else.

Then, my husband and son, your brutal murders will not go unpunished.

Images of Fledgling’s headless body tortured her. Thistle’s throat suddenly ached. She lowered her pemmican to her blanket and closed her eyes.

She didn’t want Leafhopper to hear her crying.

Thirty-Two

As Night Sun slipped the clean blue dress over her head, the copper bells on the hem and sleeves jingled pleasantly. She had washed and twisted her gray-streaked black hair into a bun at the nape of her neck and put on turquoise eardrops. She looked very thin and pale, but she felt ready. Two hands of time ago, a slave had brought her wash water, clothing, jewelry, and the cedar bark torch that flickered on the wall. She’d told Night Sun to prepare for the gathering of First People elders.

The moment had come: judgment. Fear and relief vied for control of her senses. At least the waiting would finally be over, and she would see Cloud Playing. Of all the cruelties she had endured, Snake Head’s order that she not be allowed to see her daughter’s body until tonight had hurt the most. And she hated him for it.

But she hated herself more for bringing them all to this terrible place. Had she kept a tight hold on herself seventeen summers ago, this would not be happening. She had yielded to the joy Ironwood brought her, and now they both stood on the brink of destruction.

By now everyone in Straight Path Canyon would know she had been accused of adultery, and half of them would be glorying in her downfall. In the outlying villages, clan Matrons would be whispering, taking a malicious glee in the troubles of the First People at Talon Town. No matter what happened to her tonight, the story would grow and grow. Nothing could stop it. Speculation about the father of her child would run rampant. It terrified her.

If Snake Head should decide to banish her, she would manage, somehow, to stand the slights, the curses, the loss of old friends, but if Ironwood’s identity were known he would certainly be killed. The First People could not let such a scandal go unpunished. A member of the Bear Clan bedding the Matron of Talon Town! Unforgivable. Better that Night Sun had lain with an enemy chief, like Jay Bird, than one of the Made People. And it had not even been a powerful clan elder, but just a young warrior!

Night Sun’s hands curled into fists. The torch spluttered and cast a fluttering orange glow over the white walls, highlighting the black-and-white water jug and her folded gray blanket. A grim smile came to her lips. In all likelihood, she wouldn’t have to worry about any of this, since she suspected her son planned to execute her.

Night Sun bent to pick up the shell bracelet the slave had brought, and as she slipped it on her wrist, the covering over the roof hole slid back slightly.

Ironwood called, “Night Sun? May I enter?”

“You may, War Chief.”

The ladder dropped. Ironwood climbed down. He wore a beautifully dyed tan shirt with blue and red porcupine quill chevrons sewn across the breast. Fringes adorned the arms and covered his knees. His graying hair hung in a single long braid. His oval face with its slanting brows and flat nose looked oddly serene. “I am no longer War Chief, Night Sun.”

“To me, you always will be. As Matron of Talon Town, I can call you whatever I wish.”

“Your son—”

“Can leap off a cliff, for all I care.” She took a breath. “Has everyone arrived?”

“Yes. They’re in the kiva, waiting.”

Night Sun dried her clammy palms on her dress. “Then let’s have this over with.”

As she walked past him, Ironwood took her arm to stop her. It was the grip of a careless stranger, strong, painful. But as he peered down into her eyes, fear strained his expression. “Don’t say anything that isn’t absolutely necessary. Do you understand me?”

“You mean don’t give them any information unless I have to.”

“Exactly. Let Sternlight say all of the hard things. He is prepared to defend you.”

Night Sun frowned at him. Had Ironwood and Sternlight planned something? A plot to save her? She clasped Ironwood’s hand. “I promise I won’t admit my guilt.”

“Good.” He stepped away from the ladder. “I am to be your guard tonight. Please stay close to me.”

“You’ll be there?” she asked hopefully. “At the gathering?”

“Snake Head resisted at first, then, to Sternlight’s surprise, he relented. Sternlight said Snake Head almost looked satisfied with himself and muttered something about ‘twisted justice.’ I will take up my position at the foot of the stairs.”

“Thank the Spirits.” Just knowing he would be present gave her strength.

Night Sun climbed the ladder and stepped onto the roof. A din of whispers erupted. The plaza stood empty, but people crowded the white roofs, wrapped in blankets, watching. Night Sun’s heart ached. She lifted a hand to them, and hands went up everywhere in response. They dared not speak to her, but she saw their concerned expressions and took some comfort.

A dust-scented breeze rustled her blue hem and whipped up plumes of tan dirt in the plaza. The familiar half-moon shape of Talon Town spread around her, beautifully white. Father Sun had just sunk below the horizon and flames burned through the drifting clouds, but dusk had already settled over the canyon. Hundreds of fires sprinkled the bottomlands. She could hear faint flute music drifting from Streambed Town.

Ironwood climbed up, glanced at the people, and said, “They started gathering four hands of time ago. The elders from all of the Made People clans are out there.”

“And the slaves?”

“Snake Head wouldn’t permit it. He said they would cause mayhem. Many of them tried to sneak out anyway, to show their support for you, but Webworm and his warriors discovered them and drove them back to their chambers.”

“I wish I had strangled Snake Head at birth,” she said bitterly.

“Please, walk ahead of me, Night Sun. I will follow.”

She strode for the ladder that led down to the plaza, taking the rungs two at a time, rushing to the confrontation.

Ironwood walked behind her across the plaza, as a good guard should.

Propped Pillar shone purple in the twilight gleam, leaning over the eastern half of Talon Town where Night Sun’s chambers stood. Oh, how she longed to be sound asleep, curled in her blankets on a pile of soft sleeping mats. But that might never happen again.

When Night Sun reached the altar room connected to the kiva, she ducked low to enter through the T-shaped doorway, then bowed reverently to the thlatsinas painted on the walls. They looked fierce, their fangs bared, the bows and arrows in their hands poised to kill. Their gaudy inhuman masks shone dimly in the firelight streaming from the kiva.

She turned to the staircase that led down and fought the desire to pant. She forced herself to take deep even breaths.

Ironwood came up behind her shoulder and whispered, “Face them as an innocent woman. You
can
do it. You must. Go on, Night Sun.”

She descended the stairs with her chin up, her expression inscrutable. Voices murmured below. Night Sun stepped into the firelit warmth of the ceremonial chamber and turned to the elders sitting in a line on the lowest bench, the yellow one. Only the leaders had come: hunch-backed Moon Bright from Kettle Town, old man Whistling Bird from Streambed Town, diminutive Weedblossom from Center Place. A tiny, white-braided woman, Weedblossom suffered from the knotted-joint disease, and her hands looked like gnarled claws. She sat between Moon Bright and Whistling Bird.

Moon Bright’s silver hair hung loose over her yellow dress. Beautiful red-and-black geometric designs covered the bodice and sleeves. Despite her deep wrinkles, her sharp eyes missed nothing. She tenderly patted Weedblossom’s leg and said something softly.

Whistling Bird frowned at them. His bald head shone orange in the firelight. Polished circlets of clamshell shimmered over his blue shirt. He didn’t hear very well and wore a perpetual frown as a result of concentrating so hard on people’s voices.

Night Sun heard Sternlight’s distinctive steps on the stairs, followed by several other people.

He entered wearing a fresh white robe and a turquoise pendant. He had pulled his hair away from his face into a bun at the back of his head. He glanced briefly at Ironwood, who stood to the right of the stairs, then bowed to the esteemed elders and strode to the pillar, which stood twenty hands in front of Ironwood, where he turned and clasped his hands.

Snake Head came down the stairs next, thumping a stick on each step. He emerged with a gloating smile on his handsome face. A boy’s severed head had been impaled upon the shaft. The sight sickened Night Sun. The boy’s eyes had desiccated and sunken into the pits; his mouth hung open, the jaw set askew. But his face and long black hair had been freshly washed and glistened in the firelight.

Snake Head paraded back and forth in front of the elders, before going to stand by the northwestern pillar, the one nearest Ironwood. The copper bells on his black shirt tinkled as he spread his legs. His black braid draped his left shoulder.

Dune plodded down the stairs, grunting each time his feet landed. When he stepped to the hard-packed dirt floor, he took Ironwood’s arm to steady himself and looked around. His bushy white brows plunged down over his round nose.

Night Sun smiled. All of the other holy people had dressed in their finest jewelry and garments, but Dune wore the same tattered brown shirt he’d worn for many summers. How like the old hermit to comment on these shabby proceedings without saying a word.

Dune’s sparse white hair gleamed as he glanced at Night Sun, then hobbled over to sit beside Whistling Bird. Whistling Bird leaned over and said something, and when Dune answered, Whistling Bird’s lips moved in time, trying to keep up with the words.

Night Sun did not wait to be instructed. She crossed the chamber to the body lying beneath the turquoise-studded blanket on the eastern foot drum.

“Mother!” Snake Head exploded. “I did not give you permission to look upon my dead sister!”

“I didn’t
ask
your permission.”

Night Sun gently turned down the blanket to look at Cloud Playing. Her pale face had been rubbed with oil and shone in the firelight. Someone, probably Sternlight, had carefully braided and coiled her hair on top of her head. Tears constricted Night Sun’s throat. She lifted a trembling hand to touch her daughter’s cold cheek. “Oh, my baby,” she whispered. “I miss you so much.”

“Mother—!”
Snake Head began.

“Wait,” Sternlight broke in. “Give her a few more moments.” His turquoise wolf pendant gleamed against his white shirt.

The elders whispered.

Night Sun kissed Cloud Playing’s forehead and tenderly pulled the blanket back up.

You mustn’t let them see your grief or fear.

Turning, Night Sun strode across the chamber and reached out to greet each elder, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “Hello, Moon Bright. It’s so good to see you.”

“I feared you might have withered in that Cage,” Moon Bright said sympathetically. “I am heartened to see you so well.”

Night Sun reached for the great holy woman of Center Place. “Weedblossom, you look very lovely tonight.”

The little old woman took Night Sun’s hand in a gentle grip and said, “I’m here for you, girl. I want to hear your side.”

Night Sun bent and lightly kissed Weedblossom’s wrinkled cheek, murmuring, “Thank you.”

When she reached for Whistling Bird’s hand, he patted her fingers affectionately. “Are you well, cousin?”