People of the Silence (64 page)

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.”