People of the Silence (17 page)

It struck him in the middle of the back. Fledgling jerked around, startled, his thin-boned face pale, and saw her. As though relieved, he gripped the cape over his heart, then waved her forward.

Cornsilk grinned and walked to him, carefully avoiding clumps of prickly pear. She sank on her knees at his side. “What are you doing? Spying on our parents?”

A thin coating of dust sprinkled his broad cheekbones and dark eyebrows. She could see his pulse throbbing in his temple.

“Listen,” he whispered. “Mother and Father are arguing.”

Through the rear window, she saw them, standing face to face. Her mother had a black-and-gray blanket snugged over her shoulders. Her father wore a pale blue shirt. He’d crossed his arms, as if hugging himself.

Her mother said, “Beargrass, we’ve been quarreling for two days. Enough! If you will not come,
I
will take Cornsilk and Fledgling and go away!”

“Thistle, please. I am Lanceleaf Village’s War Chief. I have responsibilities. The Tower Builders are raiding. How can I leave now?”

Cornsilk stared breathlessly at the house. The red clay plaster shone orange in the bright sun. Down the hill, children played in the village plaza, wrestling, throwing sticks for barking dogs. A broad square of two-story buildings bordered the plaza. Women sat in the sunlight on the west side, grinding corn, laughing. The lilting voices of men rose from the kiva dug into the middle of the plaza.

“Thistle,” her father pleaded, “don’t do this to me. I beg you. I love you and—”

“If you did, you would protect us!”

Cornsilk breathed. “Fledgling, why does Mother wish to take us away?”

He shook his head. “I’m not certain yet. Shh.”

“Thistle,” her father said. “Please. I know you are frightened, but I do not believe we are in danger. Even if Night Sun discovered—”

“I am not afraid of Night Sun! She was
never
as wicked as Sternlight said! I thought she was a good woman. Kind to everyone—”

“All right!” Beargrass clenched his teeth. More quietly, he continued, “I don’t believe it, but let’s assume that Crow Beard is not the father, and that Ironwood is. How could his enemies find out where his child is? Ironwood would have told no one, except, perhaps, Sternlight. And I cannot believe that Stern-light would betray Ironwood.”

“Why not?” Thistle asked, on the verge of tears. Her mouth trembled.

“They have been friends all their lives. Besides—”

“Would that matter if—”

“Besides,”
her father interrupted in a commanding voice, “we have been safe for over fifteen summers, Thistle. Why, after all this time, would someone suddenly decide to betray Ironwood? What would he have to gain?”

In a choking voice, her mother answered, “I don’t know, but I’m terrified. We must do something! Please, help me think of a way of keeping our son and daughter safe.”

Panic threaded Cornsilk’s heart.
Mother wants to take us away because she thinks we are in danger … Ironwood is the father of whom?

Cornsilk whispered, “Fledgling? What child? Who is Ironwood’s child?”

Fledgling closed his eyes. “I think they mean one of us.”

It took some time for his meaning to sink in. “One of us?…
Us?
”

“Perhaps,” her father said softly, “we should separate Cornsilk and Fledgling.”

Her mother stood very still, then slowly nodded. “If you think that’s best.”

“Cornsilk could go to live with my brother Deer Bird in Two Horn Village. It isn’t far. A half day’s walk. And I suspect she might enjoy it. She has always loved Deer Bird.”

Cornsilk forced a swallow down her tight throat. Her heart pounded.

Fledgling saw her wince and reached out to put an arm over her shoulders, holding her. “Wait. We don’t know anything yet.”

“Oh, Beargrass,” her mother wept. “I’ll miss Cornsilk.”

Beargrass drew her mother close and tenderly kissed her hair. “It should only be for a short time. If Crow Beard lives, I believe we are still safe. If he dies—”

Her mother looked up. “If he dies, we can leave Cornsilk there for a moon or so … just to see.”

“Yes. Anyone who wished to harm Crow Beard’s child would do it immediately, if at all. And Ironwood’s child—”

“Yes, I understand.” Eagerly, her mother added, “And after a moon, we can go and fetch her, and bring her home.”

“Yes.”

“Fledgling,” she said softly. “They mean
me.
It’s me they’re—!”

“What of Fledgling?” her mother asked. “Where should we send our son?”

Cornsilk watched the muscles in her brother’s jaw tense.

Beargrass said, “I believe it is our duty to stay with Fledgling at all times. We—”

“No, he’s old enough now,” her mother said. “As soon as he kills his first enemy warrior, he will be a man. What if we send him to stay with your father? That way we could remain here, arousing no suspicion, and our son and daughter will be safe. You may continue your duties as War Chief. We’ll just tell people that Cornsilk and Fledgling are away visiting relatives. Oh, Beargrass, that’s the solution!”

Beargrass didn’t say anything for a while, but placed his hands on Thistle’s shoulders and peered deeply into her eyes. “If I agree to this, will you agree to let me send a runner to Talon Town to see what’s happening there? To keep us informed about the Chief’s health?”

Cornsilk waited breathlessly for her answer. Her brother’s arm trembled where it lay over her shoulders.

“Yes,” her mother said, “all right.”

Beargrass heaved a breath. “Thank you, my wife. Now, let us prepare. We must hire someone to go to Talon Town. Someone we can trust to rush back with the news if Crow Beard dies.”

Fledgling lowered his head. “I think it’s me,” he said. “I’m not your brother.”

“You will always be my brother,” she began, but her mother’s strained voice made Cornsilk hush.

“Who can we trust, Beargrass?”

Her father smoothed a hand over his chin. “Young Stone Forehead, maybe. At seventeen summers, he is already a respected warrior. Let me speak with him. The Blessed thlatsinas know we have enough rare trade goods to pay him well for his loyalty.”

Her parents moved out of sight of the window, and Cornsilk turned to Fledgling. His face had gone dark.

“Why didn’t they ever tell me?” he whispered. “I am almost a man, Cornsilk. They
should
have told me! I—I would like to know my real parents! Who is my mother? And where is she? If I knew, I would go to her now, this instant!”

Cornsilk’s thoughts darted about like bees, landing here and there. Four turkeys waddled across the plaza behind a child dragging a yucca cord. They kept pecking at the cord and each other, and squawking in dismay. “Fledgling, do you recall three nights ago, when the runners arrived?”

“Yes. Father said they brought news of raiding.”

“I know, but I was sick and not sleeping very well, and I heard him say something different.”

He stared wide-eyed at her. “What? Something about us?”

“I think so. At the time, I paid it no attention, because it didn’t make any sense, but now … Fledgling, I woke when Father said that the runners had come to warn him and Mother that if the Chief died, the payments would stop coming.”

“Payments? What payments?”

“Well, consider the beautiful things in our house. We have many more blankets, rare pots, and magnificent jewelry than anyone in the village. Where did they come from?”

Fledgling’s black brows pulled together. Behind him, a roadrunner darted through the sage, its neck stretched out, trying to grab a bug. “I thought they were payment for Mother’s work as a mason and tribute to Father as the War Chief of the village.”

“I did, too. But, after that, Mother said she didn’t care if the payments stopped coming, that the secret would die with them, and our family would be safe forever.”

“Safe from what?”

She pinned Fledgling with her gaze. “Someone they think wants to kill either you or me.”

“But if one of us is Ironwood’s child…” Fear twisted his expression. “Cornsilk, why would Chief Crow Beard pay for our parents to take care of Ironwood’s child?”

She gripped his wrist hard. “Perhaps that’s it.”

His face slackened. “You mean … I am not Ironwood’s son, but Crow Beard’s? And one of the Chief’s enemies fears that I might become the next Blessed Sun?”

Cornsilk made a disgusted sound. “Only if you came from Night Sun’s belly. She has a son much older than you. Snake Head must have seen twenty-three or twenty-four summers.”

The Straight Path clans traced lineage through the female, so when a man or woman died, all of his or her belongings were equally divided among the living daughters. The daughters then administered the lands, houses, and slaves, and gave a share of the remaining belongings—pots, shields, weapons, clothing—to the sons. The Matron of the First People, as a result, owned nearly everything and made all decisions except those regarding warfare. Men generally possessed little, but a Chief from the First People …

“Unless his mother marries again. Then she may declare her new husband the Chief. Though Snake Head would rule until Night Sun selected another.”

Cornsilk released his wrist and fiddled with a twig, shoving it across the sand with her finger. “What if … maybe I am the Chief’s daughter and will inherit part of the wealth of his kingdom, and someone wants to stop that from happening.”

“You wouldn’t inherit much,” Fledgling pointed out. “Night Sun owns everything. Chief Crow Beard has almost nothing without her, a few weapons, some trinkets. If you are Crow Beard’s daughter by another woman, you have no claims at all. Oh, they might feel sorry for you and grant you a pittance, but—”

“Crow Beard’s ‘trinkets’ might amount to unimaginable wealth, brother.”

Fledgling said, “No matter who my real mother is, a true son of Crow Beard would have a claim on his personal belongings. I would be a threat to Snake Head’s inheritance.” He swallowed hard. “Do you think he’s the man who wants to kill me? The one our mother fears? I’ve heard he’s very wicked.”

“I’ll tell you exactly what I think,” she said. “I think we’re both leaping off a cliff before we’re sure we’re being chased. We may have all of this figured out wrong. I think we should speak to Mother and Father.”

She started to rise and he gripped her hand. “We’ve seen fifteen summers, Cornsilk. Almost sixteen. If they haven’t told us by now, they never plan to. You know how they are!”

She sagged to the sand. Their parents loved secrets. She and Fledgling frequently heard them whispering to each other in the darkness at night, always about frightening or forbidden things. “Maybe we should begin making plans of our own, Fledgling. If you have to go to—”

“Let’s pretend we are going where they tell us to, and … and then let’s go somewhere else! Together.”

She nodded. “All right, maybe. We’ll think about it.”

“Let’s just do it. In a moon, we can come home. They might be worried for a time, but in the end, we’d be all right. They’d get over being mad at us. They always do. And then—”

“Listen! If we decide to do this, we can’t tell anyone. Do you understand? Not even Ruddy Boy in the afterworld. He might tell one of the ancestor Spirits, and there’s no telling who would find out after that.”

“I promise I won’t tell.”

Cornsilk got to her knees again and brushed her sweaty hands on her leggings. The fragrance of crushed sage filled her nose. “Well, let’s go in and let them tell us they’re sending us away, then we’ll wait until they’re out of the house and gather the things we’ll need.”

“Thank you, Cornsilk.”

She smiled confidently, but her stomach ached with doubts. Nothing made sense. Except … except that her parents had always treated them differently. An extra pat on Fledgling’s shoulder, a special tenderness in their smiles when they looked at him. Until today, Cornsilk thought they loved Fledgling more because he was just more lovable than she. Her brother obeyed their commands without question, while she took it as a matter of honor to figure a way around directions she didn’t like. Her parents told her not to fight, so Cornsilk waged one subtle war after another among her peers. She had to out-shoot and out-hunt every other child in the village—especially the young men. On many occasions her exasperated mother had joked that a wild strain of weasel blood ran in Cornsilk’s veins.

But they never joked when Fledgling did something wrong. They punished him.

Because he was truly their son, and it mattered?

Through the window, she glimpsed her mother duck out the door and heard her call,
“Fledgling? Cornsilk? Where are you?”

They leaped to their feet and ran.

Eight

As the chill of winter deepened, the sunlight grew feeble and pale; it fell through the drifting clouds in streaks of fallow gold and slanted across the canyon.

Night Sun clutched her black-and-white cotton cape closed with both hands and descended the winding deer trail that ran along the west side of Straight Path Wash. Small garden plots dotted the flats. Filled with the withered corpses of frosty bean and squash vines, they were also scattered with corn stalks and tiny immature corncobs. They’d had a very wet spring and autumn, but cold had come much earlier than normal. Many of their crops had frozen on the vines. It had been a hard winter for smaller villages. In another moon, when the last supplies disappeared, raiding would intensify. No matter how much peace men and women held in their hearts, when their children cried for food, weapons filled their hands.

She shook her head and said a soft prayer to Spider Woman, begging for spring to come early. When people could gather enough tubers and tender plants, it staved off violence.

Her daughter’s steps pattered behind her. Night Sun turned to look at Cloud Playing.

Though she had seen only nineteen summers, gray already touched her temples, highlighting the two long braids she wore. Her life had not been an easy one. Cloud Playing had borne four children and lost all four. They had died, along with her beloved husband, Tassel, from a strange wasting sickness that had swept the canyon two summers ago. Night Sun diligently pushed her to remarry, but Cloud Playing maintained she hadn’t the heart for it, not yet. But her daughter also said she had “prospects.” When Night Sun had seriously said, “Not Webworm, I hope,” Cloud Playing had replied, “He is my friend, Mother. Nothing more. Though I do love him. He has been kind to me since I was a little girl.” Still, it worried Night Sun.