People of the Silence (30 page)

Creeper gave Webworm a pleading look. For many summers, Creeper had been like a father to Webworm, teaching him the things a boy should know, telling him the ritual stories. Creeper was the only other person in the world who understood and loved Featherstone. And Featherstone loved Night Sun. Webworm knew this was a terrible trial for Creeper—deciding the fate of Featherstone’s aunt.

Creeper flapped his arms helplessly. “We must know. If there is a child, then we—”

“We must force her to tell us!” Badgerbow shouted. He clenched his teeth and glowered at Night Sun. She met his gaze squarely, her eyes blazing. Badgerbow said, “The order to find the child may have been Crow Beard’s last. We are obligated to carry it out!”

Webworm said, “When the people discover this, they will go wild. No woman of the First People has ever been caught in such a crime. Oh, some will demand her execution, but most—”

“Most will defend her,” Sternlight said as he walked in front of Night Sun, standing between her and her accusers. Shining waist-length hair draped the front of his ritual shirt.

Night Sun placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t,” she whispered to him. Sternlight turned halfway round to look into her eyes. As though exchanging some silent secret knowledge, they stared at each other for a long moment, then Night Sun hoarsely murmured, “Don’t endanger yourself. I never meant for this to happen. Not to you. Not after all you have—”

“Hush!” Sternlight ordered. “Do not speak another word!”

Creeper and Badgerbow edged forward, breathlessly awaiting the outcome of this private conversation. Snake Head, too, seemed rapt. He stood like a stone statue, his large dark eyes wide. One of the copper bells on his right sleeve caught the sunlight and projected a tiny gleaming star on the wall.

Night Sun returned to Crow Beard’s side and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest.

Timidly, Creeper asked, “Sternlight? We are waiting. What should we do? You are Sunwatcher. It is your duty to advise us on moral matters. If Night Sun is guilty, she must be punished. Banished, or—”

“Or
killed,
” Snake Head said. “And if there is a child, it, too, must be killed, as my father ordered.”

“Perhaps—” Sternlight’s voice came low, insistent. He seemed to be searching desperately. “Perhaps, Night Sun might be spared, if you knew the location and identity of the child.”

Night Sun jerked around. “What are you talking about?”

Snake Head shot her a glance, then tipped his chin toward Sternlight. “Possibly, but I doubt she will confess—”

“I will tell you.” Sternlight swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

“
You?
” Webworm asked. “How would you know?”

No one seemed to be breathing. Creeper and Badgerbow both peered unblinking at Sternlight.

Only Night Sun moved. She rose on trembling legs and said, “Sternlight? What are you saying?”

“Please,” Sternlight hissed, “trust me.”

“But what are you saying? You told me—”

“Yes, I know I did, but—”

“She’s guilty!” Snake Head pointed a condemning finger. “I knew it! My mother betrayed my father! She deserves to
die
for this! This will shame all First People! Hallowed gods, the taint will last for generations. Even
my
children will bear the blame! Oh, Mother, how could you do this to me?”

Sternlight’s face mottled with rage. He stalked to stand face-to-face with Snake Head. Snake Head leaned backward slightly, obviously frightened.

Webworm’s spine tingled. Not once in forty-one summers had he seen his cousin angry. No, Sternlight moved through life like dandelion seed held aloft on a breeze, looking down at people and events, never becoming involved. What had happened those many summers ago that would evoke such behavior today?

In a hoarse whisper, Sternlight said, “I will tell you only once, Snake Head. The boy lives at Lanceleaf Village. He is the son of—”

“A boy?” Snake Head shouted. “He
will
demand a share of my wealth! In Lanceleaf Village? Isn’t that where—”

“Yes,” Sternlight answered, “where Beargrass, son of Black Rock Woman, took his wife and children almost sixteen summers ago.”

Night Sun shook her head, apparently just as stunned by the words as everyone else in the room. “No,” she said. “No, Sternlight. You—you’re lying! Why are you saying this?”

Webworm glanced back and forth between them. Stern-light’s expression silently begged Night Sun to say no more, and Webworm’s hand crept to the deerbone stiletto on his belt. He had not seen Beargrass in summers, but he still considered him a friend. They had fought many battles together. “Blessed gods,” he whispered.

“Do you know this man?” Snake Head demanded. He took the opportunity to step away from Sternlight and seemed to breathe easier as he turned toward Webworm.

“Yes,” Webworm answered. “Beargrass was Ironwood’s deputy long before me, and I—I have visited his house in the past, whenever I ran the road that goes by Lanceleaf Village.”

“Good,” Snake Head said. “Then you know what his children look like—”

“No! No, I don’t. I haven’t seen the children in many summers.” Well, he remembered Beargrass’ beautiful daughter very well, but truly he couldn’t recall the boy at all.

Snake Head irritably waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Find the boy. Kill him and be done with it.”

Night Sun had broken out in a sweat. Beads of moisture dotted her straight nose and forehead. She stared blankly at Sternlight. The priest simply stared back.

“Sternlight?” Night Sun said.

At a soft gasp everyone spun around.

Crow Beard’s head rolled to the side, and he lay very still.

“Oh…” Night Sun whispered.

Snake Head rushed over and placed a finger over the large vein in the Chief’s neck, checking for a pulse. After several moments, he announced, “My father is dead. As the only male in my lineage, I rule now. I—”

“Wait,” Sternlight said. He knelt beside Snake Head and examined the Chief’s face, touching his temple, then picking up one of Crow Beard’s hands and pressing on the thumbnail to see if the blood retreated and did not return. “He may be dead, but we can’t be certain. He has done this five times in the past sun cycle. He may be on another Soul March to the afterworld. We must put him in a kiva for a few days to see if he returns to us.”

Snake Head’s lip curled. He turned to Webworm. “Regardless, he looks dead, so I am in charge. My first act is to name this man, Webworm, as the new War Chief. I have
always
wanted my cousin Webworm at my side.”

The abrupt advancement staggered Webworm. At first, he didn’t understand, and then, in a moment of sheer terror, he realized the meaning. A sick feeling settled in his gut, as if he’d stabbed Ironwood in the heart. A new Chief with even a thread of respect would have allowed Ironwood the chance to step down on his own. Dismissing him as War Chief would dishonor Ironwood, and the brave warrior did not deserve such treatment.

Snake Head gestured imperiously at Webworm. “Go, War Chief. Carry out my father’s wishes. Find my mother’s wretched spawn and kill it.”

“Yes, my chief.”

But as Webworm backed away, he noticed that neither Sternlight nor Night Sun had moved. They continued to stare at each other like frozen corpses.

Seventeen

Wind Baby tormented the hem of Ironwood’s red shirt as he and Dune hurried for Talon Town. In the sky, a moisture-spawned halo encircled the flaming face of Father Sun. Eerie light filtered through the halo, turning the shadows from gray to a smoky azure. Before him, the land descended toward the rim of Straight Path Canyon in layers of pale slickrock.

Center Place perched near the canyon rim just ahead, its white walls gleaming in the diffuse light. The large town contained over one hundred and thirty-three rooms and was ruled over by a diminutive old woman named Weedblossom. Few people lived there, however. All of the inhabitants were holy people, guardians of the legendary Rainbow Serpent.

The sound of voices Singing and pots shattering carried in the air.

Ironwood watched a young priest leave Center Place carrying a handful of sherds to the sacred Broken Pottery mound in front of the town, where he tossed the fragments down, lifted his arms to the sky and Sang.

“I always feel uneasy up here,” Ironwood said. “They free so many souls every day—which means I’m surrounded by ghosts, and I don’t even know it.”

Dune’s mouth widened in a toothless grin. “Be glad you’re blind to them.”

Ironwood cocked his head. “Why? Are they cursing me to my face?”

“And to your back,” Dune said. “Especially your victims.”

Ironwood plucked a piece of pottery from the road and turned it in his hands, studying the black-and-white geometric designs. “Tell them I regret the sorrow I caused them.”

“I already have, War Chief.”

Center Place served as the spiritual crossroads to the after-worlds. All souls began their journey from this point, even those born at great distances.

To make certain their relatives found the afterworld, caring families used a “soul pot” to capture and hold a dying relative’s last breath. Then, during major ceremonials, they brought the pot to Center Place, paid the priests, and left, knowing that the holy people would, someday soon, shatter the pot and free their relative’s soul to run the road to the afterworld.

Ironwood glanced about, studying every shadow, but he saw no ghosts, just swaying spikes of yellow grass and eroded slick-rock.

Holy roads angled off in every direction, intersecting each other, sometimes running parallel courses, but all converging at the heart of the town.

Dune stopped suddenly. “Listen. Do you hear it?”

Ironwood turned his right ear to Wind Baby. “Yes. It sounds like … shouts … eddying on the gusts of wind. What—”

“Run ahead! Hurry!” Dune waved his walking stick. “I’ll catch up!”

Ironwood’s sandals pounded as he trotted down the road past Center Place to the canyon rim.

For several moments, no sound except Ironwood’s footsteps and a muted roar like faraway thunder came to his ears, but as he neared the rim, threats and shouts rose above the general frenzy. A woman screamed,
“Let her go! Crow Beard … a witch! We all know it! How many innocent people … murdered in the past sun cycle?”

An explosion of voices answered.

Ironwood peered over the edge. Two hundred hands below, Talon Town’s plaza writhed with people shoving each other, shouting. Slaves moved among the crowd, their tattered brown clothing contrasting sharply with the brilliant reds, blues, and yellows of the elite. Curious. But they wouldn’t be there if their masters had not given them permission.

Ironwood clenched his fists. What could have caused…?
Crow Beard is dead.
Yes, it must be. People always panicked after the death of a Chief. If not handled quickly, their rampaging emotions could lead to hysteria, violence, and killing.

Anxiously, Ironwood looked back down the road. Dune seemed to be trying to hurry.

Ironwood waited.

Dune wheezed as he stopped at Ironwood’s side and peered over the edge. Wind flipped his white hair over his ears. “So…” Dune said quietly. “He’s finally dead.”

“That’s the only answer.”

“What are they saying? I can’t make out any words.”

“They’re shouting that Crow Beard was wicked.”

“Well, that’s true enough.” Dune raised a bushy white brow. “I’d throw a slab over him myself if…” An unnerving intensity entered Dune’s faded eyes.

“If what?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you’d throw a slab over him if—what?”

Dune took Ironwood’s arm and guided him along the rim toward the stairway cut into the canyon wall just above Kettle Town.

“If I hadn’t promised that I wouldn’t.”

“But he deserves it, Dune. Why would you help an evil man ascend to the skyworlds to become a god? I shouldn’t think that you would wish—”

“Because.” Dune squinted down at Kettle Town, east of Talon Town, and almost as large. People crowded the roofs, working, talking. Many stood peering anxiously at the turmoil in Talon Town. “On his eighteenth bornday I told Crow Beard I would free his soul after his death. He was a good man, then. The promise made sense. Despite the monster he’s become, I must keep my word.”

Ironwood led the way eastward along the canyon rim to the stairway cut into the cliff face above Kettle Town.

Dune halted at the stairs and took a deep breath. “I’m ready. Let’s climb down.”

“I’ll go first,” Ironwood said, and climbed over the edge, descending as quickly as he could. Dune eased over, taking the stairs with care. When the cliff face grew too steep for steps, a ladder, coupled with handholds, let Ironwood down onto the rounded tower that supported the ladder’s butt.

Voices rose from Kettle Town. People shielded their eyes to stare.

“Look!”
a woman shouted.
“It’s Ironwood! And the holy Derelict! Dune! It’s Dune and Ironwood!”

A roar of adulation went up, and people ran to the hanging balcony on Kettle Town’s north wall, others flooding out of the entries to gather at the base of the ladder Ironwood was climbing down.

The instant Ironwood stepped off, an old woman, Moon Bright, the Matron of Kettle Town, pushed through the crowd, her silver brows a solid line across her wrinkled forehead.

“Come,” she said, and gripped Ironwood’s arm. She led him through the crowd to a place where they stood alone, and whispered, “I have terrible news. Before he died, Crow Beard forced Night Sun to admit she had given birth to a child sixteen summers ago. He—”

“What?”

“Let me finish!” Moon Bright’s eyes blazed. “Snake Head ordered his mother confined in the Cage.”

“The Cage?” Ironwood whispered. The room had neither windows nor doors. The only light came through a small opening in the roof, which was sealed when prisoners were being held there. “Hallowed gods.”

Moon Bright gazed intently at Ironwood. “After his father’s death, Snake Head appointed Webworm as his new War Chief.” Her grip on Ironwood’s arm tightened. “His first order was that Webworm find Night Sun’s misbegotten spawn and kill it.”