People of the Silence (32 page)

Dusk settled across the desert in a cool lavender veil and flowed into the spaces between the buttes, dyeing the sky a deep purple. From the crest of the low rise, she could see vast distances. Square-topped buttes jutted up across the broken country. Slanting rays from the dying sun cast their long shadows across the sage-covered bottoms and mingled with the dark slashes of drainages zigzagging down the slopes. To her right, the territory of the Green Mesa clans rose toward the sky in cool, green layers, the ragged foothills giving way to pine-covered mountains.

Ahead of her, billowing black clouds hovered above Lanceleaf, their bellies tarnished by an amber glow. Perhaps it was some odd shaft of evening sunshine through the clouds?

Cornsilk let out a taut breath. She missed her parents and Leafhopper. All day long she had been hearing her mother’s beautiful voice and teasing laughter, and they had wounded her soul. To be frustrated in her plans was irritating enough, but she was also homesick.

Her dreams last night had been bizarre and tormented. She’d found herself tumbling through a flaming sky, and a huge white-faced bear had run around and around her, trying to save her from crashing to the earth. He’d finally told her to climb onto his back. Cornsilk had grabbed the fur around his neck and ridden him as he’d leaped from cloud to cloud. When he landed on the ground, she’d climbed off and petted his neck softly. She’d loved that bear deeply for all he’d done for her.…

Walking over the crest of the hill, she could see where the tan trail forked in the juniper-furred valley below. She scrutinized it. If she took off running, she could be home in less than half-a-hand of time. She wouldn’t stay. She knew her parents did not wish that, but if she could, she …

Stone Forehead would just run you down. You’ve raced him before, and he’s much faster than you are.

So was Fledgling, for that matter. She watched the two young men as they topped the hill and walked toward her. From the smiles on their faces, they’d become fast friends. Fledgling would probably help Stone Forehead tackle her and drag her kicking and screaming to Uncle Deer Bird’s house.

“We should camp here tonight,” Stone Forehead said as he hiked up beside Cornsilk. His yellow sleeves flapped in a sudden gust of wind. “This is a good place.”

Fledgling looked around and nodded. “All right, I’ll gather wood for a fire, then we’ll—”

“You dimwits,” Cornsilk said disgustedly. “Oh, yes, this is a fine place. Why, up here on this hilltop enemy warriors will be able to see us for half a day’s walk. A fire here will be seen as far south as the Fire Dogs! Not to mention the Tower Builders and the Wild Men. Besides, up here, Wind Baby will scour our faces raw.” She thrust her bow toward the split in the road. “I’m camping down in the junipers.”

Fledgling grinned and his pug nose crinkled. “She’s right, you know. It would be safer. Finding wood will be easier, too. We might even be able to ambush a deer, or net some birds in the trees.”

Cornsilk and Fledgling stared at Stone Forehead, awaiting an answer.

The young warrior stood stiffly, his dark brows lowered, peering unblinking at the northern highlands. A flush crept into his cheeks, as if his heart had begun to thunder.

Fledgling said, “What is it? What do you see?”

Cornsilk turned, frowned, and glanced northward. Father Sun’s radiance had completely died, so the golden gleam could not be a strange reflection of the light. Had Lanceleaf Village built a huge bonfire, or—

Stone Forehead breathed, “Oh, Blessed gods,” and ran, his legs flashing as he raced down the hill.

A cold pit opened in Cornsilk’s belly. She flew after him, her pack flopping on her back. A pitiful voice whispered in her soul,
No, it can’t be …

Fledgling caught up with her and shouted, “It’s happening, Cornsilk! Just as our parents feared!” He pulled out ahead.

She squinted against the dust his feet kicked up. The dirt trail cut through the junipers and climbed the opposite slope. Stone Forehead leaped a log in the trail before she lost him in the trees.

Fledgling darted past the split in the trail and vanished into the deep green, following Stone Forehead.

Cornsilk briefly glanced at the trail which led to her uncle’s home, and forced her legs to run harder. She panted up the slope, ducking beneath the low juniper branches, and continued on.

When she reached the top, Stone Forehead was way out ahead. He’d hit his stride, and his long legs ate away at the distance. Fledgling ran behind him.

As the evening deepened, they became black silhouettes, and the gleam in front of them turned savage. What she had earlier taken for clouds hovering over the village metamorphosed into great billows of smoke. Tormented by Wind Baby, they lengthened, becoming thin charcoal threads as they blew eastward. The glow rose into the night like a fiery blister.

Cornsilk ran with all her heart, powered by panic.
Mother! Blessed thlatsinas … not Mother!
The need to feel her arms around her again grew overwhelming. Cornsilk prayed as she had never prayed before, “If anything’s happened to her … thlatsinas, don’t let her die! Please,
don’t let her die!
”

Stone Forehead and Fledgling pulled further and further ahead. Breath tore in and out of Cornsilk’s lungs. She blinked her tears back as she vaulted dark spots in the trail. They might have only been shadowed depressions, but brush and rocks often tumbled into such hollows. She couldn’t risk a fall.

Her father had said that anyone who wished to harm the hidden child would do it immediately after the Chief died. Did that mean the Blessed Sun was gone? Or had the vicious Tower Builders or the cursed Fire Dogs attacked Lanceleaf?

“Mother?” she called. “Father?”

Maybe her parents weren’t even in the village. They could be out gathering cactus pads, or hunting rabbits.

Mother’s sad eyes formed in the darkness before her, filled with love and worry. “
Oh, my daughter. You are my joy. Never forget that.
”

Sobs choked Cornsilk as her sandals pounded over a hump in the road and down the other side.

The closer she came to Lanceleaf Village, the more the crackling flames swelled and roared. Thin cries wavered above the cacophony.

Panting, her lungs fevered for air, Cornsilk crested the last rise … and her legs went weak. She stumbled, catching herself just before she fell.

An inferno of flame rose from the village, earth trembling as one burning roof after another collapsed and fell into the houses. Torrents of sparks whirled into the sky and drifted lazily through blood-colored clouds of smoke.

Willow and bulrush mats had been thrown onto the blaze. Cornsilk locked her shaking knees. Black pitch streaked the walls. The warriors must have dragged out people’s bedding, tucked it around the bases of the walls, then thrown the pitch over the buildings and set them on fire.

Stone walls remained standing to outline the square of buildings that had surrounded the plaza, but the interiors of the houses blazed in fiery heaps. Charred pine poles, all that was left of the ceiling, thrust up against the orange glare like burned arms imploring the sky gods for help.

A whimper lodged in her throat. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, nocked it in her bow, and bent low, trotting along the tall dead grass that edged a cornfield, praying for a glimpse of her family’s home. Had it burned, too?

She drew closer—and saw her home.

Three of the walls still stood, blackened with soot, but the wall facing the village had toppled into a mound of rubble.

Frantically, Cornsilk’s eyes searched for people. No one stood beyond the halo of light. Where had they all gone? Where were her parents? And Leafhopper? Had the villagers seen the raiders coming and fled before they arrived?

She scrambled for the rise behind her home which overlooked the village. As she crept closer, she heard voices. An old woman wept bitterly; a man gave gruff orders.

Cornsilk got down on her belly and slid through the sand until she reached the big yucca where she had lain only a few short days ago and seen her brother eavesdropping on their parents.
Oh, Fledgling, where are you?

Heart throbbing in her ears, she inched forward and stopped suddenly. The rear window of their house, which had originally been blocked by the front wall, now opened onto the plaza and people huddled there.

Little Snail, seven summers old, wailed, a soft and shrill sound, as she struggled to drag a small body away from a burning building. The body flopped onto its back and Cornsilk covered her mouth with her hand to stop its trembling.
Brave Boy!
One of his eyes was open and stared blindly at the sky.

Little Snail sobbed breathlessly as she dragged her brother away by the feet. His arms had spread and scooped sand every time she tugged. Throwing all of her weight into the struggle, Little Snail moved Brave Boy less than a hand’s breadth, then sank to the ground, sobbing. She buried her face against her brother’s chest.

When Little Snail dropped, Cornsilk saw her father …
and Fledgling!
They sat on the ground in the middle of the plaza. A tall, square-jawed man stood over them. He wore a warrior’s helmet, a close-fitting cap of buffalo hide. He swung a war club in his right hand, the stone head blood-shiny in the firelight.

Cornsilk squirmed to the left. Where was her mother? What had happened to her mother? Had she escaped? Blessed thlatsinas, let it be so! And Stone Forehead? Where had he gone?

Her stomach knotted. Stone Forehead would have run straight into the battle, firing arrows as quickly as he could, trying to defend his people. Was he dead? Perhaps he had known the battle hopeless and run away.

Her father put an arm around Fledgling, holding him close, and the act seemed to enrage the lanky warrior. His red shirt whipped about his legs as he paced in front of them.

“You must know, Beargrass,” the man shouted over the roar of the flames, “that I will kill you if you do not tell me.”

Her father’s hold on Fledgling tightened. He yelled. “I know that, Webworm.”

Webworm! What is he doing here?

“Who is this boy’s real father?” Webworm demanded.

Fledgling squeezed his eyes closed, his expression one of sick fear.

“I am.” Beargrass tried to straighten his leg and choked a cry. Was that blood mottling the skin of his thigh?

“Don’t lie to me! I know his mother is the whore Night Sun! She will be punished for her crime. But we must find the father, too. Answer me! Is it my cousin Sternlight?”

Cries of outrage rose from his warriors. Such a mating would be incest! They glanced at each other uneasily.

Webworm paced back and forth, smacking the bloody war club on his palm, bellowing, “I know that Sternlight slept in Night Sun’s personal chamber while Crow Beard traded with the Hohokam! He
must
be the father!”

“Fledgling is
my
son,” Beargrass insisted angrily. “His mother…” His voice broke. “Was … was my wife, Thistle. You know this, Webworm. From the nights you sat at my fire, sharing my hospitality. I am telling you the truth!”

Cornsilk’s heart cried out in terror,
No!
Mother couldn’t be—

Webworm pointed at Beargrass with his war club. In the lurid glare, it shone amber. “You are calling the Blessed Sun a liar?”

“What
is
this madness?” Beargrass shouted. “Webworm, you know me! By the Blessed thlatsinas, I swear on my soul, I’m telling you the
truth
! This boy is my son by my wife! If the Blessed Sun says otherwise, he’s
wrong
!” Beargrass glared up through pain-slitted eyes, voice strained. “Even now, Webworm, after this atrocity, I’ll not call the Blessed Sun a liar—but I’ll say he’s
mistaken
!”

Sobs caught Cornsilk by surprise. She smothered the sound as best she could. Tears blurred her eyes and ran hotly down her face. The Blessed Sun had told Webworm to find a
boy.
What did that mean? Had her mother lied to her? But why would she?

Beargrass glared up at Webworm. “In all the years you fought at my side, shared cold and fatigue, did you ever see me act dishonorably? Did you ever question my loyalty, or courage?”

Webworm shook his head. His mouth moved, but Cornsilk couldn’t hear his answer.

Beargrass rose unsteadily to his feet, limping painfully on his bloody leg, and glared at the warriors in the plaza. “I risked my life to save many of you! That man who fought beside you, the warrior who shared your fire, and cared for you when you were wounded, tells you that you are wrong! This is my son, as the gods bear witness! You have murdered innocents! Do you wish two more murders on your souls? Any of you?”

Webworm slapped his war club into his palm. “I must do this, Beargrass! I have no choice. I have orders to leave no witnesses!”

Her father collapsed to the ground again and hugged Fledgling so tightly his arms shook. Cornsilk saw that Fledgling was crying. “Then for the sakes of your own souls, do it quickly!”

Webworm lifted a hand to someone outside Cornsilk’s vision, and shouted, “Gnat! Do … do it!”

The ring of warriors closed in, until six warriors stood framed in the window, blocking her view. Cornsilk blinked to clear her eyes of tears. Webworm tramped out of sight, then reappeared outside the square of burned buildings. He winced as he massaged his shoulder—the way a man would to soothe a wound—then sank to the ground, removed his buffalo helmet, and dropped his sweaty head in his hands.

Her father cried out sharply, a hollow smack sounded, and Fledgling screamed, high and clear—the sound cut off as if by a sliver of obsidian.

The group of warriors milled around for several instants, then one man cursed loudly, and they all began to back away.

Cornsilk raised herself on her elbows, shaking, eyes searching.

As the warriors filed out of the plaza, she glimpsed her father lying on his back. Blood soaked the front of his shirt, and across his stomach …

“Here!”
Gnat walked up to Webworm and threw him something that resembled a hide ball.