People of the Silence (69 page)

“I don’t know anything—”

He lurched to his feet and loomed over her. “You should know that many people here once lived in Turtle Village. They’ve been talking about you and your family, and don’t remember any of you. That’s odd. Don’t you think?”

Cornsilk just stared at him.

He gripped the ladder and snapped, “I am ordering that you are not to leave this place. Perhaps later, when your memory returns, we can talk. Until then, I want you to think about just where your interests lie. You can work for me, or against me. Beargrass worked
against
me.”

He climbed the ladder with enough vigor to leave it rattling. His steps pounded angrily across the roof. She heard him yell at someone.

Breathing hard, Cornsilk stared up at the entry for a long time, then closed her eyes tightly.

Forty-One

Poor Singer tried to stop gaping at the First People’s kiva. The sheer size of this circular ceremonial chamber, over a hundred hands across, left him humbled. The kiva in Windflower Village spread about half this size, and while beautiful, it could not compare with the majesty of this chamber. The yellow, red, and blue benches, topped by the white walls, engendered a sense of wonder in Poor Singer, as if, just by standing here, he had become part of the gods’ world.

He lowered his eyes and sewed the shroud around Crow Beard’s swollen body. Dune stood at his shoulder, watching with mild eyes. Across the way, a grim-faced Sternlight sewed on the shroud for Cloud Playing.

The small fire crackling in the rectangular fire box threw a wavering orange gleam over the thlatsina masks hanging above the thirty-six wall crypts. They seemed to be watching the final burial preparations with predator-like intensity. The sharp teeth and polished beaks shone, and Poor Singer could
feel
those hollow eye sockets gazing upon him.

He ran the thread through the last hole and tied the knot, then straightened, his bone needle in hand. “What should I do next, Dune?”

The frail little holy man lifted his chin, peering down his small nose at the stitching. Crow Beard had been totally encased. “I couldn’t have done better myself. That’s fine.”

Sternlight glanced up from the turquoise-studded blanket that encased Cloud Playing’s body like a cocoon. He smoothed and tucked the last’ strands of her hair into the blanket and began sewing it shut. “Crow Beard will be grateful for the work you’ve done, Poor Singer.”

Rolling the bone needle between his fingers, Poor Singer struggled with the sense of pride that tried to rise in his breast. Would it always be a battle like this?

Dune’s thin white hair stuck out at odd angles around his deeply wrinkled face. He wore white, as Sternlight did. They’d all been working hard since before dawn, and sweat soaked their clothing, making Dune’s shirt cling to his skeletal body like a second skin. His ribs showed through the fabric.

Dune turned away. “Now that that’s finished, why don’t you help me bless and purify the burial ladders?”

“I’d be happy to, Dune.”

Poor Singer followed Dune around the foot drum to the fire-pit, where the two pine-pole ladders lay propped against the lowest, the yellow, bench. Four small pots of cornmeal rested in between the ladders. Dune reached for one and said, “Hold out your hands.”

Poor Singer did, and Dune poured cool white meal into them, then set the pot down on the yellow bench and pointed to the ladder on the left. “Rub the cornmeal into the ladder. We are consecrating the wood for the journey, and appeasing any angry Earth Spirits who might have inhabited the tree we cut down to make the ladders. White meal signifies the blessed east, and purity. It will heal any hurt feelings.”

Poor Singer bent over and began smoothing the finely ground meal on the long side poles of the ladder. “Shall I rub it into the sinew which ties the rungs to the poles?”

“You shall, and after you’ve finished with the white meal, rub on red cornmeal, then the yellow, and finally the blue. By joining the colors of the sacred directions we are bringing the Great Circle of life fully around, tying the ends together. The old is over and done. All hurts are forgiven. Crow Beard and Cloud Playing now have a chance for a new beginning.” As he sat on the bench and worked white meal into his ladder, Dune sighed. “And the gods know, Crow Beard needs one.”

Sternlight looked up and gave Dune a kindly glance. “Indeed, he does.”

“I have heard,” Poor Singer ventured with care, “that he did some unpleasant things during his life.”

The wrinkles of Dune’s ancient face rearranged themselves in contemplation. “Many. But all of that is over. We have cleansed his soul and cleared his eyes. He can see his errors now. The punishments he inflicts upon himself will be far worse than any we humans could impose.”

Sternlight gazed at Poor Singer. “Crow Beard will spend the rest of eternity trying to make up for wrongs he did people. I think he will make a good rain god. He will want to take care of the people he hurt.”

Poor Singer’s gaze went to the sewn-up blanket on the foot drum in front of Sternlight. “And Cloud Playing? What will she do?”

Sternlight gently placed a hand on the body. “She had little to atone for. Everyone … almost everyone … loved her. She played with the children, cared for the sick, helped the elderly, fed the hungry. I know few people who gave as much as Cloud Playing did.”

“Or suffered as much,” Dune said as his eyes narrowed. “For a woman her age, she endured far too many blows. I can’t understand why anyone would wish to murder her.”

“She was
murdered?
” Poor Singer asked in a hushed voice.

Sternlight’s handsome face tensed. “Yes, killed just beyond the walls of Talon Town by an unknown man. It happened right after her father’s death.”

Poor Singer finished applying the white meal and scooped out a handful of red. He began rubbing it over the ladder. In the muted gleam of the fire, the two holy men looked deeply sad, as though they missed Cloud Playing. But neither of them seemed to miss Crow Beard. That was intriguing. Poor Singer studied his companions from the corner of his eye.

Windflower Village received news from Traders and travelers, which generally meant they heard about the most dramatic events. Poor Singer knew that Cloud Playing had been the daughter of Night Sun and Crow Beard, but he’d heard very few stories about her. Crow Beard, however, had been a topic of constant discussion, almost all of it appalling. Poor Singer had never really listened to the terrible stories, because his mother had once told him that people in powerful positions, like Chief Crow Beard, got blamed for everything bad that happened, whether they were responsible or not. All of his life, Snow Mountain had taught Poor Singer to respect the Chief, and to love him for the good things he did for the Straight Path nation.

“I remember once,” Poor Singer said, glancing first at Dune, then at Sternlight, “when Windflower Village ran out of food in the middle of the winter, Crow Beard and Night Sun opened the storerooms here at Talon Town and sent us corn, beans, and squash. I had only seen five summers, and I was very hungry. The deep sense of gratitude I felt still lives in my heart.”

Sternlight smiled. “Yes, in that sense, they ruled well together.”

“A man can be a good ruler, and a very wretched man,” Dune said. “Which, the thlatsinas know, Crow Beard was.”

Poor Singer frowned. “It’s just like you to spoil a splendid moment of reverence, Dune.”

“Well, I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression. If you wish to see Crow Beard, then see him as he really was. Nearly every good thing he did, he did because Night Sun advised him to. Never forget, the Matron makes the decisions about who gets food and when. The Blessed Sun merely decides how best to carry out those decisions. How many men to send along to protect the food, which route to take. All of the terrible things, the brutal raids, the pillaging of villages, and slaughter of women and children—Crow Beard made those decisions alone.”

“I hope I get to meet the great Matron,” Poor Singer said. “I’ve heard many stories of her charity and goodness.”

Dune’s bushy white brows drew together. “You will meet her. Night Sun has needed privacy since she was released from the Cage. But soon—”

Poor Singer’s hands stopped on the wood. “She was imprisoned? But who would dare?”

Neither of the holy men spoke for a time. They just stared at each other, as though some silent communication passed between them.

Very quietly, Sternlight said, “Dune, I’m finished here. I think that I will return to my chamber and eat something. I didn’t have time this morning, and it’s almost midday.”

“Yes, of course. Go. We’re almost finished, as well.” He indicated the ladder with a waggling finger. “Providing Poor Singer keeps his mind on his sacred duties and continues sanctifying Cloud Playing’s ladder.”

Poor Singer winced and swiftly rubbed the red cornmeal over the last rungs, then reached for the pot with the yellow meal.

Dune turned to Sternlight. “After the ladders are finished, Poor Singer and I will roll the bodies onto the ladders and leave them resting on the foot drums for the burial procession to take tomorrow. And then,” he heaved a tired breath, “we, too, will be going home.”

Sternlight pulled himself up, pressing his hands into the small of his back, as if it ached. “I have appreciated your help, Dune. And yours, too, Poor Singer.” He hesitated, gazing at Poor Singer with those luminous eyes. “What will happen with Silk?”

“I don’t know, Sunwatcher. She hasn’t found any family here. She’s alone. I think I’m her only friend in the world.” He glanced uneasily at Dune. “I was hoping … perhaps…”

Dune arched both brows, and growled, “We’ll discuss it.”

Poor Singer smiled. “Thank you, Dune.”

“If that doesn’t work out, Dune,” Sternlight said, “I’m sure we can arrange something here.”

“Thank you.”

Sternlight bowed slightly to Poor Singer and turned back to Dune. “Will you be taking supper with me this evening, Dune?”

“Yes, if you’d like.”

“I would. I’d like one last conversation about the natures of the thlatsinas before you go.”

“Gladly. I’ll see you then.”

Sternlight started across the kiva, his white shirt flashing in the firelight as he climbed the stairs to the altar room.

Poor Singer dipped up a handful of blue cornmeal and began carefully rubbing it into the sinews binding the rungs to the side poles. “He seems like a very holy man.”

Dune scratched the back of his neck. “Most people think he’s a witch. What do you see when you look at him?”

Poor Singer blinked.

“Keep rubbing,” Dune ordered.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” As he rubbed, Poor Singer thought about how to put it. “I’ve heard people say he’s a witch, but I just know he’s a very good man. I
feel
it.”

“Ah,” Dune smiled toothlessly and his ancient head bobbed in an approving nod. “You’ve stopped looking with your eyes and started looking with your heart. You
are
improving.” He flicked a hand. “Now, keep working. You’ll have summers to improve your heart’s vision, but only a day to get this done. Work, boy. Work.”

*   *   *

Sternlight walked across the plaza. Rising against the background of buff-colored cliff, Talon Town’s white walls possessed a blinding pearlescent gleam, and he squinted as he watched his sandaled feet. The hard-packed dirt glinted with sherds of broken pottery and shiny bits of chert, obsidian, and quartzite, the refuse of stone-tool making. Three slaves worked in the shadows of the five-story walls, making rattles for the upcoming Equinox celebration. Fist-sized gourds from last cycle’s crops had been dried and hollowed out. The slaves sat in a row, each completing a separate task. Mourning Dove dropped pebbles into the hollow gourd, then Swallowtail applied sticky pine pitch to the small hole in the base and attached a wooden handle. Lastly, old woman Antelope Doll painted bird tracks and falling rain on the rattles.

As Sternlight passed, they all averted their eyes, and he sighed.

Two dogs rose from where they’d been sleeping and trotted to meet him, their tails wagging.

“Hello, Bright Moth,” he said to the larger, black-and-white dog, and reached down to pat her silky head.

The smaller dog leaped up, dancing on her hind legs. Pure black, she had soft brown eyes.

“And you, too, Beanpod.” Sternlight scratched her ears. “Thank you for coming to see me. You made me feel better.”

He bowed reverently to the Great Warriors who peered down at him, their masks shining, before he climbed the ladders to his chambers. As he ducked beneath his door curtain, the scent of dried wildflowers struck him. He kept them in pots on the south side of his chamber, and on warm days like this, their fragrances rose sweetly into the air.

Sternlight gazed at the thlatsina masks on his walls, sixteen in all, sensing something. Not all messages came in words. He closed his eyes a moment, trying to find the source of the discomfort, then turned and looked at the White Wolf mask. It had its ears pricked, its fangs glinting in the light. Its furry face and long muzzle seemed to move faintly, as if …

“Sternlight?”
a timid voice called.

He sucked in a breath and swung around. “Silk?”

“Yes, it’s me. I—I was hoping I might be able to talk with you.”

“Of course.” He walked over, pulled up the door curtain, and draped it on its peg.

Silk stood outside, her long hair loose about her shoulders. What a pretty young woman. Her oval face with its pointed nose and dark probing eyes possessed a curious power. She carried a teapot in one hand and a pack over her shoulder.

“Please, enter, Silk.”

She stepped inside and looked around, anxiously studying the thlatsinas. “Are you certain you aren’t busy? I could return later.”

Sternlight smiled. “The only business I have right now is with you. Won’t you sit down?” He gestured to the willow sitting mats near the warming bowl. Last night’s coals had burned down to ash that puffed up whitely when she knelt and set her pot on the floor.

As she unslung her pack, she said, “I know you’ve been working since very early. I thought you might be hungry and thirsty.” She opened her pack and removed a small bowl of red corn cakes filled with piñon nuts, and set it beside the teapot. She looked up at him, fear in her face. “I didn’t know when you’d return, so I made these two hands of time ago, but I’ve been keeping them warm. I hope they’re all right.”