People of the Silence (84 page)

“Webworm? The new War Chief of Talon Town?”

She nodded. “Yes, he is half Mogollon, you see. And though my mother was Mogollon, I believe it is correct to trace ancestry through the male—as my father’s people do. That made Webworm the most likely man to fulfill the holy prophecies. I realized this at a very early age. Though I could have escaped many times during my youth, before Swallowtail was born, I didn’t, because I—”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now. I suspect Webworm’s dead, and all of your efforts have come to naught. So why are you telling me this?”

Mourning Dove wet her lips nervously and glanced around the chamber for a few moments, as if collecting her thoughts. “Great Chief, I worked very hard to depose Snake Head. I convinced him that he had to kill his own mother and sister to make sure he was not deposed! Not that it took much effort. He hated both of them. But I did these things so that Webworm’s mother would become the Blessed Matron of Talon Town, and her son would rule—”

“Mourning Dove, I—”

“Are you blind?”
she blurted. “Even if Webworm is dead, his mother will be ruling Talon Town, and she is demented! Now is the time to attack the whole canyon! When I return home to my people, I will tell them this same thing. Neither of our peoples alone could do it, but together—”

Jay Bird cringed. “You wish
me
to ally myself with the Tower Builders?” They were barbarians. Primitive and savage.

Mourning Dove’s spine stiffened. She lifted her chin and eyed him severely. “Perhaps you would rather wait until the Straight Path dogs recover from your raid and decide to attack you?”

Jay Bird swirled his tea and watched the pale green waves wash the sides of the cup. “No. I wouldn’t.”

“Then allow me to set up the alliance! I worked with Cone, carrying messages between him and Snake Head. I am
good
at manipulating people.”

“I’m sure you are, but a warrior would be far more suitable for such a position.”

“Then send a warrior, too! But allow me to coordinate between your warrior and the Tower Builders. I speak the Tower Builders’ tongue. Do you have a warrior who knows their language?”

Jay Bird watched her thoughtfully. Were the Straight Path people such fools that they hadn’t seen this woman’s intelligence and cunning, this deadly spider in their midst? “Allow you to coordinate? The answer is no, and since you believe yourself a Tower Builder, I shouldn’t have to explain why. Your people trace ancestry through the men. Having a woman as my go-between would weaken my position.”

She glanced at her son. “Great Chief, I will be honest with you. I need to return to my people with something to offer. I have spent almost my whole life as a slave. My son was born in slavery. No one there will remember or care about us. But if we return to the Tower Builders as your emissaries, bearing an offer of friendship, and a plan to join forces to attack—”

“Mourning Dove,” Jay Bird said with an irritated sigh, “these are your problems, not mine, or my people’s.”

Swallowtail whispered, “I told you.”

Mourning Dove’s jaw set. She nodded. “Great Chief, we feared you might say something like that. Then let us offer you something in return.”

Jay Bird shifted restlessly. What was this all about? What more could she, a former slave, possibly offer? “I have a very busy day ahead of me, Mourning Dove, I—”

“Yes, I’m sure you do.” She sighed, and her round face tightened.

Her son smiled, as though happy about this twist of events.

Mourning Dove turned back to Jay Bird and a dark fire entered her eyes. She bent forward. “Great Chief, if you will allow me to act as your go-between with the Tower Builders, I will tell you the name of your daughter’s murderer.”

Forty-Nine

Poor Singer stepped to the hard-packed dirt floor of the chamber and gave his eyes time to adjust to the dimness. Despite the warmth outside, this room remained cold. As his vision cleared, he saw that it spread about two body-lengths square. In front of him, Night Sun sat beside Ironwood, his muscular arms around her. Her blue dress had rips everywhere, on the sleeves and skirt, across the stomach, where brown skin showed through. Her graying black hair hung in tangles around her triangular face. Ironwood’s tan doeskin shirt was filthy, stained with soot, dirt and sweat, but it looked intact. Dune and Stern-light sat against the wall to Poor Singer’s left. Their long white robes had turned a dirty gray-brown that blended with the shadows.

Night Sun straightened at the sight of Poor Singer. “Did you bring any food? Or some water?”

“No. Haven’t you been fed?”

“Not since yesterday at noon.” She sank back against Ironwood and let out a disappointed breath. “I’d give anything for a big cup of water.”

Ironwood kissed her dirty temple. “Soon. Jay Bird is known for his kindness to prisoners.”

“Besides,” Dune said grimly, “he doesn’t want us to die today. He wants us to live, so he can kill us slowly before the entire village.”

Ironwood actually smiled, and Poor Singer wondered where he found the strength, knowing as he must, what was to come. He looked up, and Poor Singer let his gaze drift over that calm oval face, noting the flat nose, slanting brows, and pale golden skin—so much like Cornsilk’s.

Ironwood asked, “Has he told you his intentions?”

“He told me that … that I could decide the fate of everyone … except you, Ironwood.”

Ironwood lowered his head and nodded. “He is more generous than I would ever have expected.” Sincere gratitude laced his voice. He tightened his arms around Night Sun. “You will, I hope, see that everyone else goes free?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you, Poor Singer.”

Night Sun closed her eyes and buried her face against Ironwood’s broad chest. Her shoulders shook. Ironwood stroked her back, murmuring inaudibly against her hair, and at the soft sound of her cries Poor Singer’s soul went cold.

He turned to Sternlight. The Sunwatcher met Poor Singer’s eyes. Long black hair fell over his grimy robe, but the light had gone from his dark eyes. He just looked weary.

“What is it, Poor Singer?” Sternlight asked.

“Did you kill my mother?” Poor Singer hadn’t planned to blurt it out, but now that he had, everyone in the room went deathly silent.

Sternlight’s face slackened. He stared at Poor Singer nakedly. “Who told you—”

“That doesn’t matter. Did you do it?”

“No, of course, he didn’t!”
Ironwood snapped. “How could you believe such malicious gossip? Sternlight has never hurt anything, or anyone, he—”

Poor Singer made a chopping gesture with his hand to silence Ironwood. “Answer me, Sternlight.”

The wrinkles around Dune’s eyes deepened. He let out a tired breath. “It’s time he knew the truth, Sternlight.”

Sternlight nodded and gripped handfuls of his long black hair as if to remind himself that he was awake and not lost in some terrible nightmare. Very softly, he replied, “Please, listen to me, Poor Singer. Before Crow Beard left for the lands of the Hohokam, he told me he had changed his mind. He was not going to keep his word to Dune that both you and your mother could live. He said he would let you live only at the cost of your mother’s life. It was either you or her. If Young Fawn lived, he could always deny he’d had anything to do with her. There wouldn’t be any proof, since you’d be dead. And what was a slave’s word against that of the Blessed Sun? Crow Beard had grown wild and frantic. He feared Night Sun was planning on divorcing him and leaving him with nothing. He didn’t know what was right any longer—if he ever had known.”

Ironwood released Night Sun and sat forward. “What are you saying?”

Sternlight hesitated, then his gaze focused solely on Poor Singer. “I—I was not in this world, Poor Singer. For sixteen days I’d been walking and talking with the gods. The day your mother died was the day the thlatsinas first visited me. They appeared in a pillar of light and walked at my side down the sacred Turning-Back-the-Sun trail. I didn’t want to believe the things they told me, but I—”

Poor Singer spread his feet to brace himself.
“Did you kill my mother?”

Dune put his gnarled hands over his eyes. Ironwood and Night Sun sat deathly silent.

“I—I begged the thlatsinas to take the responsibility away from me. To save me from having to choose between you and your mother. But they told me I had to do it. The Wolf Thlatsina revealed a Dream to me. In it, I saw that Young Fawn’s life would assure that the Straight Path nation would die a lingering death of decay and corruption—” Sternlight reached out to Poor Singer with both hands. “—but that your birth would be the beginning of a new age. A time when the old would be swept away and a clean bright future would unfold for those who dared to seek it. It would require a different way of life, yes, but—”

“So…” Tears clutched at Poor Singer’s throat. He fought to keep his voice steady. “You killed my mother?”

Sternlight’s extended hands trembled. He drew them back and tucked them beneath his arms. After a time, he nodded. “Yes.”

Dune said, “And he saved you, Poor Singer.”

Poor Singer couldn’t find any words. He tipped his face toward the ceiling and closed his eyes.

Ironwood said, “Sternlight, why didn’t you tell me? I would have found a way to help you. We could have gotten both mother and child away. I don’t know how, but I would have figured something out.”

“You were carrying enough burdens at the time, Ironwood. I had to make the decision alone.”

As if that beautiful tormented voice conjured within Poor Singer the visions Sternlight saw himself, he had a momentary glimpse of a handsome young man moving in the gods’ shadows, trying to deny what the divine voices were telling him, knowing he couldn’t.

Would I have had more strength than Sternlight? Could I have told the gods that I didn’t believe them? That there had to be another way? That even gods couldn’t possibly know everything?

Hoarsely, he asked, “Dune, did you know about this?”

“Not until the night that Sternlight placed you in my arms. I was in Talon Town at the time, for the Solstice celebrations. He told me then what he’d done … and
why.
”

Night Sun said, “How like Crow Beard to saddle you with the duty, Sternlight. He was such a coward!”

“All that is past now.” Dune’s sandals scraped the floor as he shifted. “Poor Singer?”

He lowered his head and gazed at Dune. The old man’s sparse white hair glowed in the dim light streaming down through the roof entry. “What is it, Dune?”

For the first time, Dune spoke to him as though he were an adult, an equal. “Remember, all that matters is love and charity. I think, after what you have gone through in the past moon, you can now understand the meaning of those words. Let your soul guide you.”

Sternlight braced his forehead on his drawn-up knees, as though awaiting judgment. Black hair fell around him.

Poor Singer looked from person to person, seeing their dread, their love for Sternlight. His heart ached. He clenched his fists into tight balls. “I will do my best to see that you are freed, Sternlight.”

Poor Singer turned and hurried for the ladder, gripping the rungs, just as four warriors flooded down. They shoved Poor Singer back against the wall and stationed themselves around the room, war clubs in their hands, cruel smiles on their faces.

Poor Singer blurted, “Grandfather?” as Jay Bird came down the ladder, his elderly face flushed, eyes alight.

Jay Bird blinked at the dimness, then fixed his gaze on Stern-light, and ordered, “Hold him.”

Two of the warriors grabbed Sternlight by the arms and dragged him to his feet. Sternlight’s throat worked, and Poor Singer saw the sweat running down his jaw. “What do you want?”

“Why did you do it?” Jay Bird choked. “Did you kill my daughter because we had captured both of your sisters? Because we’d worked them to death quarrying stone?”

“You—
you
killed my sisters?” Sternlight asked in surprise.

“I didn’t kill them. They died! They were pampered First People. They couldn’t stand the hard work!” Jay Bird’s face contorted with rage. He took several deep breaths, as if to steady himself, then he regripped his stiletto. His tan shirt looked gray in the light.

Sternlight’s eyes softened. “Great Chief, the ways of Power are mysterious. It draws people together however it can, and for its own reasons.” He glanced around the room, his gaze stopping on Ironwood long enough to give him a confident, reassuring look, then he met Jay Bird’s eyes again. “Tell me. What is it you want from me?”

“I came for my daughter’s murderer!”

As the Chief lunged forward, Sternlight wrenched violently against the granite arms of the guards, throwing himself back against the wall, kicking out with his legs. Jay Bird’s polished stiletto flashed once, twice.

“No!”
Ironwood shouted, and scrambled to his feet. The two remaining guards leaped on him like dogs, knocking him to the floor, smacking him on the head and back with their clubs. They seemed to get a perverted joy from his hollow grunts. One of the warriors smiled broadly as he brought his club down hard on Ironwood’s temple. The big man jerked, seemed confused, and flailed his arms as if blind.

“Enough!” Night Sun yelled in a commanding voice.
“That’s enough!”

The guards halted and looked up in surprise.

Ironwood rolled to his knees and vomited onto the floor. Night Sun rushed to his side and held his head, giving the guards a steely look. “Go on! Get away!”

The warriors glanced at Jay Bird, who stood over Sternlight’s crumpled body, breathing hard. His gaze had fixed on the hot wet blood that smeared in his hand. His mouth moved, expression oddly vacant in contrast to the fire in his eyes.

Jay Bird turned to Poor Singer. His narrow, wrinkled face looked strangely younger, like the warrior he had once been. He pointed to Sternlight with his bloody hand. “This man—this filthy
beast
—killed your mother.”

Dune knelt beside Sternlight, surveying the blood that soaked his chest and bubbled at his lips. Sternlight choked and red poured from the corners of his mouth. Dune sat down and pulled Sternlight’s head in his lap, whispering, “The thlatsinas will be coming for you, Sternlight. Don’t worry.”