The People of the Black Sun (11 page)

Deputy Dzadi, a big man who'd seen forty-six summers, lifted a hand, selected his scouts, and trotted away. She watched two men climb up and scamper across the rocks that lined the northern side of the trail. Dzadi and two other warriors took the southern side. Dzadi was out front, searching the boulders for hidden warriors. He was known far and wide for the puckered burn scars that discolored his face and muscular arms. He'd been captured by the enemy three times during his life, and escaped each time. He was one of the bravest men she knew, though age was beginning to slow him down. The village warriors had at first voted Dzadi as War Chief, but he had refused the honor, saying he was too old. Instead, he'd thrown his support behind Baji. Afterward, the warriors had overwhelmingly cast their voices to make Baji the new War Chief of Wild River Village.

Baji took the time to untie her belt pouch and pull out a strip of venison jerky. She ripped off a chunk and chewed it slowly. Five hundred warriors slowed behind her, and conversations broke out. She heaved a sigh. As she did, Cord came up beside her and scanned the way ahead. In the distance, the trail ascended a steep hill, rising up out of the valley like a dark serpent.

“What do you think?” she asked her adopted father.

Cord's eyes narrowed. “We're probably safe. The footing on top of the rocks is treacherous, too many gaps and cracks to negotiate, but I'm glad you are vigilant.” The black roach of hair that thrust up from the middle of his shaved head had just a touch of silver, and lines etched the flesh across his tanned forehead. Otherwise, he did not look his forty-one summers. The snake tattoos on his cheeks still appeared crisp and detailed, not shriveled with wrinkles. The thick knife scar that slashed his square jaw shone whitely in the winter glare.

Cord said, “How are the wounded faring?”

“Better than I would have thought. Those who can run are managing to keep up. Those who can't have crawled upon the litters, joining the dead, and are being carried. Tomorrow we'll be able to move a little faster. The litters will be lighter.”

As her lean body cooled down, her sweat-soaked war shirt clung to her body, chilling her. She shivered and bit off another chunk of jerky. The meat had been smoked over a hickory fire. The rich tang tasted wonderful. She finished it slowly, then retied her belt pouch.

At the far end of the rocks, she saw Dzadi wave to her, indicting the defile was safe. She nodded to Cord and they broke into a trot again, running side-by-side through the deep shadows. Behind them, the low drone of hundreds of feet beat the air.

As they plunged down the trail between the boulders, Cord said, “Did you come to an agreement?”

“With whom?”

He gave her a disgruntled look—his silent way of asking if she thought him stupid.

Baji sighed. At least he'd waited to ask until afternoon when it didn't hurt so much. “He asked me to go away with him.”

“He's leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he going?”

“In search of allies. He says we are not alone. There are others out there who agree that the war must end. Others who may wish to join us.”

Cord frowned and the snakes tattooed on his cheeks seemed to coil tighter. “He's right. The alliance needs more warriors. As it stands, we have barely half the forces of our enemy.”

“And the war has been long and difficult. Every nation south of Skanodario Lake is ripe for harvest. Atotarho knows it. He will not wait for us to move. His own faction of the People of the Hills is starving.”

“Every nation is starving, except ours.”

Baji looked at him askance. “That's the problem. We have food. You can be certain they'll be coming for it.”

They trotted out of the rocks and over the crest of the hill where she gazed down upon the thickly forested valley below. It was all second-growth, dense stands of stubby trees that had invaded after a lightning-caused fire. Blackened stumps and trees still dotted the landscape. Stripped from their branches by the fierce winter winds, leaves had piled knee-deep in the middle of the trail. Her war party would be forced to slog through them.

A finger of breeze tugged hair loose from Baji's long braid and left it hanging in black curls around her sweating face. She brushed it aside. “I don't like the looks of that trail.”

“I don't either. Even after we clear the leaves, we'll have to pass through that section where the trees grow so densely they resemble black walls on either side of the path.”

Even worse than the trees along the trail, the small valley was rocky and steep-sided. If they were attacked here, there was no place to run. Carefully, she searched the high points for evidence of treachery, but saw only windblown leafless trees.

Baji gestured with her bow. “I'm going to dispatch a party to clear the leaves. That will make it easier going, and give us a warning if someone is hiding in the shadows.”

“Good idea. Our warriors will appreciate having time to catch their breaths,” Cord said. “You've been pushing them hard.”

“I want to get home.”

“And, I suspect,” he said in a knowing voice, “as far from Dekanawida as you can. But I will miss him. He is a great warrior and a—”

“Was,”
she corrected. “He
was
a great warrior. He's abandoned his weapons for good.”

“Well, that is the way of many Dreamers, though I've never thought it wise.”

Baji picked up her pace, pounding down the incline toward the leaf-choked trail where they would temporarily stop. Cord trotted beside her. “I'm worried about him, Father. If he is attacked—and you and I both know he's made himself a target—he has no way to defend himself. He needs a guard, someone to protect him.”

Cord laughed softly. “Perhaps you've forgotten the storm yesterday?”

“I haven't.” The images had been seared into her souls. “Father, do you really believe he called the storm? Or was it coincidence?” She felt like a traitorous dog asking the question. If she, who loved him more than life, didn't fully believe, did anyone?

“He called the storm, my daughter. I saw it.”

She shook her head, not in denial, just uncertainty. “Faith is a hard thing. How do you do it?”

He smiled at her. “Simple. Believing is the doorway to believing
.”

As they neared the leaves, he slowed to a walk, and the warriors behind them sighed in relief. Laughter broke out, followed by happy voices. Cord said, “Not only that, I believe Dekanawida has Powerful allies in the Spirit World. I met one of them once.”

Baji gripped his arm and dragged him to a stop in the middle of the trail, forcing warriors to flood around her.
“When?”

Cord tilted his head to a small clearing off the trail, a place where they would not be overheard. She followed him to the sun-splashed meadow, surrounded by maples. Snow glistened at the base of the trunks and frosted the leafless limbs.

She called, “Dzadi, please select a group to clear the leaves from the path and scout the area, then start moving the war party through.”

“Yes, War Chief.”

Dzadi walked through the warriors, tapping men on the shoulders. In less than twenty heartbeats thirty men had trotted out and begun using their war clubs to beat a path through the deep leaves and scout the forest.

Baji turned to study Cord with sharp black eyes, waiting for him to answer her question. His eyes took on a glazed look, as though remembering.

“Twelve summers ago, that last night when the old woman attacked us on the river. I had followed Odion's path, seen where he'd been captured by her warriors. I was tracking him. I still don't know what to make of what had happened next.”

Baji waited. “What did you see?”

“At first? Just a strange ripple, as though the darkness itself was blowing in the wind, then a shine of tarnished copper beads. Finally, a black cape appeared, and a man seemed to coalesce inside it. He glided weightlessly through the trees, apparently also following Odion's steps.”

Baji stopped breathing. Her eyes felt like burning coals. “Did you speak with him?”

“Oh, yes,” Cord answered with a laugh. “For a long time. I spoke with him twice that night. The first thing he told me was that if I was going to help my friends, I had to hurry, because you were surrounded and outnumbered three to one—”

“Meaning us?”

“Yes, your party was down on the riverbank. When I arrived, I saw War Chief Koracoo … sorry. I mean Jigonsaseh … I saw her standing facing the evil old woman. You were all surrounded, just as Black Cape had said.” He paused to study Dzadi's team. They had managed to knock about half the leaves out of the trail. She couldn't see the scouts. They were probably examining the depths of the forest. “That's when the Spirit came to me again.”

“Again? Why?”

He exhaled the words, “It's a long story. I had my bow aimed at the old woman's chest, and he told me that I could not kill her. He said there were many who had claims upon her life, but I was not one of them. He said I didn't have the right. I think he meant that only you, Wrass, Odion, and Tutelo had the right to kill her for what she'd done to you.”

Baji had never told anyone the grim details what had happened to her that long ago winter. She didn't want to see it in their eyes when they gazed at her. “Was he handsome? With long black hair and nose bent slightly to the right?”

Cord's eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“Tutelo named him Shago-niyoh. We all saw him.”

Cord held her gaze. It was powerful, like wings lifting her. He asked, “What is he? Do you know? Is he one of the Faces of the Forest, or a—”

“I think he's lost, Father. A warrior condemned to wander the earth forever. He helped us escape.”

“Why have you never told me this?”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “Why have you never told me of your encounter with him?”

Cord hesitated, as though trying to decide. “I don't know, I wasn't sure anyone would believe me, and I guess I thought it was … personal.”

Baji untied her water bag from her belt and lifted it to her lips, taking a long drink. The cool water soothed her throat as it went down. She took another greedy swallow, then she handed the bag to Cord, and looked out at the valley again. This area was known as Rocky Meadows for the gray slabs of cap rock that jutted up at odd angles across the flats and along the crests of the surrounding hills. She said, “Shago-niyoh is more than a lost soul. He's Dekanawida's personal Spirit Helper.”

“Blessed gods, I knew it. Even that night, I had the feeling the creature was watching over Odion.”

When the trail had been mostly cleared, Dzadi waved to the war party, and led the warriors down into the dense tree-lined portion of the trail, kicking up leaves as they went. Almost impenetrable walls of forest lined the trail ahead of them. Their colorful capes and headbands contrasted sharply with the cold shadows. A few men laughed nervously when the trail narrowed and they had to fall into single file.

As he watched their progress, Cord said, “Have you ever seen him again?”

“No.” Her gaze remained on her warriors. “Have you?”

“No.”

Their war party had gotten too far ahead for her comfort. “Come on. Let's catch up.”

Cord's steps pounded behind her.

The leaves on the trail were still ankle-deep and slick beneath her moccasins. They caught up with the party just as it started up the far side of the valley. Hundreds of warriors were stretched out ahead of them, moving like ants up the steep incline in the distance. At the top, dark green pines stood like sentinels.

Baji's gaze lingered on the trees. Wind Woman touched the branches, causing sunlight to flash through the needles.

But there was something … odd.

Glitters. In the sunlit air in front of the pines.

“Oh, dear gods!” she shouted. She broke into a dead run, crying,
“Go back! Take cover. Form defensive positions! Run!”

The shining arrows toppled the first twenty men in line, cutting them down like dry blades of grass beneath a chert scythe. The battlefield roared, its distinctive voice striking terror into her heart—a mixture of shrieks, grunts, and wails. The wounded were crawling, trying to make it to the safety of the—

“Baji!”
Cord's heavy body struck her and knocked her to the ground just as arrows cut the air over her head—coming from behind her!

Laughter erupted as enemy warriors flooded from the trees with triumphant grins on their faces. Hills People warriors. She'd seen many of these faces during yesterday's battle. Atotarho's men. They let out whoops and dashed for Baji and Cord.

She glanced at Cord. Blood streamed around the arrow that had pierced his right side. “Stay down, Father!”

In one smooth movement, Baji rolled to her feet, drew an arrow from her quiver, nocked it in her bow, and let fly. Her first arrow lanced through the closest man's heart. She killed two more. The warriors behind them didn't even slow down. They leaped over the dead bodies and charged Baji.

One arrogant fool cried, “My brothers are hunting down your filthy lover right now. I wanted you to know before I crush your skull!”

As her own men tried to rush to her side, the feathered shafts of Hills People arrows streaked past. Her friends went down, some shot as many as four times.

How did my scouts miss this?

Baji tossed her bow aside and jerked her war club from her belt. Spinning low, she slammed the fool's feet out from under him, rose and crushed the second man's chest, and lunged for the third. As she swung for his head, she saw Cord stumble to his feet with his war club in his hand and wade into the onslaught. His distinctive Turtle Clan war cry rang out. Grunts and cries rent the blood-scented air.

As if he were here, fighting at her side, as he had so many times, she heard Dekanawida shout,
Baji, get down!