The People of the Black Sun (6 page)

Negano blinked, hesitated. “Most of us agree that if we must do this, we should follow the trail that runs on the north side of the Forks River.”

“Why the north side?”

“Because, my Chief, our enemies are smart enough to correctly fear that you have already dispatched thousands of warriors to destroy their home villages in punishment for their actions today. They will try to get home as quickly as they can—that means running the trail on the south side of the Forks River.”

Negano crouched down and extended his hands to the flames. Wind flipped his long hair around his face. “For part of the way—at least for tomorrow—the trail runs just below the northern river bluff, which means they won't be able to see us as we get into position to ambush them.”

“Where will we cross back to the south side?”

“The Seagull Shallows. The river narrows there, and Traders from a variety of nations cache canoes at the narrows. The last time I was there more than fifty canoes were hidden in the brush, but I have seen as many as one hundred there.”

“Let us assume there will be fifty canoes. If we can average six warriors in each canoe, that's three hundred warriors crossing each trip—”

“Not exactly,” Negano interrupted, and looked as though he instantly regretted it—which he should have. Interrupting a chief was a killing offense. Nervously, he licked his lips. “Forgive me, my Chief, I only wished to say that the canoes are of different sizes. I think we can average six in each canoe, but two will need to row back to pick up more warriors. That means really only four crossing at a time.”

“Then that's two hundred crossing at once. That means it will take ten trips to cross our army of two thousand. Three hands of time at most.”

“Yes, but…” Negano shifted, pulling his cape closed beneath his chin. “We must also transport the litters filled with wounded and dead, and they are—”

“How long will that take?”

Negano gestured uncertainly. “It's hard to guess. They are unwieldy. Perhaps another one hand of time.”

“Four hands of time total.”

Behind Negano, the deputy war chiefs moved around their fire, trying to keep their backs to the icy gusts. Their low voices carried a dark hostile timbre.

Atotarho tipped his chin to the deputies. “What are they most worried about?”

“Hmm?” Negano turned to look and heaved a sigh. “Almost everyone lost a friend or loved one today. As I said, while they, too, wish to punish those who fought against us, they wish to go home first, to lick their wounds, and care for their injured or dead relatives. If we engage in another battle before returning home, they fear the cost will—”

Atotarho broke in, “I don't wish to hear any more on the subject.”

Softly, Negano responded, “Yes, my Chief.”

“We are currently on the south side of the Forks River. That means we will have to cross it twice, once to get to the north side and once to get back. Eight hands of time. Is that your assessment, as well?”

“Yes, my Chief.”

“Very well. That means we do not have the luxury of resting tonight. Roust our warriors from their blankets and get them on the trail as soon as possible.” Atotarho reached for his walking stick, and grunted as he shoved to his feet.

Negano's eyes went wide. “But, my Chief, our warriors are exhausted. They must rest or they will never be able to fight—”

“Do it now,
War Chief.”

Almost too stunned to speak, Negano stammered, “W-War Chief? You are appointing me? My chief, I do not think I am the right person—”

Atotarho turned and careened down the ridge toward where his own personal guards waited by his litter.

He did not see Negano rise, but when he looked back over his shoulder, his new War Chief was tramping through the darkness toward the assembled deputies.

A short time later, cries of indignation rose … but quickly died down, followed by the rapid steps of men and women scurrying to ready their forces to move.

 

Five

As dawn approached, windblown veils of snow wavered across the pale blue valley. From her position on the Bur Oak Village palisade, Jigonsaseh could see the warriors beginning to stir. Campfires winked as hundreds of men and women passed before them.

Up and down the Bur Oak catwalks, her forces stood with bows nocked, waiting for the return of Atotarho's army. She'd dispatched scouts to track him, but none had returned—which meant they were probably dead. Atotarho could attack them again at any time. Villagers rushed around the plaza, trying to get the walls repaired before the attack came. The dank scent of fear hung like a pall in the frigid air.

She leaned against the frosty palisade and tiredly studied Yellowtail Village; it sat like a rotted husk. At her order, the entire exterior palisade had been torn down and stockpiled to repair the Bur Oak palisades, but the two inner palisades remained. Through the charred holes in them, she saw that the most badly burned of the three longhouses had, during the night, been stripped bare of bark, the pole frames dismantled, and everything usable piled in enormous heaps around the plaza. Between the palisades, where the makeshift refugee housing had been, piles of debris smoldered and probably would for a long time. In the next two days, everything would have been carried to Bur Oak Village to fortify it. They didn't have enough warriors left to guard two villages.

The rest of Yellowtail Village needed to be completely dismantled, and soon. She didn't wish to leave it for the use of attackers who could capture it and attack Bur Oak Village from within her own walls. She'd discuss it with High Matron Kittle as soon as the exhausted High Matron rose from her bedding hides.

Jigonsaseh looked behind her. Every possible space in Bur Oak Village, including the narrow lanes between the palisades and the rear of the longhouses, now contained makeshift housing for refugees. In the plaza below, construction continued. They had piled some of the building supplies around the circumference of the Council House and, as workers came and went, carrying wood or bark, or heavy coils of rope to lash poles together, clatters sounded. Large stew pots hung on tripods at the edges of the central bonfire, available for workers to fill bowls when they had a spare moment. Though each person was allowed only one bowlful, there were no guards on the pots. Every warrior was needed for other duties. People crowded the plaza. Some laughed and talked. Others sobbed for lost loved ones. Still others uttered dire speculations of what tomorrow would bring—and ate far more than their allotted share. She'd witnessed one man go back four times and come away with a heaping bowl.

The worst part for her was the lilting strain of triumphant joy that twined through the groans and cries of the wounded. Many fools believed they had won yesterday's battle.

She knew better.

Her gaze searched the plaza. On the western side, near the Hawk Clan Longhouse, forty-one Hills warriors, men and women who had defected to her side yesterday afternoon, stood in a tight knot, their uneasy eyes scanning their new compatriots. Atotarho's former War Chief, Sindak, stood among them, speaking in a low voice. His warriors' heads nodded and, as though satisfied that they understood what he wanted, Sindak turned away. His attention lifted to the palisades, surveying the Standing Stone warriors on the catwalks. When he caught Jigonsaseh's gaze, he stopped and stared.

Her eyes narrowed.

Once, a long time ago, he had been a trusted friend, one of the men who had valiantly fought to help her rescue her captive children. After that, however, he'd returned to Atotarho Village where he'd gradually risen through the ranks to War Chief. Despite the fact that she understood a warrior's overwhelming desire to protect his own people, she did not understand Sindak's willingness to serve a mad chief, a man he knew to be a monster. It was a failing she found hard to forgive. Not only that, as War Chief, he had slaughtered Standing Stone villages filled with innocent people, and that was impossible to forgive.

What was he doing here? She hadn't had time to assess his motives yet. At a critical instant during the next attack, was he supposed to rally his warriors and start killing people inside the palisade?

Sindak excused himself from the knot of warriors, and stalked through the bustling crowd to the closest ladder that led to the catwalks. A small commotion broke out as he shouldered past the Standing Stone guards and made his way toward her, crossing the bridges that connected the palisade rings. The guards had orders to treat the Hills warriors as friends, within reason. After all, they'd risked their lives when they'd turned against Chief Atotarho.

Sindak gave her a tight smile as he approached. He had seen thirty-one summers pass, and had a lean face with deeply sunken brown eyes. Short black hair clung to his cheeks. His tan cape swayed, flashing the white geometric designs that decorated the bottom.

As he leaned against the palisade beside her, he bluntly said, “You've forgotten that I know that look. You think we're spies, don't you?”

“The possibility has occurred to me.”

Wind fanned the central bonfire and a fog of blue wood smoke blew around them. Sindak waited for it to pass, before he said, “We're not.”

“That's good to hear. However, your word is just not good enough, War Chief. You and your people worry me.”

His lips pressed into a hard line. “Until yesterday, I had never led an attack against Yellowtail Village. No matter how hard I had to argue in war councils, or what I had to do to bribe warriors to side with me, I did it. The last thing in the world that I wanted was to—”

“‘Until yesterday,' those are the important words. Just a few hands of time ago you led warriors in an attempt to destroy the Standing Stone nation.” Jigonsaseh extended her palm to the dead bodies stacked along the base of the palisade, then moved it across the decimated villages. The predawn shadows devoured the horrors, but he understood.

Sindak expelled a breath. “I was overruled in council and given specific orders from High Matron Tila herself. If your Ruling Council had ordered an attack upon my village, Atotarho Village, would you have followed those orders?”

“I would. Without an instant's hesitation.”

Sindak's muscular shoulders relaxed a little, though his face retained its taut expression. “We are warriors. We all do our duty, Matron.”

She watched him flip up his hood against the falling snow, and tried to fathom what he must be thinking. If their positions had been reversed, she'd be desperately worried whether or not she'd made the right decision. “Statements about duty sound curious coming from a War Chief who abandoned his army and fled to the enemy.”

Sindak seemed to freeze for a heartbeat, then he turned and gave her a level stare. “Our duties changed when our nation split in two and three Hills villages joined your side. We had to choose where our allegiance lay. We did.”

Jigonsaseh grunted softly and let her gaze roam the snowy hillside to the west. Dark forms slinked across the white background—wolves feasting upon her relatives. Snarls and growls carried as they competed for corpses.

“Tomorrow, if you allow it,” Sindak said, “my warriors and I will help gather the dead bodies of your people, and Sing them to the afterlife. Perhaps that will forge some trust.”

“Trust is not so easily purchased, Sindak. Hundreds of the refugees in the plaza below are from your most recent attack on White Dog Village. They hate you, War Chief.”

“I understand that. I only pray they give us a chance to prove…”

His voice faded when he noticed Jigonsaseh's grip tighten on the shaft of her belted war club. CorpseEye was cold tonight. Stone cold. As though the Spirit of the club had sailed far away, to another place and time.

Anxiety widened Sindak's dark eyes. “What's he telling you?” He pointed to CorpseEye.

“Nothing. We're safe. For now.”

In relief, Sindak sagged against the palisade and exhaled hard. “Don't do that to me. If my good friend Towa had been here, he would have run screaming.”

A half-smile turned her lips. “I'd forgotten you once held CorpseEye.”
The night you saved my life by throwing me my club. The night you and your best friend fought on my side with great bravery.
“How is Towa?”

“He is well. He married eight summers ago and moved to Riverbank Village. He's spent most of the past twelve summers off on some wild Trading expedition. In fact, a Flint Trader came through Atotarho Village two moons ago, and said he'd seen Towa carrying a pack of buffalo horn sheaths he'd gotten in the far west. He was headed to the Mountain People villages to Trade them for corn.” He paused and his brows knitted. “However, about one-half moon ago, when the violence intensified, Towa returned home to Riverbank Village.”

“I doubt he found much corn in the Mountain villages, but if he did, he's a wealthy man now. Most villages have already eaten their seed corn, which means they have nothing to plant next spring.”