The People of the Black Sun (9 page)

“I'm hoping for the latter.”

The catwalk erupts in laughter again.

Wampa smiles and points through the gate to the council house. “Go on. I've delayed you long enough. The council needs you.”

Before I pass by, I grip her shoulder hard and stare into her dark eyes. “My Dream is true, Wampa. We must make peace with our enemies, or we are all doomed. I…”

My voice fades as the vision blossoms behind my eyes and consumes my world.

…
An amorphous darkness rises from the watery depths and slithers along the horizon like the legendary Horned Serpent who almost destroyed the world at the dawn of creation. Strange black curls, like gigantic antlers, spin from the darkness and rake through the cloud-sea—

“Sky Messenger?” Wampa shakes me.

I snap from the vision and return with a gasp. The sunlight is so bright it hurts. “S-sorry. I-I'm sorry.”

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to see nothing, not this world, not the world of the vision. Just nothing. Still, somewhere inside me there is brilliance …
and I'm falling … tumbling through nothingness with the flowers of the World Tree, made of pure light, fluttering down around me—

“Are you all right?” Wampa asks. “You were there, weren't you? When the sky splits and Elder Brother Sun flees into the dark hole in the sky, leaving the world to die?”

I rub my eyes, nod.

Wampa edges closer and hisses to me, “I believe you. So do our warriors. We all believe. Just tell us how to help you make peace, and we'll do it. Even if we have to eat at the same fire as those accursed Mountain People.”

I suck in a breath, and the smoke from the smoldering palisades stings the back of my throat. “You're a good friend, Wampa. When I know what to ask, I will. Thank you.”

From the catwalk, a man says, “We believe you, Sky Messenger.” A woman adds, “We won't let you down, Sky Messenger.” More voices rise.

I look up into their blazing eyes, eyes alight with faith in me, and their hope is suddenly like a cape of iron around my shoulders. It is I who cannot let them down.

I give them a confident nod, lift a hand, and walk through each of the three gates in the palisades. When I step into the village, Gitchi falls into step beside me.

Refugees from destroyed Standing Stone villages crowd the plaza. In the entire Standing Stone nation, there are only two villages left now, Bur Oak and Yellowtail, and they almost ceased to exist yesterday. Lean-to shelters line the entire eastern wall. Children race in front of them with dogs trotting at their heels. Every child is half-starved. Their bellies are distended. Bars of ribs press against thin leather shirts and dresses. High Matron Kittle had to send food to every Standing Stone village last autumn, and even to one Hills village that requested help: Sedge Marsh Village.

In an unfathomable twist of fate, the deaths of over three thousand warriors yesterday suddenly means we have plenty of food. Ordinarily, we would survive by raiding other nations, taking food, slaves, and other necessities. After yesterday's battle, we no longer have to do that. To keep it safe, we have hundreds of caches of food buried in wooden barrels in the forest nearby. It will be enough to last until next summer. Soon, these starved faces will fill out and the children will smile and play again … unless we are raided and our caches discovered and stolen.

Because High Matron Kittle fears this, she'll ration food for moons.

I gaze around the plaza at the adults clustered in groups, talking. Desperation lines their faces.

I pass by without a word, heading for the council house where it squats to the left of the central plaza bonfire. The bonfire burns in the very center of the village. As I walk, I glance to my right at the Deer Clan longhouse, Kittle's longhouse, then the Hawk Clan longhouse. The houses are constructed of pole frames covered with elm bark. Their arched roofs soar forty hands high. Straight ahead, to the south, the longhouses of the Wolf and Snipe clans stand. Every roof has been burned through in several places. Many of the bark walls are blackened. Once the palisades have been fully repaired, the clans will begin repairing and rebuilding the longhouses. That is, unless the council decides we should abandon these villages and throw ourselves on the mercy of our neighbors. If we beg to be adopted into another nation, the Standing Stone People will cease to exist.

None of us can bear the thought.

I stride for the council house door. Just before I enter, I say, “Gitchi, I want you to stay here. Guard the door to the council house.”

He obediently drops to his haunches, and vigilantly begins studying each person who passes by.

The leather curtain over the entry billows in the breeze, and a rush of warm air envelops me. I shiver and duck past the curtain into the house. As I do, a hush descends. After the brilliant sunlight, my eyes need time to adjust to the firelit darkness. I see only the faint curve of the house walls, hundreds of black shapes, and orange flames.

Jigonsaseh, the village matron of Yellowtail Village, and my mother, calls, “Please join us, Sky Messenger.”

I blink, trying to hurry my eyes, and see the rings of benches that encircle the fire in the middle of the house. Each person and clan has a place. The Ruling Council of the nation, composed of six clan matrons and the High Matron, Kittle, sit on the innermost ring, nearest the fire. The next ring is reserved for village chiefs, war chiefs, and visiting matrons. The outermost ring is crowded with Speakers. Each of the five villages in the Standing Stone nation has four Speakers, elected representatives who convey group decisions and ask questions on the group's behalf. The Speakers for the Warriors cluster on the north side of the outer bench. The Speakers for the Women are on the east bench. The Speakers for the Men sit to the west. The Speakers for the Shamans fill the south bench. The rest of the house is open. Anyone from any village who wishes to listen to the council's deliberations may attend these meetings. Today, people line the walls, packed shoulder-to-shoulder. As my eyes grow accustomed to the firelight, I see that every head is turned in my direction.

Mother and High Matron Kittle stand together before the Ruling Council. Both watch me as I weave through the benches to reach them.

The sacred False Face masks, representing the Faces of the Forest who control sickness, perch high upon the walls. Their empty eye sockets capture the firelight and seem to glow. Carved by expert hands, they are made of wood, feathers, human hair, cedar bark, shell, and fur. They have bent noses and crooked mouths. Each is alive—watching and listening to the puny affairs of men. Their Powers come from the Spirit creatures who live in the forests, the air, and under water.

My gaze clings to the Doorkeeper Mask. It represents the Spirits who dwell at the rim of Great Grandmother Earth. Long black hair drapes over the red forehead and black chin, making the bent nose protrude from between the silken strands. The whistling mouth sucks sickness from wounded bodies and blows it into the Sky World where Elder Brother Sun burns it to ashes that are then used to purify the sick or scare away evil Spirits.

“Are the Flint People headed home?” Mother asks. She has seen thirty-nine summers and is very tall, as tall as I am, twelve hands. Short black hair, streaked with silver, frames her oval face. She has a narrow nose and full lips. Through the fine doehide leather of her white cape—painted with black bear paws—muscles bulge. She was once a great war chief. She still practices with her bow and club every day. Despite the fact that she is now a village matron, yesterday she led the Yellowtail warriors into the fight.

“They are,” I answer, and move to stand at her side before the flickering fire.

“I pray their journey is safe and they arrive home to find all is well.” Mother turns to the matrons on the second ring of benches. “When will the Hills People be leaving?”

Matron Zateri rises, and I spot Hiyawento, who sits on the bench next to her, his arm around his eight-summers-old daughter, Kahn-Tineta. Just seeing Hiyawento and Zateri, knowing they are here, soothes me. Because of the horrors we endured together as children, we are inextricably linked. They live inside me as much as my own souls do.

Zateri smoothes her hands on her buckskin cape. She is just twenty-two summers old, short and girlish. From the back, she is often mistaken for a child. Her two front teeth stick out slightly. To those who do not know her, she appears frail and weak. Slowly, with precision, she says, “I have discussed the issue with Matron Kwahseti of Riverbank Village and Matron Gwinodje of Canassatego Village. We will be leaving as soon as we have identified and collected the bodies of our warriors from the battlefield. Hopefully, we'll be gone by midday.”

Matron Kwahseti stands up beside Zateri. She is thirty-five with gray hair. “Please understand, we do not wish to leave you. We know how many warriors you lost yesterday before we entered the fight on your side, but we fear our own home villages will be Atotarho's next targets. We must make certain our relatives are safe.”

High Matron Kittle turns, and firelight sheaths her beautiful face, reflecting from her large dark eyes and perfect nose. Even at forty-four summers, she is renowned as the most beautiful woman in the Standing Stone nation. She does not wear a cape, just a smoked elkhide dress, painted around the collar with yellow hawk wings, that molds to every curve. “We understand, but could you possibly leave a few hundred of your warriors with us, as a symbol of the new alliance between our two nations?”

“As you know, Sindak and his forty warriors asked to remain to help you,” Zateri answers. “We approved their request.”

“Yes, but we need more, High Matron.”

Kwahseti, Gwinodje, and Zateri whisper together.

I search the gathering. Where is my betrothed, Taya? She must be here. Because she is only fourteen, a woman of no position, she cannot sit on the reserved benches. But somewhere out in the crowd, she must be watching me. While I do not see Taya, I do see my sister, Tutelo. She stands with her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed upon me. Mourning hair drapes irregularly around her pretty face. Where are her young daughters? Perhaps they remained in the Bear Clan longhouse, speaking to their dead father, saying good-bye.

Zateri turns away from the other Hills matrons to gaze at me. “Sky Messenger, have you Dreamed anything about the next few days?”

I spread my arms. “You know my Dream, Zateri. Whether it will come true tomorrow or next summer, I cannot say.”

“But you haven't Dreamed anything specific about any of our villages?”

“No.”

“Then we must assume the worst.” Kwahseti exhales hard.

Murmuring passes along the walls as speculations fill the council house.

Kittle holds up a hand, and the voices die down. “Please, continue, High Matron Zateri.”

Zateri hesitates before she says, “We have a great deal to do when we get home. We have decided that we must combine our villages so that we may protect each other. Coldspring Village and Riverbank Village will be moving to join Canassatego Village, since it is the farthest away from Atotarho Village. We dispatched messengers last night, instructing our villages to pack up and move as soon as possible. But our children and elders will make it slow-going. Once they arrive, they will still be very vulnerable. And they must pack and transport every kernel of corn they have.”

Kwahseti adds, “You know how many warriors Chief Atotarho still has. After yesterday's battle, between our three villages, we possess only around two thousand warriors. One thousand five hundred are here. In addition, we left a total of around five hundred at home to protect our three villages. They will have to hold off any attacks upon Canassatego Village until we arrive. Atotarho will destroy our families if he can.”

Zateri says, “We're sorry, High Matron Kittle. We've already discussed this possibility. We would leave a contingent here if we could, but we honestly can't spare a single person at this point in time. However, when we have secured our new village, we give you our oaths that we will send you warriors. We don't guarantee that there will be many, but we will send as many as we can.”

Kittle clamps her jaw. “How long will that be?”

“Perhaps ten days. Fifteen at most.”

Kittle boldly looks around the council house, meeting each person's gaze, as though silently assuring them that they can survive until then. She projects a confidence that, at terrible times such as these, seems to calm the world. When her gaze returns to Zateri, she says, “We are deeply grateful for what you did yesterday. Without your help, the entire Standing Stone nation would have been wiped from the face of Great Grandmother Earth. We are in your debt. As you journey, we pray Sodowegowah does not see your faces.”

Sodowegowah was the harbinger of death. Once he saw your face, you could not escape.

“Thank you, High Matron,” Zateri responds with a nod and asks, “May we ask, High Matron, what you plan to do? Will you move, or stay to fight? You know, of course, that my father is already planning to attack you again.”

Kittle turns to gaze into Matron Jigonsaseh's eyes. Mother gives her a stony look. I know that look. They must have argued about this issue. Mother did not agree with the decision, but she will back Kittle no matter what.

Kittle runs a hand through her black hair, and replies, “We will stay and fight.”

Dire whispers move through the people standing along the walls. They shift like a herd of deer, shying at a strange sound, preparing to flee.

I say, “High Matron, may I address the council?”

Kittle's head dips. “Of course.”

My gaze locks with Hiyawento's. He is War Chief of Coldspring Village in the Hills nation, and my oldest and dearest friend. The first time he saved my life, I'd only seen eleven summers. He has chopped his black hair short in mourning for his two murdered daughters. His eagle-like face, with its beaked nose, shines in the firelight. When the end comes, he will be there. I have seen it. He is with me when the Great Face shakes the World Tree and Elder Brother Sun flies away into a black hole in the sky. I lift my chin and in a loud voice, announce, “I will be leaving, as well. I—”