People of the Black Sun(109)

Towa leaned sideways to murmur to Sky Messenger, “I heard it a bit differently.”

A tight smile tensed Sky Messenger’s face. “Someone should tell them the truth.”

Towa shook his head. “Bad idea. Look at them.”

Reverence lined every face and filled every voice.

Hiyawento looked around, trying to hear words through the general noise of thousands of voices.

“… the human False Face has come … he is among us right now … the Faces of the Forest walk with him…”

There was a momentary hush, then an old man with a deeply wrinkled face turned and repeated, “Atotarho attacked them again … just a few days ago. He’s there now trying to starve the last survivors to death!”

Towa jerked around to look at Hiyawento and Sky Messenger. “Dear gods. Did you know this?”

“No.” Sky Messenger’s voice had gone deep with shock.

Hiyawento clutched his war club tighter. He had to get word to Zateri. She’d probably already sent back as many warriors as she could afford, as she’d promised Kittle she would, but—

“I wish to speak.” High Matron Weyra stood and lifted a hand to the crowd. Thin white hair fluttered around her wrinkled face. She’d seen perhaps fifty-five summers, and had a fleshy nose that rippled when she scratched it. After the voices died down, she called, “It seems the Hills People have the same designs on Standing Stone territory as the Mountain People do on ours, and neither nation will stop at anything to achieve its goals. We must—”

Sky Messenger shouted, “That’s because we have an amnesia of the heart. We’ve forgotten that we were once one People!”

Towa hissed, “It’s unhealthy to interrupt the most powerful woman in the nation.”

Sky Messenger boldly shouldered through the crowd. As he passed, eyes went wide, men and women shuffled backward, and a stunned chorus began to whisper across the plaza, “It’s him … Blessed Gods, it’s the Prophet … it’s Sky Messenger!… No, it’s not, you fool … I tell you, it is! Look how tall he is. He fits the descriptions…”

“Let him through!” High Matron Weyra called. “Who are you?”

Sky Messenger stopped long enough to meet and hold her gaze. His brown eyes blazed so brilliantly that people gaped at him, their faces immobile, as though afraid to move in his presence.

In a strong, powerful voice, he said, “I am Sky Messenger, called Dekanawida by the Flint People. I’ve come to offer you something better than battle, better than death! Reason and righteousness must prevail, elders, or none of us will survive the coming darkness!”

As he strode forward, the crowd fell back before him, shoving one another to get out of his way, and opening a narrow pathway that led straight to the Ruling Council.

Hiyawento and Towa had to hurry to stay close.

“It’s him! I fought against him once … look at the cut of his cape … definitely Standing Stone…”

Hiyawento’s fingers went tight around his war club as he scanned every face they passed, noting those who scowled and sneered, paying special attention to hands that rested upon belted weapons.

Sky Messenger bowed deeply before the elders. In a deep respectful voice, he said, “Council Members, I ask your forgiveness for disturbing this meeting.”

Most of the elders stared at him slack-jawed, almost certain they sat in the presence of a living legend, but not quite. One or two gave Sky Messenger wary looks.

High Matron Weyra said, “You really are Sky Messenger, the son of Matron Jigonsaseh and Speaker Gonda?”

“Yes, High Matron. I am Bear Clan, from Yellowtail Village. If you will allow it, I would request an audience with your Ruling Council.”

* * *

Ghostly silence possessed the inside of the council house. The warm air was still. Only the firelight wavered as elders’ hands clenched, or feet shuffled.

Hiyawento and Towa stood to the left and right of Sky Messenger, ready for anything, their gazes scanning the small gathering. High Matron Weyra had wisely limited the audience to just the Ruling Council, but thumps sounded around the walls outside as people shifted, pressing close, ears to the walls in an attempt to hear anything. Sky Messenger had just finished relating his Dream, and a low awed drone penetrated the elm bark walls.

Where he sat on the log bench on the opposite side of the fire, Sky Messenger leaned forward. He propped his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers before him. As he gazed across the flames at the twelve most influential people in the Landing nation, worry cut lines across his forehead and around his wide mouth. He appeared much older than his twenty-three summers. A stranger entering the house just now, seeing him for the first time, would guess Sky Messenger’s age at perhaps forty summers. Each layer of Sky Messenger’s hair caught the glow and created short jagged lines around his head. His long black cape had fallen into folds on the floor.