People of the Black Sun(119)
Saponi toyed with the grass beneath his fingers, absently stroking it while he thought. “Don’t feel too sorry. His army still outnumbers the Standing Stone nation by at least three to one, and he has reinforcements coming.”
Disu heaved a taut breath and sat up. “Well, there’s nothing more we can do about it tonight. Let’s go grab a bowl of roasted crickets before they’re gone.”
Forty-six
Sky Messenger
In the middle of the night, Gitchi growls softly, and I hear Hiyawento call, “Sky Messenger?”
I roll over and sleepily blink up at the three people standing over me. Hiyawento, Baji, and an unknown Landing warrior, a tall square-jawed man wearing a ragged buckskin cape, stare down at me. Hiyawento has his jaw clenched.
I sit up in my blankets and rub my eyes with the back of my hand. Gitchi lays on the foot of the blanket, his yellow eyes fixed on the Landing warrior. While he knows and trusts Hiyawento and Baji, this man poses a threat, and he knows it. “What’s wrong? Where’s Towa?”
Hiyawento squats beside me and props his war club across his knees. Exhaustion lines his tight eyes. “He’s in charge of the guards tonight.”
Below Hiyawento, I see men and women standing in a ring around the small hilltop with war clubs clutched in their hands. Their attention is focused on the people bedded down on the slopes below. It’s dark. No campfires glow. Snores and coughs ride the wind that sweeps up the hillside.
Hiyawento extends a hand to the Landing warrior. “This is Deputy War Chief Tiyosh, formerly of Agweron Village.” The man bows respectfully. I nod back. “We’ve been talking. We think you and Baji need to get away from here as soon as possible. If you run most of the night, you should be far ahead of the crowd by morning.”
Baji kneels beside Hiyawento and gives me one of those distinctive, don’t argue looks. Wind flutters long hair around her beautiful stern face. “Tiyosh says most of the people who followed you when you left Shookas Village are desperate. Their villages were just destroyed. They’re sure the Mountain People are coming to kill them. You are their only hope.”
Desperation can drive even the best of people to madness. “I understand, but how do you propose that we get out of here? We’re surrounded.”
“Yes, Prophet,” Tiyosh says with soft reverence, “but most people are asleep. You and I are about the same height. I think if you exchange capes with me, and keep your hood pulled up to shield your face, you and War Chief Baji may be able to make it out without being recognized.”
My limbs feel like dead weights as I throw back my blankets and rise to my feet. Hiyawento and Baji stand up and move to either side of me, protecting me. I hate being treated like a fragile pot … but I know they’re right. I saw the glazed, almost stunned, looks in my followers’ eyes, and felt them shoving each other just to get close enough to touch my clothing. I pull my cape over my head and hand it to Hiyawento to hold, while Tiyosh removes his own cape and gives it to me. As I slip it on, I ask, “How long will Tiyosh be forced to feign being me? I’m not comfortable with this. I’m putting him in danger.”
Hiyawento looks at Tiyosh, who shrugs. “Before dawn, we will hit the trail and run hard. The new guards will keep Tiyosh surrounded so that no one can get a good look at him. Hopefully we will lose most of the crowd on the way.”
“Before we do this, I want you to consider what the crowd will do when they discover Tiyosh is not me. They will feel betrayed.”
Hiyawento’s mouth curves into a half-smile, a determined expression I know well. He will do whatever it takes to keep me safe. He always has. “I have considered it. As has Tiyosh. All of your new guards discussed the matter thoroughly. We will tell them something. Now, you and Baji need to go. By the time you reach Bur Oak Village, we should be no more than a few hands of time behind you. I’ll send a messenger ahead to tell you when we’ll arrive.”
“How will I know the message is from you, and not someone claiming to—”
“I’ll send you this.” Hiyawento’s hand slowly drops to his shell-bead belt and he caresses it, his fingers slowly moving over the small human figures that decorate the front near the ties. Deep purple, they have childlike shapes. “I’ll send my belt with the messenger so you know he speaks the truth.”
Gitchi rises and stretches, preparing his aching joints for the run ahead. His yellow eyes and thick fur glow silver in the light cast by the campfires of the dead.
Through a heavy sigh, I say, “All right. I’ll be expecting the Truth Belt. We’ll see you there day after tomorrow.”