People of the Black Sun(136)
Fifty-two
As Hiyawento and Towa trotted eastward along the trail to Bur Oak Village, Hiyawento’s body entered that timeless void of running where thoughts ceased to exist and there was nothing except motion and raw heightened sensation. He reveled in the brilliant streamers of orange that spiked up from the eastern horizon. They shot through the hearts of the drifting Cloud People, turning them a sulphurous shade of yellow he had never seen before. Across the forest, balmy air hissed through the trees, setting warm pungent scents loose to wander with the breeze.
When they crested a high point along the rolling trail, he saw smoke rising from Bur Oak Village. Towa momentarily hesitated, as though he wanted to stop, but Hiyawento didn’t slow down. He plunged down the rise, heading for the small creek that crossed the trail ahead.
One hand of time ago, he’d sent a runner ahead with the Truth Belt to let Sky Messenger know they were very close. He’d instructed the runner to come back with information on what was happening there, so they’d have some warning of what they’d be facing. The man had not returned.
Hiyawento feared he’d been killed. Which probably meant a battle raged just head, and they’d arrive in the roaring chaos with a crowd of half-starved women and children at their heels.
Hiyawento wiped his sweating face on his sleeve. It felt like the Moon of Newborn Fawns. All along the periphery of the forest, huge columns of insects spiraled, their membranous wings creating glimmering torrents that spun like tornadoes above the tallest trees.
He and Towa had been moving fast, trying to outrun the weakest followers. They’d lost maybe two hundred of the elders, women, and children, but the heartiest clung to them like boiled pine pitch. They were dedicated, he’d say that for them. Hiyawento cast a glance over his shoulder to see how close they were.
Twenty paces back, Tiyosh ran encircled by fifteen guards, still wearing Sky Messenger’s cape with the hood pulled up, despite the heat. He must be roasting alive. Another four hundred paces behind him, the ocean of humanity washed up and spilled over the rolling trail. How many? Three hundred? Four? Laughter drifted through the sea of waving arms as people whirled and clapped their hands in joy, singing their hearts out. They’d been dancing since long before dawn.
To see what Hiyawento was looking at, Towa jerked around, and his straight nose slung sweat. His handsome face ran with it. “I don’t know how they have the strength to dance. Most have barely enough flesh left on their bones to walk. It’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Especially since we’re headed into the midst of a battle with Atotarho’s army or the Mountain People, or both.”
“Exactly! What’s there to be happy about? I swear they’re demented.”
“They’re true believers. Their faith is like a Spirit Plant in their veins.”
As they plummeted down the slope and through the low spot, Elder Brother Sun slid over the horizon and threw the onyx shadows of the trees across their path. The cool air felt wonderful. The scent of water swelled from the tiny stream that meandered across the trail. Barely one body length across, Hiyawento leaped it easily, and continued on.
Towa leaped, splashed, and cursed before he ran to catch up. “Yes, but Hiyawento, I also believe in Sky Messenger’s Dream. The difference is that it scares the heart out of my body.” He cast another glance back at the celebration that followed them. “This jubilance is—well, it’s unnatural.”
“Isn’t everything these days?”
“True enough, but do you think they’re happy because anything, even death, is better than the life they’ve been forced to live these past few summers?”
Hiyawento glanced at Towa before he turned his gaze back to the smoke rising into the sky in the distance. “Maybe. I have to admit that I feel a bit of it myself. Anyone who tells me he can end the constant warfare and suffering, which has tormented our Peoples for generations, must be a supernatural Spirit hero. In fact, Towa, I am absolutely certain that Sky Messenger is the human False Face promised in the old stories.”
Towa shifted the pack on his back, rebalancing it upon his shoulders. “I am, too, but I still do not understand this raucous euphoria.” He paused a moment, then a broad smile came to his face. “I mean within a few days, we’ll probably all be in the Land of the Dead, and it doesn’t have a single decent Trader. I’m not ready for that.”
“How do you know it doesn’t have any decent Traders?”
“Oh, come, come, do you know anyone who’s seen a Spirit wearing an exceptional buffalo wool shirt, or carrying arrows made from extra hard chokecherry from the far west?”