People of the Black Sun(143)
Barely audible, he said, “Baji?”
“Yes. I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”
His lips twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile.
Baji bent down to examine Dekanawida’s milky eye. “Can you see anything? Can you see me?”
He whispered, “Clouds … just clouds.”
She lightly pressed her lips to his. As she lifted her head, the whirling columns of insects that had, moments before, glistened at the edge of the trees, evaporated, and the birdsong faded away until it lay stone dead upon the forest.
The Thunderers rumbled again, and a brilliant flash of lightning lashed outward from the leading Cloud People to crackle white fire across the sky. The afterimage burned into her eyes was of a gigantic tree of light.
“Wr-wrass?” Dekanawida asked.
“He’ll be here. You know he will.”
“… yes.”
As the storm approached the air cooled, and the light shifted, flickering across the meadow in curious stripes. At first she thought it was just the leading edge of the clouds blotting Elder Brother Sun, then she noticed the butterflies settling into the grass, hiding themselves as though afraid.
Her heart started to pound. She murmured, “Dekanawida?”
As though Great Grandmother Earth had exhaled her last breath, the wind stopped. Just stopped. Conversations hummed as warriors turned to each other in confusion.
Baji’s gaze darted around. “Dekanawida? I think…”
His fingers flexed, and he shifted in her lap as though feeling was coming back to his limbs. Upon his swollen face, she saw the sunlight turn from amber to an unearthly blue, and she lifted her eyes to the sky.
In the strange shadow-bands of light, Elder Brother Sun seemed to tremble, then a midnight abyss opened beside him, and slid forward, cutting a black hole in the universe.
Gasps and cries swept the meadow.
“It’s the Dream!”
“Dear gods, it’s happening … I told you it was true. I knew it!”
Every warrior lifted his face to the sky, and a low moan quavered on the air.
A sliver of Elder Brother Sun’s face disappeared, then more, his light and warmth being sucked away into eternal darkness.
Gasps rose, followed by shrieks.
“Run … Run before it’s too late!”
Mountain warriors started to throw down their weapons. The clatter of a thousand quivers hitting the ground at once sounded like the sky splitting.
“I’m leaving!” One of Wenisa’s guards pounded away.
Wenisa took a step backward, then another. Finally, he whirled and ran as hard as he could for the cover of the trees.
Atotarho and his guards stood gaping, as though too shocked to move as Elder Brother Sun fled the world.
Finally Nesi shouted, “Come on!” He grabbed Chief Atotarho, threw him over his shoulder, and sprinted away with his men behind him.
As soon as they entered the forest, a surprised roar went up, and Baji saw hundreds of warriors surrounding them. Their clan symbols were from both the Hills and Landing nations. Wenisa roared in outrage, and she saw him fighting the strong hands that held him.
Hiyawento appeared at the crest of the hill. Tall, his eyes blazing, he briefly studied the situation, then charged toward her, his long legs pumping.
With a stunningly brilliant flash, Elder Brother Sun vanished and white fire, white feathers, sprouted from his shoulders. His newborn wings fluttered wildly. He was flying away into the darkness.…
“Baji?” Dekanawida weakly rolled to his knees. “Help me up.”
As she carefully pulled his arm over her shoulder, she said, “Hiyawento’s coming.”
Dekanawida heaved a deep sigh, as though all was now as it should be.
Hiyawento tossed his bow to the ground, and said, “Let me help you.”
Together, Baji and Hiyawento lifted Dekanawida onto his feet. “I can stand.”
“No. No, you need me—”
“Back away, Baji,” Hiyawento said. “He has to stand alone.”
Reluctantly, she stepped back, leaving Dekanawida wobbling in the bizarre fluttering light. Gitchi leaped in front of Dekanawida with his fangs bared, daring anyone to try to hurt him.
On the verge of collapsing, Dekanawida stumbled and righted himself. When he’d managed to stiffen his knees, he sucked in a breath, and slowly lifted his arms as though to embrace the vanishing heavens themselves.
Fifty-eight
Sky Messenger
I fight to clear my vision. Images are jumbled. Like thin sheets of ice struck with a rock, everything appears shattered. Warriors are splintered shards of colors. Hiyawento could be made of fire-cracked quartz. Each angle of his face reflects the unnatural gleam differently. At my feet, Gitchi stands like a melting ice-sculpture dog, his shoulder blades sharp as knives.