People of the Black Sun(34)

Near the center of the plaza, High Matron Kittle stood observing six warriors who used ropes to pull the new logs into place in the exterior palisade. The men grunted with the effort, and their faces streamed sweat. Autumn had been very rainy, followed by several deep snows. The sodden logs were heavy and unwieldy. The workers struggled to keep them from falling back to the earth and crushing the men beneath.

Jigonsaseh stopped at Kittle’s side. Four longhouses arched in a semicircle around them. Lines of men, women, and children filed in and out of each one, carrying pots of water and baskets of seeds, corn, and beans. One woman had dried squash vines around her neck. The squashes, still attached, knocked together as she walked, producing a hollow thumping sound. The villagers wore no capes, just knee-length shirts, dresses, and brightly painted leggings. A light shower of brown autumn leaves pirouetted around them as they worked.

Jigonsaseh counted the number of women carrying water pots. Not enough. She would have to tend to that. They could live far longer without food than they could without water.

Without turning, Kittle asked, “How is our defense?”

“Almost nonexistent. Deploying our warriors outside the palisade is a waste, Kittle. I know that’s what the council approved, but—”

“And Wampa?”

Jigonsaseh gauged the hard lines in Kittle’s face. There would be no convincing her to shift their forces now. Jigonsaseh sighed, and said, “Though she is the new War Chief of Bur Oak Village, she has no objections to subordinating herself to War Chief Deru for as long as necessary. She knows he has more experience.”

“What of our scouts and lines? Is everyone in place?”

Jigonsaseh quietly took a breath and let it out. “Yes, we have scouts in the tallest trees. As for our lines, we have barely enough warriors to encircle the village. Even then, they are so widely spread out they are almost no protection at all. They will perhaps, be able to let one arrow fly before they’ll have to turn tail and run for safety. It’s a waste of effort. We should pull them all in to defend the village so that when the scouts signal a warning, we’ll be ready.”

Kittle watched the groaning laborers slowly haul the log, hand-over-hand, into place. Muscles bulged and sweat ran down their faces. When the logs were in place, warriors on the catwalk lashed them to the standing logs, securing them into the palisade. Finally, she said, “That’s the last section of the exterior palisade to need repairing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. They’re working fast.”

“They’d better. At this rate, we won’t even be able to start repairing the longhouses until tomorrow afternoon.”

“I know that,” Kittle said in a clipped voice.

“We must repair the inner palisades first, then we—”

“I know.” Kittle glared up at her, for Jigonsaseh was two heads taller, and an exhausted expression slackened her features. “There’s another subject I’d like to discuss with you, and I want you to tell me the bald facts.”

“Have I ever done otherwise?”

“No, but we’ve never been in a position like this before.”

Wind tormented her cape until it whipped around her legs in snapping folds. Kittle paused until the gust passed. “If you were Atotarho would you still be in camp, tending your wounded? On your way home? Or on your way here?” A swallow went down her throat. “How much time do we have?”

Jigonsaseh spread her legs and her war club, CorpseEye, swayed where it was tied to her belt. She reached down to wrap her fingers around the smooth polished shaft. It took less than five heartbeats for a tingle of warmth to spread through her palm and up her arm. “Not long, Kittle. He knows how vulnerable we are. However, if he’s decided to attack us again, his warriors will be upset, grousing about not being to carry their injured friends and loved ones home. I think he’s so crazy now that he doesn’t care about tradition or the souls of his dead relatives. I think he’ll push this thing to the end.”

Kittle’s oval face with its perfect nose and large dark eyes sagged. She tucked her shoulder-length black hair behind her ears, and said simply, “I’d give anything for two hands of sleep.”

No one in either village had slept well last night. The wails and groans of the wounded had wrung shudders from the very wood of the longhouses. Fortunately, the worst off had died during the night. This morning, the bodies had been carried outside to await the burial ceremony, and the last of the wounded had been moved into the Council House. Constant whimpering and cries filled the air.

Out in the forest a flock of jays burst into flight and soared away amid a riot of squawks and chirps. One of their lines had probably shifted and startled the birds.