People of the Black Sun(35)
Jigonsaseh gazed out through the open gates to her own village thirty paces distant. “How much of Yellowtail Village has been cleaned out?”
When they’d decided to repair Bur Oak Village and abandon Yellowtail Village, there had been an outcry among Yellowtail villagers. Every chamber in Yellowtail Village was filled with the injured, or dying. Everyone knew that moving them might kill them. It had required great patience for Jigonsaseh to go to each family and convince them that if they were attacked again, it might be the only way to save their children.
“About half, last I heard.”
Jigonsaseh’s eyes narrowed. “If you do not object, I think I’ll take over supervising the evacuation. Perhaps I can speed up the process. As you know, many of my villagers are not happy about this move.”
“I would appreciate your help. And”—she exhaled the word—“when that’s done, I want you to take over our entire defense.”
Jigonsaseh shifted uneasily. “I will if you wish, but I’m not sure that’s a good decision. War Chief Deru is perfectly competent to—”
“I know that. I want you up there leading our warriors. They trust you.”
She nodded. “Very well.”
Kittle’s gaze lifted to the sky where Cloud People gathered over the northern hills. The trees visible through the gates had already taken on the curious sheen of stormlight. “We’ll have snow by nightfall.”
The refugee lean-tos propped against the innermost palisade were falling down. Currently empty, they resembled little more than piles of sticks and bark. Yesterday’s miraculous storm had ripped apart every lean-to, and shredded the longhouse roofs, before rolling out into the forest where it tore whole trees from the earth and cast them about like kindling.
Kittle said, “We’ll have to find a way to roof those lean-tos before snowfall. What of your villagers? We have no more room in any of our longhouses. Where will your people sleep? Do you plan to have them stay one more night in Yellowtail Village, tending the wounded, until we can—”
“I don’t think that’s wise. If we’re attacked, it will split our meager forces in two. No, we will move the wounded here, as well as the rest of my villagers.”
“Where will you move them to?”
“I’ve ordered the children of the Turtle Clan to collect every sleeping hide in Yellowtail Village. After that, they will gather the branches torn from the trees by yesterday’s storm, and bring them here. We’ll throw up branch frames and cover them with hides. It will do.”
Memories of the black whirling winds yesterday made her think of Sky Messenger. If he’d been running at a good steady trot, by now he should be close to the territorial boundary of the Standing Stone nation. She prayed he was still safe.
“Worried about Sky Messenger?” Kittle said.
“How did you know?”
“Because I’m worried about Taya. After they said good-bye, Taya spent a good two hands of time lying in her hides weeping.”
Jigonsaseh frowned. “They barely know each other, Kittle. I hardly think she is pining away—”
“I suspect her emotional mood may mean she carries your son’s child.”
Jigonsaseh straightened. Sky Messenger and Taya could not marry until she had proven her worthiness by conceiving. If it were true, they could wed as soon as he returned. Jigonsaseh did not know if that fact would please her son or not. Sky Messenger wanted Baji. Clan politics precluded any such marriage. Perhaps, if Taya was with child, he would finally accept his fate, marry her, and fulfill his duty to his clan.
She said, “At most, your granddaughter is one moon pregnant. Her emotional mood could be nothing more than the aftermath of the battle. Let us wait before we rejoice.”
“Agreed.”
The wind shifted and the odors of sweating bodies and wood smoke wafted over them. Jigonsaseh evaluated the holes in the inner palisades. At least five or six gaping charred ovals remained. If they didn’t replace that burned wood before the next attack came, the enemy would only have to breach the exterior palisade in one place, and they could flood through the entire village.
“Let’s talk about the inner palisades. I think we need to reorganize the work so that—”
“That’s because you think like a war chief. If you’d been a village matron for summers, you’d realize that food and water will be just as essential when we are attacked. I can’t afford to shift anyone now.”
Three boys, five or six summers old, dashed by with dogs loping at their heels, laughing as they weaved through the lines of workers. Their faces were sheathed in afternoon gleam. One of the dogs, overeager to play, took a flying leap and knocked the lead boy down. The other two boys saw their chance and piled on top of him, squealing as they wrestled.