People of the Black Sun(40)

As Gonda handed the warm teacup to Jigonsaseh, he said, “I thought you might be cold.”

“I am. Thank you.”

Gonda glanced back at the lines Sindak had sketched in the snow, and pointedly asked, “Why do we care what Atotarho’s former War Chief would do? He’s not out there. He’s in here with us.”

“Because he trained those warriors, you fool,” Sindak defended. “Even you should grasp that. You once trained warriors when you were War Chief Koracoo’s deputy—before she removed you in favor of War Chief Cord.”

The lines of Gonda’s round face drooped. “Not very subtle, Sindak, pointing out that we both qualify as ‘former.’”

“I thought you’d appreciate that.”

A small amount of her distrust had seeped away as Sindak talked. He didn’t appear to be holding anything back, or trying to deceive her. “I heard that Gonda offered to adopt you and your warriors into his clan.”

Gonda nodded. “I did. He refused.”

Sindak knocked off the snow that had accumulated on the shoulders of his cape. “My warriors are considering it. But you know as well as I do that they believe themselves patriots. They desperately want to go home to their families.”

Bluntly, Jigonsaseh said, “Atotarho is going to kill their families, Sindak. They may already be dead. If not, their relatives need to get out now and make their way here. Perhaps you should dispatch one of your warriors with that message? I give you my oath that the Standing Stone nation will adopt any member of their families who—”

“I’ll tell them.”

Jigonsaseh turned to watch the enraged sobbing people in the plaza. The circle broke up and men and women sauntered away in different directions.

“Now, Matron, I want you to tell me something,” Sindak said.

Gonda scowled. “That sounded like a command, not a request. You are addressing a member of the Ruling Council, you pusillanimous insect. You will keep a civil tongue—”

She cut Gonda off, “What is it, Sindak?”

Sindak gave Gonda a disgruntled look, then propped his hands on his hips. The motion caused his tan cape to flare out around his body. The white geometric designs on the bottom flashed in the firelight. “We’ve heard a thousand versions of Sky Messenger’s vision. I want to hear it from you. I assume you memorized it to make sure you could repeat it exactly. You wouldn’t want to make an error before an enemy council that Sky Messenger would later have to correct.” He pointed a stern finger at her, a warning gesture. “Word for word, Matron.”

She chuckled at his audacity. This was the man she remembered from twelve summers ago. Too brash for his own good.

Gonda’s mouth opened to say something vituperative, but she replied, “I did memorize it.”

“Good. I’m listening.”

Images from the vision flared behind her eyes. Brilliant and dark, and reverence filtered through her exhaustion.





Thirteen

“Keep in mind, I don’t tell it as well as he does.”

“I suspect no one does,” Sindak answered.

Jigonsaseh shook the snow from her hood. Clumps of white fell onto the catwalk. “It will probably help if you imagine his deep voice, not mine.”

Sindak sank back against the palisade again, his intent gaze upon her, totally ignoring Gonda. Snow lilted through the air around him, the big flakes falling slowly. “I’ll try.”

She took a drink from the cup of spruce needle tea, and steam curled up around her face. The sweet tangy flavor didn’t soothe her taut nerves, but it warmed her belly.

“When the dream begins he can’t feel his body, just the air cooling as color leaches from the forest, leaving the land strangely gray and shimmering. As he watches, the blue sky goes leaden, and the rounded patches of light falling through the trees curve into bladelike crescents. That’s when he first senses his skin … but it’s a faint, not really there, sensation. He has the overwhelming urge to run, but he can’t feel his legs at all. His fingers work, clenching into hard fists, unclenching. A great cloud-sea swims beneath him. He says it’s a dark restless ocean, punctured by a great tree with flowers of pure light.”

“The sacred World Tree? Whose roots sink through Great Grandmother Earth and plant themselves upon the back of the Great Tortoise floating in the primeval ocean below?”

As images from the Creation Story filled her, she clutched Gonda’s teacup more tightly. “Yes.”

Her gaze briefly fixed on Gonda’s, then focused on the palisade at the opposite end of the village, behind the Snipe Clan longhouse. Through the veil of snow she saw a group of four warriors talking, their bows slung over muscular shoulders.