People of the Black Sun(49)
“Yes, I know.”
Angry, she said, “Then why are you here? You should be with him!”
He walked toward her and she stiffened. When he stood less than three paces away, he said, “I thought, perhaps, you might have questions for me.”
Using the sleeve of her war shirt, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Get away from me. Dekanawida is the one who needs you.”
Sonon cautiously took another step toward her. She did not back away, but her fingers clutched her war club so tightly that her nails went white. The scent of her fear pervaded the night air.
Softly, he asked, “How are you feeling?” and gestured to her head wound. Blood caked the area behind her right ear.
Baji ignored him while she tied the club back to her belt. A bold move, given how close he stood. “It’s healing. I’ll be all right.”
“And what of your father, Chief Cord? Did he escape?”
Her gaze searched the white-sheathed branches of the maples, and darted over the brush. Out in the forest, a few large boulders hunched like white-caped monsters. She stared at them. “I saw him carried from the field of battle, but I … I can’t…” She shook her head and dread twisted her features. “I can’t remember. Gods, what’s wrong with me?”
Gently, he said, “Head wounds. They knock the souls loose for a time.”
Her black eyes riveted on Sonon’s face, at once pleading and demanding. “Is Father all right? Do you know?”
“No, I’m sorry. I followed you when you left the battlefield. I don’t know what happened after that.”
Apprehensive, she asked, “Why did you follow me?”
He replied gently, “Most people have questions. About themselves. About where they are. I know these trails very well.”
She sucked in a breath and turned around, bewildered, studying the forest. The white veil was growing heavier by the instant. “The only thing I want to know is how to find Dekanawida. Is he on this trail?”
He heaved a sad sigh. “Yes.”
“How far ahead of me?”
“Are you sure you wish to find him? You don’t have to, Baji. There are other—”
“I must find him!” The slightest hint of panic entered her eyes, then it turned into a glare. “I told you, he’s being hunted by murderers. The last thing Atotarho’s warrior—”
“And you believed him.” She must have or she wouldn’t be here.
She gave Sonon a withering look. She’d always had a fierce way about her. “You mean he lied to me?”
“No. There are two warriors on Sky Messenger’s backtrail. It’s just that your belief is what—”
“Blessed Spirits, he has no weapons!” she cried. “Don’t you understand? Stop wasting my time and tell me how far ahead he is. He needs me.”
She clamped her jaw and her beautiful face went as hard as granite. Her patience was wearing thin. He could tell from the killing glitter in her eyes.
“Baji, he does need you. He always has, but just this once, you must think of yourself. You—”
“Can I help him?”
The straightforward simplicity of the question touched him.
Blessed gods, she knows … and she doesn’t care. I underestimated her.
He stood still for a long time, holding her gaze, before he nodded. “Yes, but there is a great risk. You could be a distraction, and many people get so turned around here that they never—”
She stalked by him, just brushing his shoulder with hers, and broke into a shambling dog-tired trot.
“Baji, please don’t do this.”
She didn’t slow down, but called, “You did, didn’t you?”
She disappeared into the darkness and storm.
Sonon hung his head and studied the place where she’d lain in the trail. Her body had sculpted the snow. When she’d seen twelve summers, he’d often charted her course by such impressions. Her course and those of the other captive children. What had he expected her to do? He was, after all, the ghost that inhabited the murdering place. She had always chosen life, especially life for those she loved.
Nothing could stop her from trying to save them, not even the threat of losing her own soul and being condemned to wander the earth forever.
The snowfall dwindled and through breaks in the clouds, he glimpsed the brilliant Path of Souls that led to the afterlife. The campfires of the dead sparkled and winked, as though the ancestors passed back and forth in front of them.
Such longing swelled his heart that he had to look away.
An old hermit, a Trader from the far West, had once told Sonon that those who suffered long enough for the sake of others would always be found. He said that while all lost souls would be shown the way to the Land of the Dead after the human False Face wiped the world clean of evil, even before that there was hope—because faithful friends never gave up.