People of the Moon(13)

Seven Stars nodded. “That was in the days after the renowned Beargrass stepped down for the sake of his wife and family. Yes, I recall. More than just one of Ironwood’s deputies, Wraps His Tail was Ironwood’s closest friend.”

Is that why they murdered him? The old question rolled over in Leather Hand’s mind. His brother’s body had been found just outside the walls of Talon Town. He’d been attacked from up close, his skull split—apparently by someone who knew him. A severed badger paw had been placed in his hand along with the powdered remains of a corpse. A sure sign of witchcraft.

But why? Wraps His Tail had never had anything to do with witchcraft.

“Wasn’t there some confusion over the events of his death?”

“The Blessed Sun, Crow Beard, was dying … and my brother was returning from some intrigue Ironwood had plotted. And there was plotting aplenty during those days. Witchery and deception were everywhere.”

“Perhaps they still are.” Seven Stars ran thin brown fingers down the seams of his fine white robes.

Leather Hand took a deep breath and willed his body to relax. “If you ask me, Matron Night Sun, War Chief Ironwood, and the Blessed Snake Head all had their part in helping to rot the First People from the inside out.”

“And don’t forget the false Prophet, Sternlight.” Seven Stars added.

Yes. He and his accursed thlatsinas.

“False gods for false times,” Seven Stars whispered.

“What was my brother’s life worth to them? Just another betrayal along the way?”

“Perhaps those days are over.” Seven Stars steepled his fingers. “The Blessed Webworm has begun the process of renewing our world. He has planted the first new root at Flowing Waters Town on the Spirit River. With the completion of Dusk House, construction has begun on Sunrise House. Our people will be rejuvenated, refreshed.”

“I’m not sure renewal can be achieved by abandoning the lands where our ancestors lived for so many generations.”

Seven Stars smiled. “I was one of the surveyors, War Chief. We marked the path most carefully on the route up from Northern House. The line that runs through the center of our world lies precisely between Dusk House and Sunrise House. We are now closer to the opening where our ancestors climbed from the Fourth World into this one.”

“It’s a land of gray,” he said with a snort. “Gray dirt, gray vistas … and eventually we will be gray people.”

“Perhaps.” Seven Stars refused to rise to the baiting. “But unlike our situation in Straight Path Canyon, we will be gray people with a reliable and inexhaustible supply of water.”

Leather Hand stood and pulled his long red war shirt straight around his muscular body. Retrieving his use-polished war club from where it leaned against the plastered bench, he slung his black chokecherry-wood bow and the quiver of cane-shaft arrows over his shoulder.

He turned. “I shall tell the others what I think about the work.” The wooden rungs whispered under his sandals as he climbed up to the stone steps leading to the northern antechamber. He passed the Priests’ dressing room and climbed the final ladder out into the sunlight.





Four



Heat poured over Deputy War Chief Leather Hand as he blinked in the searing brilliance. The midsummer sky had a brassy tone, and the light was brutal after the dim kiva interior.

Through the gaps between the surrounding buildings he could see the flat country north and east of Tall Piñon. Despite occasional stands of trees from which the town had taken its name, the land looked stark, baked, and dusty. South, out the open end of the plaza, hazy blue buttes shimmered on the distant horizon.

Wide roads running in either direction connected the great house settlement with two other nearby communities of the local Deep Canyon People. Like most of the northern barbarians they were divided into two moieties, the Yellow Stone, whose clans operated out of the westernmost town, and the Black Cup along the canyon rim. More than one hundred structures dotted the ridgetop within sight of Tall Piñon Town. He could also see terraced farm plots turning brown in the summer sun; a series of dry reservoirs, shrines, small villages, and isolated farmsteads were sprinkled among the trees and arroyos.

Leather Hand’s ten warriors stood at ease, their red shirts sweat-darkened as they nodded greetings to him. The three Priests—subordinates of Seven Stars—wore white and waited with curious expressions on their florid faces. So, too, did the five artists who had painted the images. But their manners were wary, almost anxious.

Farther back—across the broad roadway and below the berm—a crowd of Made People stood in the plaza, some shading their eyes with the flats of their hands. Here and there among them were Deep Canyon People who served Tall Piñon Town. They wore drab smocks and had their hair pulled back in braids that were pinned with rabbit or deer-bone skewers.