“What you are hoping is that something will be better than nothing. That you can buy the goodwill of the people.”
Webworm went back to his carving. “The Priests think that the harvest from the irrigated river fields will be substantial. At least enough to feed people within a seven-days’ walk of the valley great houses. Meanwhile, we have another problem.”
“And that is?”
“Protecting the harvest. Most of the storerooms in the great houses are depleted. Some, in the dryland areas, have already been stripped bare. By harvest, the Matrons will have no more corn left to distribute. All those hungry people will be looking our direction. If they should descend on these northern river valleys during harvest, it will be like a swarm of locusts.”
“Then, what is the choice?”
“I will need patrols of warriors to guard the roads, War Chief. The choice is, Do we pull the warriors away from the Moon Ceremony to guard the harvest?”
Wind Leaf cocked his head. “Absolutely not!”
“You need not worry about the harvest,” a soft voice said.
Wind Leaf turned. The old woman wore a black cloak decorated with white stars over a faded red dress. Then he saw her eyes: large and glassy, as though seeing things beyond this world. They dominated her once-beautiful face. Long gray strands of hair fell over her shoulders. She was slim, nearly as tall as he; a worn pack hung over one shoulder.
Something about her sent a shiver down Wind Leaf’s spine, as if he could feel prickly insect feet slipping about his skin. Of the verge of dismissing her, he remembered having seen her the day before.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Evidently the Blessed Sun felt the same stirring unease.
“The Witness.”
“Witness? What witness? To see what?” Webworm glared at her. Even Wind Leaf noticed that he was suddenly rolling the little carving around in his hand.
The woman’s eyes had fixed on it. “Curious, isn’t it? Only now can you feel its Power.”
Webworm looked down at the carving. “This? It’s nothing. Something I saw once. I think the design came from the Hohokam.”
“It’s called a basilisk: a snake born of a cock’s egg. A perversion of Power. You are getting ready to inlet a red coral eye into the serpent’s head,” she told him. “Do you remember the first time you looked into the snake’s loathsome eye?”
“It was years ago, just after I became Blessed Sun.”
“That was the moment the slithering evil entered your souls.”
“You will address me as Blessed Sun, old woman. And unless you tell me your name and your clan, I shall have your tongue pulled out by its roots.”
Delicate mocking laughter rolled out of her. “A few sun cycles in charge and already you are hardened by selfish authority. You really don’t know me, do you? Your souls have grown so full of you that they cannot see past themselves.”
“Drag her away from here,” Webworm muttered, returning to his carving.
Wind Leaf took two steps toward the woman before she fixed her dark eyes on his like a slap. In that instant, his thoughts swayed and a weakness ran through his blood. He stopped short, shaking his head to clear it. He blinked, confused.
Webworm gave Wind Leaf a glare. “I thought I told you—”
The old woman spoke slowly, each syllable perfectly enunciated in the formal address of the First People. “I am Nightshade, Matron of the Hollow Hoof Clan, Keeper of the Tortoise Bundle, daughter of Matron Yarrow. My father was Red Crane, Sunwatcher of the Red Lacewing Clan. In fulfillment of a long-ago promise, I have returned to the Straight Path Nation.”
“What promise?” Webworm asked.
“One given my mother … long ago.” Her odd eyes enlarged. “Brother Mud Head has seen to the dead. My concern is with you, Webworm.”
“Nightshade?” he asked, thinking. “I’m supposed to believe you are the Mountain Witch?”
Wind Leaf swallowed hard. Gods, what was she doing here? He reached down, his fingers caressing the handle of his war club.
“The stories they tell about you”—Webworm sounded bored—“you just wouldn’t believe them. Did you really get carried off to the land of the distant Temple Builders?”
“I was called to be a witness there, too.”
He studied her from under heavy lids. “Are the towns of the forest kings as great as ours?”
She never even hesitated as she said, “The entirety of the Straight Path Nation could fit into the province of one lesser chief. Some of their cities are surrounded by walls forty hands high. Their rulers derive from bloodlines that go back to the beginning of the world.”