People of the Moon(154)
“Are you planning to be a tree?” a voice asked in Made People tongue.
Spots jumped, heart racing as he turned. The dark-haired Trader had a medium build, three pack dogs at his heel. The man was looking him up and down. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I—I was thinking about the Great North Road.”
“Glad to see you speak a little of my tongue.” He cocked his head. “You look like you’re straight out of the hills. Come down to see how real people live?”
Spots swallowed hard and nodded. “I can’t believe it. I’m actually standing on the Great North Road?”
“Of course you are. The gods know I’ve trod it long enough,” the Trader added wearily. “What people are you from?”
“First Moon.”
“They about ready for the ceremony up there? The Sunwatcher left yesterday.” A question lay behind the man’s eyes.
What do I say? “Among my people, a great many stories are told about this place. I just thought … Oh, it’s probably silly.”
At that the Trader smiled. “No, not silly. Me, I left the Green Mesas so fast the pollen from my kiva initiation was still sifting out of my hair. Sometimes the people at home don’t understand those of us who have to see the rest of the world.”
Spots gestured at Dusk House. “Can I go in there, or will they take me prisoner, or something? I can’t just walk up and say, ‘I want to see inside,’ can I?”
The Trader chuckled. “Sure. No one will care unless you climb up the ladders onto the second floor. That’s only for the First People and those others who have reason to be there. If you stay in the plaza, no one’s going to say a thing. You can poke your head inside the south entrance to the great kiva, but stay off the First People’s kiva. Lastly, don’t touch anything that’s not yours.”
Spots nodded. “Thank you. I won’t.”
The Trader narrowed his eyes as he took in the scars, along with the smooth muscle in Spots’s body. “I’d say you had a close call with that fire.”
“It changed my life. When you come that close to your end, you see the world differently.”
“Interested in traveling down to the Mogollon country?” He pointed at the pack on his back. “I’ve got some fine First People pottery here. The Fire Dogs will Trade their redware, two for one. I could use the company on the way south. Introduce you around, teach you some of the tricks of the Trade.”
Spots grinned, genuinely liking the man. “I thank you from both of my souls, but no. After I see this place, I must get back.”
“Ah, yes, Moon Ceremony and all.” He puckered his lips, brow lined in thought. “You know, I’ve never seen … No, no. That doesn’t make sense. As much as I’d like to see Sister Moon come home, I don’t think I can Trade my pots to the First Moon People for anything anyone else would want.” He reached around to pat his pack. “Me, I specialize in luxury goods, not that bulk stuff.”
“May your travels be safe.”
“Yours, too.” The Trader passed him, calling, “See you on the trail someday.”
Spots turned, taking a deep breath, and headed straight toward Dusk House. Stay in the plaza. Don’t touch anything that’s not yours. Stay off the First People’s kiva. That wasn’t so hard, and the last thing he was going to do was linger there any longer than it took to have a good look around and see if Nightshade’s situation could be discerned.
Still, his heart refused to obey his head’s instructions as he approached the huge building. It was a wonder how much courage Nightshade’s mere presence had given him the last time he’d strode up to the tall walls.
Like last time, people were squatting outside the walls, many sitting on blankets. Some wove baskets in the morning sun; others knapped stone tools from blanks. Two old women were hawking Spirit Plants, bundles of herbs laid out on white cloths.
Another old man saw him coming and cried, “Charms! I have charms! Young man, for a pittance you can free your souls from fear! Ward off the evil eye!” He waved something that looked like a dried raccoon’s foot on a thong.
A little girl ran up to him, asking, “Do you have corn? Please? I haven’t eaten in a week! Mother is dying.”
He smiled uncertainly at the little waif, avoiding her grasping hands as she pulled at the bottom of his pack.
“Didn’t expect this,” he told himself. No one had bothered Nightshade that first time she’d approached.
A young man in a white tunic spread a black blanket on the ground and laid out lines of turquoise, jet, coral, and polished shell jewelry. The pieces literally shone in the sunlight. It was more wealth than Spots had ever seen in one place.