People of the Moon(156)
“Witch!” a child spat in Made People’s tongue. The stick clattered on the wood again.
Spots turned, shaking his head at the magnificence of the great kiva. Just imagine the spectacle of the gods as they came Dancing into …
He frowned, watching as a young man, a short slave limping on a bad ankle, hesitated long enough to dash the contents of a night pot onto the bars of the cage. He smiled crookedly as the children scampered away, holding their noses.
Spots frowned, giving the cage a wide berth. Nightshade was nowhere to be seen. It was time for him to start home.
The voices! He cocked his head, hearing them. Instinctively, he wanted to shift the pack on his back, only to remember that Nightshade had taken it with her.
He stopped short, listening.
Yes, a desperation lay behind their urgent plea.
“Gods,” he whispered. Something made him look closer at the cage. His very body willed itself to walk up to the bars.
“Elder?” he muttered, seeing her in the shadowed interior. Her long silvering hair draped her shoulders, apparently her only protection outside of the bars. She sat naked, legs crossed, her hands palm up on her knees.
He stepped around, calling louder, “Elder?”
“All things in their time, hunter.” Her voice was emotionless. “Mine has not yet come. No matter what choice you have made, do not tarry here.”
He glanced back and forth between the bars. “Do you have food or water?”
“For the moment, I am still a novelty. They are watching. Do not let them see you. Go now. If you would help me, it must be through stealth and cunning.”
“Where is your pack?”
“The Blessed Sun kept it.” She looked up, her eyes boring into his. “If you do not go now, all will be undone. I am just where I need to be. Go!”
He backed up, and must have had a funny look on his face as he started for the gate.
“See!” the urchin with the stick cried. “She’s just an old woman. She’s no witch.”
Spots surprised himself when he pointed at the little boy’s chest. “If you torment her again, your stomach is going to hurt. In four days, your bowels will be passing bloody stools. Unless you seek her forgiveness, you will die screaming.”
The urchin’s eyes widened, and in an instant, he was gone, little feet pounding.
Gods, why did I do that?
Or had it been the Spirit voices speaking through him?
“Oh, Spots, what are you going to do now?”
Forty-five
Where he lay on Orenda’s bed, Ripple jerked awake, sweat trickling down his sides. He gasped and ran his hand across his face. To his relief it was late morning, a muted light angling through the door. Gods, had he slept half the morning away? Or had the Dream—so very Powerful and haunting—refused to free him from its grip?
Images were still wheeling around his souls, so clear, the colors so bright: High atop First Moon Mountain, Cold Bringing Woman was Dancing in the darkness. As she wheeled, her cloak sailed through the night sky. She would lean close, eyes glowing red. Her cold breath blew a numbing frost over the burning building. Ripple had looked up through the flames leaping yellow around him. He could still hear the screams and piteous wailing. An odd tingle remained in his legs where the Dream fire had burned them.
It was with amazement that he looked at the clear morning air inside Orenda’s small room, surprised not to see sooty flakes falling around him.
Beside him, Orenda sat up on the narrow bed, the blanket slipping from around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, running his tongue over the ruination of his teeth. Several of the jagged roots had loosened and come free the day before. He’d spit them and the bloody pus they’d produced onto the hard ground.
“Dream?” she asked, eyes widening.
“Yes. I was atop Pinnacle Great House. Standing in the middle of a raging fire. People were screaming. Terrified women clawed at my legs, trying to climb them to safety.” He closed his eyes, reliving the details. “Blood was running down my legs, trickling out in pools that fed the fires. As smoke rose from the burning blood, it turned black, falling as flakes.”
Orenda laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I have to be there.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Ripple, you don’t need to go back. Your message has been delivered. We know Cold Bringing Woman’s vision. Ironwood is already plotting how he will take Pinnacle Great House. Leave it to the warriors.”
He reached up, placing his palm against her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm. “I must be there. It’s my blood, you see.”
She stared into his eyes, trying to read his souls. “Your blood is better off in your body. If Pinnacle Great House must burn, let the fire feed from its wood and matting. You’re not even fully Healed yet. You need to stay here where I can tend you.”