She couldn’t help but smile as she remembered the first day when he’d tried to run her into the dirt. A stubby sawed-off chunk like him shouldn’t be trying games with a long-legged distance runner like her.
Still, he’d given it a—
Two hard hands clasped her from behind.
She’d just raised her hands to claw free when another body exploded out of the brush. Then another, and another, until she was driven down into the dusty trail, pinned by the weight of hard bodies.
“A woman, by the gods,” a man cried. “Look what a prize we have here.”
She tried to struggle as they stripped off her shield, her bow and arrows, her war club. A pinning knee jammed painfully in the small of her back. Hard hands groped her, ripped the stiletto out of her hair bun, and invaded her clothing. They found her obsidian blade and tossed it away.
She fought as they bound her hands behind her and tied a short length of braided leather between her ankles.
As they stood, she rolled onto her back, ready to kick out, and looked up at the four hard-eyed men. They were muscular, fit-looking, their bright red shirts and weapons proclaiming them to be the Blessed Sun’s.
“Now,” one said, “before we take you to the deputy, where might you have been headed?”
“Eat pus, maggot!”
Funny how I’m always carrying firewood these days. The notion amused Spots as he picked his way down the dusty trail out onto the high terrace. Evening was darkening the east, sunset having turned the smoke plume up north to deep lavender mixed with splashes of ruddy orange. Meanwhile in the southwest, the Rainbow Serpent had risen in a high column of blue-black backlit by the sinking sun.
Smoke. The skies were full of it. To the chance eye, it brought a quickening of the heart, only to crumble with the realization that it wasn’t cloud, that it bore no promise of rain.
Spots trudged down the trail from the uplands and onto the flat terrace. Straggly rabbitbrush speckled the flat. Here and there the powdery soil had been blown away to expose old river cobbles.
Farmsteads dotted the land as if cast out from an irregular hand. The fields around them were barren, nothing more than plots of disturbed soil. As he passed the households, he could see a faint glow in fire pits as the occupants attended their evening meals.
Thank god for the fires. People always needed wood, and Spots was prepared to serve that need. The closest source was a hard day’s run to the northwest. Wood for Flowing Waters Town was at a premium; with each load he could not only Trade for food, but it gave him a reason to linger around Dusk House that the guards could understand.
He was approaching a low mounded pit house that stood just off the trail. The thing looked like an oversized swallow’s nest, more mud than anything else. The style was different than he was used to, the doorway being a covered arch in the side instead of in the roof. Someone had built a ratty ramada to one side, and a couple of brownware water jars were propped near the wall.
Spots was passing when a woman called, “Hey! You!”
He turned, staring out from under his load of wood. A woman ducked out of the doorway. She wore a white skirt belted at her hips, her top bare. Her long black hair was pulled up into maiden’s buns on either side of her head.
“Yes?”
“I need some wood.”
She stepped forward, and in the half-light he said, “Cactus Flower?”
She squinted at him as he swung his heavy load down. The blanket he’d used to pad his shoulders fluttered away, and he straightened, gasping with relief.
“Do I know you?”
“We met at Dusk House. You wanted to Trade for favors.”
She shrugged. “I meet a lot of people I want to Trade with for favors. Right now I want to Trade for firewood.”
“My name is Spots. I’m from the First Moon villages.”
“With all the scars. I remember.” She cocked her head. “What are you doing with the firewood? Going to try and burn the place down?”
“I intend on Trading it. You know, for food. And maybe some kind of special thing to take back home. A copper bell, perhaps. Or one of those Hohokam pots. Something to remember the place by.”
She nodded, eyeing the firewood. “Do you have any food?”
“A little.” He indicated the pack Ironwood had given him.
He could see her sucking on her lips. “I’ll cook it for half of your load. You can stay the night for all of it.”
“Thanks, but I’ll go on and camp by the river. Tomorrow I should be able—”
“I’ll cook and you can stay for half of your load.”
Spots shook his head, looking down the trail. “Thank you, but I think I’ll—”