“Desert Willow and Wind Leaf,” Spots said to change the subject.
“Who would have ever thought?”
“Anyone with eyes in their heads.” Cactus Flower used a stick to stir the stew. “But then, the First People are as blind as moles.”
“How’s that?”
“Their world is about to catch fire, and they remain oblivious.”
“Catch fire how?”
She gave him that “look” again. Curiosity overcame his irritation. “Listen, I’m not from here, all right? Tell me about this fire. Does the Mountain Witch have anything to do with it?”
“Gods, no. She’s just an old woman in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Cactus Flower shifted, laying her hand on his thigh. She didn’t seem aware of the scar tissue. Her touch felt cool on his skin. “You have to understand, the First People have dominated the Made People for years, just like they’ve controlled everyone else in the world. The Made People clans have built their buildings, farmed their fields, fought their wars, and done their errands. Then Night Sun and Ironwood have a child?” Her eyes glowed. “Think about it! If they can have a child, the First People aren’t any better. They aren’t any different from the Made People. It’s all been a sleight.”
“A what?”
“A sham, a trick. A way the First People have kept themselves above everyone else. When Cornsilk was born it was proof that she had souls.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Cornsilk is Red Lacewing Clan. She’s alive. A person can’t live without a soul. The First People have always said the rest of us have animal. souls. She is half Bear Clan from Ironwood. A First Person’s soul can’t live in a Made Person; a Made Person’s soul can’t live in a First Person. Put it together.”
He nodded, seeing the dilemma. “You say the Made People are full of resentment?”
“The clan leaders are having secret meetings.” Cactus Flower rose and checked the stew. “They’re planning what to do if the harvest fails. So far, only Creeper is keeping them in check.”
“Who’s he?”
“The Buffalo Clan elder. He practically raised Webworm. It’s a measure of how worried he is that he hasn’t said anything to the Blessed Sun.”
“Why doesn’t Webworm do something to appease the Made People?”
She shrugged as she walked to the doorway and returned with two bowls. “I really don’t think he has the slightest idea that anything’s wrong. None of them do. They’re so involved with themselves, they consider no one else important.”
Did Nightshade know this? He pondered the notion as he ate the hot stew. If she had truly gone to Flowing Waters Town to destroy Webworm, she must know the ramifications.
“You seem to know a great deal about the Blessed Sun.”
Cactus Flower grinned. “All it takes is eyes and ears. Most of us know these things. The First People don’t even see us anymore. To them, we don’t exist.”
Later, after they had eaten, she set fire to a pinecone on a stick and led him inside her house. Four posts supported the roof, while two concentric benches were crammed with different Trade items. A fire pit had been dug into the floor behind the reflector—the night much too warm to merit its use. To either side were rush-mat pallets covered with soft deerhides.
“That’s mine.” She pointed in the flickering light. “Yours is there.” She glanced at him. “Assuming you insist on keeping that last quarter of firewood.”
“I said you’d get a quarter for cooking and a bed.”
She grinned. “You’ve got a good memory.”
“And don’t forget it.”
He had no more than lain down, sighing at the feel of the soft hides cushioning his body, when the little cone torch burned out. In the darkness he could look up at the small smoke hole and see stars.
“You’ve really never had a woman?” she asked.
“I agreed to a quarter of my wood for dinner and a bed.”
Silence.
He closed his eyes, thoughts on what she’d told him about the Made People. Could he really believe they were plotting against Webworm and Desert Willow? If that were the case, then what did—
Fingers picking at his hunting shirt brought him bolt upright.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to get you to sit up and take this shirt off.”
“What?”
“I’ve never been anyone’s first before. That’s a pretty good Trade, if you ask me.”
Forty-six
Making a miniature was a stroke of sheer genius. The notion of building a small copy of First Moon Mountain would never have occurred to Bad Cast, but Ironwood had said, “Can you make it for me?”