People of the Moon(164)
“Maggot!” Crow Woman’s voice was filled with loathing.
One of the Red Shirts laughed.
Wrapped Wrist ground his teeth. Whatever they were going to do with Crow Woman, it wouldn’t be nice. He knew what Red Shirts did with captive women, had seen the aftereffects among his own people when a Red Shirt fixed his attention on a young woman. Her clan might protest to Matron Larkspur. Sometimes some small offering might even be made in restitution depending on how egregious the warrior had been; but in cases of simple rape, without a beating or disfigurement, rarely was a word of consolation even granted.
Not so long ago a young woman’s brother had taken matters into his own hands, attacking the warrior who had raped his sister. The retaliation of the Red Shirts was rapid and remorseless: they burned the young man alive, killed his closest clan kin, and gutted the young woman who had had the temerity to complain.
What can I do? Wrapped Wrist wondered as he sneaked quietly after the warriors. How can I hope to set her free?
Frightened, but unwilling to give up, he continued creeping through the deepening gloom. Step by careful step, he followed, hope draining away with the last of the light. What if he lost them in the darkness? Worse, what if he blundered on top of them? They’d kill him without a second thought. The image of whistling war clubs sent a quiver through his guts.
Why am I doing this? He wasn’t even sure he liked her. Just thinking back to her caustic comments was enough to give him pause. Stumpy? That had hurt! Maybe this was the gods paying her back for her arrogant attitude?
Then her confession in the night returned to haunt him. She probably didn’t even know that hidden in the tones of her voice had been a desperate longing for simple friendship.
Why does it have to be me? If she hasn’t been able to trust another human being up to now, I’m not going to be the one.
Nope. Fact was, her souls had been wounded and scarred long ago. Far be it from his responsibility to try and fix them. The mere notion of damaged souls scared him half to death. She’d made her way this far, she could see to herself. This was lunacy! A smart man would veer off from the trail and vanish into the night.
Wrapped Wrist hunched and hurried forward, his darts grasped between his fingers so the wood wouldn’t rattle. He could barely make out the shadows of the warriors ahead.
Don’t be a fool! Leave!
Down between his souls, Ripple’s last words burned like cactus under the skin: “You must save her.”
HUMMINGBIRD
The Fire Dogs who live in the south have a wonderful story about Hummingbird. It is said that one hot summer day lightning struck the mountaintop where Hummingbird had her nest, and a great fire roared to life and began devouring the forest. All of the other birds flew away. The animals raced down the slopes, and the lizards and snakes crawled into holes trying to find cover.
But Hummingbird refused to leave her eggs. Day and night, she soared to and from a high mountain lake, carrying water in her tiny beak to drop on the enormous flames sweeping toward her nest.
Her courage so touched the hovering Cloud People, their tears poured down in a great flood and drowned the fire.
The Fire Dogs say Hummingbird proves that even the smallest efforts of a self less heart can bring about salvation.
I see another teaching in the story.
Hummingbird teaches me that the tiniest act of courage can draw the most powerful allies.
Firewood was a lucrative business. The environs around Flowing Waters Town had been stripped of fuel. Spots was on his second load. He’d laid it out on his blanket just before dawn, and now watched the sunrise over the eastern horizon. Its light cast long shadows from the rising walls of Sunrise House.
The hucksters were still arriving, claiming the best places along the eastern wall for their blankets of Trade. Cactus Flower and Spots had arrived in the half-light, getting a position close to the southeastern gap in the Dusk House wall.
The world was just beginning to stir. The guard above them on the first-floor roof called lazily to a farmer leaving for her day in the fields. Spots grinned. He liked this place and the odd people who made their living bartering with travelers.
Squinting into the sun, he could see someone emerging from a newly completed room in Sunrise House a dart’s cast away. He recognized the form. Though just first light, the Ant Clan elderYellowgirl was already on-site, planning her day’s work.
“She has no other life,” Cactus Flower said from where she’d laid out her own Trade. Her trinkets consisted of several pieces of raw clam shell, a couple of Green Mesa pots, four ears of blue corn, and three rabbits. “She just lives for her building.”
“Oh, I think not.” Spots pointed as a rotund figure stepped out of the room Yellowgirl had just left. The man glanced this way and that, hurrying past Yellowgirl. He said something as he passed, and Yellowgirl gave a curt nod.