The Deep Canyon man, with a display of finely crafted black-on-white drinking mugs on a red-and-brown blanket before him, shook his head. “In all my days I’ve never seen a fire like that up in the Spirit Mountains. The night sky glows orange. Thank the gods we’re upwind.”
Spots crossed his arms, watching a squad of red-shirted warriors pass, nodding politely to them. How funny, he’d become a fixture. They had come to consider him part of the landscape. “Smoke in the north, smoke in the south. Between the fires and the Rainbow Serpent, it’s enough to make you wonder.”
“I tell you, it’s the Priests’ doing. They’ve angered the katsinas to the point …” He didn’t finish, staring instead to where one of the guards atop the fourth floor began shouting, pointing off to the northeast.
“I wonder what that’s all about?” Spots saw Webworm, Wind Leaf, and Desert Willow emerge from their high rooms, climb the ladder, and stare off to the northeast.
“If you’ll keep an eye on my Trade,” the Deep Canyon man said, “I’ll step out the gate and see what I can.”
“Yes, go.” Spots waved him away. More people were climbing out onto the roofs, staring off into the distance.
He frowned. Yesterday news had come that Blue Racer and his party had arrived safely at First Moon Mountain. So, too, had rumors circulated that all of the First Moon elders had been taken captive by Leather Hand.
Spots wasn’t sure he believed it. But, if true, some Trader would no doubt arrive today with confirmation. That begged the question of how it had happened. He remembered the night he’d been escorted to the Dog’s Tooth and seen the gathered elders. How, in the name of the Blue God, would Leather Hand have learned of their meeting?
Cactus Flower emerged from the great kiva, bowed to the Hohokam, and received a beautiful cotton shawl from him in payment for her tour. She almost skipped as she passed the bear cage and stepped into the noontime shadow beside him.
“Look! Isn’t it magnificent?” She had the fabric laid out over her arms. It was indeed striking, the red, blue, yellow, and green colors lifelike, so good were the dyes.
“Something’s happening.” He pointed where Webworm had begun leaping from foot to foot on the high roof. Wind Leaf was nodding vigorously, slapping his thigh. Even Desert Willow threw her head back. The laughter carried faintly.
“In the northeast?” Cactus Flower wondered. “More news from First Moon Mountain?”
Spots shrugged. “Anything that might be good news for the First People is probably bad news for me.”
The Deep Canyon man came trotting back through the gate, his expression neutral. He nodded to Cactus Flower, having already avoided losing any of his ceramic mugs to her wiles. “It’s a signal fire, a black smoke. One of those warriors who passed earlier, he said it was a message. War Chief Wind Leaf called down that it was the prearranged sign for Night Sun. Evidently she’s been taken prisoner.”
“Night Sun?” Spots asked, stunned. “Someone captured the Matron?”
“Apparently.” The Deep Canyon man returned to the shade beside his mug-covered blanket. “It has to be Leather Hand who did it. That’s why no one’s seen him recently. When he’s around, people talk.”
“You know him?”
“Seen him. That’s bad enough. He spent quite a bit of time at Tall Piñon. I’d rather stand on a high peak in the middle of a lightning storm than be close to him.”
Up on the rooftop, Webworm was clapping his hands and Dancing with joy.
“Excuse me.” He walked forward, stepping around behind the bear cage. He could see Nightshade seated inside. The old woman gave him a curious glance.
“The word is that Night Sun has been captured.” Spots made sure that no one was within hearing distance as he kept his back to the cage, his attention on the roof of the great kiva.
“The Flute Player is lulled,” Nightshade replied.
“Lulled?” Spots asked, trying to keep his voice low. “Gods, what if the rumors about the First Moon elders are true? My people won’t risk their elders’ lives by attacking Pinnacle Great House. If Night Sun’s been captured, can Ironwood be close behind?”
Her laughter had a hollow echo. “Live well, Spots. These are the last days.”
With unerring precision, Turquoise Fox kept them on secondary trails that followed ridgetops and avoided the more heavily traveled valleys.
Leather Hand held a hand up to block the last shafts of reddish gold as he stood on bare caprock and watched the sunset. The light set the northern horizon ablaze as it bathed the smoke-filled skies.