He cast a final look into the valley below, seeing the scattered farmsteads where isolated farmers kept their fields. Here, so close to the River of Souls, the floodplains were watered by ditches, or were so close to the river that water could be carried in jars and fed to the corn plants.
With a final glance at the distant horizon he turned and walked back along the wind-smoothed sandstone to the tree line. He could smell the juniper fires as he walked through the trees to rejoin his little band of warriors. Several of his men were already taking their pleasure of the captive women. He could see Ravenfire’s bare buttocks gyrating as he took his turn. The children watched from the side, wide-eyed, disbelieving.
Turquoise Fox had been amused to discover that Ravenfire had never lain with a woman. Now the boy was making up for lost time.
“What do you think that does to a child?” Night Sun asked as he walked up to her fire and seated himself.
“Pardon?” He glanced up, pulling out a piece of fine leather he’d been working on.
“Watching their mothers being treated like receptacles,” Night Sun elaborated, jerking her head toward the grunting men.
“The children do not worry me, Matron.” He chuckled, using his rabbit-bone awl to poke a hole into the soft leather. He was carefully beading the strip with patterns of chevrons; Larkspur had given him a supply of the finely crafted beads. A token, she had said, of their future alliance.
“They do not worry you?” She had lifted an eyebrow.
In the beginning, it had irritated him that she looked at him as though he were some sort of loathsome parasite, perhaps similar to a tick or gray louse. He’d considered beating it out of her, but thought better of it. She’d travel better in good health.
He smiled. There was always the future. Until Ironwood showed up, he’d have all the time he needed to hear her scream.
“The children,” he told her, “are temporary. They are a lure, like a stuffed rabbit placed atop an eagle trap. When we have drawn Ironwood and his warriors into the trap, they will be of no further value. He glanced at them, snot-nosed, filthy-faced, their skinny arms bound behind them.
And then there was Ravenfire. “Your grandson, however, has turned out to be an unexpected prize. While I have you, and will soon have Ironwood, I still need to deal with Cornsilk. The young man assures me that he has no problem sending the sort of frantic message that will draw her into my web.”
“I’d worry more about Poor Singer than my daughter.”
“What’s another silly Dreamer? Jay Bird might take him seriously, but the old chief isn’t long for this world. He’s elderly Matron. Just like you. Somehow I can’t see skinny Poor Singer rallying warriors to accompany him north in search of me.”
“You have this all thought out, have you?”
He nodded at Night Sun as he strung another chevron of beads onto a flax thread and stitched them down. “Something happened to me the night that we ate the Dust People.”
“Yes, you became a walking abomination.”
Ignoring her, he continued. “I felt a presence in the night. I’m fairly sure it was the Blue God herself. She was watching me, but I didn’t sense that she’d come to devour me.”
“I’m sure she has better taste than that,” Night Sun agreed. “Given a choice between you and six-day-old carrion, I’m sure she’d choose the latter.”
He gestured with his awl. “I’ve felt her since then. The last time was atop First Moon Mountain. I’d had a most enjoyable night with Matron Larkspur. It’s the oddest thing, but I just knew that my future was being decided.”
“Spider Woman’s fire might be closer than you think,” Night Sun said coldly.
He chuckled. “Ah, you do tempt me, Matron. But I can be patient. It’s a necessary virtue for a man in my position. So as much as I’d like to hurt you now, we’ll consider it a future obligation. No, what I was saying is that I could feel the Blue God’s presence that night. She heard Larkspur and me making plans, and I have to tell you, I’m sure she’s on my side.”
Night Sun’s expression hardened. “Any normal human being would burn himself alive before surrendering himself to the Blue God.”
“You’re probably correct, but I’m nowhere near a normal human.” He gestured to his men where they sat at their fires, slabs of meat from the bloody packs extended over the coals. “Nor are my men normal. You’ve seen the white moccasins?”
“Of course.”
“To be granted a pair, the warrior in question must not only have eaten man-meat, but must have eliminated one of the Blessed Sun’s enemies by stealth.”