People of the Moon(186)

“Matron White Cloud?”

“These are her moccasins.” He indicated his footwear. “I took them as a trophy, but the Blessed Sun really made the idea stick.”

“What will you do when he no longer thinks your services are necessary?” she asked.

Leather Hand met her distaste with a warm smile. “I’ve always liked the sound of‘Blessed Sun,’ haven’t you?”

“A wise man wouldn’t be telling me such things.”

“Why, Matron, what on earth makes you think that you’ll ever live to tell anyone?” He finished the last row of beads, and stepped around behind her. The piece was done in chevrons of alternating colors.

She went stiff at his touch, but he was very careful as he placed the beaded slave collar around her throat. “There,” he said proudly, and quickly stitched the ends snug. “It’s very becoming, but I wouldn’t advise swallowing a large bite of food. It could end up choking you.”

She was seething as he stepped away.

“Matron, I want you to remember, I made that from untanned leather. If you should anger me, or cause me to pour water on it, it will shrink as it dries. It would be a pity. As it slowly strangles you, the beadwork will be distorted. You wouldn’t want that, because, well, it’s absolutely magnificent just as it is.”

She hawked and spat in his direction as he walked off to take his pleasure from one of the captive women.





A stillness lay in the air as Wrapped Wrist paused on the outcrop where he’d first looked out over First Moon Valley with Crow Woman. This time, Orenda accompanied them.

The day had turned to dusk, sunlight fading into red. Muted light cast the blue-shadowed valley with a golden rime. The smoke from hundreds of fires softened the hard edges and darkened the green of junipers, pines, and agricultural fields. Overhead, in a huge curl, the smoke plume from the high-mountain fires was painted in gaudy red, orange, and black.

Looking to the north, he could see entire slopes denuded and charred, pale feathers of smoke rising into the larger mass.

“By the gods,” he whispered, awed at the contrast of his peaceful valley and the distant conflagration.

“How would you ever describe that? Words don’t have the ability to make it real.” Crow Woman leaned on her cane. “I’ve never seen such a huge fire. People wouldn’t believe it if they couldn’t see it. The whole north is in flames.”

“I’ve already seen too many terrible things,” Wrapped Wrist said softly, images of the warriors he had killed mixing with those of brutalized and broken women and children at Ironwood’s camp. “Let’s just pray those flames stay north.”

“I guess we’re just lucky for these southwestern winds,” Crow Woman agreed. “It would have gone poorly for us if they’d shifted while we were up on the divide.”

Orenda was staring soberly at the fire, and then down at the valley. “Ironwood is down there? It’s so huge. So many villages. How will we find him?”

Wrapped Wrist tightened his grip on the war club. The feel of the wood reassured him. “The elders will know. We’ll go find White Eye. He’ll tell us what to do.”

Crow Woman pointed. “Look at the Dog’s Tooth. Is it the shadows, or has it been burned?”

Wrapped Wrist squinted into the fading light. “Gods, I think you’re right.” A sinking premonition grew in his gut. “What’s happened here?”

“I have the feeling this homecoming is going to be particularly painful for you,” Orenda said soberly.





Ripple walked slowly through the night. He picked each step, setting down one foot and then the other. The dark climb wasn’t particularly hazardous, but he feared what he would find when he reached the crest. The vision Cold Bringing Woman had given him hadn’t been explicit about this part.

The trees waved around him as the breezes changed direction, teasing the piñon and juniper. The night air remained warm, carrying the fragrance of dust, pine, and cook fires. A cold breath danced across his cheek as an eddy carried cooler air, trapped from the bottomlands. As quickly, it was gone.

He could see the walls now, dark and straight where they topped the Dog’s Tooth. No head broke the silhouette. He could feel Power in the air. Unseen eyes watched as he climbed the last bit and entered the unguarded gap in the wall.

The smell of charred wood still lingered here. Ripple walked past the collapsed remains of smoldering pit houses, feeling the heat that radiated from their ovenlike interiors. The two great kivas were flattened piles of rubble. In the darkness, he could see gleaming red eyes: coals that refused to die as they ate into the incompletely consumed roof supports. Inside the eastern wall, the upper story of the clan building had collapsed when the roofing burned through.