Now that he’d thought about burning to death in his sleep, any kind of meaningful repose was out of the question. If he tried, it would be to constantly crack one eye, sniff for smoke, and worry.
As he threw back the blanket, Soft Cloth asked, “What are you doing?”
“Taking a look.”
“Don’t wake the baby.”
He climbed up the ladder and stuck his head out. The wind was from the north, the smell of smoke worse. His first glance took in the plaza they shared with Soft Cloth’s two sisters. Everything was inky black. Blood and pus, it was one dark night.
Then he looked into the wind and froze. From Soft Cloth’s pit house, there was no clear view of the northern horizon. The shoulder of Juniper Ridge and the tree line obscured it, but a dreadful reddish orange glow could be seen.
“Snake’s blood,” he whispered.
“What?” Soft Cloth rustled the bedding below.
He climbed back down, reaching for his clothes. “The whole northern sky is glowing. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
To his surprise, she checked the baby, dressed, and followed him out into the night. Hand in hand, they felt their way along the trail that led past the Mid-Sun Village great kivas and up to the rimrock.
At the rim, Bad Cast stopped, heart leaping. Flames dotted the entire northern horizon. Yellow at the bottom, they raced upward, illuminating the smoke in orange, red, and then a dull crimson that faded to black.
Another gust of wind shook them, powerful, tearing down from the north.
“Maybe it’s a rain cloud,” Soft Cloth said over the gale. “You know how it can blow under a thunderhead.”
Bad Cast sniffed again. All he could smell was wood smoke. “Do you smell rain?”
She sniffed. “No.”
They staggered under another gust.
“If it’s not rain, it’s unusual for the wind to blow out of the north this time of year. You’d think it was winter solstice instead of coming up on equinox.”
Bad Cast felt something pattering on his skin. Reaching up, he expected it to be rain, but it was dry to the touch, powdery.
“I hope that wind doesn’t keep up. At this rate, it will push that fire right up to the edge of the valley.”
“Come on, let’s go back to bed. I’m scared.”
Another gust pattered the invisible specks against him. When he rubbed his finger over his skin and touched it to his tongue, he tasted ash.
Wrapped Wrist led the way to Yellow Petal’s house, figuring she was a kinswoman; and after all, Spots was his best friend. Yellow Petal had built a large, tight, two-room dwelling. The bigger main room contained the hearth, two stone benches, containers, and ventilator. The smaller chamber was separated by a wattle-plastered wall and accessed through a hide-covered door. It was there that Spots kept his bedding, tools, weapons, and personal possessions.
To his surprise, the place was empty. Food, however, was plentiful, and he felt no guilt as he pawed through the jars. In a wood-lidded white-slipped jar he found cornmeal. A net bag produced smoked turkey meat. He lifted the lid off of a globular brownware jar to find hulled pine nuts. Pulling the stopper from a canteen, he sipped, delighted with the taste of chokecherry juice.
“Are you sure this cousin won’t mind us eating her food?” Orenda asked skeptically.
“Sure. What’s the point of having kin if they can’t help you when you’re in need?” He mixed cornmeal, pine nuts, some dried rose hips, and the turkey in a corrugated cooking pot. Then he went about stoking the coals in the fire pit to life. Yellow Petal had stacked a liberal supply of firewood along the south wall.
“What are you smiling at?” Crow Woman asked as she awkwardly lowered herself onto one of Yellow Petal’s blankets. She had her leg stuck straight out in front of her. Wrapped Wrist was hard pressed to keep from jarring it as he prepared the meal.
Orenda looked worried as she removed the wrapping she’d placed on Crow Woman’s knee. The bruise looked black and ugly, but the swelling had gone down.
“What’s wrong?” Crow Woman asked cautiously.
Orenda prodded the knee, eliciting a gasp from Crow Woman. “Nothing. You’re healing fine.”
“That’s a relief. From the expression on your face I thought maybe I was crippled.”
Orenda failed when she tried to produce a smile. “It’s not you. First Nightshade walks away, who knows to what purpose or fate. Then this Leather Hand … Well, I can’t do anything about the dead, but I’m sick at the thought of what they’ll do to Night Sun and the others.”
Crow Woman’s eye narrowed. “The war chief will see to it. But, by the Blue God’s soul, Leather Hand will rue the day if he so much as yanks a hair out of that woman’s head.”