He shifted, feeling the chill in the night air. In the room below his feet, Night Sun lay securely bound. She was back in her old quarters, the ones she’d lived in before her exile. What was it like to return to that very room where she’d bedded Crow Beard, borne her son, Snake Head, and betrayed the Straight Path Nation when Ironwood crept into her bed? Was she reliving those days, unbidden memories drifting up from her souls?
Wind Baby tugged at him, whipping his hair this way and that. The prickling in his souls continued.
“War Chief?” Turquoise Fox asked as he climbed the rickety old ladder onto the roof.
“Yes, Deputy?”
“I have seen to the warriors. They are in place just in case Ironwood is closer behind us than we think. I will rotate the men three times a day to ensure that everyone stays crisp and vigilant.”
“Excellent.”
“We are home,” his deputy said softly. “It’s almost as if we’d never left.”
Leather Hand frowned, thinking. “Home. The souls of the dead Dance here. It is to this place that the Dreams of our people return. From this dry canyon, the plant that would become our nation sent down its roots, sprouted, grew, and flourished.” He sighed. “Deputy, I first entered this canyon in awe, my heart literally beating in my throat. I remember the sense of disbelief when Webworm and Featherstone decided to move north.”
“Many of us couldn’t believe it.”
“By abandoning this place, we left the essence of what made us ourselves.” Wind Baby pushed him again, trying to shove him backward off the roof.
“How do we find ourselves again, War Chief?”
“To whom does your first loyalty belong?”
“War Chief?”
“If you had to choose, would you serve the Blessed Sun, or your companions?”
Turquoise Fox was silent, searching for the trap, aware that the wrong answer could kill him. “I would have to say, after the most careful consideration, that I serve my companions, War Chief. It is they who serve the Blessed Sun.”
He let Turquoise Fox stew in suspense. Finally he said, “I can feel the Blue God tonight. She is stirring, driving Wind Baby across the world as a warning.”
“A warning of what?”
“That a mighty change is coming. There is a reason we’ve had no rain.”
“Yes?”
“The Blue God is in ascendance, my friend. Webworm, Blue Racer, and the rest—they don’t understand her cravings and appetite. I can imagine her sniffing around the Flute Player, mocking his music, fingering the pack he carries on his back. What is seed and fertility compared to blood and terror?”
“I don’t know, War Chief. My concerns are not with gods and chaos, but with obedience and service.”
“Did you check on the boy?”
“I did. Fast Fist tells me the youth has done nothing to incite his suspicion.”
“What do you think?”
“Ravenfire wanted me to ask you something.”
“And that is?”
“Is there a way to blame this on the Made People?”
“Ravenfire asked you that?”
“He did.” Turquoise Fox squinted into the wind. “It would have to be done carefully: a rumor planted here, a Trader bribed there. There are those in the Made People clans who dislike Night Sun and Ironwood even today. Those individuals would likely brag about it. Before long, people will believe that what happens here was the work of the Made People.”
“I notice that you gave the youth one of your war feathers.”
Turquoise Fox nodded. “I told him he’s a man now. He participated in the raid, captured Night Sun, and has bedded his first woman. You should have seen his face when we first approached Talon Town. ‘The home of my ancestors,’ he said.”
Another gust blew out of the black night. Leather Hand turned his back to it. “He’s right. We stand on the same spot where the rulers of the Straight Path Nation have stood for generations. Look out there. The canyon is black, deserted. From here they would have seen thousands of lights gleaming up and down the canyon. Now only darkness remains.”
“Would you bring the lights back?”
“Yes.” He slapped Turquoise Fox on the back. “Come, let us sleep. Tomorrow, Night Sun is going to have a very, very long day.”
In his high room, Webworm sat on his sleeping pallet. Wind Baby howled out of the north, whistling and moaning as it savaged Dusk House’s balcony. His door hanging jumped and jerked as though alive. Embers flickered in the fire bowl he’d ordered a slave to bring him. In their blood glow the paintings of the Flute Player, Spider Woman, the Blue God, and Father Sun seemed to pulse on the plastered walls.