People of the Moon(204)

“Well?” Ironwood whispered, his voice hidden in the wind.

“Wait.” Bad Cast grimaced as his sandal slipped off the rock. In desperation, he kicked it off, using his toes, and gained another half body length. A strong gust of wind plastered his back with snow and almost tore him from his hold.

He reached up, grasped the rim, and pulled. Sandstone crumbled in his hand. At the last moment, he saved himself, but heard a soft thump, and a grunt as the rock dropped onto whomever waited below.

“Are you all right?” he called softly.

“I’ll live,” a hoarse growl answered. “Climb. Then toss the rope down.”

He stuffed a fist into a vertical crack, lifted, and swung a bare foot onto the rim. He toppled onto his side, blinking and panting. Snowflakes pattered onto his face, melting, and trickling down his skin. To the north, half-hidden in the storm, a wicked red gleam marked the fire.

Fire and ice. He shook his head. Ripple had been shown the future. Bad Cast pulled himself upright, unslung the rope from his shoulder, and tossed one end down. He felt a hand give a tug, and braced himself.

Dearest gods, don’t let my grip slip. Everything depended on him.





Fifty-six



They had taken Night Sun to the old Red Lacewing kiva, a large cylindrical room built into the third story of Talon Town. Turquoise Fox had preceded him, having a large bonfire kindled in the fire pit. The floor and benches had been plastered in a deep red, the upper walls in white. On the pilasters between the pole-shelved niches, images of the thlatsinas had been painted. Rendered by Sternlight’s own hand, they had graced the walls since Crow Beard’s day.

Leather Hand studied one—the Long Horn thlatsina—and stepped up to it. He gave Night Sun a sidelong glance, then spit on the image.

She just continued to stare at him as if he were some detestable insect.

To his men, he said, “Destroy these.”

He stepped back, watching as his warriors attacked the images, raining blow after blow onto the hated thlatsinas with their war clubs and stone-headed axes. He had found a room full of snowy white capes, which, given the frigid temperatures, his man had adopted with appreciation. In the process, he had allowed them to ransack some of the storerooms, decking themselves with jewelry the likes of which they would never have been allowed otherwise. Loyalty deserved to be rewarded.

“Your gods are dying, Night Sun,” he said evenly. “As they go, so, too, shall you.”

She looked around. “Where is my grandson?”

“He came to me earlier today, saying that he had heard of a special room. A place here in Talon Town where the most wondrous treasure had been hidden.”

“Anything in this building belongs to the Red Lacewing Clan.”

“I am Red Lacewing; you are Outcast.” He smiled, hearing steps on the kiva roof. He looked up as a large fabric bag came tumbling down the ladder. It clattered to a stop over the sipapu in the northern floor. Ravenfire’s sandaled feet came stamping down the ladder.

“I found them!” he cried. “Just where Poor Singer said they’d be.” He leaped the last three rungs to the floor, grinning maniacally.

Leather Hand watched the tightening of Night Sun’s expression. He’d purposely kept the two of them separated while he and Turquoise Fox worked on Ravenfire. The young man was desperate for special recognition. When he’d asked to go in search of something he’d heard tell of in Ironwood’s camp, Leather Hand had immediately dispersed Fast Fist to accompany him.

“So, you found them?” Leather Hand asked. He glanced around; his men were finishing the job of mutilating the wall paintings. The timing was perfect.

Ravenfire had a smug look on his face as he untied a cord that bound the bag and upended it. A pile of wooden masks clattered onto the hard-packed floor.

They were beautiful, painted in bright colors with striking eagle, macaw, and hawk feathers. Some had long noses, others white-rimmed eyes or gaping toothy mouths. One—covered with fitted pieces of turquoise, coral, and jet—gleamed in the light.

“Blessed gods,” Turquoise Fox whispered. “Look at the wealth they represent!”

Leather Hand made a face, his gut crawling as the obscene masks stared up at him. Then he glanced at Ravenfire. How committed was the young man to his new life and friends?

“Burn them,” Leather Hand ordered.

He caught the look of horror on Night Sun’s face, the sudden reservation on Ravenfire’s. Even Turquoise Fox hesitated, saying, “But War Chief, the turquoise alone—”

“I said burn them.”

He turned, his white cape whirling. He pointed at Night Sun. “Tonight we dedicate ourselves to the task of destroying the thlatsina heresy. You, woman, were as much responsible as anyone. And since I don’t have Sternlight here to atone for this blasphemy, you will.”