People of the Moon(207)
“That’s hideous,” Spots said, backing away.
“Soyok is meant to be hideous.”
“Soyok?”
“You call her the Blue God.”
“You’d better put that back.”
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “The gods of terror and I go way back. For tonight’s purposes, the Blue God is just right.” Then she bent, rummaging through several more boxes for items Spots could barely make out in the gloom.
She straightened, head back, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. Was it his imagination, or did she swell, expand, a renewed vitality radiating from her?
He could imagine her as she once had been: a raven-haired beauty, eyes flashing, Power like lightning crackling from her fingertips. No wonder the Mound Builders had stolen her away. And who knew how the world would have been changed had she stayed to rule the Straight Path Nation?
“Come, Spots. The time has come to begin the Dance.” She didn’t look back as she walked regally toward the doorway that led out onto the plaza. “Let us unleash the Power of the Blue God!”
Deputy Sunwatcher Water Bow sat on his most beautiful rug: a piece woven with yellow, black, red, brown, and white interlocking diamonds. The thick wool cushioned his old bones from the hard floor of the First People’s kiva. Fortunately for him, he’d managed to stay warm for the most part. It had been Blue Racer and his Priests who’d born the brunt of the storm as they’d called the Blessing to Sister Moon. Most of it had been torn away as Wind Baby howled over First Moon Mountain, pelting the procession first with ash and cinders, then with brutal cold that numbed the bones, and finally finished the ceremony off with driving flakes of soot-encrusted snow.
Even as he stared around the brightly lit kiva, the effects of the weather were obvious. Everyone’s clothing was blackened; some, who’d been af forded less protection by their robes, had black-streaked faces where they’d rubbed at the wet soot sticking to their skin.
No one had been happier to beat a retreat to the warm kiva than Blue Racer. The Blessed Sunwatcher sat before the crackling fire, his hands out, long face pensive and worried. And well he ought to worry. Who had ever heard of such a terrible storm so early? The Sunwatcher had chanted less than half of the Blessing before people broke and ran for shelter. The four lines of Priests behind him didn’t look any too happy either.
Matron Larkspur was sitting to the side, War Chief Burning Smoke just behind her shoulder. She was one of the ones who’d smeared soot when she wiped away the melting snow. To her right, Deputy Ravengrass had a dower look. He was responsible for the security of the First People’s party while at First Moon Mountain.
“The storm worries me.” Blue Racer placed another piece of firewood into the blaze. “I cast the auguries four times. The weather was supposed to hold. I can’t believe that the Flute Player would allow this to happen to us.”
“The gods have their own ways,” Water Bow reminded. “And do not fear for the weather. At this time of year it is not uncommon for a storm to blow through. Tomorrow it will be warm, sunny, and all shall go well. You will see. And do not chide the Flute Player. But for this storm, the fire might have jumped the valley, and had it done so, we would now be fleeing the fire’s wrath, not just enduring a little snow.”
“The flakes are black,” Ravengrass said in amazement. “In all of my life, I have never seen black snow.”
“And with luck,” Larkspur added, “you never will again. My concern is the harvest. The valley is literally bursting with corn.”
“It will not last,” Water Bow predicted. “And what we feel here, atop the mountain, is much colder than the valley bottom. When snow blows here, it falls as rain below.”
“You don’t seem concerned,” Blue Racer said warily.
Water Bow kept his mocking smile in check. After all, it behooved Blue Racer to worry. His heart was on the line if the weather didn’t break. “Blessed Sunwatcher, you bear too many responsibilities on your weary shoulders. We have asked for rain, and this storm is a good one. You forget you are atop a tall mountain. Were I you, I would send the Blessed Sun a message telling him the Flute Player has brought moisture. If anything this is a further affirmation that the Flute Player has forgiven his people.”
“We have neutralized any threat,” Larkspur added. “Even as we speak, Leather Hand should be leading Matron Night Sun into the safety of Straight Path Canyon. He will be laying his trap there, awaiting the arrival of Ironwood. The Outcast war chief’s warren of vermin has been cleaned out. Neither can we forget the other service that Leather Hand has done us: We have the First Moon elders locked away under our guard. The local population dares try nothing against us. Everything is going our way.”