People of the Moon(216)
“We’ll put the fires out. Then, you can bet, we’re going to take our revenge on the Moon People. I swear, by the time we’re done with them, they’ll wail for the days when …”
They came from the darkness and storm. The first Larkspur saw was a woman who emerged from the darkness carrying only a stone-headed hoe. Behind her came the rest: farmers with stout digging sticks, hunters with atlatls and hunting darts. Some of the men carried stone-headed axes, others sharp-edged adzes.
Larkspur’s warriors stared at them in disbelief, then foolishly waved at them to go away. For so many years, their mere wish had been the barbarians’ bane. This time, the Moon People were heedless.
“No!” Larkspur shouted. “Kill them! They, too, are the enemy!”
In the light of the fire, her warriors made perfect targets for the barbarian hunters. The heavy hunting darts, powered by atlatls, sliced through the warrior’s shields meant only to stop cane-shafted arrows. Within moments, half of her warriors were screaming as they lay on the plaza, arms, chests, and legs pierced by the long darts. Ironwood’s remaining warriors whooped and charged.
Larkspur stared in amazement as her warriors broke and ran, some clambering up the ladders, followed by screaming Moon People. On the roofs they were battered down, and she saw more than one of her warriors leap from the third-floor roof to certain death on the slope so far below.
More and more farmers appeared out of the blizzard night. The Moon People began to identify their dead elders where they lay sprawled on the packed clay. In a wave, the people rushed forward.
“Kill them!” Larkspur screamed. “Kill them!”
She was standing on the edge of her roof, aware that the floor beneath her feet had grown hot. Snowflakes whirled down and exploded in steam.
She stared, dumbfounded, as Moon People flooded across the plazas, picking up her warriors, tossing them alive and screaming into the burning kiva.
“Matron?” Water Bow reached out, placing a hand on her elbow. “It’s time for us to leave this place.”
“No, I am not about—”
She gaped as the woman with the stone hoe appeared on her ladder, leaped onto the roof, and hammered Blue Racer across the back. The Sunwatcher ran, screaming, leaping onto the lower second-floor roof in the western section. Water Bow scurried in his wake; he tripped and fell as he tried to scuttle down the ladder.
The hoe-wielding woman emerged from Larkspur’s room, waving Larkspur’s feather holder with its glorious plumage in triumph. In the light, she was a short stocky woman with scars on her forearms.
“Oh, no you—”
She didn’t hear him coming. Hard hands grabbed her from behind, and she felt herself lifted. A man was carrying her toward the ladder as she shrieked and kicked, battering at his muscular arms with her fists.
“Shut up,” the man growled in a Made People dialect. “I’m tired of Matrons, of Priests, and First People.”
“Let me go!” she squealed. “I’ll pay you. I can help you.”
“We killed your assassin,” he growled in her ear. “Takes Falls wasn’t worth a jar of turquoise. He told us what you’d paid for the Prophet.”
“It’s yours. If you’ll let me go!”
He’d borne her to the western plaza, where a crowd had formed. She had a glimpse as the Blue Dragonfly Clan kiva roof collapsed inward. Sparks and belching smoke rose as the flames leaped into the swirling snow. A growing roar could be heard as fire jetted from the depths. People screamed in delight as they Danced in the light of the maelstrom.
An image froze, caught between Larkspur’s souls. She watched as Blue Racer was tossed high, his body seeming to hang for the briefest of moments before it dropped into the raging flames.
The people cheered.
Then it was Water Bow, his form sent arching into the air. His arms and legs windmilled futilely as he fell into the glowing depths.
A desperate voice called, “No! In the name of the gods, No!”
Larkspur saw Ironwood, pulling at the crowd, trying to drag them back.
“Don’t kill them!” Ironwood begged, his one-eyed face a mask of horror. “We need them alive! They are the way—”
Larkspur never heard the rest. The brawny man who carried her, slung her around. More hard hands clamped onto her legs and arms. She felt the strain as they swung her back and forth. Then she was flying, her body arching high.
Her scream tore as she fell into the scorching heat. Her body hit the angle of the collapsed roof. She tumbled down into pain and flames. Her hair exploded. When she drew a breath, it was filled with searing fire.
Fir Brush stood at the edge of the roof, one hand on Bad Cast’s shoulder as she watched the great house burn. White Eye stood on Bad Cast’s other side, partially supported by Soft Cloth.