People of the Moon(218)

The harvest! Wind Leaf could feel his heart slow, each beat sodden in his chest as the realization came home. But how far had the storm extended? Was it just here, localized to Flowing Waters Town?

In every direction he looked, the hills leading up to the horizon were a crisp white.

He shivered in his cloak, staring with glum disbelief. He barely heard Matron Desert Willow as she climbed up beside him. This morning she wore a buffalo coat, her arms held snug around her slender body.

“How could this have happened?” Her voice was small in the morning.

“We must tell the Blessed Sun.” He couldn’t help but take one last look at the end of Dreams. “After that, we need to recall as many warriors as possible. Maintaining order is going to be a problem.”

He led the way, taking careful steps on the frozen ladder. He stopped, staring at the guard who sat before the Blessed Sun’s door. The man had frost on his hair, streaks of ice where water had melted and then frozen on his clothing or run down into his neck.

Wind Leaf reached out, shoving him. The fellow sprawled dead on his blanket.

“Well, he didn’t shirk his duty,” Desert Willow murmured. Her voice was oddly detached, as if she, too, were beginning to understand the enormity of the disaster facing them.

“No.” Wind Leaf fingered the frost. “This is blood.” Panicked, he ducked into Webworm’s quarters, calling, “Blessed Sun, are you … ?” He stared at the figure who sat beside the Blessed Sun’s bed. She looked regal, a macaw-feather cloak about her shoulders. Long white hair tumbled down her shoulders; he’d have sworn her composed face actually glowed. She raised dark eyes to his, and his heart skipped. He might have been staring into an endless midnight.

“Blessed Sun?” Desert Willow snapped. “Who is this? Why is she here?”

“It’s the Mountain Witch,” Wind Leaf said, finally catching his breath. He glanced at Webworm’s naked body. “And I don’t think the Blessed Sun is going to be answering any more questions.”

Desert Willow stepped over, her buffalo coat dragging on the floor. She gasped as she saw the slit in her husband’s chest, realized that the dark stains were blood.

“Where is his heart?”

“Gone,” the Mountain Witch said in formal tongue. “I have drawn it out, sent it away. His souls have been purified, and are already on the way to the Blessed Cloud People. By now he is with Cloud Playing and Featherstone. I have finished my duties here.”

“Your duties?” Wind Leaf demanded. “What have you done with the Blessed Sun’s heart?”

The old woman smiled. “I have purified it.” She inclined her head slightly. “A serpent hatched of a cock’s egg is the worst kind of evil. Webworm, despite his faults, deserved better than that. Now, with the coming of this morning, my work is finished.”

“Your work?” Desert Willow demanded hotly. “Is your work assassination and witchcraft?”

“I am the Witness,” the old woman said simply. “Your world is ended.” Her dark eyes seemed to swell in her face. “May the gods have mercy on the people.”

“Get her out of here,” Desert Willow snapped. “Drag her down into the plaza and break her neck. No, burn her alive. Anything, as long as she screams and wails.”

Wind Leaf grabbed the old woman’s pack, upending it, finding a bloody spindle whorl, little bags of powders, a gleaming black pot full of paste, and several hide-wrapped bundles that sent prickles up and down his arms. He found nothing that resembled a human heart.

“What if she’s going to use his heart to witch us?” he growled, emptying pots, searching the rolled hides. Through it all, the Mountain Witch sat, perfectly composed as they ransacked the Blessed Sun’s quarters.

Wind Leaf checked outside, looking carefully. The only steps in the frost were his and Desert Willow’s.

He ducked back inside, thrusting his face close to hers. “Where’s the heart?”

“Where you’ll never find it.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Desert Willow raised a restraining hand. “No, we probably won’t. There are a thousand things she could have done with it. Perhaps tossed it out the back window to an accomplice, or even sliced it up and eaten it.” She pointed. “Look, there’s a bloody spindle whorl. You know what witches do with those.”

“If she’s going to use it to witch us, we have to know, Matron. We have to be able to protect ourselves.”

Desert Willow nodded, a new fear in her eyes.

Wind Leaf grabbed the old woman’s hand. She didn’t resist as he thrust it into the hot coals in the warming bowl. No expression crossed Nightshade’s face as her skin burned and her nails began to curl.