People of the Moon(223)

“They have captured Ironwood?” Leather Hand called, propping his hands on his hips.

“No, great Deputy. Ironwood has burned Pinnacle Great House. All the First People, including the Sunwatcher and Matron, are dead. They were tossed into the Blue Dragonfly kiva, burned alive, Deputy. The harvest is lost. People on the verge of panic. The Matron has recalled all able-bodied warriors to Dusk House. You are to report immediately!”

He stood in shock. Burned alive? “You are telling me that Matron Larkspur is dead? That all of the First People at Pinnacle Great House are dead?”

“That is correct,” the man answered. He’d stopped on the roof below, chest rising and falling as he panted for breath. “Word is that raiding has broken out all over the land. Farmsteads are burning up and down the River of Souls Valley. Neighbors have turned upon each other. The Matron believes that within days people will begin gathering around Flowing Waters Town hoping for food. She will need all the warriors she can muster to defend the stores.”

Leather Hand closed his eyes, swaying as if from a blow. In the eye of his souls, he saw Larkspur, remembered her warm body against his. He had seen the interest in her eyes, fallen in love with her daring smile. She would have been Matron of the First People. I would have made her so.

Now he was going to have to find another way to become Blessed Sun.

The Blue God’s hollow laughter seemed to echo in the thin air, reverberating from the silent canyon walls.





Yellowgirl glanced warily out the door as Creeper came sauntering down the southern wall of Sunrise House. The first level of rooms, freshly plastered, had a clean smell of earth, cedar, and pine. The packed dirt floor was unstained with ash, broken pottery, bits of fiber, or the other detritus that accumulated in a room.

It was a good time for a meeting. Creeper had no fear of them being interrupted. As a result of the frost, all work on Sunrise House was halted, the slaves’ efforts dedicated to saving what they could of the harvest.

In the room’s rear—partially illuminated by the midday light that angled in the doorway—sat Copper Ring, Matron of the Coyote Clan, and Wooden Flower, elder of the Bear Clan.

As Yellowgirl stepped inside, Creeper took one look back the way he’d come. No one followed. Four roughly dressed men, trail-worn and streaked with soot and ash, stood talking by the southeastern corner of the building. One tall man seemed oddly familiar, but his back was to Creeper. Out in the fields, people were salvaging the wilting plants.

Creeper entered, a weary weight on his heart. He wasn’t prepared for what he would have to say today. He just knew of no other way to save themselves.

“Greetings, Creeper,” Yellowgirl said solemnly. “No one saw you come?”

“No,” he murmured, nodding to the others. Copper Ring was old, walked with a cane, and had a face like sun-dried leather. Her toothless jaw was undershot, and a mushroom might have admired the shape of her nose. She looked frail, bones like sticks inside her thin arms. Her hair, snowy white, had been wound into a bun and pinned at the back of her head. It may have been a male fashion, but at her age, what did she care?

Wooden Flower, nearly sixty summers old, still had an eaglelike glare in his eyes, though his right arm was withered, the result of some long-ago wound. He wore a tan hunting shirt, yucca socks, and sandals. A gleaming abalone pendant hung on his chest. Distaste—no doubt at the subject they had come to discuss—lay in the set of his mouth.

Together, the four of them spoke for the Made People clans. Just the fact that they were meeting in secret would have had Webworm and Desert Willow shivering at the implications, had they known.

“It is a grim day,” Yellowgirl began. “The slaves are in the fields, still trying to pack what they can salvage into the storerooms. No one should bother us.”

Copper Ring smacked her brown lips. Being toothless, she had a slight lisp. “It’s not good. My lineage elders report that maybe a tenth of the seed jars will be filled. Sometimes the lower ears didn’t freeze all the way. The kernels are still green, but better than nothing.”

“Thousands of people will be dead or dislocated by spring,” Wooden Flower said flatly. “There is no other way of it. Entire villages will be filled with corpses.”

“And those who survive will be raiding each other,” Yellowgirl added. “People will attack their neighbors for whatever scraps they might be hoarding rather than watch their children slowly die of starvation.”

“Remember the Dust People? That was a measure of desperation,” Copper Ring added. “And that was before the freeze.”