“Then do it, old friend.” Ironwood nodded. “Their time is past. If you will save Flowing Waters Town from destruction, you must act quickly, and with resolve.”
Sixty-one
THE MOMENT OF SUMS
I Dream …
Dark clouds are passing; veils of rain trail the mountains behind them. In their wake, the air is clean, crisp.
I sit alone on the starlit mountaintop, listening to Wind Mother rustling the wet pines as she climbs the slope. The fragrances of damp trees and grass scent her trailing hem. As she passes I breathe them into my lungs and hold them for as long as I can before I must let them go; then I turn and reluctantly gaze southward. Far out in the distance, a great darkness swells, pricked only by the winking campfires of the dead.
Am I strong enough for what comes?
I cannot move. What was excruciating pain has become a throbbing ache. Reaching back I can run my fingers over the smooth sides of the stake they have driven through my hips. It pierces my center, running down through flesh, bone, and my womb. My souls writhe around it.
I am an old woman, maybe too old to endure this final trial.
My first teacher, the great Priest Old Marmot, told me that the price of old age was Power. I recall once when he opened his skeletal hands to me and told me he could feel it draining away through his fingers like water through a poorly woven basket. At the time, was young and so full of Power that it nearly tore my souls apart. I didn’t understand. But I believed him.
For more than fifty summers now, I have been hoarding Power, trying to prepare myself for these final heartbeats. It has cost me more than I can tell you. I often left my family to vanish into forest or desert where I could Dance with my Spirit Helpers, or spent days on a lonely hilltop praying until my voice was gone. The people I loved most paid the price. I barely saw my adopted children grow up, and the man I loved with all my heart always had sad eyes.
Only Brother Mud Head’s grin widened.
Soon, I will know if it was worth it. The Moment of Sums is almost upon me.
Everything I am, everything I ever hoped to be, is about to be tallied, and when the darkness drains out of my heart I will know the total of the Light that is left, the Power that I have accumulated. I only pray the sum is not too small to do what must be done.
I rub my face against the dusty floor. We all strive to do so much in life—yet manage so little.
I have spent a lifetime acquiring the following single truth: Spiritual knowing is more a process of unlearning than it is of learning, and I would think it time poorly spent if I did not realize that it is through “unlearning” that I have managed to hold onto the meager dusting of Power that I possess.
Death, Sickness, and Sorrow—my holy trinity of Spirit Helpers—have taught me the only valuable lessons I know.
Because of them, I unlearned what I saw with my eyes.
I unlearned that life is the sole cause.
I unlearned that strength is a virtue.
Were it not for the terrible sacrifices of the weak, the innocent, the infants, death would be meaningless.
I will do well to remember that in the terrifying instant ahead.
Death’s meaning—that is the Moment of Sums.
The load of firewood bowed Spots’s back as he trudged through the southeast entrance to Dusk House. He looked up, seeing the guard wave him through.
Behind him, Cactus Flower walked with her pack over her shoulder. She shot him a worried look as they made their way to their traditional place across from the great kiva. A party of slaves had carried the bear cage off. Now the space acted as a haunting reminder of the old woman’s presence. He dared not guess what Wind Leaf had done to her. He’d seen some terrible knowledge in her eyes when the war chief had led her into the third-floor room. Moments later a warrior had carried a large hammer and pointed wooden stake into that same entrance.
They must have her tied to a pole like a dog.
Well, soon now, he would know, one way or the other. As he laid his wood on the ground, he saw Creeper and Yellowgirl walk through the entrance. Creeper shot a look at the Buffalo Clan guard and gave him a terse nod. The man swallowed hard, glanced nervously around, and nodded in return.
Crow Woman, Yucca Sock, Wrapped Wrist, and others entered single file, what looked like heavy packs slung across their backs. Despite their bowed heads, they were shooting wolfish glances at the walls, taking stock of the situation.
In the southwest, old Copper Ring came hobbling in, her cane tapping the hard ground. Wooden Flower walked behind her, nodding to the Coyote Clan guard at the gate. Behind them came more warriors, all wearing smudged shirts and bearing sacks of this and that over their shoulders.
Spots turned his gaze to the fourth floor. None of the First People could be seen. So far, they had no idea.