Ironwood’s body had been painted in red ocher and dressed in the finest red war shirt that could be found. A bracelet given him by Night Sun was placed on his wrist, and then he was wrapped in feather-cloth and colorfully dyed matting.
Bad Cast was given the honor of helping to bear the ceremonial ladder—emblematic of the climb into the next world—upon which the corpse had been laid. With Crow Woman in the lead they bore the war chief out of the great kiva, across the plaza, and up to the third floor. Bad Cast heard the whispers of “Ironwood, Ironwood, Ironwood” chanted by the mournful crowd. Then they entered Dusk House, following a route deep into the interior.
They laid Ironwood to rest in a room not far from Nightshade’s. The Bear Clan, under Wooden Flower’s direction, had shown him a hero’s respect. They had dug a shallow trench in the floor into which Bad Cast, Wrapped Wrist, Crow Woman, and Yucca Sock shifted the body. Ironwood’s shield, war clubs, arrows, and fending sticks were placed atop him. His kit for making stone tools, his bone stilettos, awls, and other personal goods were laid ready at hand.
Five bowls, one offered by each of the Made People clans and one from the Moon People, were left full of food to help him on his journey to the Land of the Dead. A mug of water and a basket of sacred cornmeal were left close to his head.
“He was the greatest of us,” Creeper said.
“Had the rest of us not been looking into the past,” Wooden Flower added sadly, “we would have seen that he was the future.”
Bad Cast bit his lip, remembering Ironwood’s expression that day on the high point—how he’d known that a price would have to be paid. What would he have done differently had he known it would be Night Sun, not he, who suffered?
It was Spots who said, “Do not mourn. Last night I Dreamed. He and the Matron are together.”
“You know this?” Wrapped Wrist asked incredulously.
Spots just smiled, Spirit Power reflecting from his large brown eyes. With one hand he patted the pack that hung over his shoulder.
Leather Hand watched from the crowd as Ironwood’s remains were carried from the great kiva. Wrapped in finery, the body was borne on a ladder perched on the shoulders of strong warriors—members of Ironwood’s little band of fugitives. One tall woman walked proudly, head high, as she led the procession up the successive tiers of Dusk House.
Around him, people stood in silence, some with tears streaking down their faces.
“Ironwood!” The name was whispered from lip to lip, people touching their heads or breasts with respectful fingertips.
Leather Hand struggled to keep his expression neutral. He could feel Turquoise Fox’s hand tighten on his shoulder, urging restraint.
So, you, too, have eluded me, old enemy? Just the thought of it left his stomach sour. The reverence and worship in people’s eyes sickened and disgusted him. They would pay. He could feel it. The Blue God would be coming for all of them—may she find their stinking souls wanting.
Turning, he made his way slowly through the crowd, watching as they swarmed after the procession, knotting around the stairway as Ironwood was borne upward and into one of the upper-floor doorways.
“What now?” Turquoise Fox asked.
They were both dressed in poorly woven shirts, the hems ratty and frayed. They’d smeared mud on their faces and left their hair loose in the manner of barbarians. Not even their own men would have recognized them. They had only gained entry by bribing the guards at the southeastern gate with pieces of turquoise.
Leather Hand stopped just short of the southern room block. With the crowd’s attention on the funereal procession, no one was paying much attention to the bear cage where it stood less than five paces south of the great kiva entrance. Inside Wind Leaf and Desert Willow crouched, looking miserable and forlorn. Two guards, both Made People, stood to either side of the cage, ensuring both the safety and security of the prisoners. Rumors were already circulating that throughout the land, Made People had risen in revolt and anger, murdering First People in their beds, running them down and battering them to death with axes, hoes, and digging sticks.
When the guards looked the other way, Leather Hand motioned Turquoise Fox inside one of the storerooms across from the bear cage. In the dark room, he crouched down and took a deep breath.
“Tonight,” Leather Hand whispered, “when it’s dark, we will slip out. The guards won’t be expecting an attack from this close. Tomorrow morning the Made People will find only Chief Wind Leaf’s headless corpse within.”
Turquoise Fox said, “What if Desert Willow won’t cooperate?”
“Do you think she would rather share my bed and bear my children in hopes of regaining what is rightfully hers, or remain as a prisoner of the Made People?”