People of the Moon(33)

When he was a child, Bulrush had heard a flicker pounding on a hollow piñon out in the forest. Now his heart hammered like that; could no one hear it but him? Every nerve prickled with danger as he stepped out onto the roof. In the dim sliver of moonlight, he could just make out the rising floors of the great house before him.

The great house really was huge, rising three stories in places. He had seen the buildings at Far View, of course, but he didn’t remember them being as majestic as this. The stairway Uncle Sage had led them up opened onto the angle of a darkly shadowed ell.

“Which way?” Two Stone asked.

“Here.” Made Clay pointed, leading past roof openings that yawned like black death. The ladders poking from their depths might have been the lances of the ancestors. Made Clay continued: “I carried corn baskets here after harvest one year.”

“Shhh!” Uncle cautioned as he looked warily this way and that up at the imposing walls that rose around them.

Two painted figures seemed to Dance on the shadowed plaster walls. Bulrush pointed. “Who’s that?”

“The Yamuhakto,” Made Clay hissed in return. “They’re paintings, you simple fool.”

Bulrush tried to swallow. His guts knotted painfully, his knees weak. He could see the two war gods staring at him through vengeful eyes.

Made Clay stopped at a doorway in the darkest shadow cast by the walls. A sandstone slab had been rolled in front of the entry. Made Clay got Bulrush to grasp the other side of the heavy stone. It was a measure of his feebleness that it took two tries to move it.

Made Clay ducked over the threshold and vanished into the black maw. Moments later, he stuck his head out. “This is it. It’s full of shelled corn, squashes … It smells like a living Dream.”

Two Stone ducked in, and then Uncle. Bulrush froze, unable to move.

Uncle leaned back out. “You coming?”

“I … I can’t.”

“Then give me your basket.”

Somehow Bulrush managed to slip his burden basket from his shoulder and extend it.

He was panting, staring fearfully at the tall walls that rose on either side. He could feel the implacable stare of the Yamuhakto boring through the gloom. High overhead the Star People glistened in a wash of patterns. Gods, he wished he was up there with them. Nothing had ever scared him like this.

But, if it saved his children, brought them one more season until the rains came again, it would be worth it.

He swallowed hard. And if the First People killed him here? Well, what did it matter? A blow from one of the Blessed Sun’s warriors would be more merciful than burying his children in shallow graves and watching Gourd Pendant waste until, like her mother, she walked out to die alone.

No, as he loved her, he would see this through. Nerving himself, he ducked into the dark storeroom.

“Here, feel by the wall,” Uncle told him. “Empty these seed jars into your basket.”

Two Stone was the first to finish, slipping out through the doorway with his burden basket. Then Made Clay and Uncle followed. When corn kernels pattered on the floor, Bulrush knew his basket was full. He was in the process of hoisting it up to his shoulder when it hit something in the darkness.

A pot shattered on the floor behind him with a hollow pop. It might have been the crack of a lightning bolt so silent was the night.

Bulrush froze, fearing his heart had battered its way right through his chest.

“Hurry!” Uncle’s voice came as an urgent hiss.

Bulrush, no matter what his other faults, had always obeyed. He ducked out, thankful for the faint moonlight, terrified that he would find it full of swarming warriors. The dimly lit roof was vacant but for his companions.

“What was that?” Two Stone demanded, stooped from his burden.

“I don’t—”

Light flashed to one side, and a strange voice asked something unintelligible.

Bulrush turned, seeing a white-dressed figure as it ducked out of the next chamber. Light speared darkness again as the leather door hanging swung to the side.

Two Stone never hesitated. He turned, his club hissing through the air. Then came the sharp wet snap as the stone head caved in the man’s skull. White fluttered as the Priest collapsed, falling so hard he bounced on the packed clay roof with a thud.

“What did you do?” Bulrush squeaked in terror.

“Shhh!” Two Stone swung his basket down. “Help me.” He stared back at Bulrush as he stooped over the Priest. “Don’t just stand there like a knob on a pot. Help!”

Bulrush swung his basket down. Together he and Two Stone dragged the limp body back through the doorway the Priest had emerged from.

Bulrush gaped in spite of his fear. For a moment he thought they were real, so perfectly rendered were the figures of the old gods who Danced across the walls. Nor was that all. Along one wall gorgeous bowls, white as snow, were decorated in perfect black patterns, hatched with fine lines. And there, beside the hearth, a stew was still steaming.