People of the Moon(54)

Bad Cast stopped short at Wrapped Wrist’s side, a sudden catch in his throat as he took in the crowded kiva. Expressionless, unfamiliar faces were watching him. The other eerie thing was the haunting silence. Not a whisper came to his ears, not a careless shuffle or snicker. Instead, seriousness, like a large stone, seemed to lie heavily on the people. He could see it in their worried gazes, in the somber set of mouths, or the too-tightly clasped hands. The only sound was the crackle of the burning wood in the firebox.

Along the northern wall, seated on the bench, were four old women and two robe-cloaked elderly men. Sitting cross-legged in a ring spreading out from their feet were numerous men and women, all wearing their best. But for a narrow path through the center of the kiva, every inch of floor was occupied.

Bad Cast had never been the center of so much attention. In his sudden confusion and embarrassment, he froze like a deer before a cougar.

Gods! These were the clan leaders! Along the north wall sat the lineage elders: the Matrons and their war chiefs sat cross-legged on the kiva floor before them. No wonder so many young men waited outside. Most of the authority in First Moon Valley was concentrated here.

“Come forward,” a reedy voice called.

Bad Cast blinked owlishly at the line of withered elders seated on the bench. It took a moment for their identities to sink in. The first to be recognized, of course, was Elder Rattler, the shriveled, white-haired leader of his own Blue Stick Clan. She rarely left her house down in the valley except for ritual occasions. What was she doing here, and in the middle of the night?

Beside her, the legendary Dreamer, old White Eye, sat, his back curved by age, a coarse gray blanket wrapped about his shoulders. His one white eye gleamed like a bit of shell in sunlight, while his ruined face seemed to fall in around his empty eye socket. The old witch was grinning as if he could see into Bad Cast’s very heart and was enjoying the queasy terror locked there.

To White Eye’s right sat Green Claw. He ruled the Bee Flower Clan of the Soft Earth Moiety in his sister’s name. His sharp eyes were taking their measure, glinting like struck obsidian in his round face. Ample of body, but with sagging flesh and wheezing breath, he was still sharp of mind. Few things occurred inside his clan without his knowledge.

On the far right was Black Sage, of the Soft Earth’s Whisper Clan. She was a wizened stick of an old woman who crouched under a turkey-feather cloak. Flat flaps of breasts sagged over her protruding ribs. She had a smoky gaze that seemed to be waiting like a wary predator in search of prey.

By Old White Eye’s left sat Hoarse Caller, the aged female elder of the Strong Back Clan of the Soft Earth Moiety. She had passed six tens of hard summers and was tall, reedy, like a blue heron that had borne too many burdens. She had a long face, her gray hair pinned atop her head as if to make her appear even taller. The way she sat, her curved back was ever more apparent.

Next sat the Muddy Water Clan’s elder, a woman of the Black Shale Moiety named Old Dead Bird. She had received her name when, as a girl, an eagle had fallen from the sky and thudded like a stone at her feet. To everyone’s surprise, the bird had been dead when it hit the ground. One of the Priests had cut it open to see if it augured some terrible message, but not a drop of blood had been found inside. Dead Bird had never been large, and over the passing of seasons, she had grown ever more slight of body. Her dark brown eyes now watched Bad Cast with veiled curiosity.

By her left elbow sat the elder Matron known as Red Water, leader of the Green Acorn Clan of the Black Shale Moiety. In her midthirties, she was younger than the others, still attractive despite an odd white streak that started above her forehead and ran through her black hair. She wore a loose deerhide skirt that draped over her muscular legs.

“I said, come forward,” the reedy voice repeated.

It took a heartbeat for Bad Cast to realize that old Rattler had spoken. He saw a hardening of her expression as both he and Wrapped Wrist remained rooted, obviously scared stiff.

Unseen hands caught them from behind. The shove was so unexpected that Bad Cast stumbled forward, careening down the narrow aisle. He glanced back to see a hard-eyed warrior—a strung bow hung over his shoulder—pushing them along.

Before he could catch his breath, he was standing in front of the most important people in his world. Try as he might, he couldn’t force himself to meet Elder Rattler’s hard gaze. It shamed him that the old woman was seeing a trembling young man whose fear shone in his eyes.

Old White Eye stood, raised a hand, and waved it toward the exit. “The rest of you, please leave us. We would talk to these young men in private.”