Behind them, Father Sun had swollen into a red-gold ball that hung over the northwest horizon beyond Juniper Ridge. The reddish haze that lay low in the sky told Bad Cast that a big wildfire was burning somewhere to the west. All day they had been buffeted by strong southwest winds, that, along with the dry condition of the forest, augured ill for anyone in that distant fire’s path. He could smell the smoke, acrid, on the air. The gaudy light made the red-shirted warrior ahead of him appear even more frightening.
“Are you afraid?” Whistle asked over his shoulder.
“I’ve never been this scared in my whole life,” Bad Cast answered. “When you walked out from behind the kiva partition wearing that red shirt, I thought my life was over.”
“It may well be,” Whistle said earnestly as they emerged from the last of the trees. Ahead of them, Guest House glowed like a hot coal in the red sunset. The multistory structure perched astride the ridge, squatting like an ugly toad. Bad Cast could see some of the Made People enjoying the last light as they occupied themselves with different tasks on the rooftops. Despite Whistle trudging toward them, none bothered giving him or Bad Cast a second glance.
“Where did you get the warrior’s shirt?” Bad Cast asked. “I mean, no one will recognize it, will they? You didn’t steal it from one of the warriors, did you?”
“No. It’s mine,” Whistle said softly. A gust of wind pushed them from behind, whipping the long tails of the war shirt around Whistle’s legs.
“You serve the Blessed Sun?” Bad Cast asked incredulously.
“Served.” Whistle’s voice remained calm. “That was a long time ago. At least it seems that way now.”
Guest House was looming ever larger as they approached. Bad Cast knotted his fists around the coarse fabric bag that was slung over his shoulder. “You should have picked Wrapped Wrist. He’s the brave one. I don’t know if I’ll freeze like a terrified rabbit, or foul myself.”
“Do neither,” Whistle replied evenly. “Remember, for this to work, you’re supposed to be my slave.” He pointed up the narrowing slope, past Guest House and the Made People’s pit houses that dotted the narrow ridge. “Look, we’re just about perfectly spaced. Can you see your friends?”
Bad Cast glanced owlishly past Whistle’s shoulder. On the ridge trail beyond Guest House he could see two figures, each looking more like a walking woodpile than a human. “That’s Wrapped Wrist and Spots?”
“No one will question two barbarians bearing tribute to the First People.” He shot a glance back to where the sun was just touching the distant mountains. “And by the time we arrive, it will be dark enough to hide their identities. We rubbed your friend’s distinctive skin with soot. In the half-light, no one will notice.”
“Elder Rattler and old White Eye just dressed me like this and told me to follow your orders.” Bad Cast looked down at the filthy garment they’d given him. It looked more like an upside-down bag with a hole cut in the bottom for his head and one in each corner for his arms. “Why on earth are we marching like mice right between the snake’s jaws?”
“I chose you to accompany me because, unlike your friends, you’re unremarkable.”
“Thanks.”
“Not only that, you speak the Made People’s tongue. If you’re going to play the part of a slave from Flowing Waters Town, you’d know a little of their speech. And, finally, the last place the First People will expect you is right in their midst.”
“Oh?” He tried to sound reassured.
Evidently it didn’t work, because Whistle shot a glance back, eyes narrowed. “You’d better find some courage down in your guts somewhere, Bad Cast. If we are discovered, I won’t live to experience their torture. You, however, don’t look to have nerve enough to make them kill you.”
“Whistle, I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.
“Kinship makes a stronger tie than opportunity.”
“That doesn’t help me understand.”
“I am of the Bee Flower Clan. These days I serve my people.”
“But you were one of the Blessed Sun’s warriors?” Bad Cast lowered his voice as they followed the trail up to Guest House.
“It’s a long story. Speak no more for now.”
His heart began to hammer, and his mouth went dry. In the Made People’s tongue, Whistle called up to one of the women working on a low rooftop, “Is there news?”
The woman looked down at him, not even wasting a second glance on Bad Cast. “News of what? I don’t know you, so you must have just arrived. If there is news, you bring it.”