“You don’t trust them to stand?” Whistle asked incredulously.
“Leather Hand ordered our veterans away moons ago. They’ve been his strength. I fear the warriors we have left don’t have the stomach for a real fight.”
“How have you made it this far?”
“Because of that red shirt.” Larkspur pointed at Whistle’s stained and frayed garment. “The locals think it’s more than it is.”
Whistle couldn’t help but smile.
From outside the door, a surprised voice called, “Alarm!”
Whistle was first out, swinging through the T-shaped doorway into the cool night. One of the two old women was pointing off to the east. There, at the base of the closest pinnacle, a yellow bead of fire flickered, growing ever brighter as it cast its glow on the stone pillar.
“What the … ?” Burning Smoke sputtered as he emerged and saw the signal fire. “Who lit that? Who’s responsible for that?”
Water Bow ducked out behind Larkspur, blinking in the darkness as he stared up at the signal fire. A mound of firewood was always kept up there, sheltered from the rain, ready to be lit should Pinnacle Great House ever be attacked. Now it was roaring to life.
It was Matron Larkspur who looked up at the starry night and then down the valley to the southwest where darkness cloaked distant Smoking Mirror Butte.
“On a night like this,” she said, “the message is already being relayed to Desert Willow that we’re under attack.”
“Quick!” Burning Smoke shouted. “We’ve got to put that out! Hurry!”
Whistle smiled crookedly as people rushed for the ladders.
Twenty
Bad Cast hunched in the darkness, his back to the north wall. He tilted his head to stare at the frosting of stars that grew in brilliance as the night deepened. This might be the last evening he’d ever have to enjoy the sky. Within a hand’s time, his bloody corpse might be thrown off this very wall to tumble down the sheer slope behind the great house.
There he’d lie, broken and twisted, while the ravens, magpies, and vultures picked at his bloating flesh.
Why did I ever agree to this?
Wasn’t it enough that Ripple pay for his folly? Why did the rest of them have to?
He looked up as a dark figure appeared on the steps and climbed onto the roof. It hurried forward past the kiva entrance and toward the ladder.
“Wrapped Wrist?” Bad Cast called to the burly figure. Even in the darkness, he looked short.
“Here!” Wrapped Wrist came at a trot and crouched down to Bad Cast’s right. “Blood and dung, my heart’s beating like thunder.”
“What about Spots?”
“Shhh! Keep it down. He’s headed up to the signal fire with his fire kit.”
“I want to be anyplace but here.”
“So does Ripple. Remember that.”
Bad Cast swallowed hard, wondering what Whistle was up to. What did they know about him? He’d just appeared as if the katsinas had dropped him from the sky.
“Our elders trust him,” Wrapped Wrist said, as if reading his mind.
“Who? Whistle?”
“No, Spots. They thought he was the man to light that fire.”
“But why did they ever trust me?”
“How should I know? I’m just here in case Ripple can’t walk.”
“We could just run, say we couldn’t find him.”
Wrapped Wrist stared at him in the darkness. “Kinsman, we’re in more than just a little bit of trouble here. If we come away without Ripple, your conscience is going to be the least of your worries.”
A cry broke the night, an old woman calling, “Alarm!”
Within moments shouts of dismay and frantic orders could be heard. People emerged from the rooms above them, many calling questions in the First and Made People’s languages. Feet hammered on the ladders. Dark forms thudded onto the earthen roof and sprinted for the stairway and the eastern plaza.
“That’s our signal.” Wrapped Wrist stood.
Bad Cast blinked hard. “I think I’m too scared to move.”
Wrapped Wrist’s strong arm jerked him to his feet. “You can be just as much a coward while you’re looking for Ripple as sitting here waiting to be discovered. Come on.”
Wrapped Wrist half pulled him up the ladder onto the second story. Two girls, mere forms in the night, were talking excitedly on the third-floor roof, their eyes to the northeast. They barely noticed as Wrapped Wrist led the way to one of the T-shaped doorways.
Ducking inside, Bad Cast was surprised to see a flickering fire in the fire bowl. He stopped short, staring in awe at the white-plastered walls. Dancing figures, so colorful as to seem alive, adorned each wall. The black-on-white pottery—exclusive property of the First People—lined the walls. Fabrics dyed with the vibrant colors of spring flowers were placed in neat stacks. Corn could be seen in the thick round seed jars.