“I am the Blessed Sun’s fist.” Leather Hand sipped his tea, letting the taste of mint roll over his tongue. “You, Seven Stars, and the rest of the Priests can be their friends. The Matrons can be their Healers and counselors, but in the end, isn’t it reassuring to know that we are here, lurking in the background? We are the lightning bolt behind the rainbow. And, believe me, the people never forget it.”
“That is true.” He glanced curiously at Leather Hand. “Could I ask a personal question?”
“Of course.”
“What did it taste like?”
Leather Hand laughed. “Most are too timid to ask.”
“I suppose. I, however, have known you for too long to take your abrasive exterior so seriously.”
“You’ve had the meat of that pig? The one that runs the lower desert where the Hohokam live?”
“Once, yes.”
“Like that. Oddly sweet, but with a tang. Perhaps the tang came from the fact that what we ate had no fat on it. Their meat was stringy with starvation.”
“I see.” He fingered his tall mug, his gaze fixed on the Rainbow Serpent’s distant smoke plume.
“You are placing yourself at risk, old friend. People have been going out of their way to avoid me and my warriors.”
“Of course.” Moon Knuckle waved his free hand at the long flat ridges that sloped off to the south before them. “Even here in the Green Mesa villages, it is the talk of every farmstead, village, and town. ‘Leather Hand has killed and eaten the Dust People!’ It is spoken with a mixture of horror, wonder, and titillation.”
He snorted, watched a crow rising and falling on the thermals, and finally asked, “And you, Moon Knuckle, do you think it was a wise move?”
Moon Knuckle squinted, his squat face unsure. “Time alone will answer that. How you go about incurring Spider Woman’s wrath is your business. But as to the way it will affect the Blessed Sun’s policies?” His sloped shoulders rose and fell. “All I can tell you is that we deal with a tenuous time.”
“A fist must remain a fist, even when its target has lost the ability to feel pain.”
“Given what happened to Right Acorn at Tall Piñon I don’t know what you could have possibly done differently. Order must be maintained. If the Blessed Sun’s control is broken, we face chaos. People will turn upon their neighbors. We will become like rats trapped in a jar, having only ourselves to devour.”
“On that we agree.” Leather Hand sipped his tea, the tang of mint lingering on his taste buds. “To that end, I shall become more than the Blessed Sun’s fist. I shall become his hammer.”
Moon Knuckle’s expression saddened. “Chances are good we may need you in that role before this comes to an end. But this I do know: If we don’t get rain, you will need ever harsher measures to keep the people in line.”
“My warriors and I understand that.”
Moon Knuckle turned serious eyes on him. “I have known you since you were a child. Your father was my good friend back in the days when I oversaw Chief Crow Beard’s turquoise mines. I watched you and Wraps His Tail grow up. I wept at your brother’s death. Now, my souls worry for yours.”
Leather Hand smiled. “Unlike my brother, I have learned not to put my trust in the likes of Ironwood. No assassin will find my back.”
“You misunderstand me, Leather Hand, as perhaps you also misunderstand the people.”
“How is that?”
“You and your warriors, like the First People themselves, are few. A handful of warriors here, a handful there, cast across so vast a land. Up until now, for the most part, people have been content with their lives. As you so aptly noted, the lightning bolt behind the rainbow was sufficient to keep them in line. It wasn’t worth incurring the Blessed Sun’s wrath over a petty intervillage feud or a squabble over clan cornfield boundaries. It was to our advantage to only have a handful of warriors, a couple of Priests, and the Matron and her staff at any given great house. There weren’t enough of us to become a burden to the local people. What it cost them to support us was made up for by the storage of tribute for the hard times. We were there to arbitrate their disputes, to pray for their sick, and to demand their tribute. They may not have liked us, but they tolerated us. In the event of an uprising, a signal fire would be lit and forty warriors would arrive the next morning to quell the trouble. Communications and mobility balanced our limited numbers.”
“I take it you don’t think that is still the case?”
“Leather Hand, I said the people were mostly content. Today they are anything but. The truth is, we can’t feed everyone with the limited number of irrigated fields we have.”