People of the Moon(83)

“Ah, but I have heard the Priests at Dusk House assure the Blessed Sun that we can. They have counted the number of baskets of corn that can be grown in the valleys. They say that if we dig some more canals, clear some more fields, we can do it.”

“Perhaps,” Moon Knuckle agreed, “in a couple of select locations along the big rivers. But how would you transport all that corn? A man can only carry so much. In so many days he must eat so many handfuls of that same corn he bears on his back. As you move out from the major valleys the porters eat more corn than they deliver. Returns diminish over distance.”

“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?”

“For exactly that reason Straight Path Canyon is being abandoned. No matter what the Blessed Sun says about making a new beginning on the Spirit River, it’s the corn that really necessitated the move. More of the yield along the Spirit River and the River of Souls can be packed into the storerooms of Dusk House and these other towns they’re building.”

“So, we’ve moved our world closer to the corn? What do you think, Priest? Is it a new beginning?” He gestured toward the Rainbow Serpent in the distant haze. “Or is that a sign that Spider Woman’s wrath is turned upon us all?”

Moon Knuckle fingered his chin. “Let us hope the former. You see, no matter how much corn we can grow in the river bottoms, it still has to be protected. And, as you have just so recently discovered, protecting a resource—even inside a fortified great house—is something of a difficult task, let alone along a winding river valley pocked with hiding places, timber, and endless trails leading off into the hills.”

“Which is why we do not want to bring the people to the corn. We would be packing thousands upon thousands into the valley of the River of Souls.”

“Where we would be outnumbered by thousands to one. Vulnerable as we are with our widely scattered great houses, the barbarians would drown us were they to be concentrated into one place. That many people, uprooted from their ancestral homes, frightened and unsure? All it would take would be a spark among the multitudes—like a lightning strike in a tinder-dry forest.”

“I see what you mean.”

Moon Knuckle sipped his tea, a moody expression on his face. “Then you had better pray that the gods send us rain, Deputy. And you, for one, will be a fortunate man.”

“How is that?”

“Because if the drought continues, and people turn to raiding for what little corn is left, you will have an endless supply of desperate men willing to do anything to keep their kinsmen and children alive.” His lips twitched. “Tell me, ‘Hammer,’ do you think you can eat them all?”





Twenty-five



Warmth, like a fondly remembered Dream, stole into Ripple’s body. It lapped around him, bearing him up and up. He could feel himself rising. His wounded souls began to spin, round and round, as images of clouds slipped past him, soft and white. Upward he was borne, to a place of light, where pain was washed away with the soft stroke of something like warm dog tongues against his skin.

The light was so bright. He squinted his eyes, feeling it sear the inside of his brain. He clamped them closed, thankful for the kind darkness.

“Do you hear me, Ripple?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“My name is Nightshade. Once of the Hollow Hoof Clan. You know me as the Mountain Witch.”

He felt a shiver run through his floating body.

“The wounds you have suffered are not severe enough to have driven your souls from your body. Something else has caused your souls to retreat from the flesh.”

“The pain was unbearable. But seeing what they did. Feeling it. That was the worst thing.”

“Were you brave?”

“No. I cried. Fear ran through my veins. My water ran down my legs and pooled on the floor. I screamed so loudly my throat remains raw.”

“Did you tell them about Horo Mana?”

“Who?”

“Yohozro Wuqti.”

“I don’t know that name.”

“Cold Bringing Woman. Did you tell them about your vision?”

“I told them nothing they did not already know.” He sniffed at the wetness in his nose. “But I would have. The next time, I would have done anything they asked me to. They’re smart, you see. First they hurt you, but not all the way. They leave you there in the darkness feeling the sharp splinters of broken teeth. You wait with the knowledge that when they return, they will break the rest. They let you run your tongue over them, count them, knowing that they, too, will snap, one by one, from the roots.

“They let you cradle your broken hand, while the pain pulses and leaps. You know that next time they come, your remaining hand will suffer the same. Do you know what it’s like to bend your fingers, knowing that soon they will be made useless to you? They leave you knowing that you must make water, or your penis will fester. But they leave you nothing to drink to replenish yourself. You lay there in the darkness, desperate with thirst, your manhood burning with pain.