Every morning she leaves her house carrying the sun in a basket. A basket. A basket.
She comes home late at night with a backache. A backache. A bad backache.
Her granddaughter rubs it with duck oil. Duck oil. Duck oil.
But the oil is almost used up. Up. Up.
When it runs out Old Woman Above will die. Die. Die.
The world would come to an end. End, end, end.
The last words were called quickly, like a drumbeat.
Hunter chuckled. Some people worried about such curious things: the End of the World? He was far more concerned with where his next meal was coming from.
He sucked another crab claw and chewed the meat with his eyes closed. Delicious. The crabs had been boiled with ferns and had a wonderful tang. The matron of Wasp Village, Round Hoof, had truly seen to the comfort of Ecan’s warriors. Hunter had slept in a lodge, on a soft stack of hides. Then, before dawn, slaves had delivered a basket of crabs and a big bowl of boiled seal. Both had tasted especially good after the long days on the war trail.
A group of young women walked out of one of the lodges carrying baskets. Their laughter rode the breeze as they fell into line and marched happily toward the central plaza fire.
The shape of Wasp Village was dictated by the long ridge on which it sat. The plaza lay between two lines of lodges that seemed to clutch the rocky ridgetop where it jutted out in a small peninsula. Trails led down the steep slopes to the wave-scrubbed rock and then to the beach.
He fingered his chin as he chewed. Rumors were circulating that the Council wanted to move the North Wind elders here, that they wanted to abandon Fire Village for the more defensible Wasp Village.
“They’re crazy,” he muttered. Sure, Wasp Village was easier to defend. Any approach by land was restricted to the ridge’s narrow neck. And the steep trails leading down to the beach could be held by a handful of warriors. Assuming, of course, that Wasp Village had any warning of approaching danger.
To his left, more lodges—quarters for the slaves—sat atop a low bluff. They had shaded from blue to salmon with the dawn. Slaves climbed up the hill from the spring with water-filled bladders propped on their hips.
Hunter finished his crabs and wiped his hands on grease-streaked buckskin leggings.
Ecan, having finished the morning ceremonies, stood beside Matron Round Hoof outside her lodge. As always, he looked regal. He’d pulled his hair away from his face and coiled it into a bun at the back of his head. The style accentuated the sharp angles of his handsome face. He waved his hands emphatically, and even across the distance Hunter could see her expression of distaste.
Hunter laughed. Round Hoof had a fuzz of white hair clinging to her age-spotted scalp and a nose like a squashed beetle. In all the time he’d known her, he’d never seen her smile. She always wore a dour, vaguely threatening expression. The more Ecan talked, the more Round Hoof scowled. If only she would—
“Hunter?” a voice called.
He turned to see skinny Thunder Boy climbing the hill. The youth had an odd, melon-shaped skull and wasn’t known for being particularly intelligent. His shoulder-length black hair flopped around his chin.
“What is it?”
Thunder Boy trotted toward him. “Deer Killer wants you to come immediately.”
“Deer Killer?” Hunter rose and quickly strode down the hill. “He’s supposed to be keeping an eye on the witch.”
Thunder Boy said, “He sent me to get you. Something’s wrong with Dzoo.”
“What?”
Thunder Boy gave him a blank look. “I don’t know.”
“Go tell Wind Scorpion. He’s supposed to be in charge.”
“He’s not around.”
“He’s never around! The coward.”
Hunter picked up his weapons and followed Thunder Boy down through the trees to the village. It had been such a nice, peaceful morning. Now the breakfast he’d so enjoyed churned in his stomach as he hurried toward the lodge where they’d imprisoned Dzoo.
Ecan, with his guard, Black Stone, behind him, was still arguing with Round Hoof. The Starwatcher shifted to study him. Hunter tried to act nonchalant, but Ecan seemed to sense something amiss. The Starwatcher’s gaze might have been a physical thing as it burned through Hunter’s back.
Dzoo’s lodge sat on the farthest point above where rolling surf crashed on black rocks. From this height, Hunter could see a scalloped line of sea foam and glittering shells that marked the night’s high tide.
“Thunder Boy? Guards are supposed to be standing outside her lodge. Where’s Deer Killer?”
“Inside, I think.”
“Inside?” Ecan had threatened to roast Hunter’s liver if any of his warriors so much as laid a finger on the woman. He’d figured that ordering them to stay outside would alleviate some of their natural male desires. What they didn’t have to stare at, they couldn’t want.