People of the River(165)

Datura sank her taloned fingers deeper into Nightshade's stomach. "Not yet. Our Dance is not done. Get up. Nightshade. You've been doing Power's bidding for cycles. Get up and let me see the cougars fall upon you."

The taunt was followed by a sound, shrill but barely audible, that caught at Nightshade's heart like a strangling hand.

Then . . .

"Nightshade?"

The familiar voice echoed and shot shimmers of light through the black room. Her vision began to clear. She could make out the starmap now, with its glowing rings of Ogres.

"Who—"

"Nightshade! It's Wanderer."

She turned slightly and saw him duck through the doorway. He stood tall and lanky against the backdrop of Orenda's toys strewn at the foot of Nightshade's bed. Joy and relief filled her.

As her hearing cleared, she jumped at the chaos of shouts and cries that filled the halls. Running feet pounded the hard floors of the temple.

"What's happening, Wanderer?" she asked as she lowered the Tortoise Bundle and tied its straps to her belt with shaking hands. "Is Petaga attacking?"

"No, not yet." He came forward in that gangly walk she remembered so well and crouched before her, examining her eyes. "But there was a scream. Are you strong enough to stand? Or is Sister Datura—"

"If you'll help me up, I think I can walk."

Wanderer gripped her arm while she struggled to find her balance. "Where did the scream come from?"

"Tharon's chamber."

Nightshade's nausea grew worse. She started across the room, calling, "Orenda ..." but the space beneath her bed lay empty. Her voice faded.

As though a great wind had howled out of the night, Nightshade's ears went deaf again. She could see Wanderer's mouth moving with desperate pleas, but she heard only Oren-da's voice: "Could I ... I want to sleep in your room!" The unspoken words "where it's safe . . . safe ..." pierced Nightshade's heart.

She rushed past Wanderer and out into the corridor, almost knocking over an unknown woman standing beside a male warrior. Sidestepping them. Nightshade raced away, her red robes flying about her ankles.

When she turned to the right, a square of bright light suddenly lit the far end, and her steps faltered. Badgertail, silhouetted against a blaze of firebowls, stood in Tharon's doorway. He swiftly let the hanging drop, but not before she saw the bloody stiletto in his right hand, dripping crimson onto the floor. Hoofprint and Black Dog rushed up to him, shouting a hundred questions.

Sternly, Badgertail ordered, "Get out of the temple. If anyone asks, the Sun Chief ordered you away at dusk."

"But Badgertail, what—"

"Go./You heard me!"

Like whipped puppies, Hoofprint and Black Dog turned and slunk away, but frightened whispers passed between them.

Sister Datura played tricks on Nightshade. Badgertail's face seemed to balloon and surge toward her before it shrank to almost nothing.

From her left, she heard Wanderer's horrified murmur, "Blessed Father Sun, what's happened?"

Badgertail numbly watched her approach. She walked to stand very close to him so she could see his eyes in the murky light. His face was ashen and strained. He gazed over her shoulder at Flute.

"Go and guard the front entrance. Let no one pass. No one. Do you understand?"

Flute jerked a nod and stammered, "Y-Yes. But what if Elkhom—"

"No one!"

"I—I understand, War Leader." Flute ran as though the creatures of the Underworld were snapping at his heels.

Nightshade edged by Badgertail and pulled the door-hanging aside to slip into Tharon's chamber. Her knees went weak. She barely noticed the overturned furniture, the broken seashells, or Tharon's naked body. Her eyes were riveted on Orenda. The little girl sat on the floor with her chin braced on her drawn-up knees, staring blankly at the far wall, where her mother's belongings lay piled. Blood spattered Orenda's face and arms, and soaked into the tatters of her robe.

"Wait here," Badgertail ordered Wanderer and the woman, and the hanging shished when he let it fall behind him. He extended the gory stiletto to Nightshade. "She used this. I found her . . . still stabbing him. I tried to talk to her, but her soul seems to have slipped away."

Nightshade crouched beside Orenda and put an arm around the child's shoulders. "Are you all right?"

Orenda didn't move.

Tharon's wide, dead eyes stared up at her from a face twisted with disbelief, as though even in the last moments, he could not accept the notion that anyone could kill him. One puncture wound had pierced his heart—but the majority of the stabbings centered on the lower half of his body. Intestines had wormed out through the torn flesh where his genitals had been. Now only bloody pulp remained.