Locust's heart pounded, knowing that Primrose was right, hating to admit it. She leaned her cheek on his shoulder and stared hollowly at the scorched fields across Cahokia Creek.
Nothing would ever be the same. Half of the population had fled or been killed. Sandbar had led the Squash Blossom Clan away on the night the fighting began, and now refused to return. Checkerberry . . . poor Checkerberry. She had been injured when a burning roof collapsed on top of her. She lay in Green Ash's home, coughing up blood, moaning in despair about Green Ash's twins. Locust, too, wondered what would happen to the babies if Checkerberry died. Nit was taking care of them now, but if Green Ash became clan leader, no one would be able to protect the children. Would Green Ash give them away? Or order one of her relatives to bash their brains out? Perhaps offer them as ritual companions, to be strangled the next time a powerful Sunbom died?
"I love you, Locust," Primrose murmured. "I need you. Maybe we should leave for a few days. Stay away until the torture is over."
"No. No, I—I have to see Badgertail again. Even if Petaga won't let me speak to him. Tomorrow . . . I'll go tomorrow, when I can stand it."
Forty-seven
A bright, hot day. So hot.
Badgertail hung limply on the rack in the center of the plaza, staring up at his hands tied over his head. For four days Father Sun had been tormenting him, sucking every drop of moisture from his naked body, roasting Badgertail's skin with brilliant yellow rays. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes and occasionally blinding him to the happenings j around him. People crowded the plaza, scavenging through the husks of houses for anything that might be usable. Some came just to stare at Badgertail. A few, very few, came to spit on him and curse him for having lost the war.
In the past hand of time, Badgertail had begun to shake.
Not from fear, but from the deprivation of food and water for the third day in a row. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like a withered root, and his belly roiled with sickness.
Just get it over with, Petaga. At this rate, I won't have the strength to die bravely, and you'II have very little entertainment from me.
He struggled to get his feet under him so he could ease the unbearable pain that lanced his back. An involuntary groan escaped his lips.
Petaga glanced over from where he sat on a fabric-covered bench twenty hands away, listening to the complaints of the villagers. Badgertail had watched the people come and go, begging remuneration for crop losses, pleading for com to feed their children, or, if they were Starbom, just complaining that Tharon had waged a war without consulting them first.
Tharon. May your soul be lost forever on the Dark River in the Underworld.
"Hurts, does it, Badgertail?" Petaga asked. Laughter eddied through the people standing nearby. Badgertail saw Hailcloud bow his head and stare at the ground as though he felt ill. "Think of how my father felt."
"Your father felt nothing. Sun Chief," Badgertail replied. His voice sounded so hoarse that it didn't seem his at all. "I had a great deal of respect for your father. I made certain that he never suffered."
"You won't feel anything either," Petaga replied in precise words, "... when the time comes. But I don't think that will be for a few days."
Days! Blessed Moon Maiden . . . Badgertail sucked in a breath and fought to lock his knees.
Petaga waved a hand, calling, "Who's next? Hurry up! There are others waiting."
Locust and Primrose stepped out of the crowd. Locust carried a basket. Badgertail's heart ached, knowing how much it would hurt her to see him like this. He gave her a weak smile as she limped forward. Anguish lined her pointed face, puckering her warrior's tattoos. She tried to stop to talk to him, but Petaga ordered, "No one speaks to the prisoner! Step forward. Locust."
Badgertail's gaze held Locust's for a few moments longer, long enough that a lump built in his throat at the love and grief he saw in her eyes.
Then she limped forward to stand beside Primrose and set the basket down at Petaga's sandaled feet. The jarring motion caused a duet of mews to erupt from the bundles lying side by side in the basket.
"What's this?" Petaga demanded.
"Sun Chief, these babies have no family or clan. Check-erberry, their great-aunt and former leader of the Blue Blanket Clan, was killed in the war. The new clan leader. Green Ash, and the mother of these children, has disowned them. What will you have us do with them?"
Petaga looked horrified. He leaned forward to peer into the basket, his golden robe stirring around his feet. "No one wants these babies? But that's . . . that's unthinkable. Surely you can find someone—"
"No, Sun Chief. After these boys were banished from our clan, my wife, Primrose, and I searched throughout the village, seeking to give them to the other clans. No one wanted them."