People of the River(22)

Jenos' mouth gaped. "What? What's happening?"

Locust dragged him stumbling across the room and released him six hands from Badgertail. She took up her place directly at Jenos' back. "Is this another of Tharon's attempts at coercion?"

Badgertail tested the weight of the unfamiliar ax as he muttered, "No. It's his method of assuring future obedience. Where is your son, Moon Chief?"

Jenos' jaw quaked. "My son? Why?"

Jenos tilted his head. "Petaga's room is five chambers down. He was . . . was playing the drum earlier, praying to Father Sun for peace."

Badgertail nodded to Locust, and she trotted out. The silence intensified, until Badgertail could distinguish the labored breathing of each person in the chamber. The shocked cry of a young man rang out from the hall; then Locust returned, shoving a youth of perhaps sixteen summers before her. She stopped two body lengths away, holding Petaga firmly by the arm. The youth, a virtual twin of his father, had a slightly more rounded face. His long black hair hung free over the shoulders of his yellow robe.

Jenos exchanged a warm, confident look with his son before turning back to face Badgertail. He opened his mouth to ask some last question, but Badgertail brought the ax around in a powerful swing, slamming it into Jenos' neck, breaking it immediately. Jenos crumpled to the floor. Petaga's screams could barely be heard over the cries of the Starbom.

Badgertail lifted a hand. "Stop. Stop it! Listen to me!"

The Starbom, accustomed to obeying commands, hushed, but Petaga continued to sob and tear at Locust's restraining arms.

"Let him go. Locust," Badgertail said softly.

She released the youth, and Petaga ran forward, dropping to his knees to gather his father in his arms and weep into the shroud of gray hair that fell around Jenos' face. "Oh, Father, Father ..."

"Petaga," Badgertail said respectfully, "you are the new Moon Chief. I bring you a message from the Sun Chief. Tribute is due after harvest during the Moon-of-Flying-Snow. If it is not received at that time next cycle, your fate will be the same as your father's. Don't force the Sun Chief to treat you as badly. Now get up. Leave this sacred chamber before I must carry out my final orders."

Tears rolled down Petaga's pointed chin when he looked up. "What orders?"

"Locust, take Petaga and the Starbom down with the women and children. Then ..." His voice faltered. "Take . . . take Bobcat back to my canoe and meet me at the west gate. I'll organize a search party. We'll find Nightshade."

When the last of the people had left the Inner Chamber, Badgertail knelt and rested the ax on Jenos' bare throat. A trickle of blood swelled beneath the sharp chert blade. "Forgive me, cousin," he murmured as he began hacking through the muscle and ligaments. It took a full finger of time to sever the head.

Badgertail tore a wide length of golden fabric from Jenos' hem, spread it out on the cold floor, and placed Jenos' head in the center. Awkwardly, he tucked the gray straggles of hair into a bun and fastened it with the owl-feather roach before he brought up the comers of the golden fabric and neatly tied them.

Badgertail carried the head pressed against his chest as he strode out of the chamber, trying to ignore the warm rivulet of blood that soaked his warshirt and leaked down his muscular belly.

Before he exited the temple, he stopped at one of the intricately carved stands to pick up a rare necklace of marine shell and amethyst. He tied it onto his belt, and never looked back.



Leaning over the side of the canoe, Badgertail dipped his hand in the cold river. Ice clung in the shadowed niches along the shore, silver and lumpy. He splashed his toad face and washed the wound in his arm. It burned as though set afire by the coolness. But his headache had eased some. Only the constriction in his chest continued, almost unbearable. Bobcat's body lay in the rear of the canoe, wrapped in a splendid red-and-gold blanket, his head propped next to Jenos'.

Badgertail could not bear to look at his brother. In the back of his soul, he kept hearing the words, "I hate this . . . I hate this . . . I wish we could run away."

Badgertail fumbled to dry his numb hand on his boot and squinted at the bluff that jutted up before them. Locust and young Rute scrutinized it, too. Rute sat on his knees in the rear, just behind Bobcat, his seventeen-summers-old eyes haunted, not liking this duty at all. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"Is this the place?" he called to Badgertail.

"This is it."

Rute jerked a quick nod and paddled too briskly. Locust had to fight the bow to keep it aimed at the foot of the bluff. Dead grass and a few patches of prickly pear rambled down the sandy flanks. Rose and chokecherry bushes poked bare red arms from the crevices, as though reaching out to the life-giving water in the swirling river below. To the north, a haze of blue smoke drifted above the burning houses in River Mounds.