People of the River(31)

Jenos' slaves and those who were indebted to the Moon Chief would also offer themselves for strangulation. Sunborn would be buried around the edges. The Commonbom among them would be cremated, their ashes scattered over the burial mound. Finally, earth would be piled over the entire mound, adding yet another layer—tribute to a hideously murdered leader.

Burdened by such responsibilities, as well as by his grief, Petaga had only now gathered the courage to reenter this sacred room. A terrible presence pressed down on him, heavy, suffocating. The Starbom murmured softly on the altar, where they talked to the war leader of River Mounds, the great Hailcloud.

Petaga's memory kept replaying that last warm, confident look his father had given him, and his stomach knotted with so much anguish and hatred that his knees began to tremble. He made two more revolutions around the blood stain before he stopped. His brooding gaze locked on the sacred fires flickering in the broad pottery dishes that surrounded the altar.

Polluted! Badgertail had brought blood and violence here. Here, to this sacred place. Too many men had died in this room for it to ever be pure and clean again. At the Green Com Ceremony, they would ritually extinguish the fires with water and then relight them after Nightshade Sang the rituals and the appropriate sacrifices had been offered. And to purify the walls and roof would mean another . . .

Purify? How? Wasn't the pollution too great? Hadn't the entire building been violated and mired in filth? The very mound top needed to be cleansed—burned to bare dirt and capped with hard clay before another layer was added.

He glanced around, aware of the subtle touch of evil. The painted figures of animals, monsters, and the Long-Nosed God watched, challenging, from their places on the whitewashed walls. Petaga lifted his hands and studied the patterns of fine lines on his fingers and palms. Closing his eyes, he curled his fingers into fists, clenching them until the muscles in his forearms ached.

With those hands, he would have to strangle his mother at sunrise the following morning. And how many others? His vision blurred and he ground his teeth. I can't! I'll shame myself and my clan — and all of River Mounds.

If that happened, Jenos would go to the Afterlife alone, mocked by the other Spirits. On top of the humiliation of going to the Underworld without his head, Jenos would be further shamed when the other Spirits thought that his wife had deserted him and that his eldest son was a coward.

Petaga turned, thinking to summon Nightshade to ask her advice, only to remember the reports he had heard. Com-monbom, trembling in fear and hiding in the grass beside the Father Water, had watched her rowed upstream in Badger-tail's canoe. What had happened to her? Had Tharon killed her, or just kidnapped her? Petaga's heart ached for the tall priestess. She had faithfully advised his father for cycles. Petaga had grown up depending on her . . . loving her.

"I'm coming for you, Tharon," he said viciously. "And I won't be coming alone. . . . Hailcloud?"

The burly war leader rose and strode to the edge of the altar to peer down at Petaga. A tall man with a slender, aquiline nose, he had the coldest black eyes Petaga had ever seen. The crest of dark hair on his shaved head shone orange in the light, and his copper ear-spools glinted. The lower half of his face had been tattooed in black. "Yes, my Chief?"

"How many warriors survived Badgertail's attack?"

"He left us about a hundred, mostly the old men and young boys." Hailcloud's tone went bitter. "He gutted our ability to make war, my Chief. If you're thinking of returning his attack, don't. We can't."

Petaga tightened his leg muscles to halt the shaking in his knees. "How many warriors survived at Hickory Mounds, Red Star Mounds, and the other villages Badgertail has ravaged this cycle?"

Hailcloud's eyes narrowed as he followed Petaga's line of thought. "It might work, my Chief. If we can draw the other leaders out of their cowardice—if we can convince their people to fight with little food in their bellies."

"The Starving Time will be over soon. By the Planting Moon, butterfly weed and lamb's quarter will be up. There are always rabbits."

Hailcloud nodded uneasily, clearly disturbed by the prospect of waging a long series of battles. "Well, if we're going to do it, my Chief, we'll need to act quickly, before Tharon and Badgertail catch wind of what we're up to. If Badgertail strikes before we're ready, his rage will leave all of our villages scorched husks."

Petaga lifted his gaze to Hailcloud. "Then let's begin. Assemble a war party to escort me. I want to speak to the chiefs myself. We'll leave as soon ... as soon as . . ." Images of his mother's face splintered his resolve.

Hailcloud's callused hand settled lightly on Petaga's shoulder. "You know how the Warrior Clans were formed, my Chief?"