Badgertail drew the amethyst-and-shell necklace from his belt, and Tharon's eyes widened. He grasped the necklace and took a step backward. "Oh, it's magnificent! Thank you. Thank you, faithful Badgertail. Here, put it on me."
Tharon gave it back, and Badgertail kissed the necklace before cautiously draping it over Tharon's head. Great care had to be taken, since the great Sun Chief's moods could change as rapidly as the clouds. The slightest touch in the wrong place or the merest tone of voice could throw him into a lethal rage.
"There, my Chief."
Tharon ambled back toward the altar, fingering his gift appreciatively as he climbed the steps.
On the far western side of the chamber, Orenda sat cross-legged, watching her father intently. Six members of the Starbom stood behind her, men and women, each young and dressed in a bright scarlet robe. Badgertail knew the six, but not well. They were the eldest sons and daughters of the victims of last week's mad murders. At least they had siblings to comfort their grief—^unlike Orenda, who was an only child. In a semicircle around them lay an array of Power objects: eleven Power Bundles, several eagle-feather prayer fans, a necklace of perfectly round white stones, an amethyst bracelet, owl-talon headdresses, and elaborately beaded moccasins.
Nightshade was looking at the objects, too. Her gaze rested on one particular Power Bundle, a curious, fat-bodied creature without legs and a long, flat tail painted in gray on the outside. She cocked her head as if she heard muted voices coming from it.
Badgertail cautiously spread his hands. "My Chief, aren't you forgetting something?"
Tharon gave him a blank gaze. "Forgetting ..."
Badgertail mouthed the words, "The drink."
"Oh! Yes!" Tharon clapped his hands. "War Leader Badgertail and the great Nightshade have come! Bring us the holy white drink!"
One of the Sunbom, a young man, slipped into the back. Nightshade seemed unaware of the awkward silence, her attention rapt as she stared sightlessly at the Bundle.
The young man returned, walking in slow, measured steps, a huge, beautifully etched conch-shell cup in his hands. He Sang, reciting the story of how First Woman had brought the gift of white drink to humans to clear their thoughts and give them insight. The word "white" referred to the purity of the beverage, not to its color, for that was a deep black. Only as he came close did Badgertail notice the trembhng in the youth's hands and the tense set of his jaw.
Tharon took the offered bowl and drank deeply before handing it back, a preoccupied frown tightening his face. The youth approached Badgertail, who accepted the cup with two hands and admired the etchings on it: interlinked figures of Rattlesnake that formed a cross, their tails bending off to the left in right angles. Badgertail drank the bitter, black brew; it was tepid and oily. Nagging unease ate at him. The drink, properly served, could have been poured over a ^ger without scalding it, but just barely.
He returned the heavy bowl to the youth, who gave it to Nightshade. She absently took the shell, drinking at first with reluctance, then with firmer resolve. A light had kindled in her eye when she finally handed the bowl back and thanked the youth. One by one, the others drank, and the youth retreated with the vessel.
Ceremony observed, Badgertail knelt before the pedestal. "Blessed Tharon, Great Sun Chief, we have returned in triumph. Your tribute is being unloaded as we speak." He cautiously placed Jenos' head on the altar at Tharon's feet. "And I have brought the head of your 'cursed enemy,' as you demanded."
"Did you?" Tharon wet his lips, as if frightened by that fact. He tugged at his necklace. "Fm surprised. I thought . . . well, I'd no idea my cousin would have the courage to face you." He flicked a hand anxiously. "Unwrap it."
Badgertail untied the ends of the stiff golden fabric and peeled the blood-caked cloth back to reveal Jenos' face, hideously distorted by the tight folds that had bound it. The crescent moons tattooing the cheeks had shriveled to black pits, but the eyes were glaring defiantly.
Tharon's thin lips pursed in revulsion. "The fool, he should have known better than to oppose me. Did he die well, Badgertail?"
"He died bravely."
"You forced his son—what's his name?—to watch?**
"Petaga, yes."
"Well, Jenos deserved it. He shouldn't have opposed me. His son will know better." Tharon nodded vehemently. "Yes, the boy will obey now, just like everyone else. Won't he, Badgertail?"
"Yes, my Chief."
Tharon's eagle-feather cape swayed around his legs as he stepped away from the pedestal to look at Nightshade, whose stunned eyes had focused unblinking on Jenos.
"So," he said, his voice brittle, "you are mine again, Nightshade. It seems I can cast you away or drag you back at my whim."