She tilted her head back, her eyes closed, mouth open, and breathed deeply, as if revitalizing herself. Sunlight glistened on her flesh, sparkling, and Badgertail's heart raced at the sight of her.
He averted his eyes to kill the sudden attraction he felt and bounced nervously on his toes, attempting to appear nonchalant.
"Throw me my dress." Nightshade's voice sounded normal, but some underlying Power caused Badgertail to jump, as if an order had been barked.
He groped for the garment, removed it from the peg, and forgot what he was doing as he ended up staring again. He shook himself irritably and tossed the garment to her without a word. Blessed Sun, I'd no idea such magnificence existed in the world. Beautiful and terrifying. . . . How did she know what I wanted to tell her?
Nightshade slipped the dress over her head and reached back into the lodge to grab the Tortoise Bundle. Cradling it in her arms, she started off, as straight and deliberate as an arrow, the fatigue that had weighted her somehow vanished.
Badgertail kept pace at her side, throwing her alarmed glances. "Do you also know what news the messenger brought?"
Nightshade's eyes tightened. "Tharon is such a simpleton. Does he really think I would tell him anything that would betray Petaga?"
Badgertail marshaled all of his strength to keep from shouting at her. Dread had fermented into a sickening brew in his stomach. Blue wildflowers splashed the slopes of the mounds. Above the blossoms, clouds of insects swarmed, their iridescent coils unfurling into the sunlit heavens.
"Nightshade," he said quietly, "if Petaga attacked Spiral Mounds, he's surely planning on attacking us—maybe not now, not until he's raided the other villages and gathered enough supplies and warriors, but soon."
She just kept walking.
When she rounded the eastern comer of the Temple Mound, he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Out in the plaza, people whooped and clapped; wagers were being shouted back and forth on the chunkey game in progress. Clans had been known to win or lose entire tracts of land, buildings, food stocks, even the clothes on their backs—or, on rare occasions, their lives.
Badgertail spread his hands wide. "Don't you see that you're in danger, too? And what of every other innocent person here? Do you hate these people so much that you'd—"
"I do not hate, Badgertail. I just see more than you do." She slipped lithely past him and hitched her skirt up to start climbing the mound.
He trotted beside her, his woven cattail sandals clacking on the wooden steps. Anger stirred in his breast. "What does that mean? That you see the patterns of the future?"
When she did not respond, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around to face him. They stood there, gazes locked, breathing hard. He knew that he ought to be terrified by the look she was giving him—as dangerous as a wounded bear's—^but he could only think about the effects of another war, the probability of total destruction, the death, and the horror. It ripped him inside out.
"Nightshade," he implored, "is Petaga truly mounting an army against us?"
She chuckled softly at first, then louder, and the sound drove him to near madness.
"Please!" He extended his hands to her. "Talk to me. Just . . . talk to me."
Nightshade's gaze drifted from his fingers, up his tattooed chest, to his eyes. "We've nothing to discuss, Badgertail."
"I beg you," he implored. "Give me just one hand of time. Let me talk to you."
"All right. War Leader. But not now. Later. Tharon—"
"Tonight? At my home. I'll send a warrior to escort you."
"Tomorrow. There are rituals I must perform tonight. Now we must go. I have to discover what orders Tharon is about to give you."
"Orders?"
"Of course," she responded coolly. "Did you think he could hear about Spiral Mounds and not consider sending you out on another battle-walk? It will make him a hero."
The very thought of initiating another attack so soon after River Mound sent Badgertail's soul reeling. "What?"
Nightshade examined his squat face and began climbing again. She had entered the temple before he could force his feet to follow. He took the steps in leaps, bowed to the Six Sacred Persons, and sprinted inside to catch up with her.
Orenda peered from one of the doorways, her young face swollen from tears, her nose red. She clutched her huge doll against her breast. Her mouth opened. Feebly, she called, "Nightshade . . ." then glanced at Badgertail and vanished. The door-hanging swayed behind her.
Badgertail shook his head. In Orenda's entire nine cycles of life, he had heard her speak no more than three or four sentences. She never left the temple. She never played with other children. The little girl's only solace had been her mother, Singw. With Singw gone, how would the child survive?