People of the Silence(245)
“What do you have in the sacks?” Creeper asked.
“Sandhill Crane cleaned out the slaves’ chambers. The slaves ran so fast none of them had time to take their belongings. These came from Mourning Dove and Swallowtail’s spaces. I thought you might wish to go through them.” Webworm tilted his head awkwardly. “I know how much you miss Mourning Dove. It occurred to me that a keepsake, something she loved, might help.”
“Thank you, Blessed Sun.”
Webworm came forward and held out the sacks. Creeper took them and set them on the floor near the fire bowl. As he untied the laces, he said, “Mourning Dove would have been very happy to see you as the Blessed Sun.”
Webworm walked to peer out the eastern window at Propped Pillar. “I still can’t believe the story you told about how she saw me as the fulfillment of Fire Dog prophecies.”
“But she did.”
Creeper turned over Mourning Dove’s sack and gently poured it onto the floor. What a pitiful collection: a crudely made pair of sandals; a piece of broken pottery that had been sanded to a round shape and hung on a cord as a pendant; a brown dress, tattered and worn thin on the elbows; a beautiful red dress—the one Snake Head had given her. Creeper picked it up with two fingers and dropped it a short distance away. He had touched it. A few other things completed the collection, none of them important. Creeper tenderly ran his fingers over the pendant. He’d seen her wear it many times. Slipping it around his own neck, he arranged it over his heart.
“Yes,” Creeper said, “she believed. I think she spent her whole life working to make certain you became the Blessed Sun.”
The words seemed to make Webworm uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know how to take that. I feel so incompetent, I’m afraid she might be right.”
“That you will destroy the Straight Path nation?” Creeper chuckled. “I don’t think so. It may take you some time to get used to the position, but you will do very well, Webworm. You have the heart of a great leader. And Featherstone will help you, as much as she can. I have always prayed that the two of you would one day lead this nation.”
“Did Swallowtail believe I was the fulfillment of the prophecies? I never knew him very well.”
“I can’t say. But I do know he hated Snake Head. Swallowtail would have done anything to bring Snake Head down and put someone else in his place. That poor boy watched his mother abused over and over, and because he was a slave there was nothing he could do about it. It wounded him deeply. As a child, Swallowtail used to beg me to tell him that I was his father. Of course, I couldn’t.”
“Do you think Snake Head was his father?”
Creeper shrugged. “Mourning Dove would never tell me, but the boy looked like Snake Head. He had the same tall body and dark eyes, and I know that Snake Head gave her permission to bear the child. I just assumed…”
Creeper’s voice faded as he emptied Swallowtail’s sack onto the floor. Several small bags rolled out, then a fine obsidian blade, the one he used for butchering, a beautiful jet figurine, and a cord-wrapped tube of fabric. “What a strange collection.”
Webworm crouched opposite Creeper and frowned down at the figurine. “He must have stolen that.” As he picked up the exquisite jet, his brows arched. “This is such fine workmanship, I’m sure it comes from the Hohokam.”
“Swallowtail did pester the Traders who came through from that region. He had a curious obsession with Hohokam stonework, but he could never have purchased such an item. You must be right. He stole it.”
Creeper loosened the ties on one of the small bags and smelled it. “Mugwort leaves. What’s in that one close to you?”
Webworm lifted the small red bag and took a good sniff. His nose wrinkled. “Goldenweed. These are Healing herbs. And good quality. Expensive.”
Creeper picked up the cord-wrapped tube of fabric. “I wonder what this is?”
He untied the knot and removed the cord. When he shook the fabric pack out, he noticed that four black spirals decorated the bottom. “I don’t understand. Only women from the Red Lacewing family are allowed to use this symbol. I wonder where—”
“It can’t be!” Webworm sank to the floor. His square-jawed face went pale; he held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
Creeper handed him the pack.
Webworm turned it over and over, studying the weave of the cotton thread, the yucca ties, the four perfect black spirals. Tears beaded his lashes. He lowered the pack to his lap. “This is Cloud Playing’s pack, Creeper. She always carried it when she went on the Healing trips with her mother.…” Web-worm’s gaze went to the small bags of herbs, and his lips parted with words that wouldn’t come. Finally, he whispered, “Blessed gods.”