People of the Silence(32)

Snake Head smiled. He’d been a precocious child. He’d loved playing “tricks” on her, hiding, pretending to be hurt, shrieking and throwing fits to get her in trouble for mistreating him. Because Mourning Dove had been terribly afraid of what would happen to her if Snake Head really got hurt, she’d followed him everywhere he went, even when he’d sneaked off after grownups to study their forbidden actions away from town. As a result, she knew almost as many secrets about the elders of Talon Town as he did, though she could speak of those things only to him. If anyone else realized she knew so much, it would mean her life.

Over the last fourteen summers, Snake Head had watched her initial fear of him become an outright lust for revenge. It amused him. When he gazed into her eyes these days, he saw death looking back.

“You said you saw Sternlight leave town two hands of time ago,” Snake Head said. “And Ironwood went out about a hand of time later?”

Mourning Dove crushed her red dress in nervous fists. “Yes.”

Snake Head swirled his tea, watching the pale green liquid wash the sides of the clay cup. “I want you to stay in Creeper’s room tonight, where you have a view of the town entry.” He sipped the tea, watching her through narrowed eyes. “Wait until Sternlight and Ironwood return, and note the time. They’ve been leaving separately, but they almost always return together. I want to know how long they’ve been out scheming against me.”

Mourning Dove’s shoulders tightened. “What makes you think they’re discussing you?”

“Oh, they are. Trust me. Both of them are terrified of what will happen when I become the Blessed Sun.”

Mourning Dove watched him from beneath her long lashes. “And what will happen?”

Snake Head made a light gesture with his hand. “I will establish new alliances. My father loved to trifle with our enemies. He raided them, then let them raid us. The only way to turn the Fire Dogs into useful allies is to tame them. Perhaps I’ll even send a runner to the northern Tower Builders. They’re savages, but they might—”

“How will you tame the Fire Dogs?” Mourning Dove couldn’t quite hide the note of defiance. He’d touched the enduring fiber that ran through her. The light from the warming bowl cast a fluttering red gleam over her taut face.

“The same way people tame any dog.” Snake Head told her offhandedly. “I’ll throw them some scraps from our tables, maybe send them a great prize, or a supply of raw turquoise. I might even free some of our Mogollon slaves”—she glanced up at him and hope flickered in her eyes—“then, once they start to wag their tails every time they see us, we’ll mount an army the size of which they wouldn’t believe, run straight into the heart of their countries, and slaughter them by the thousands. After that,” he said with a smile, “they’ll be tame.” He sipped more tea.

Mourning Dove clenched her jaw. “My people will fight back.”

“That’s why we have to take them by surprise and wipe them out in huge numbers. The first rule of open warfare is strike fast and hard so you destroy your enemy’s will to fight back.” He propped his cup on his drawn-up knee. “Defeating a warrior is simple, Mourning Dove. You just kill all of his family so he has nothing left to fight for. To do that, you take a village when they least expect it. Kill all the women and children, burn it, and move to the next before anyone can raise the alarm.”

“You would wage open warfare?” she said disbelievingly.

“Of course. No more of this annoying hit-and-run raiding. It’s time the Straight Path nation—”

Mourning Dove blurted out, “I hope the gods strike you dead for it!”

“And for a great many other things, I wager.”

When she looked away, he laughed. The olivella shells on her red sleeves flickered in the light.

Snake Head set his cup aside and rose to his feet, towering over her.

Mourning Dove hastily bent to pick up the dishes again. “I—I must be going, Blessed Snake Head. I have to find Creeper, let him know I’ll be…”

As she started for the door, he blocked her path. “Not yet.” He ran his fingers down her throat. “I’ll send word that you will be late tonight.”

“Please, Snake Head, I must go. Creeper is preparing a special gift for the Blessed Featherstone, and he needs my help with the porcupine quillwork. He cannot do it alone.”

“Is he still wooing my cousin? What an old fool. Doesn’t Creeper realize she’ll never marry him?”

“He loves her, Snake Head. Truly, he does. I think Featherstone reminds him of his dead wife.”