People of the Silence(42)
Cloud Playing patted the old man’s shoulder and unslung her pack. She rummaged around inside and handed him something, then ran up the hill to Night Sun, the pack swaying on her back.
Cloud Playing said, “He’s from Yellow Moth Village in the south. He says the Mogollon raided there three moons ago.”
Night Sun looked down the trail after the elder. The fact that he walked alone, and his ragged appearance, told her a great deal. “Was his family killed?”
Cloud Playing nodded. “He says he thinks he has a great-granddaughter in the Green Mesa villages. He is on his way there. I gave him jerked venison for the trip.”
Night Sun smoothed her daughter’s hair. “Thank you. I should have asked. It’s a long journey for such an old man.”
“He has nowhere else to go, Mother. I pray his relatives are still living in the Green Mesas.”
She didn’t wish to dwell on sadness, not today. It would make her think of her despicable son, Snake Head, or worse, her husband Crow Beard. Crow Beard had been cruel to her the morning she and Cloud Playing had left—accusing her, once again, of infidelity with one of his slaves. She shifted the pack she carried and let out a breath. If Crow Beard so much as suspected her of smiling at another man, he punished her with silence. He couldn’t cast her out, because she owned everything, his chambers, his lands, even his children. But he could make her feel like an outcast—and did it with great skill.
As she walked down the rise, she heard a shrill voice Singing the Mogollon Migration Song, the sacred Song about the Hero Twins’ destruction of the second underworld.
They went out,
Now they went,
They crushed, crushed, crushed it,
they killed all the people,
all the people are dead,
Now they cry,
they cry and cry …
A sharp voice split the silence: “Shut up that Singing! You hear me, Catbird?”
A sullen, “Yes, sister,” drifted on the wind.
Night Sun saw the six-summers-old slave girl come from behind a fallen boulder; the stick dragging behind her was making wavy patterns in the dirt. As she looked up and saw Night Sun and Cloud Playing, her mouth gaped, revealing missing front teeth. The girl shouted: “Mite! They’re here!”
“Who?”
“The Blessed Night Sun and her daughter! Just as Mother said!” Catbird threw down her stick and raced up the trail, her brown dress flying about her legs. She threw her arms around Night Sun’s waist with such strength it made her stagger. “Mother said you were coming. She told us last night! Oh, she will be so glad to see you. She’s having the baby!”
“The baby?” Night Sun felt weak. “But it isn’t supposed to be coming—not for another two moons.”
“Just the same, she’s having it.”
Night Sun disentangled herself from the child’s grasp and hurried down the sandy slope.
Mite stepped out of the house. Sixteen, and plump, she filled her faded green dress. She had her black pigtails tied together at the nape of her neck. “Thank Wolf,” she said. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”
“Is your mother all right?” Night Sun asked as she approached the low doorway. The dwelling had no more than eight contiguous rooms, including a granary, and storerooms built like human swallow’s nests into the overhang. The layered sandstone construction of the wall could be seen through gaps where the plaster had spalled off. Two paintings of the Humpbacked Flute Player, one male, the other female, adorned the dwelling. The twin images of fertility added to the ironic neglect of fields, people, and structures.
A framed ramada stood in the flat that served as a plaza. Corn shucks and shreds of juniper bark rattled in the wind. Four young women sat beneath the shelter, grinding corn. To the right of the plaza, a small kiva had been dug into the ground, the roof sagging around the two legs of the ladder that stuck up from the roof entry. Soft male voices carried from inside. The familiar songs pled for health and well-being, imploring the female Flute Player to ease the labor and allow a healthy birth.
“I’m not certain.” Mite’s shoulders slumped, mirroring the worry in her plump face.
Night Sun ducked inside the living quarters. The sloping rock of the overhang itself served as the roof, leaving just enough space to stand up. The villagers mixed their clay with local dirt before plastering it on the face of the building, which made the village almost invisible. Except for the three small windows and single doorway, it seemed to be part of the golden canyon wall.
Night Sun blinked in the dimness. A fire crackled in the pit in the middle of the floor. The paintings covering the walls jumped out at her. Half-beast, half-man, the thlatsinas Danced around the room. The White Wolf peered directly at her, ears pricked, a rattle in one hand, a dancestick in the other. He had his teeth bared, warning all those who dared enter with evil thoughts to cleanse their hearts before taking another step.