People of the Silence(43)

Night Sun breathed deeply of the smoky air. A blue haze moved over the ceiling, trawling for the window, where it seeped outside. Next to the door on Night Sun’s left sat a water jar, clay cups, pots of dried meat and cornmeal. A pile of juniper wood stood stacked along the wall to her right. And … an old woman. She crouched there on a folded blanket, her gray hair awry, eyes dark and foreboding.

“Sweetwater? Are you well?”

“I’ve been better.” Perspiration matted her gray hair into tiny curls across her wrinkled forehead. Her black eyes glistened like obsidian beads. As Matron, she owned the lands and almost all the possessions in the village, including three of the five slaves.

Along the north wall, straight ahead of her, Star Hunter lay on bulrush sleeping mats, a red blanket covering her swollen belly. In her bloated face, her eyes had sunken into twin blue circles. Soaked black hair spread around her.

Night Sun leaned out the door, and called, “Cloud Playing, where is my pack?”

“Oh, Mother, forgive me,” her daughter answered, unslinging it and handing it over. She and Mite had been speaking in low voices. Mite’s expression had turned grave. “I was talking with Mite, and I—”

“Do as I say, quickly. Get a pitcher and fill it with water. Pour half into a pot and set it to boiling, then fetch me some fresh yucca roots. I don’t care how far you have to go to find them, do it, and do it now.”

Cloud Playing said, “Yes, Mother,” and ran back to Mite and Catbird, relaying her instructions. All three split in different directions.

Night Sun ducked inside again, removed her cape and tossed it on the floor, then set her pack down beside the water jar and cups. She unlaced the pack’s ties, pulled out a bag of dried mugwort leaves, dropped a pinch into a clay cup, and poured water over the top.

As she set the cup at the edge of the fire to warm, Star Hunter opened her eyes. “Hello, Blessed Night Sun.” A soft smile lit her face.

“Hello, Star Hunter. I wish you’d sent word to me. I could have been here before dawn.”

“Birthing always takes me so long, and I knew you would be here sometime today. You’re never late.”

“Besides,” old Sweetwater’s reedy voice broke in, “she doesn’t need you! The child is going to die. It’s too soon for it to be born. It should die. If it lives it will be a weak and worthless slave.”

Night Sun glared at the old woman. Sweetwater knew better than anyone how much Star Hunter loved this unborn child. From the first moon she had realized her pregnancy, she had been convinced it would be a boy—her first son. She had been weaving blankets and clothing, tanning rabbithides and sewing tiny moccasins. Four moons ago, Star Hunter’s husband, Whitetail, had showed Night Sun the little bow and arrows he had constructed for his son.

Night Sun went to kneel by Star Hunter’s side, feeling her fevered cheeks and forehead. Star Hunter leaned into the coolness of her hands. Firelight flickered over her face. “The child may die,” Night Sun said straightly, “but I will try to save it. When did the pains begin?”

“Last … night. Late,” Star Hunter replied.

“She took a fall yesterday,” Sweetwater said. “A bad fall. The gods tripped her. It was twilight and she went to dip melt water from the cistern in the sandstone. She tripped over nothing! And toppled face-first across the stone. It’s little wonder she’s birthing today. The gods wished her to lose the child. It probably has a very bad speck of dust in its head.”

Wickedness, bad dreams, and evil acts came from a tiny grain of dust that Spider Woman placed in the back of a baby’s head just before birth. It remained there forever.

“Have you checked the baby’s position?” Night Sun asked.

“Why should I? The sooner it dies, the better.”

“My mistress,” Star Hunter said, “will not even let my daughters touch me. I had a lonely night.”

“Well, I’m going to touch you. Let me see how the baby is lying. Raise your knees.”

Night Sun pulled the red blanket away from Star Hunter’s bulging belly and gently probed inside. “The child hasn’t turned. Its head isn’t down,” she said, and tried not to show her alarm.

“I know.” Star Hunter reached out and clasped Night Sun’s arm, tugging feebly. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault. Your fall was an accident.”

Sweetwater said, “The gods did it!”

“My gods are not so cruel,” Night Sun replied. “I’m sorry if yours are.”

Sweetwater’s ancient eyes slitted. “Are you saying that you don’t believe—”