Ironwood’s closest friend lay curled on his side, his face turned northward toward the road that led to the sacred sipapu. The Evening People’s radiance glinted in his blood-speckled eyes.
A hollow ache spread through Ironwood’s gut. My friend, gone.…
Brains showed through the crack in Wraps-His-Tail’s skull. Clearly, he’d been taken by surprise. His bow and his quiver of arrows were missing, but the slip knot securing his hafted stone knife to his belt remained intact. An eerie smile had frozen on his face—as if he’d seen his attacker and thought him a friend.
Who would kill him? And why? What purpose would his death serve? People killed out of hatred, fear, self-preservation—but behind all of those lay desperation. What could have driven a man to be desperate enough to kill Wraps-His-Tail?
The murderer knew what news he carried.
But what part? The child? No. Not even Wraps-His-Tail knew the truth about that. He had instructed Wraps-His-Tail to ask if Beargrass would return to be his deputy if open warfare broke out. Did the murderer fear what Ironwood would do when he heard Beargrass’ answer?
He raised his eyes to Webworm. The man’s square jaw tightened in response. I would have demoted you and put Beargrass in your place.
But Webworm and Beargrass had been great friends. Webworm simply didn’t have it in him to murder a friend over a question of status. Did he?
Ironwood returned his gaze to Wraps-His-Tail.
“What’s that in his hand?” Ironwood pointed.
“What?” Creeper asked. “His hand?”
Creeper reached out and tenderly uncurled Wraps-His-Tail’s cold fingers to pick up the object. A moment after he did, he let out a small cry and threw it on the ground. Furiously, he scrubbed his hand in the dirt.
The crowd surged forward, murmuring and craning their necks to see better.
“Blessed gods,” Creeper whispered. “It’s a badger’s paw. But … what’s it sprinkled with?”
“Corpse powder,” Ironwood answered, and shivered involuntarily. Powdered corpse flesh had a distinctive silver sheen that clung to the skin. In the light cast by the town, it glowed with a bizarre brilliance.
Harshly, Ironwood ordered, “Webworm, find Sternlight!”
* * *
Night Sun lay wrapped in two blankets at Crow Beard’s side. Through the pinned-back doorflap, she could see Ironwood and Sternlight standing outside the chamber, their tall bodies dark against a canvas of glittering stars. Ironwood had his arms folded across his broad chest. Sternlight stood against the wall. She only caught a few of their words, but Sternlight spoke calmly, patiently, while Ironwood’s deep voice had a bite to it.
“… why Wraps-His-Tail?” Ironwood asked. “… murder has reasons … who could possibly have known…”
Sternlight replied softly, and Night Sun did not hear his answer.
Her thoughts drifted. Thinking about Ironwood. About the first time they’d been alone together.
Blessed Spirits, what a long time ago … it seemed another life.
It had happened late in the Moon of Greening Grass.
Night Sun had spent all day supervising a difficult slave birth and had felt weary beyond exhaustion. As she’d crossed Talon Town’s moonlit plaza, desperate for sleep, she’d looked up and seen Crow Beard standing in the doorway to their chamber, silhouetted blackly against the golden glow of torchlight. He had his fists clenched at his sides and his legs spread as if bracing for a fight.
He’d been acting strangely for moons, growing more and more frightening with his sudden emotional outbursts, punishing the children for no reason at all—especially their two-summers-old daughter, Cloud Playing, which enraged Night Sun. And worried her.
Night Sun had climbed the ladders to the fifth story, and when she stepped off onto the roof, called, “Crow Beard? Is something wrong?”
Night Sun hurried forward, her Healing pack in her hands. As she neared the door, Crow Beard turned and walked inside. Night Sun followed, dropping her pack by the door, untying her turkey-feather cape and hanging it on a wall peg.
“What’s wrong this time?” she demanded.
Crow Beard slowly crossed the chamber and stood over their bed, staring at the rumpled red-and-black blankets. He wore a thin sleeping shirt. “You were out with one of my warriors, weren’t you?” he said in a tight voice. “While I slept, you—”
“What?” Night Sun blurted. “I was down helping with the birth of Running Doe’s daughter! You knew that. I told you!”
“You told me,” he mocked. “Yes, you did. But I know better. You were with one of my warriors!”
She stalked across the room, eyes blazing. “Crow Beard, what is wrong with you? You’ve been acting like a madman for moons! Accusing me of betraying you, slapping your daughter for no reason—”