“When I ought to have slapped you!” he shouted, and shook both fists in her face.
Night Sun took a step back. He wouldn’t dare. As Matron of Talon Town, she could divorce him and leave him with nothing. “You have no right, my husband, to disgrace me by making such charges. You are the only man I’ve ever been with. The only man I ever wish to—”
“Don’t lie to me!” Crow Beard grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her until she thought her neck might snap.
“Stop! Crow Beard, stop! Stop it!” she yelled. When he didn’t, Night Sun drew back and slapped him with all the strength she could muster.
He gasped, startled, and gazed down at her—eyes wild with struggle and despair. “I’ll kill you before I’ll let someone else have you! Do you understand me? I’ll kill you!”
Frightened, exasperated, Night Sun had run from the chamber, hurrying down the ladders, then across the western plaza and out into the moonlit desert. She followed the curve of the towering canyon wall eastward toward Kettle Town. Sister Moon hung directly overhead, wavering through wispy clouds like an oblate silver shell. Her gleam tarnished the massive cliffs, glittered off the corn plants lifting their first leaves, and lit Night Sun’s way as she strode down the road.
Despite the time, dozens of fires sprinkled the canyon bottom, twinkling and flashing as the wind blew.
Night Sun hugged herself. She should have grabbed her cape. The spring chill ate at her flesh.
This nonsense had begun last summer. Crow Beard had suddenly started following her, showing up unexpectedly at Healings, or birthings, staying just long enough to assure himself she was indeed where she’d told him she would be. When she returned to their chamber later, he’d be lying with his back to her, and no matter how she tried to soothe him, he refused to discuss it.
And she’d noticed other things. His hair had started to thin. Every time she cleaned his juniper-bark hairbrush, black strands came out in handfuls. Worse, he’d told her he could no longer “be” with her beneath the blankets. Night Sun assumed he must be going through the Calming that men experienced at his age; he might wobble for a time, but would soon find his footing again, and everything would be all right. If she just pampered and petted him, all would be well.
But he seemed to be getting worse.
She’d seen him trifling with the slave girls, touching them intimately … and said nothing.
Night Sun broke into a run, her yucca sandals padding down the moonlit trail as breath tore in and out of her lungs. Windblown gravel grated beneath her feet. “Blessed sky gods,” she called in a choking voice, “tell me how to make it better! There must be a way to fix this!”
She thought she heard faint footfalls behind her, but saw only wind in the new corn. A coyote howled on the canyon rim high above her, and she looked up. Twinkling Evening People peered down at her.
Night Sun ran faster, trying to drive the misery from her soul. When she reached Kettle Town, the colonnade—like huge teeth—seemed to be leering at her. She veered right, taking the trail that led down to Straight Path Wash. Rain had fallen two days ago, and a silver ribbon of water flowed in the bottom of the ravine.
She ran headlong for it. Nothing she did pleased Crow Beard. There had actually been a time last moon when Crow Beard had looked at her with hatred in his eyes. Since that moment, her loneliness had been growing, eating holes in her soul.
A stone thrust up in the middle of the road, but Night Sun didn’t see it until too late. She tripped and toppled into the fresh green grass that lined the way.
“Ah!” she grunted as pain lanced her ankle.
Moccasins sounded on the path, and she saw a tall man running toward her. “Blessed Night Sun,” he said in a deep voice, “did you harm yourself?”
He knelt in front of her, his eyes looking over her face and body, in concern. It was the new War Chief, Ironwood. She had barely noticed him at the ritual installation a summer ago, but she knew his reputation. He’d led a strange life. He’d married at the age of fourteen summers, but his wife and son had both died in childbirth less than a sun cycle after the ceremony. In his grief, he’d vowed never to touch a woman again. And he’d kept that vow, dedicating himself to the arts of war. He’d become a legendary warrior. People in small villages whispered that Ironwood was really one of the Great Warriors in disguise, come to save the Straight Path people from destruction.
Night Sun smiled. God or not, he was a handsome man. He wore his long hair in a braid, and the style accented the oval shape of his face, the high arch of cheekbones, and the strong line of his jaw.