“Do you know this man?” Snake Head demanded. He took the opportunity to step away from Sternlight and seemed to breathe easier as he turned toward Webworm.
“Yes,” Webworm answered. “Beargrass was Ironwood’s deputy long before me, and I—I have visited his house in the past, whenever I ran the road that goes by Lanceleaf Village.”
“Good,” Snake Head said. “Then you know what his children look like—”
“No! No, I don’t. I haven’t seen the children in many summers.” Well, he remembered Beargrass’ beautiful daughter very well, but truly he couldn’t recall the boy at all.
Snake Head irritably waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Find the boy. Kill him and be done with it.”
Night Sun had broken out in a sweat. Beads of moisture dotted her straight nose and forehead. She stared blankly at Sternlight. The priest simply stared back.
“Sternlight?” Night Sun said.
At a soft gasp everyone spun around.
Crow Beard’s head rolled to the side, and he lay very still.
“Oh…” Night Sun whispered.
Snake Head rushed over and placed a finger over the large vein in the Chief’s neck, checking for a pulse. After several moments, he announced, “My father is dead. As the only male in my lineage, I rule now. I—”
“Wait,” Sternlight said. He knelt beside Snake Head and examined the Chief’s face, touching his temple, then picking up one of Crow Beard’s hands and pressing on the thumbnail to see if the blood retreated and did not return. “He may be dead, but we can’t be certain. He has done this five times in the past sun cycle. He may be on another Soul March to the afterworld. We must put him in a kiva for a few days to see if he returns to us.”
Snake Head’s lip curled. He turned to Webworm. “Regardless, he looks dead, so I am in charge. My first act is to name this man, Webworm, as the new War Chief. I have always wanted my cousin Webworm at my side.”
The abrupt advancement staggered Webworm. At first, he didn’t understand, and then, in a moment of sheer terror, he realized the meaning. A sick feeling settled in his gut, as if he’d stabbed Ironwood in the heart. A new Chief with even a thread of respect would have allowed Ironwood the chance to step down on his own. Dismissing him as War Chief would dishonor Ironwood, and the brave warrior did not deserve such treatment.
Snake Head gestured imperiously at Webworm. “Go, War Chief. Carry out my father’s wishes. Find my mother’s wretched spawn and kill it.”
“Yes, my chief.”
But as Webworm backed away, he noticed that neither Sternlight nor Night Sun had moved. They continued to stare at each other like frozen corpses.
Seventeen
Wind Baby tormented the hem of Ironwood’s red shirt as he and Dune hurried for Talon Town. In the sky, a moisture-spawned halo encircled the flaming face of Father Sun. Eerie light filtered through the halo, turning the shadows from gray to a smoky azure. Before him, the land descended toward the rim of Straight Path Canyon in layers of pale slickrock.
Center Place perched near the canyon rim just ahead, its white walls gleaming in the diffuse light. The large town contained over one hundred and thirty-three rooms and was ruled over by a diminutive old woman named Weedblossom. Few people lived there, however. All of the inhabitants were holy people, guardians of the legendary Rainbow Serpent.
The sound of voices Singing and pots shattering carried in the air.
Ironwood watched a young priest leave Center Place carrying a handful of sherds to the sacred Broken Pottery mound in front of the town, where he tossed the fragments down, lifted his arms to the sky and Sang.
“I always feel uneasy up here,” Ironwood said. “They free so many souls every day—which means I’m surrounded by ghosts, and I don’t even know it.”
Dune’s mouth widened in a toothless grin. “Be glad you’re blind to them.”
Ironwood cocked his head. “Why? Are they cursing me to my face?”
“And to your back,” Dune said. “Especially your victims.”
Ironwood plucked a piece of pottery from the road and turned it in his hands, studying the black-and-white geometric designs. “Tell them I regret the sorrow I caused them.”
“I already have, War Chief.”
Center Place served as the spiritual crossroads to the after-worlds. All souls began their journey from this point, even those born at great distances.
To make certain their relatives found the afterworld, caring families used a “soul pot” to capture and hold a dying relative’s last breath. Then, during major ceremonials, they brought the pot to Center Place, paid the priests, and left, knowing that the holy people would, someday soon, shatter the pot and free their relative’s soul to run the road to the afterworld.