Moon Bright gazed intently at Ironwood. “After his father’s death, Snake Head appointed Webworm as his new War Chief.” Her grip on Ironwood’s arm tightened. “His first order was that Webworm find Night Sun’s misbegotten spawn and kill it.”
Blood throbbed in Ironwood’s ears. “What … what did she tell Snake Head? Did she defend herself?”
“No.” Moon Bright’s ancient head shook. “Night Sun insisted that there was no child!”
“Then how—”
“Sternlight claimed that the child lived.”
Ironwood’s mouth opened, but words refused to form.
“Webworm gathered his warriors and left immediately for Lanceleaf Village. They followed Straight Path Wash north. He had orders to—”
“Thank you, Matron.” Ironwood patted her hand and turned to watch Dune. The holy man had made it halfway down the ladder. “When the Derelict arrives, please tell him the news. I will meet him in the chief’s chamber later. But, now, I must go.”
He had to speak with Sternlight, find out what he’d told Webworm—it couldn’t have been the truth. Of that, Ironwood was certain. And he had to see Night Sun. Locked in the Cage by her own son’s order! Her heart would be breaking.
Moon Bright gave Ironwood a shove. “Go on. Hurry.”
* * *
Night Sun sat alone on the dirt floor, her head leaned back against the wall. A terrible darkness closed in around her, pressing on her ears and eyes until she longed to scream. No sound penetrated the gloom, though earlier she had heard the cries of the people in the plaza, some demanding her release, others her death.
Moisture dripped from the ceiling and ran down the wall behind her like forlorn tears. She had no blanket, and the dampness clawed at her bones. She had loosed her long, graying black hair and feathered it over her shoulders for warmth, but she’d been shivering for a long time. How long, she did not know. Time had ceased.
The room spread two body-lengths square. She had walked it over and over. It had no wall benches, no hearth, no ventilation shaft, only a hole in the roof through which a ladder could be lowered. A red clay pot, for her bodily wastes, sat in the southwestern corner. She had received neither food nor water since her imprisonment, and thirst plagued her, as if a dry root had lodged in her throat.
Those things, she could stand.
It was that other darkness, the sick despair, that sucked away her strength.
For the first time in her life, Night Sun was truly alone. Crow Beard had left her, and no matter how much she tried to convince herself she was better off, her soul wobbled for balance, as if she’d broken a leg. She and Crow Beard had grown used to each other over the summers. That familiarity had brought some measure of comfort to their strange lives. She had counted on him, not for emotional support, or love, but for advice on clan bickering, an occasional approving smile, discussions about their children. Things no one else could provide.
Night Sun drew up her knees and braced her chin on them, staring into the darkness. Her people wouldn’t condemn her based upon rumor or gossip, but if proof of her infidelity could be found, they might decide she deserved to die, or be banished. It would be the same. Banishment would tear her from her home, throw her into the desert to slowly waste away. None of the Made People clans would dare take her in. And her relatives among the First People—shamed by the revelations of her conduct—wouldn’t give her refuge.
A raven cawed outside, loud and raucous, perhaps engaged in a battle over food, and her mind wandered. Could there truly be a child? How? Had Sternlight lied?
For three moons before Crow Beard left on his trading mission to the Hohokam, he had tormented her and mistreated Cloud Playing. Night Sun had been so distraught she had actually contemplated divorcing him, which would have disgraced them both.
She’d found herself in the monster’s belly before she realized what was happening. A smothering blackness had swallowed her soul, and she’d become a stranger to herself. At that point she hadn’t even recognized the face of the woman who stared back from her pyrite mirror. Those haunted eyes could not be hers.…
Desperate, she had focused on the nearest human face with any kindness in it. She’d fought to cling to that person long enough that she could follow the awl prick of light and crawl out of the blackness.
That face had belonged to Ironwood.
She had turned to him—and he’d loved her with all of his soul.
When her pregnancy had begun to show, Night Sun had locked herself in her chambers and forbidden even her most faithful slaves, Young Fawn and Mourning Dove, to enter. The only one she had trusted had been her nephew, Sternlight. He had brought her food and water, played the flute for her, and talked in gentle tones to soothe her fears.