Her father’s hold on Fledgling tightened. He yelled. “I know that, Webworm.”
Webworm! What is he doing here?
“Who is this boy’s real father?” Webworm demanded.
Fledgling squeezed his eyes closed, his expression one of sick fear.
“I am.” Beargrass tried to straighten his leg and choked a cry. Was that blood mottling the skin of his thigh?
“Don’t lie to me! I know his mother is the whore Night Sun! She will be punished for her crime. But we must find the father, too. Answer me! Is it my cousin Sternlight?”
Cries of outrage rose from his warriors. Such a mating would be incest! They glanced at each other uneasily.
Webworm paced back and forth, smacking the bloody war club on his palm, bellowing, “I know that Sternlight slept in Night Sun’s personal chamber while Crow Beard traded with the Hohokam! He must be the father!”
“Fledgling is my son,” Beargrass insisted angrily. “His mother…” His voice broke. “Was … was my wife, Thistle. You know this, Webworm. From the nights you sat at my fire, sharing my hospitality. I am telling you the truth!”
Cornsilk’s heart cried out in terror, No! Mother couldn’t be—
Webworm pointed at Beargrass with his war club. In the lurid glare, it shone amber. “You are calling the Blessed Sun a liar?”
“What is this madness?” Beargrass shouted. “Webworm, you know me! By the Blessed thlatsinas, I swear on my soul, I’m telling you the truth! This boy is my son by my wife! If the Blessed Sun says otherwise, he’s wrong!” Beargrass glared up through pain-slitted eyes, voice strained. “Even now, Webworm, after this atrocity, I’ll not call the Blessed Sun a liar—but I’ll say he’s mistaken!”
Sobs caught Cornsilk by surprise. She smothered the sound as best she could. Tears blurred her eyes and ran hotly down her face. The Blessed Sun had told Webworm to find a boy. What did that mean? Had her mother lied to her? But why would she?
Beargrass glared up at Webworm. “In all the years you fought at my side, shared cold and fatigue, did you ever see me act dishonorably? Did you ever question my loyalty, or courage?”
Webworm shook his head. His mouth moved, but Cornsilk couldn’t hear his answer.
Beargrass rose unsteadily to his feet, limping painfully on his bloody leg, and glared at the warriors in the plaza. “I risked my life to save many of you! That man who fought beside you, the warrior who shared your fire, and cared for you when you were wounded, tells you that you are wrong! This is my son, as the gods bear witness! You have murdered innocents! Do you wish two more murders on your souls? Any of you?”
Webworm slapped his war club into his palm. “I must do this, Beargrass! I have no choice. I have orders to leave no witnesses!”
Her father collapsed to the ground again and hugged Fledgling so tightly his arms shook. Cornsilk saw that Fledgling was crying. “Then for the sakes of your own souls, do it quickly!”
Webworm lifted a hand to someone outside Cornsilk’s vision, and shouted, “Gnat! Do … do it!”
The ring of warriors closed in, until six warriors stood framed in the window, blocking her view. Cornsilk blinked to clear her eyes of tears. Webworm tramped out of sight, then reappeared outside the square of burned buildings. He winced as he massaged his shoulder—the way a man would to soothe a wound—then sank to the ground, removed his buffalo helmet, and dropped his sweaty head in his hands.
Her father cried out sharply, a hollow smack sounded, and Fledgling screamed, high and clear—the sound cut off as if by a sliver of obsidian.
The group of warriors milled around for several instants, then one man cursed loudly, and they all began to back away.
Cornsilk raised herself on her elbows, shaking, eyes searching.
As the warriors filed out of the plaza, she glimpsed her father lying on his back. Blood soaked the front of his shirt, and across his stomach …
“Here!” Gnat walked up to Webworm and threw him something that resembled a hide ball.
Cornsilk thrust her sand-encrusted fist into her mouth to stifle the scream.
Webworm caught Fledgling’s head and tucked it beneath his good arm. “Gnat, take your men and finish this. Let no one live to tell this story.”
Gnat gestured to his warriors and returned to the smoke-stained village plaza.
Webworm looked at another warrior and cried, “Let’s go! That man was my friend.” He got to his feet. “We will make camp at the split in the road.”
He took off at a trot with ten or twelve men running after him.
Cornsilk watched them lope into the darkness.
She barely breathed.
More hideous shrieks split the night. Gnat and his men raced in front of the window. The howls of the killers mixed with the screams of her clan in a sickening roar. Old man Fat Cob stumbled in front of the window, his hands over his head, sobbing. A warrior ran up behind him with a club … and they disappeared from view. Little Snail’s childish voice shrieked, “No, please, I haven’t done anything wrong! Please, don’t hurt me! NO—”