The Next Skywatcher: Prequel to The Last Skywatcher Triple Trilogy Series (The Last Skywatcher, Anasazi Historical Thrillers with a Hint of Romance Book 1) (11 page)

Tuwa studied the boy. Invisible? What was he, a ghost? “How about you tell me one of their secrets? In exchange for your treasure of pointy teeth.”

Tootsa made a face. “A girl secret? You want a girl secret?”

“Sure,” said Tuwa, lying back again in the sunlight, letting it shine orange through his eyelids, his eyes watering. “Tell me a girl secret.”

“Well, okay. I guess maybe they said Chief Dog Poop was married to the daughter of an old man who watched the stars. They called him Grandfather Skywatcher. Anyway, Pók tried to kill his own son by throwing him into the trash pile. I thought that was funny. How could throwing somebody into a trash pile kill them?”

Tuwa opened his eyes and blinded himself with sunlight. He rolled away from Tootsa. Pók? Married to the daughter of Grandfather? He never knew that. No one had ever told him that before. That meant…Pók was married to Tuwa’s mother. He felt himself shaking. Surely the boy didn’t hear right.

“You truly heard them say exactly that?”

“Sure. I sneak around. Nobody knows I’m there. I even know where the cook hides the special food for The Builder. Whenever I want to, I can get to it before he does. He likes grubs roasted in bear fat, and so do I.”

Tuwa felt as if he’d been stabbed in the heart. Could Pók be…his father? He didn’t want to think that. How could his own father kill Grandfather, the most wise, most kind man who had ever lived? And his mother? Impossible. It couldn’t be. Tootsa was a foolish boy bragging and making up stories. He dismissed it. Tried to dismiss it, anyway.

“What does this albino woman do in the giant house?” he asked.

“I guess she just helps the pretty lady in the big mask. I feel sorry for her having to wear that thing. She sits with it on all day. Sometimes we poke our heads in and look at her.”

“Where does she sit?”

“With The Builder. He calls her his Goddess of the Future, which is stupid. He says she knows everything that’s going on. I don’t think she can really do that. I don’t think anybody can do that because I never know what’s going on anywhere except where I am already, and even then, I only know what’s going on where I’m looking and not what’s behind me, so nobody can know everything unless they’re looking at everything, and I don’t think they can.”

“What does this goddess woman look like? Have you seen her without the mask?”

“Lightfoot says he did once. Said she has long straight hair and is the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. But if that’s true, why would they make her wear a mask all the time? So I think he saw somebody else, and whoever wears the mask must be the ugliest girl he’s ever seen.”

Even Choovio turned and looked. He took a step toward Tuwa and Tootsa. “Chumana?” Choovio asked. Tuwa’s mind choked and he couldn’t even think her name. If Nuva had somehow escaped to live in the giant house, might Chumana have escaped with her? Tuwa didn’t want to allow himself to think it was possible.

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know what name.”

Tuwa couldn’t swallow. A surge of fire went through his veins. He met Choovio’s eyes. He didn’t dare hope.

Sowi stood as a running figure approached. “Natwani,” he announced.

Natwani stopped in front of Sowi and said, “We saw them on the second-beyond hill.” The Pochtéca had found Natwani a few summers ago far to the south. He spoke his words in strange patterns.

“Who?” Sowi asked.

“Two arrow warriors and the man with no black bush of hair.”

“What!” said Tuwa, forcing his brain to stop thinking of Chumana. He stood, his legs wobbly and head spinning. “Ihu? Are you sure?”

Natwani breathed hard from running and signed
yes
.

“How did he run?” Tuwa asked. “Show me.”

Natwani took a few steps with his arms hanging limp. “His arms no more work, like this.”

Choovio hurried to the storeroom where they had bound Ihu, and came back with his palms up.

Tuwa staggered backward as if he’d taken another blow. Ihu had escaped. Again.

Nuva stirred and blew
a few remnant coals in a small cooking fire to redden them, then added piñon charcoal. Fragrant smoke filled the upper two-thirds of the room. She worked with her head low, knees on a cushion of cotton cloth wrapped around yucca leaves and hummed as she warmed food.

Chumana came in, dressed in her Goddess of the Future costume, coughed with her head in the smoke, removed her heavy mask, peeled off her bluestone-studded gown, and fell onto her sleeping mat. She flung her arms above her head and stretched.

“Difficult today?” asked Nuva. She felt bad for Chumana, being trapped inside the perpetual inner darkness of this enormous building, wearing that costume most of the day, surrounded by men with the morals of snakes. At her age, she should be in the sun, carrying water from the creek, raising the walls of a new house, laughing with her friends. Even caring for a baby by now.

“The Builder wants to know more about children,” said Chumana. “Did that woman with the young runner tell you anything else?”

“You know everything I know, dear.”

“Maybe you should talk to her again. See if she remembers anything else. Surely she knows something more.”

“It’s too dangerous. She already risked her life coming here once. I won’t let her come here again.”

“But he keeps asking what the children who kill warriors are doing. Where they’re from. How they did it. How many there are. I need to tell him something.”

“If there’s news in this canyon, our girls will hear it and find ways to let us know. They always do.” Nuva stirred a small pot of thin vegetable stew with her favorite stick. “Leftovers from the kitchen were pathetic today.”

“I need a prediction or he’ll lose faith in me.”

“I know. Let me think. That band of children in Black Stone Town killing warriors will make something happen. Things are stirring. I feel it. People will become more paranoid. They’ll start being suspicious of children. And any witchcraft they think makes children attack warriors.”

The smoke began to clear. A whisper of breeze outside changed airflow even in the deep internal hallways of the High Priest’s palace, and clean air began to fill the room. Nuva gave a silent “thank you.”

“Yesterday, Pók was late to the council because The Builder started early with Tókotsi and Ráana. I think he wanted to show up Pók in front of them,” said Chumana. “And I told you about The Builder agreeing to give Ráana command of Pók’s guard. So today, Pók came in before anyone else except me. He looked right at me and said, ‘Do I keep you?’ Made my skin crawl. It’s like he was thinking out loud what to do with me after The Builder is gone. Maybe he’s planning something.” She rubbed her arms as if scrubbing herself clean.

“Interesting,” muttered Nuva. She poured soup into small bowls, guiding the bigger pieces of roots and corn dumplings with her stick into Chumana’s bowl. “Why would Pók want to take out The Builder? That’s who gives him his legitimate power. If The Builder is gone, Pók would have to bow to Tókotsi. Maybe even Ráana.”

“Maybe he has a plan to remove Tókotsi and Ráana, too.”

“Leaving him in charge of everything?” Nuva didn’t know if even Pók was crazy enough to try something that daring. If Pók took his guard and regulars against every warrior Tókotsi could stir up, Pók would probably win. Unless his own regulars or new recruits turned against him, which wouldn’t be likely.

“He’s crazy enough,” said Chumana.

“You think so?”

“I think he’s looking for new ways to shock everyone. He’s afraid of fading like the Day Star.”

“It might shock him if The Builder and Tókotsi won’t go down as easy as he hopes. Tókotsi supports The Builder because of his grand buildings. And because he doesn’t interfere with Tókotsi’s politics. The Owl Men and stonemasons are loyal to him. If Pók is really up to something, someone will talk to a girl and I will find out. I always do. You know that.”

“If he has
anyone
in his confidence. Pók keeps his mouth shut, even around the girls he beats.” Chumana still lay on her sleeping mat, staring at the smoke drifting against the ceiling.

Nuva sat the dinner bowl beside Chumana and sat on her own mat, warming her hands on the bowl of soup. She heard a soft cough from the hallway. Chumana sat up.

“They always do this,” Nuva said with a sigh. She took a sip of soup, then another, then another. “Ah,” she said. “That’s too hot to drink fast.”

“Maybe it’s news we need.”

Nuva set her bowl aside and then walked, bent low to keep her head in the freshest air, into the hallway. A single-flame lamp flickered in the corner, illuminating both directions. She crept to the edge and gripped her hand around it, showing only three fingers. A hand brushed hers. Nuva pulled her hand away. Three fingers curled around the corner and she saw three dots on the tips. She gently touched the three fingers with her own.

A voice barely above a whisper spoke from around the corner. Nuva recognized the speech of the head cook, and she listened intently, and then thanked the woman.

Nuva returned, standing normally, the room having mostly cleared of smoke. The hearth fire had died to smoldering coals again. She sat on her mat and picked up the bowl of lukewarm soup.

“Something?” Chumana asked. She had pulled on her sleeping clothes, a simple cotton shift.

“Cook said more people are about than usual, so she was as careful as a new informant. She just made three meals. Hearty ones for two exhausted archers and healing soup for a wounded man with no hair. She overhead the archers mention Black Stone Town, that all the others are dead.”

“Killed by children?”

“She didn’t say that. But the man must be Ihu. She said he ran all the way from Black Stone with arrows in his shoulders. He cannot use his arms and his cheek has been cut open. She had a helper slowly pour the soup into his mouth, and he kept gagging.”

Chumana hugged her knees and rocked. “Who did that to him? Who is killing the warriors in Black Stone Town? What’s happening?”

“She said the two archers were sullen. In shock. Not speaking.”

“They’re not used to being defeated. Especially by children. If that’s who did it.”

“Maybe other warriors from the South, enemies of the Másaw,” Nuva said.

“Maybe. But what if it’s something else?” Chumana fidgeted with her empty bowl and eating stick.

“Like what?” Nuva asked.

“What if Pók is behind it?” Chumana leaned closer to Nuva. “What if he’s using children to kill his own warriors? What if this is him making his move against The Builder and Tókotsi?”

“You are the fortuneteller. You tell me.”

Chumana gave a short laugh. “You think I’m starting to make up prophecies now for you, too?”

Nuva drained the last of the soup into her mouth, and stood. She sat her bowl beside the dying fire and collected Chumana’s bowl. “We don’t know he’s behind it,” said Nuva. “So let’s think about what we do know. Ihu just became Ráana’s top warrior. He’s not with Pók anymore.”

“We can’t count on that.” Chumana toyed with thick bluestone pieces strung on a necklace. “First a half-patrol is killed, by
children
, and Ihu escapes. Then all but two of a full patrol is missing, dead according to the archers, and Ihu escapes again. All in Black Stone Town, where Ráana is supposed to be the new top man. Doesn’t that sound like the hand of Pók?”

Chumana was on a roll. Nuva smiled. The girl was moody, but always did what she had to do. Usually well. It’s good to see her engaged, Nuva thought.

“But that’s not all,” said Chumana, raising her hand for emphasis. “Pók sent a full patrol of regular warriors to Black Stone after the first report of warriors killed by children. Then Chief Tókotsi sent Ráana to Black Stone with his last remaining guard that should be there soon. Everything is happening at Black Stone Town. Why? And with the Summer Council about to gather.”

Nuva nodded. It was indeed perplexing. The attacks were, for the moment, working in Pók’s favor. It shifted attention from Tókotsi trying to give control of the Másaw Warriors to Ráana. But children? And Black Stone? The towns and villages south of the canyon never resisted the warriors. And even to the north, where skirmishes often took place, children were never directly involved. They needed more information. “I know a woman who lives there,” said Nuva. “Raised in Three Waters, where I used to go once a year. Married a stone worker there. When her husband died, they sent her to Black Stone.”

“Is she one of us?” Chumana lifted her three tattooed fingers.

“Yes.”

“Will she send us a message?”

“If she is able. I’ll see if any Sisters are going that way, though for their sakes I hope not.”

“It will be slow. Too late to help us. I need something by tomorrow.” Chumana sat cross-legged and massaged her feet.

“We will think of something,” said Nuva. “We always do.” She looked around the room, thinking about hiding a girl runner. Haki would certainly send one. They would have to be ready for her.

“I wonder if Ráana knows about Ihu and the archers?”

“How would he?” asked Nuva. “Unless Pók sends a runner to him.”

“He wouldn’t,” said Chumana. “Pók does not like Ráana. He wants him to fail. But Tókotsi might try to send word.”