The Next Skywatcher: Prequel to The Last Skywatcher Triple Trilogy Series (The Last Skywatcher, Anasazi Historical Thrillers with a Hint of Romance Book 1) (14 page)

Tuwa’s head churned for a response. Was this sympathy? Or some kind of accusation? He would have shaken his head if it didn’t hurt.

A small rock struck and skittered near them. They both looked up and saw Sowi waving his arm.

“They’re here,” said Tootsa.

“Who?” asked Tuwa, getting up to join Sowi at the rim overlook.

“We’re about to find out,” said Tootsa with a shrug.

Tuwa shook his head without thinking and regretted it. Talking to the boy made his head feel fuzzy again, and shaking it didn’t help. He walked up the slope and glanced back, expecting Tootsa to follow, but the boy trotted back to the pond. Going for a wade again? Now? He mentally shook his head and before he reached Sowi, he looked back again. Tootsa had gathered his belongings and carried them away from the low pond, up the rise on the other side. Tuwa paused to watch the boy duck into a pile of rocks near the high spot. Strange boy. He seemed as much of the spirit world as the physical, but a kid familiar with the canyon and good at the art of hiding wasn’t bad to have around at the moment.

“What?” asked Tuwa to Sowi, who uncharacteristically said nothing. He nodded to the road coming from the north. After a moment for his eyes to focus and adjust, Tuwa saw what he meant. A group of warriors trotted in loose formation. Going south. Toward Black Stone.

After they tramped by, Sowi let out a sigh. “Do you think they can follow our trail?” he asked, the muscles around his eyes tight.

“No way,” said Tuwa. “We left the road stepping only on stones, like Tootsa showed us.”

Tuwa looked to the rocks where Tootsa had hidden. Any chance the boy would set them up to be caught? What might be his reward? Then he remembered the pointed warrior teeth the boy carried in that pouch of his. He would never want to be caught with those. Is that why he hid himself so well? Not willing to be caught? But somehow willing to get a reward for turning in the Pochtécans? Tuwa shook his head slowly. No. The boy truly feared and hated the warriors.

Tuwa told Sowi to take a break while he kept watch. Choovio had moved to a new vantage point. The afternoon shadows lengthened. Tuwa started when a pebble skittered past. Tuwa saw Choovio point north up the road with an arrow. Tuwa looked and saw a single man coming fast. He wore the headdress of an official runner. Trying to catch the warriors who had just passed? Perhaps. Tuwa scratched his ear and wondered what that could mean. What message he might carry.

Before the sun went down, just before the world filled with hazy light that cast no shadow, a low whistle from Choovio made him look at the road again. Another group of warriors trotted from the north, heading south into Black Stone. Why wouldn’t the two patrols travel together? Perhaps that runner was sent to tell the first group that the second was close behind.

He didn’t have time to think. He heard a stone shift and saw Choovio running toward him, crouched low to stay below the sight line from the road. “Look to town,” he said as he dropped beside Tuwa and crawled to peer over the rim.

Tuwa looked and saw the first group of warriors returning at a fast trot. They would meet the second group right below. Tuwa’s heart leaped into his throat. They were so close they would able to hear if they spoke in loud voices. Sowi joined them, his eyes wide.

What was going on here? Were they joining forces to charge up the mesa and attack the Pochtécans? Had Tootsa left a sign on the road? Tuwa glanced to the rocks where Tootsa disappeared. He saw nothing.

To Sowi and Choovio, Tuwa said, “All the archers at the rim, ready to fire. Tell them to wait for their best shot, then run to those rocks.” He pointed to Tootsa’s hiding place.

“We can’t kill this many,” Sowi said. “We should escape now. We shouldn’t even have come this way. Getting closer to them doesn’t make any sense.”

“The first of us to fire will run, and the last to fire will slow them,” said Choovio. He cuffed Sowi on his shoulder, and they went to gather the archers.

Tuwa peered over the rim. The two groups of warriors had stopped not far apart. The leaders gestured to each other and seemed to be talking. They could be planning to turn and rush up the mesa where the orphans were still collecting their weapons, unprepared for an attack. Tuwa cupped his hands behind his ears and concentrated on the two leaders. He heard “traitors” and then “kill all of you!” Another voice called, “You fool!” and then the two groups rushed together and began fighting.

Dust rose in the last direct sunlight of the day as they fully engaged each other, and fighting quickly became man to man. Better warriors killed their opponents quickly and moved their focus to another man, and then another. Soon only about a quarter of the men moved among the dust and still fought, the frenzy slowed to circling pairs trading tired blows. Choovio and Sowi joined Tuwa and they watched.

“What are they doing?” asked Sowi. “They’re killing each other,” he said, answering his own question.

“Runner,” said Choovio, pointing to where a lone man stood halfway up the mesa, perilously close to them, watching the fight below. He looked like the same one who had chased down the patrol going to Black Stone.

“Should we get him?” whispered Sowi.

“Only if he sees us,” said Tuwa.

A few moments later, only two warriors remained. Their arms hung limp and they stepped carefully among their fallen comrades, the dust wafting away to reveal a killing field. One made a slow-motion attack, the other countered, and they swung their clubs hard at each other’s heads, connected, and collapsed. Every fighter lay on the road, not a single man standing.

Stones skittered down the slope as the runner moved at an angle down to the road near the pile of dead men. He stood a moment surveying the scene, and then sprinted north toward the canyon.

Tuwa leaned back from where he had been holding himself forward on tense arms, and relaxed. What had just happened? And why? It made no sense.

“Should we collect weapons?” Choovio asked.

“We’ve got plenty of weapons,” said Sowi. “We should go south or west before they even think of looking for us.”

“Why would they kill each other like that?” Tuwa asked. He saw Tootsa pop out of his hiding spot and run toward where they sat.

“What happened?” Tootsa asked when he arrived, peeping over the rim.

“You don’t already know?” asked Tuwa, watching Tootsa’s face. He saw nothing that made him think the boy had foreknowledge.

“Let’s go see,” Tootsa said, hopping over the rim and running down the loose talus slope.

Tuwa tried to stop him, but it was too late. He watched Tootsa and shrugged. “Maybe we should.” He stood, looked at Choovio who said nothing, and Sowi who shook his head in disapproval, and then Tuwa jumped over the side. Choovio followed. Other boys jumped, and when Tuwa reached the flat ground near the road he noticed Sowi had come over the rim as well.

The warriors lay in a surprisingly small space, as if they had just stood their ground and fought to the death. A few eyelids fluttered and limbs trembled, but their injuries looked beyond help.

“Look,” said Choovio, pointing along the north road.

Tuwa turned in terror, expecting more warriors. But he saw only a slender figure on the high point of the road. The runner. Looking back. Watching.

“Think we could catch him?” Sowi asked.

“No,” said Tuwa, clenching his fists. Tootsa had gone over too quickly. He didn’t want to split the group, and he doubted Sowi could catch the runner anyway. After Ihu, he doubted he could, either.

Tootsa began leaping among the fallen warriors as if looking for something. More pointed-tooth treasure, Tuwa suspected. Then Tootsa stooped over a body and stared at the face.

“Do you know that one?” Tuwa asked.

“My uncle. Ráana,” he said.

Tuwa recognized him as one of the leaders, the one who had shouted “You fool!”

“Why would he do this?” asked Tuwa.

Tootsa looked around, then back to his uncle’s face. “These are Southern Guard,” he said, pointing to the warriors who had been with his uncle. “My great-grandfather gave Black Stone to my uncle. I guess he was coming to take it.” Tootsa pointed to the ones who had turned back from Black Stone. “Those are regulars from the canyon. Chief Dog Poop orders them around. He never liked my uncle much.”

“Have they fought each other before?”

Tootsa shook his head and gave a weak
no
sign with his hand.

Tuwa looked back along the north road to where the runner had stood watching. He was gone.

With a shout, Tootsa jumped back in alarm, slipping on blood-soaked bodies, and skittered on all fours to hide behind Choovio. Ráana’s eyes had opened. He blinked and sat up.

Ráana turned and looked over the fallen warriors, the young Pochtécans standing among them with their bows and clubs, and he struggled to his feet, stood unsteadily. He had a horrendous wound to the side of his head. Blood flowed in a sheet down his neck and arm. “Children warriors!” he said, his words slurred. His eyes rolled wildly. “You’ve killed us!” He turned away and lurched like a wounded animal to the northwest, leaving the road and cutting cross-country.

“Should I stop him?” asked Choovio.

Tuwa’s mind froze. He couldn’t decide what to do.

“Let him go,” said a familiar voice. They turned to see The Pochtéca standing at the bottom of the mesa slope, his crumpled red hat at an odd angle on his wounded head.

Tuwa felt a weight lift from him.

“He’ll bring more warriors,” said Sowi.

“Let him, if he survives,” said The Pochtéca, his voice booming like the old days. “The more warriors here, the fewer in the canyon where we’ll be.”

“What?” asked Sowi. “We should run away, now, as fast as we can!”

“Absolutely not,” said The Pochtéca. “I still have my bluestone to collect. And you young rebels need your revenge.”

Tuwa nodded. And grinned in spite of his surroundings and the lingering ache in his head. The Pochtéca was back. And he was right. He turned to Tootsa. “What will your uncle do?”

“No good. He’ll tell the Big Chief, and he won’t like it.”

“Big Chief of…?”

“The Southern Alliance. Ráana is his top man. The Chief is his grandfather.”

“Your great-grandfather?”

Tootsa nodded.

It made no sense. Why would the boy live like this if his great-grandfather was head of the Southern Alliance? “Do you want to help your uncle?” Tuwa asked.

“Oh, no. I don’t even like him seeing me.”

“Why?”

Tootsa looked down, his eyes moving from place to place. “Because. He killed my mother and father. And my sisters. I think he’d kill me if he could. But I know where to hide. I’m good at hiding.”

“Where will you hide?”

“In the canyon. With the Wild Boys.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to hide outside the canyon? Somewhere farther away?”

“No, no, no. It’s much safer in the canyon. The flute player protects us.”

Tuwa glanced at The Pochtéca, who had a puzzled look. “Flute player? How can a flute player protect you?” Tuwa asked. This boy Tootsa always had surprises. That worried Tuwa.

“Chief Dog Poop and those warriors are afraid of the flute music. They think it casts spells over them. So wherever the flute player makes his music, the warriors won’t go.”

Tuwa puzzled over that. It made the barest of sense. “So you hide there.”

“Sure. And we take the flute player food. He’s a funny man. All bent over.”

Enough of the flute player, Tuwa thought. He would have shaken his head, but pain still gripped it. He felt tired and confused and the mention of Pók made his stomach churn again. He hated the man for even the possibility he could be his father. The closer they got to Center Place Canyon, the less sense things made and the more Pók entered his mind. He would have given anything to be in a nice meadow beside a creek high in the mountains to sleep for a week. But instead, they had to run. Straight toward the head of the snake. What if Nuva is alive, if there’s even a chance Chumana survives? Maybe Sowi is the wise one. Maybe they should get out while they could. Instead, Tuwa imagined finding Chumana and Nuva and escaping with them, perhaps along with The Pochtéca and his bluestone. And just leave the evil in the canyon? Leave Pók alone and do nothing? Never go home to the Village of Twins? Could he just leave all that?

The Pochtéca came to Tootsa and looked at him. “And what do you think the runner who just left here will do?”

“Oh, he’ll tell Dog Poop,” said Tootsa.

“The one you call Pók, the Chief Warrior? And what will he do?”

“Well, I’d like to see that,” said Tootsa. “He’ll get so mad, he’ll probably cut that runner’s heart out.”

“Perfect,” said The Pochtéca. “Your uncle tells the Big Chief, and the runner tells Pók, the Chief Warrior. They’ll make us out to be the most fearsome band of orphans the world has ever seen.” The Pochtéca grunted as he sat hard on the ground near Tootsa, dead warriors stretched out around him. “You said we would be safer in the canyon than outside of it. Is there a secret way there you can take us? Can you hide us when we’re there?”

Tootsa’s eyes drifted away from The Pochtéca. “Maybe.”

“Only ‘maybe’?” asked The Pochtéca.

“I’m not like those stupid stonemasons who work for The Builder for nothing.”

“Ah,” said The Pochtéca. “You want to trade. Okay, young…what’s your name?”

“Tootsa.”

“Okay young Tootsa. Make an offer.”

Tootsa licked his lips. “All the pointed teeth that are here.”

The Pochtéca gave Tuwa a puzzled look. Tuwa signed that it was good. The Pochtéca shrugged. “Good. We have an agreement.” He started to get up.

“And your shirt with the jingling bells,” said Tootsa.

“Oh, no. That’s far too precious. You take your treasure, and I’ll take mine. Or we’ll find our own way into the canyon, and maybe we’ll take all these pointed teeth for ourselves.”

Tootsa licked his lips again. “Then one bell for every day I help you.” He flicked his eyes to The Pochtéca, then back into the distance.

The Pochtéca looked again at Tuwa, who shrugged.

“Very well, then,” said The Pochtéca. “But you get the bells only after you’ve gotten us safely into the canyon.”