The Next Skywatcher: Prequel to The Last Skywatcher Triple Trilogy Series (The Last Skywatcher, Anasazi Historical Thrillers with a Hint of Romance Book 1) (26 page)

“What about children?” whispered Wooti.

Hita looked at her. “Children have been killed by warriors. And warriors have been killed by children. Everyone from all around has come to see what will happen. But they’ve left their children at home to protect them. Many are hiding nearby and not camping openly in the valley.”

“From the north?” asked Nuva.

Hita’s eyes sparkled. “More than you can imagine will arrive soon. The entire Northern Sisterhood is mobilized, each bearing their sacred sharp sticks as you ordered. And all the old remaining sky chiefs, and even a few new ones, too. There will be more of us here than them.”

Nuva looked at Chumana, her eyes wide. She turned to Wooti. “I want you to speak the message again from Haki. Hita needs to hear it. Then we need you to tell us everything you’ve seen. Take your time, but we must know.”

Wooti tensed, which made her grow visibly smaller. But she closed her eyes and repeated, without mistake, what Grandmother Haki had told her.

“They’re the ones!” said Hita. “The children killing warriors are Tuwa and Choovio!”

Nuva nodded and Chumana burst into tears. Wooti watched her cry a moment, then touched her ankle.

“Wooti. What else did you see?” cooed Hita. “What did Tuwa and Choovio look like?”

“Oh.” She picked at her feet for a few moments. “He, Tuwa, is shy at first. Then he asks questions. He acts older than he looks. Grandmother Haki said he has the wisdom of Grandfather Skywatcher.”

“Was he hurt?” asked Chumana. “Any wounds or blood on him?”

Wooti nodded. “He cut a man and hit another with his stick. Blood all over him, but not his, I think. They attacked after I left. I don’t know what happened then.”

“Who attacked?” asked Nuva.

“Warriors. They said Ihu.” Wooti took a deep breath. “But the old man with the red hat looked bad. Grandmother Haki nursed him. The side of his head was all bloody. And two children with arrows in them. They were going to die, Grandmother Haki said. And other children were already dead.”

Nuva and Hita alternated asking Wooti questions, and in a halting voice she described what happened in Black Stone Town. She grew increasingly comfortable and even began to volunteer information.

“And they caught Tootsa trying to get rich. He knows my brother.”

“You have a brother? And who is Tootsa?” Nuva asked.

“Tootsa is funny.” For the first time Nuva saw a hint of smile on Wooti’s face. “He’s my age. He runs wild, anywhere he wants to go. And so do the Wild Boys. He says my brother is top man of the Wild Boys.”

“What is your brother called?” asked Nuva.

“Lightfoot. That’s not what our parents named him, but I don’t remember what they called him.”

“Did he know you were in Black Stone Town? Does he know you’re here?”

“I don’t even know where I am,” Wooti said. “He probably thinks I’m dead.”

Nuva stood and began to pace.

“How is the best way to help him?” asked Chumana.

Nuva answered without looking at her. “Eat that wonderful stew that Hita brought. Especially you, Wooti. And let me think.”

Nuva had lots of pieces to work out. Pók would be frustrated and furious, and it could drive him to do something bold and unexpected. His Palace Guard is staggering, probably unsure of itself and afraid. The regulars would see it. But what will they do? Support Tókotsi and the Southern Alliance? To do what?

She thought about Tuwa and Choovio and the injured red-hat man. Too injured to travel here to the canyon? Never mind, she told herself. They could do nothing about that. Would Tootsa help Tuwa? Nuva had a feeling he would. That means they might possibly, would probably meet the Wild Boys and Wooti’s brother, Lightfoot. Maybe that’s who brought Tuwa to the canyon. And they worked with the flute player, Peelay. Warriors are so frightened of spells cast by Peelay’s music, they plug their ears even in battle. Nuva smiled. Chumana had planted that into their minds two summers ago. Should Chumana have a vision that reinforces that?

Think bigger, she told herself. People are flowing in from all over. The Southern Alliance put Pók, The Builder, and the Másaw Warriors in power only since the Day Star, three summers ago, yet they already swaggered as if invincible. Children killing guardsmen will infuriate and worry them. What will they do? Tókotsi is the only one who really matters. He only pretends to need the council. He’ll want a meeting with The Builder. And Pók. This morning. Right now. She had a sudden strong feeling that Tuwa and Choovio were here, very close.

Nuva heard a cough in the hallway and rushed out, hungry for news. One of Cook’s assistants whispered that Pók and half his guard were marching in and that Tókotsi and the council chiefs were right behind.

“We must hurry,” Nuva said when she returned. She told Chumana and Hita the news.

“Get ready to go to The Builder’s chamber,” said Nuva to Chumana.

“Why?” she asked. “The shadow mark won’t be on his doorway for a long time.”

“Just get ready,” said Nuva. “Hurry, while I talk.” Chumana began changing into her Goddess of the Future costume.

“Tókotsi will demand an audience with The Builder. And with Pók. Something will crack under all this pressure. And I know, I just know, that Tuwa and Choovio are here somewhere. Something is about to happen. Today is the day. And you have a role in it, my dear. Today you will do something you have never done before.”

Nuva rummaged frantically through her things until she found the blunt-shafted arrow the crazy woman from the Top-Left House had sent. “Today you must become a warrior woman,” Nuva said. “Top Sister with the sharpest of sticks.”

Chumana’s eyes grew large. “What do you want me to do?”

“Stand up,” Nuva said. She placed the blunt-shafted arrow in Chumana’s hand and made her lunge forward with it.

“Aim higher,” said Nuva.

Chumana looked at her in distress, and then lunged higher several times.

“Now,” said Nuva. “Jab into the side of the throat.”

Chumana practiced, tears running down her face and dripping from her nose. “Who?” she asked.

“You must choose your own target, my dear.” Nuva stroked Chumana’s head. “But remember our cause. We must make the weak weaker. Pók is target number one. Tókotsi number two. The Builder if no one else. All three if you can. Then run. Run here, and we’ll prepare everything to hide in the storerooms below. Now dress and go.”

Chumana picked up her bluestone mask, her face streaked with tracks of tears, her eyes wide in shock. She blinked and sniffed, and then walked out without a word or a wave.

Nuva turned to Hita. “Will you spread the word among the Sisterhood? And all those who will help us? Today something will happen. We need their help. Today. It’s time to take a stand.”

“At what signal?” Hita asked.

“The trilling of our voices,” she said. “Tell them to listen, and when they hear it, to join. And then strike. We must have faith that Tuwa will start something. When he does, that’s when the Sisters must act.”

Hita stood and cheerfully agreed. “There are more here who will help than you know. Women everywhere, even those who are not Sisters, are preparing sharp sticks. The killing of children must stop.” She looked at Wooti. “Goodbye, Wooti. I will find you again. This will be a grand day for us all.” She left with a breeze.

Nuva gathered enough supplies to keep them a week in the storerooms below. She tied them into large bundles wrapped in cotton blankets. Then she looked at Wooti. “I know you’re frightened, my girl. But we’ll be fine, no matter what happens. We are the Sisterhood. We are strong.” She stroked the girl’s hair and tucked her under a blanket. “You wait here and stay warm. I have to go see something.”

Nuva sneaked to a doorway where she could peek into The Builder’s chamber. She didn’t often do this. The risk of being caught by a sentry or a guardsman was too high. But she ignored the risk and leaned her head in through the door. She saw Chumana sitting to her left, her mask hanging down. She wrung her hands together on her lap. Nuva felt her angst. Then at the doorway, she saw a very large man look into the room until a guard shoved him aside. The Fat Man? At the palace?

The Fat Man returned
from his visit with Pók ravenous. He ordered the fattest cut of meat his cooks had, with corncakes and beer. He had to steady himself with food after his encounter with Pók.

“Will you join me?” the Fat Man asked The Pochtéca. He half-expected the red-hat man to have escaped (with the help of children—his favorite little Tootsa undoubtedly one of them), but had waited patiently.

“Of course,” said The Pochtéca with an unctuous smile that set the Fat Man on edge. “Camp cooking gets quite boring.”

The Fat Man ordered the cook to bring enough for two, which meant enough for four or five average men. She wiped her hands on her apron with a suspicious side glance at the guest’s red hat and left.

“So,” said the Fat Man. “You’re taking quite a risk to come here. You must know that Pók wants you. He barely restrained himself from killing me just now merely because I didn’t bring you with me.”

“He knows I’m here?” The Pochtéca rose from his seat.

“No. Oh, no. No reason to be alarmed just yet, though I’m glad to see you recognize the threat. Pók does not know you are here. But he thinks I will learn sooner than him where you are.”

The Pochtéca settled and put his hands together. “Which you have.”

“You came to me. I’ve done nothing. Yet.”

“Did he make you a good offer for me?”

“Pók prefers the ultimatum. And he likes to cook and eat people,” said the Fat Man. “It’s bring you to him or that.”

“Ah. So, it’s a risky day for you as well.”

“More risky for you.” The Fat Man eyed the red-hat man. He could so easily turn him over. Save himself. Elevate Pók. The thought made his appetite go away for a few moments.

“I doubt it. For me it’s perhaps not as great as you think. Let’s just say I always have an alternative.”

The Fat Man smiled and looked The Pochtéca up and down. The bluster of a salesman, or of a warrior who is prepared to attack or die—or escape? The Fat Man decided to presume the salesman. “You are a trader. I assume you have a proposition for me, a counter-offer to Pók’s?”

The Pochtéca smiled. “I tend to work from a different direction than Pók. I prefer to attract than to force. Do you know the value of finely worked bluestone?”

The Fat Man narrowed his eyes. He knew it looked pretty. That some people, the higher ranks of people, liked to wear pieces of it. Especially women. “I know if a commoner is caught with it, they’re next on Pók’s menu.”

“Do you know how much finished bluestone is here, in this canyon, in the big palace?”

“Are you here to ask questions or to trade?”

The Pochtéca bowed his head to the Fat Man. “Quite right.” The cook, with two helpers, brought in heaping bowls of meat, a platter stacked high with flat corncakes, and two rough mugs without handles brimming with sour corn beer.

“Buffalo hump?” The Pochtéca asked after the kitchen staff left, peering into the meat bowl.

“Bear haunch, I think,” said the Fat Man before stuffing his mouth. He chewed loudly and swallowed. He nodded. “Bear haunch.”

The Pochtéca tasted a small piece and smacked his lips. “You know the pouch that Tootsa carries full of pointed teeth?” he asked.

The Fat Man nodded while chewing. He picked up the single tooth Tootsa gave him. “He paid me one this morning.”

“The same size pouch full of bluestone beads would feed you this well twice a day through an entire winter in places not far south from here,” said The Pochtéca. The Fat Man slowed his chewing. He didn’t realize it was that valuable. “The farther south you go, the more they are willing to trade for it. There are places where winter never comes, where it is always summer. They grow corn twice as tall as a man. For Tootsa’s pouch of bluestone, you could live like a top man there for two years. Maybe more.”

The Fat Man ate and watched The Pochtéca eat more slowly. The Fat Man found what he said interesting, but he had no intention of going to a place with all summers. He liked long winters if he could be warm and well-fed. But he also liked eating like this twice a day for a long time without having to do anything.

“I hear they have some in a room or two in the big house. I’m not sure where or how much,” said the Fat Man. “I suppose you want all of it.”

The Pochtéca continued eating slowly. “I do not want to steal it. I want to trade for it.”

The Fat Man chuckled. He tried to put some menace into it. “That shirt you have. With the bells. Underneath your cotton shirt. Is that what you wish to trade for bluestone?” The Fat Man smiled. He knew The Pochtéca had that on from the beginning. Tootsa had mentioned it. “Now something like that would let
me
live like a top man north of here. For the rest of my life if I lived three times longer than I will.”

“Yes, you could rather quickly earn a shirt like this one for yourself,” said The Pochtéca. “If we can convince whoever we need to that you will handle all bluestone trade inside this canyon. You will get rich from commission. First, we have to reach an understanding with the person who controls the bluestone.”