The People of the Black Sun (50 page)

Yekonis' gaze darted around the meadow, as though to reassure himself that they were indeed surrounded. “War Chief, one-hundred-ninety-six blankets are empty.”

Negano hissed, “Are you telling me we have only four hundred warriors left?”

Yekonis nodded. “Less. I went to the place of the wounded. Around thirty died in the night.”

The hand Negano used to grip the young man's sleeve shook. The ramifications were just beginning to sink into his exhausted souls. “Wenisa will not know the truth until dawn when he can see our forces with his own eyes. I want you to quietly move through our ranks. Inform everyone of this. They'll know soon enough anyway. Tell them to be prepared for the worst.”

“But … what does that mean? They're on our side, aren't they?”

Negano hesitated. He didn't want to panic his warriors. The first chance they got, they'd run off. He squinted out at his camp and the Mountain army that stood so still around it. From the moment Sindak had betrayed them, this entire effort had been a gigantic failure. He'd already lost more than three-quarters of his forces, and would lose more today, maybe even all of them. Negano would go down in the history of his People as the War Chief who had gutted the nation by destroying his entire army. Stories of his missteps would be told for generations, as warnings to others.

His fatigued eyes returned to Atotarho.
I let a madman ruin my name, my family's name, and taint the legacy of my clan for generations. By obeying his orders, I did this. I killed my friends, my relatives.

“War Chief?” Yekonis was staring at the man lying curled on his side at Atotarho's feet, and said, “Is that really Sky Messenger? Is the great Prophet dead?”

Negano shook his head. “No, but don't expect him to conjure a miracle to save you from the Mountain army. I don't think he has long to live.”

Yekonis swallowed hard. “So … you don't think they're on our side?”

Negano's jaw clenched. He stared at Yekonis, then his gaze shifted to Bur Oak Village. As the darkness brightened, he could start to make out warriors standing on the palisade. He scanned each one until he thought he saw Sindak. He appeared to be speaking with another man, probably trying to decipher the events happening in the meadow.

Strange and treasonous notions slipped around Negano's skull.

It took him a few moments to work up enough courage to face them. He released his grip on Yekonis, and said, “There's something I need you to do.”

“Yes, War Chief?”

“As though nothing's wrong, I want you to organize a party of three men, including yourself, to go down to the marsh to fill water bags. Take your time. Three water-bearers shouldn't be a threat to anyone. While you're there, I want you to deliver a message for me.”

Yekonis gave him a confused look. “To whom? The only people down by the marsh…” His voice trailed away. As though the devastating truth of their situation was really settling into his souls and he, too, was trying to fathom a way out of the calamity that might well descend upon them shortly after dawn, his eyes scanned the Mountain army that surrounded them on three sides. “What message? To whom?”

Negano began, “After you deliver it, do not return to this army. I'm releasing you. Do you understand?”

Yekonis' eyes had a glazed look, a combination of terror and relief. “No, but … I'm listening.”

 

Fifty-one

“Who are they?” Sindak asked.

The bottom seemed to have fallen out of Gonda's stomach. He shifted on his oak crutch, wobbling around to survey the positions of the warriors who had just oozed from the trees like dark specters. Breathlessly, he suggested, “Reinforcements from the Hills nation?”

Sindak propped his fist on top of the palisade wall as he scrutinized the scene with narrowed eyes. His lean face and hooked nose shone in the pale blue gleam. “I don't think so.”

“Who else could they be?”

Sindak didn't answer for a time while he continued his evaluation. Moans and cries filled the plaza below and seeped from every smoldering longhouse. While they still had two hundred real fighters perched on the catwalks and another three hundred elders and children with bows, their losses yesterday had been staggering: approximately four hundred dead, and five hundred wounded. Jigonsaseh had developed a system. Minor wounds were tended by family and friends in the longhouses. Major wounds that Old Bahna thought would Heal went to the council house. Those who had no chance of getting well were laid in rows at the south end of the plaza … near the growing pile of dead. The worst cries, mostly screams for water, came from the south end of the plaza.

Sindak pointed. “Can you see the headdress worn by the big man in front of Atotarho?”

Gonda peered out into the muted gleam, trying to make out what the man wore. As the image congealed, and he saw the pricked wolf ears, blood seemed to drain from his head. “Blessed gods, that's Chief Wenisa.” His heart slammed his ribs so hard he felt sick to his stomach. “They're Mountain People.”

“That's what I thought.”

Speculations ran up and down the catwalks, creating a low ominous hum.

Gonda's gaze darted over the valley, trying to verify their suspicions. Dawn was coming fast, but not fast enough. He still couldn't see very well. Only the most brilliant campfires of the dead, the big council fires, continued to burn. Flaming points of red and azure, and one lonely fire beaming gold lit the sky.

Wenisa began pacing in front of Atotarho, striding back and forth with his arms waving. From this distance, he was as shadowy and quiet as the wind. Yenda had always been an arrogant fool. Having Chief Wenisa's soul Requickened in his body probably hadn't helped. Wenisa had been known far and wide as the most brutal chief in the land.

In an unnaturally calm voice, Gonda asked, “There must be … what?… two thousand Mountain warriors out there?”

“Two thousand that we can see.”

“Then the Mountain People and the Hills nation have created some sort of alliance?”

Sindak examined the irregular line of warriors that surrounded Atotarho's army on three sides, probably wondering what he would do if he were in Negano's place. He frowned. “Do you want the truth, or should I lie to make you feel better?”

Gonda ran his tongue over his chapped lips. They were all desperately thirsty, but there was no water, not even for the wounded children. His souls briefly spun thoughts of hot tea steaming in a cup, warming his hands. Tangy and sweet, it ran warm into his body, easing his rigid joints, and the agony in his broken leg. It was amazing how even dreaming of hot tea helped, especially when a man was staring death in the face. “When have you ever lied to make me feel better?”

“Never, but I thought you might want me to make an exception on this last morning.”

Bizarrely, Gonda felt like laughing. “No exceptions, thanks.”

Sindak straightened. “Then I suspect they've allied for just this one battle. They're here to take part in the destruction of the Standing Stone nation.”

Gonda's voice had an annoyingly desperate ring to it. “What do you think Atotarho promised them in exchange for their help?”
As though it matters …

Sindak shrugged. “Enough to get them here.”

Gonda massaged his brow. It occurred to him that by the end of the day, he would be his old enemy's personal slave … or his body would be lying on top of the pile of corpses. Hopefully, the second.

Sindak said, “There's a man on the ground at Atotarho's feet. I didn't notice him before, but as the light gets better, I'm starting to see more. Who do you think he is?”

“A prisoner delivered to Atotarho? A Hills deserter?”

Softly, he answered, “Possibly.” He must be worried that it was one of his own warriors, Saponi, or another trusted friend.

As Elder Brother Sun lifted from the celestial tree and neared the eastern horizon, the sky took on a pinkish hue. The breeze picked up, sawing through the leafless branches, and sending the musty fragrances of smoke and old leaves sweeping down over them.

“I don't recognize the prisoner's cape, do you?” Gonda asked.

“No, but I can't really make out the designs—just white figures around the bottom.”

With an odd fatalistic composure, Gonda said, “Well, I hate to—she's had so little rest—but we should wake Matron Jigonsaseh.”

Sindak turned to look at where Matron Jigonsaseh slept on her side on the catwalk. She had no blanket. All blankets had gone to warm the wounded. She had her knees pulled up beneath her woven foxhide cape. Of course, the night had been so warm no one had really needed a blanket. CorpseEye rested limply in her hand. Short, gray-streaked black hair rimmed the furry edges of her hood. She hadn't left the palisade all night. She knew the end was close. Gonda hated to be the one to tell her it was even closer than she'd thought.

“Do you want me to do it?” Sindak said.

Gonda shook his head. “No, I'll do it. I suspect she'd rather hear it from me.”

“And why is that?”

“Over the long summers, I've brought her the news that we're doomed so many times she doesn't really believe me.”

“Ah. I see.”

As Gonda put his weight on his crutch, his broken left leg shrieked in pain. He clumped down the catwalk, one step at a time, smiling at the warriors he passed, trying to exude a confidence he in no way felt. Each regarded him soberly.

“Who are they, Gonda?” War Chief Wampa hissed as he passed. Red-rimmed eyes and cracked lips dominated her pretty face as she turned to look at him. Her gray cape with brown spirals looked charcoal in the dimness.

“We're not sure yet, but don't worry about it until it gets light. Then we'll know for sure.”

“But there are thousands!” She glanced at the warriors nearby, trying to keep her worried voice low. “Are they Hills People?”

“We've been fighting ‘thousands' for days, Wampa, and managed to hold out. Matron Jigonsaseh isn't going to let you down. She'll figure out something to keep you alive. She
always
does.”

Those simple words seemed to affect Wampa like a cool salve on a fevered wound. Her shoulder muscles relaxed. “Yes, I know she will. Thank you, Gonda.” She turned back to the wall, taking up her duties again.

As he continued down the catwalk, the warriors who'd heard their conversation stared at him, their gazes flicking back and forth between Gonda and the strange army that had just appeared. Dire whispers eddied.

Despite the noise on the catwalks and the groans and cries in the plaza, when he stood over Jigonsaseh, she still hadn't awakened. Softly, he said, “Jigonsaseh? I'm sorry to wake you.” No response. Not even a wiggle. “My former wife, forgive me, but I know you will wish to hear that Chief Wenisa is here with a Mountain—”

She jerked awake as though the name had punctured her dreams like a war lance. “Wenisa? Are you sure?”

“Fairly sure. The man is wearing a wolfhide headdress, which you know Wenisa favors.”

As she sat up, she exhaled hard, then leaned back against the palisade and rubbed her eyes on her sleeve. “What does Sindak say about this?”

“He suspects Wenisa joined forces with Atotarho just to destroy the Standing Stone nation.”

She inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly before she dragged herself to her feet. “Then Wenisa is going to be disappointed.” Bluish half-moons darkened the skin beneath her eyes. Her narrow nose and full lips bore a fine layer of ash—which had fallen all night from the smoldering village.

“My former wife, it's as bad as can be.”

Jigonsaseh tucked CorpseEye into her belt and reached down to grasp her bow and quiver where they stood canted at an angle against the palisade. She slung them over her shoulder and blinked at the warriors on the catwalk. Every eye had turned to her, and she knew it. She squared her shoulders and called, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear: “Show me where they are.”

As she marched toward Sindak, her black eyes blazed, inspiring every warrior with the confidence that once she understood the situation, she'd get them out of this.

Despite the fact that Gonda had known her for more than thirty summers, the sight of her striding down the catwalk even buoyed his spirits.

The whispers along the palisade changed, going from ominous to something more like guarded determination. She was a living prayer, their last prayer, and if it took every breath in their bodies, they would not let her down. They would fight for her until they simply could not lift their hands.

Gonda clumped along behind her, not trying to keep up, just watching the worshipful expressions of the warriors as she passed without a word, gripping shoulders here and there.

When she reached Sindak's side, her gaze carefully scanned the meadow. As Gaha sailed over the catwalk, Jigonsaseh's foxhide hood waffled around her exhausted face.