The People of the Black Sun by W. Michael Gear Read Free Book Online

windblown veils of snow wavered across the pale blue valley. From her position on the Bur Oak Village palisade, Jigonsaseh could see the warriors beginning to stir. Campfires winked as hundreds of men and women passed before them.
    Up and down the Bur Oak catwalks, her forces stood with bows nocked, waiting for the return of Atotarho’s army. She’d dispatched scouts to track him, but none had returned—which meant they were probably dead. Atotarho could attack them again at any time. Villagers rushed around the plaza, trying to get the walls repaired before the attack came. The dank scent of fear hung like a pall in the frigid air.
    She leaned against the frosty palisade and tiredly studied Yellowtail Village; it sat like a rotted husk. At her order, the entire exterior palisade had been torn down and stockpiled to repair the Bur Oak palisades, but the two inner palisades remained. Through the charred holes in them, she saw that the most badly burned of the three longhouses had, during the night, been stripped bare of bark, the pole frames dismantled, and everything usable piled in enormous heaps around the plaza. Between the palisades, where the makeshift refugee housing had been, piles of debris smoldered and probably would for a long time. In the next two days, everything would have been carried to Bur Oak Village to fortify it. They didn’t have enough warriors left to guard two villages.
    The rest of Yellowtail Village needed to be completely dismantled, and soon. She didn’t wish to leave it for the use of attackers who could capture it and attack Bur Oak Village from within her own walls. She’d discuss it with High Matron Kittle as soon as the exhausted High Matron rose from her bedding hides.
    Jigonsaseh looked behind her. Every possible space in Bur Oak Village, including the narrow lanes between the palisades and the rear of the longhouses, now contained makeshift housing for refugees. In the plaza below, construction continued. They had piled some of the building supplies around the circumference of the Council House and, as workers came and went, carrying wood or bark, or heavy coils of rope to lash poles together, clatters sounded. Large stew pots hung on tripods at the edges of the central bonfire, available for workers to fill bowls when they had a spare moment. Though each person was allowed only one bowlful, there were no guards on the pots. Every warrior was needed for other duties. People crowded the plaza. Some laughed and talked. Others sobbed for lost loved ones. Still others uttered dire speculations of what tomorrow would bring—and ate far more than their allotted share. She’d witnessed one man go back four times and come away with a heaping bowl.
    The worst part for her was the lilting strain of triumphant joy that twined through the groans and cries of the wounded. Many fools believed they had won yesterday’s battle.
    She knew better.
    Her gaze searched the plaza. On the western side, near the Hawk Clan Longhouse, forty-one Hills warriors, men and women who had defected to her side yesterday afternoon, stood in a tight knot, their uneasy eyes scanning their new compatriots. Atotarho’s former War Chief, Sindak, stood among them, speaking in a low voice. His warriors’ heads nodded and, as though satisfied that they understood what he wanted, Sindak turned away. His attention lifted to the palisades, surveying the Standing Stone warriors on the catwalks. When he caught Jigonsaseh’s gaze, he stopped and stared.
    Her eyes narrowed.
    Once, a long time ago, he had been a trusted friend, one of the men who had valiantly fought to help her rescue her captive children. After that, however, he’d returned to Atotarho Village where he’d gradually risen through the ranks to War Chief. Despite the fact that she understood a warrior’s overwhelming desire to protect his own people, she did not understand Sindak’s willingness to serve a mad