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

by Jeff Posey

  “How are we going to help him?” asked Chumana.

  Nuva stood and began to pace, snuggling Wooti high on her chest. “I don’t know yet.”

  “We’re stuck here.”

  “We are, yes. But we have tendrils out into the world.” Wooti fell asleep and Nuva gently tucked her between two blankets.

  “They’re too slow!” Chumana sat on her sleeping mat rocking back and forth.

  “Everything is coming together. It will be fast enough.” Nuva hugged herself as if she still held Wooti and continued pacing the length of the small room, sometimes bending at the waist to avoid a pocket of smoke from the fire.

  “The only power we have is what I tell The Builder,” Chumana said. “So what is that? I don’t trust myself to say the right thing anymore.”

  “That’s not our only power. I re-issued the sharp-stick order to the Sisterhood through Cook. And we know a lot. Cook said a runner she fed said half of Pók’s guard has been wiped out by warrior children, and his thumb was cut off by a mother because he killed her children. More children than Cook’s butchers can count have been murdered in the last few days.” She stopped as a shiver went through her. I wish, she thought, that mother had cut away his heart, not his thumb. “And we know that our Tuwa and Choovio are alive and back.” Her throat constricted and tears welled in her eyes. “With others: Sowi, Kopavi, a man wearing a red hat called The Pochtéca, and a dozen orphan children. And we know that it must have been Tuwa and these orphans who have been killing warriors, even half of Pók’s guard yesterday.” She paused and paced, thinking.

  “And the flute player is with them,” said Chumana.

  “That’s right. The whole canyon is buzzing like a handful of bees about the witchery of flute music and children killing warriors.”

  “And more people than ever are swarming here for the Summer Council muster.”

  “More women than ever. Our women. Our Sisterhood, with sharp sticks and the order to use them. And Tókotsi and all the chiefs from the Southern Alliance are here. Everything is about to change.”

  “The Builder is more anxious than I’ve ever seen him,” said Chumana.

  Nuva paced. More sounds than usual echoed down their hallway. The kitchen was crowded and frantic. Several sentries had crept by during the night. One stopped and stared into their room. Nuva feared he saw the dim shape of Wooti, so she let out a cooing sound and asked if he would like to come inside for a better look. The man startled and ran, afraid of the albino witch woman. Nuva chuckled at the foolishness of men and finally relaxed enough to doze, the only sleep she had gotten.

  “It’s a dangerous time,” Nuva said.

  “Things could erupt at any moment,” said Chumana. “If Pók’s guard is suddenly weak, the regulars will take advantage. Things will get worse. If the canyon fills with more black-hearted Southerners—we won’t have a chance.”

  “The regulars might test their power, you’re right. With who as their leader?” Nuva asked.

  “Ihu,” said Chumana.

  “Yes. They like Ihu. Is he still recuperating here?”

  “He’s with Tókotsi. I forgot to tell you.”

  “Yes. So Ihu is Tókotsi’s new Ráana.”

  Chumana groaned. “Everyone in the canyon is against us. We have to warn Tuwa to get out and stay away. I wish he hadn’t come back.”

  “Not everyone,” said Nuva. “You underestimate our Sisterhood. They blend in, serving the Southern Council, working the kitchens, carrying water and food. Never before have we asked them to have their sacred sharp sticks ready with orders to stand behind every warrior and kill them if they can at our signal.”

  “What signal?”

  “The trilling.” Nuva loved that signal, and saved it for this special moment. A woman trilling her voice could be heard across the canyon and far up and down it. Hundreds of trilling women would frighten the men to death even before sharp sticks were plunged into their backs. She hoped it would be so easy.

  “Are you sure they got through?” asked Chumana. “You’ve sent out that order twice, and we’ve heard nothing!”

  Nuva nodded. The silence worried her, too. “There are others we mustn’t forget. Remnants of the old Northern Alliance. Skywatchers who hide like hermits, watching the sky. Entire villages dispersed into small family groups, farming in pockets away from most eyes. We hear snatches of their existence. We must have faith that they will do what they can.”

  “I know, but what can they do? It’s mostly old men and women.”

  “I don’t know,” said Nuva. “But if strength is within, then so is weakness.” She paced, searching for more they could do. “We need to weaken the weakest parts of those who are against us. That is how we can help Tuwa the most.”

  “So, what is their weakest part?”

  “Who is losing power right now?” asked Nuva.

  Chumana said nothing, then looked up in surprise. “Pók!”

  Nuva nodded. “Pók.”

  They heard a cough in the hallway, and Nuva smiled. “Finally,” she whispered, “things are happening.”

  Cook appeared in the doorway. “It’s like a storm in the kitchen,” she said, shaking her head and fanning herself with her apron. She turned behind her and motioned for someone to come along, and a young woman hurried into the room. “Be careful,” said the cook. “Some regulars got in earlier and upset the whole kitchen before I ran them out. I’ve got to go.”

  The woman glanced at Chumana and bowed her head a moment, then focused on Nuva. “You do not know me, Grandmother Wise Woman, Nuva of the Village of Twin Giants, adopted daughter of Grandfather Skywatcher, Center of the Sisterhood, Superior Mother of All.”

  “My,” said Nuva. “I haven’t been called that since….”

  “Since Three Waters when I was a little girl?”

  Nuva looked more closely at the woman. “Do I know you?”

  The woman smiled. “You have no reason to remember me. I was very young. But you knew my aunt. Hakidonmuya. Aunt Haki.”

  Nuva’s eyes brightened and she took the woman’s hand and inspected the tips of her fingers. She smiled, and placed her own three faded dots against the woman’s. “Oh, I remember a little girl now. You are…,” she put a finger to her lips.

  “Hita,” the woman said.

  Nuva opened her arms and they hugged just as Wooti awoke and sniffed.

  “Ah, Wooti, come here. I want you to meet someone. This is Hita. When she was as young as you, she was Haki’s helper just like you.”

  Wooti looked with suspicion. Hita knelt and inspected Wooti’s face. She smoothed Wooti’s hair, then took her fingers and looked at the tattoos. “What happened to you, my little sister?” asked Hita.

  Wooti looked up at Nuva with panic in her eyes.

  “Someday she will tell us,” said Nuva. “She just brought us a message from Haki in Black Stone.” She put her hand on Wooti’s head. “It was hard for her, but she spoke it well.”

  Hita smiled. “I had a dream about Haki. She was old and weak. She tried to speak to an angry man who had no intention of listening. I felt great sadness.”

  “Yes,” said Nuva. “We fear for her as well.”

  With no encouragement, Wooti crawled into Hita’s lap and Hita stroked her back. Nuva marveled at that. Just moments ago, Wooti seemed frightened of Hita.

  Cook came in carrying a steaming earthenware cauldron. “They’ll never miss it. It’s like a swirling dust storm in the kitchen, everything out of place, people coming and going. We haven’t had a crowd this big in the canyon since…,” Cook sat down the pot and put her hands on her wide hips. “Since you know when.”

  Since the Day Star That Faded three summers ago.

  “Why so many this time?” asked Chumana. She cut her eyes at Nuva, who wondered why she asked. They knew very well.

  “Because everyone has heard,” said Hita.

  “Heard what?” asked Chumana. “I mean, I know, but tell me. I’m cooped up in here and
only imagine what they’re saying out there. Tell me what they’re really hearing.”

  “About the children, girl, the children,” said Cook. “And the witchery of flutes. Everybody’s in a dither.” Then she shook her head, wiped her face with her apron and fanned herself. “I brought liver and kidney stew. From a black she-bear, bless her spirit. Hita brought it. I just heated it a little. The Builder would kill me if he knew I didn’t save something so powerful for him. But too bad!” She turned and left as suddenly as she’d arrived.

  “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 gath
ered 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 Face of Chumana

  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.