The People of the Black Sun by W. Michael Gear Page B

she added, “Father, he is betrothed to another. Do you really think it’s appropriate for me to march into his future wife’s longhouse and ask for a private meeting with my former lover?”
    Sympathy tightened his mouth, and she couldn’t stand it. She turned away. “Camp is almost packed up,” she said sternly. “How much longer will it take the burial teams? We should be going soon.”
    â€œWe have some time. Time enough, I think.”
    Baji knew that he meant, Time enough to wait for Dekanawida.
    â€œThat’s foolish, Father. The longer we are gone, the more likely it is that Wild River Village will be attacked. I think we should—”
    The gates of Bur Oak Village swung open and Dekanawida stepped out into the sunlight. Just the sight of him made her clamp her jaw to contain the welling emotion. She couldn’t seem to get a deep breath into her lungs.
    Cord didn’t even turn to look. He could tell from the expression on her face. “I’ll take care of making sure the war party is ready. Take as long as you need.”
    Father walked past her, leaving her standing alone, gazing across the expanse of frozen bodies to the only man she had ever trusted. He was very tall and broad-shouldered. He’d tucked his jet hair behind his ears. As he marched toward her, it swayed just above the shoulders of his black cape. Determination set his jaw. His slender nose flared with deep breaths. Gitchi, his old gray-faced wolf, walked at his side.
    Baji strode to meet Dekanawida halfway. She suspected they both knew how things must be, though neither of them wished to admit it.
    Gitchi’s ears went up when he recognized her, and he loped forward to greet her with his tail wagging. Baji knelt down and put her arms around his thickly furred neck. “I miss you so much, Gitchi. How are your paws?”
    She reached down to stroke his leg. His stiff joints hurt all the time, but he was still a great war dog. He’d saved her life many times. Gitchi whimpered and licked her face.
    Dekanawida caught up and waited until Baji rose.
    She gazed up into his eyes, and the world seemed to die around them. The voices of the war party ceased, the wind hushed. She heard only the pounding of blood in her ears.
    Baji asked, “How is Tutelo? I heard her husband was killed yesterday.”
    As though he knew she was deliberately avoiding the only subject between them, he softly replied, “My sister is grieving, trying to be brave for her young daughters.”
    When they’d been slaves together as children, Tutelo had been the youngest, just eight summers, but she’d rarely cried. Love for her filled Baji. “Tutelo is the bravest person I know. I was so hoping to see her this morning, but we’ll be leaving soon.”
    â€œHow soon?”
    â€œAs soon as we’ve finished collecting our dead from the battlefield.”
    Their gazes held and the unbearable longing in his eyes left her feeling as empty as a shattered pot.
    â€œI’m leaving soon, too, though I haven’t told anyone yet.”
    Baji straightened. “Where are you going? The new alliance needs your guidance.”
    â€œPerhaps, but we need allies far more desperately. We can’t be the only ones who believe that the war must end. There are others. I must find them and convince them to make peace with us.”
    â€œFather plans on doing the same thing among the People of the Mountain this winter. If everything works out, by Spring, our new alliance may have tripled in size.”
    He swallowed hard and lowered his gaze. He seemed to be trying to decide how to tell her something. “Baji, please thank Cord for me. He—”
    â€œHe’s right there.” She pointed. “You can thank him yourself.”
    â€œNo. I— I need to speak with you.”
    He lifted his gaze again. The longer they stared at each other, the more her emptiness increased.
    Baji