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

thousand warriors yesterday suddenly means we have plenty of food. Ordinarily, we would survive by raiding other nations, taking food, slaves, and other necessities. After yesterday’s battle, we no longer have to do that. To keep it safe, we have hundreds of caches of food buried in wooden barrels in the forest nearby. It will be enough to last until next summer. Soon, these starved faces will fill out and the children will smile and play again … unless we are raided and our caches discovered and stolen.
    Because High Matron Kittle fears this, she’ll ration food for moons.
    I gaze around the plaza at the adults clustered in groups, talking. Desperation lines their faces.
    I pass by without a word, heading for the council house where it squats to the left of the central plaza bonfire. The bonfire burns in the very center of the village. As I walk, I glance to my right at the Deer Clan longhouse, Kittle’s longhouse, then the Hawk Clan longhouse. The houses are constructed of pole frames covered with elm bark. Their arched roofs soar forty hands high. Straight ahead, to the south, the longhouses of the Wolf and Snipe clans stand. Every roof has been burned through in several places. Many of the bark walls are blackened. Once the palisades have been fully repaired, the clans will begin repairing and rebuilding the longhouses. That is, unless the council decides we should abandon these villages and throw ourselves on the mercy of our neighbors. If we beg to be adopted into another nation, the Standing Stone People will cease to exist.
    None of us can bear the thought.
    I stride for the council house door. Just before I enter, I say, “Gitchi, I want you to stay here. Guard the door to the council house.”
    He obediently drops to his haunches, and vigilantly begins studying each person who passes by.
    The leather curtain over the entry billows in the breeze, and a rush of warm air envelops me. I shiver and duck past the curtain into the house. As I do, a hush descends. After the brilliant sunlight, my eyes need time to adjust to the firelit darkness. I see only the faint curve of the house walls, hundreds of black shapes, and orange flames.
    Jigonsaseh, the village matron of Yellowtail Village, and my mother, calls, “Please join us, Sky Messenger.”
    I blink, trying to hurry my eyes, and see the rings of benches that encircle the fire in the middle of the house. Each person and clan has a place. The Ruling Council of the nation, composed of six clan matrons and the High Matron, Kittle, sit on the innermost ring, nearest the fire. The next ring is reserved for village chiefs, war chiefs, and visiting matrons. The outermost ring is crowded with Speakers. Each of the five villages in the Standing Stone nation has four Speakers, elected representatives who convey group decisions and ask questions on the group’s behalf. The Speakers for the Warriors cluster on the north side of the outer bench. The Speakers for the Women are on the east bench. The Speakers for the Men sit to the west. The Speakers for the Shamans fill the south bench. The rest of the house is open. Anyone from any village who wishes to listen to the council’s deliberations may attend these meetings. Today, people line the walls, packed shoulder-to-shoulder. As my eyes grow accustomed to the firelight, I see that every head is turned in my direction.
    Mother and High Matron Kittle stand together before the Ruling Council. Both watch me as I weave through the benches to reach them.
    The sacred False Face masks, representing the Faces of the Forest who control sickness, perch high upon the walls. Their empty eye sockets capture the firelight and seem to glow. Carved by expert hands, they are made of wood, feathers, human hair, cedar bark, shell, and fur. They have bent noses and crooked mouths. Each is alive—watching and listening to the puny affairs of men. Their Powers come from the Spirit creatures who live in the