Kavio
Kavio smelled the costumes of his accusers before he saw them—corn husks, horse hair, quilt skirts, and shoulder blankets soaked with years of dancers' sweat. He heard the rustling of many bodies, the click-clack of shell and chalcedony bracelets on wrists and ankles. The sound of disapproving voices grew louder as more people noticed his arrival.
Stone spearheads jabbed his shoulders. Thin lines of blood ran down his back, mixing with his sweat. His guards were eager to see him judged for his crimes. They told him nothing. He was blindfolded, stripped to a loincloth, and tied up with his hands behind his back. But Kavio didn't need to see to know this was his trial.
The cool, dusty air, broken by warm sunbeams, told him he was in the kiva where the Society of Societies met for the most serious matters. This underground gathering place was one of the few kivas with windows high in the walls. The feel of the volcanic rock and adobe walls, covered in white dung plaster, was like all the rest of the Labyrinth.
The guards shoved him to his knees. One ripped off his blindfold.
Three mats made of dyed reeds were placed in a row down the middle of the room—one white, one black, and one orange. A large painted clay pot, colored in white, black, and orange, sat next to the black mat. Kavio knelt in front of the white one.
Steps made of adobe rose around three sides of the room, where Tavaedies and Zavaedis—the men and women of the secret dancing societies—sat. The place was packed. From the crowd of costumed bodies, it looked like every dancer in the Labyrinth had come. All of them wore masks.
Many masks had big fans made of woven cane, feathers, or carved wooden animal faces. Others had horns, manes, or false beards. Some were shaped like ovals or diamonds or covered in strings of beads. It was hard for all the masked dancers to fit on the steps. Feathered blankets, beaded necklaces thick as snakes, and full corn-husk skirts took up a lot of space.
Only one person wore no mask—his mother. She never cared much for rules. She wore a simple white beaded dress. She sat on the lowest step, looking straight at Kavio. Even now, she was the most beautiful woman in the room. She was also the only one who sat alone. No one dared sit near her.
Behind Kavio, across from his mother, stood a tall adobe platform. It was higher than the stepped seats. Kavio turned his head to look up the seven steps.
A man stood there, dressed in full regalia, holding a rain stick. His sharp face was painted with a pattern of angles and squares. His shoulder blanket had colorful mazes, outlined in beads of black obsidian and white pearl. His giant headdress was made of coiled cords, horns, feathers, and shells. Around his neck were rings of beads and a golden twist of metal. A gold pin shaped like a wild horse held his blanket in place.
The man pounded the rain stick on the platform. His voice was like gravel and stone.
"Let it be remembered on the Memory Stick, that in This Year, yet to be named, I, the War Chief of the Rainbow Labyrinth Tribe and head of the Society of Societies in the absence of a Vaedi, have called all the secret dancing societies together to sit in judgment at the trial of Kavio . . ."
He paused to walk down the seven steps to the floor. Even so, since Kavio was kneeling, the man still looked down at him.
". . . Kavio, my own son."
Kavio had expected it. Still, his father's cold voice hurt.
"Who will cast the first stone?" asked his father.
People on the tiers moved and whispered. Most pulled off their masks, their faces dripping with sweat. Some fanned themselves.
A woman with many amber necklaces removed an orange mask with eagle feathers. She stood up. She was an elder from Father's generation, his brother's wife—and his worst rival. As a boy, Kavio had called her "Auntie Ugly."
"I will cast the first stone on behalf of the accusers," Auntie Ugly said. Her voice was full of pleasure. "Kavio has done the worst thing a Zavaedi dancer can do. He made up his own Pattern, a dance that does not come from our ancestors. He cannot name the teacher who taught him. He cannot name the society who gave him this secret. That is hexcraft.
"That alone would be enough to punish him. But worse, he used this Pattern to harm the people who raised him. He used it to take away their way of life."
Kavio couldn't help looking at his mother. He had never seen her look so pale. Part of him wanted to spit in his father's face. But the thought that he had let down his mother burned like hot pepper in his mouth.
Still, no matter what happened, he would never show weakness. Not in front of this room full of vultures and jackals. Not in front of his father.
He lifted his chin and gave his accuser the most smug, rude smile he could.
As he had guessed, the smile made Auntie Ugly furious. She pointed a bony finger at him.
"Three days ago, Kavio made a terrible storm that flooded the rivers in the valley. Now it is almost impossible to start planting for spring. Three people saw him dancing a strange tama in the middle of that storm. He created a Pattern on his own—one so strong it nearly caused a disaster like the one that began the Nameless Years! That is hexcraft, evil and deadly! All hexers must die!"
"As witness," Auntie Ugly finished, "I call my own son—Zumo the Cloud Dancer."