People of the Mist (10 page)

 
          
“If
you came in peace, would you come with your faces painted for war, strung bows,
and arrows ready to be released?” Nine Killer slowly shook his head. “What am I
to do with you?”

 
          
“Allow
me safe passage to speak to the Weroansqua. I will deliver my message, and be
gone.”

 
          
More
and more warriors slipped from the forest, joining Nine Killer’s forces. A bad
situation was getting worse. Winged Blackbird bit his lip and shrugged at Nine
Killer’s continued silence. “It is up to you, War Chief. If you wish a battle,
you will probably win. In your position, I would be considering just that. But,
I urge you, think this through. If you start this, are you ready for the
consequences? These are perilous times. The Mamanatowick might react with rage
at the murder of one of his messengers. Is an easy victory today worth the kind
of war you will have to fight tomorrow?”

 
          
“Yes
… and no,” Nine Killer replied as he allowed his bowstring to slacken just the
slightest. He seemed to be mulling the notion in his head. “I think you had
better give me your message. Before the gods, I will deliver it to the Weroansqua
word for word.”

 
          
“And
why do you not wish me to tell Hunting Hawk in person?”

 
          
Nine
Killer gave him a deadly grin. “Because Copper Thunder is in
Flat
Pearl
Village
. I suspect I can control my warriors, and
their passions. I’m not sure I can control him, or his—nor that I would want to
try.”

 
          
The
nervous chill intensified. “Then this marriage is a finished thing?”

 
          
“If
I were gambling, I wouldn’t bet against it, War Chief. That’s your message,
isn’t it? To tell Hunting Hawk not to allow this alliance with Copper Thunder?
You must have just heard that Red Knot had begun her bleeding. That’s why you
only have two tens of warriors. Corn Hunter panicked, sent you before you could
prepare a larger party.”

 
          
Curse
him! What does he do, read minds? “My Weroance does not panic! We did not want
to threaten Flat Pearl, only to give, as you would say, friendly advice.”

 
          
Nine
Killer drew his bow back fully again. The advice is given—now go. Take your
warriors, and don’t let the sun set while your feet are still on Flat Pearl
ground. I give you your life, War Chief. Don’t make me regret it.”

 
          
Nine
Killer jerked a nod and the warriors behind Winged Blackbird melted away.
“There is your way out, War Chief. Leave now.”

 
          
Winged
Blackbird backed up, aware of a bead of sweat that trickled down his temple and
over his painted cheek. They might have come quickly, but now they left at a
run. “Close, wasn’t it?” Blood Berry asked, running easily at Winged
Blackbird’s side.

 
          
“Very.”

 
          
“What
will you tell the Weroance when we return?” “Just what happened—and that we
delivered his message.”

 
          
“And
then?”

 
          
“That
will be up to the Weroance, and the Mamanatowick. But look about you carefully,
Blood Berry. I don’t think this is the last we’ve seen of flat Pear)
territory.” “Then, Nine Killer might indeed live to regret letting us go?”

 
          
“To
use his words, if you were a gambler, you’d best not bet against it.”

 
          
The
last thing Nine Killer needed was to have Copper Thunder trotting down the
trail at the head of his warriors, but here he came, arrogant as a rutting bull
elk. The Great Tayac looked fearsome, the cloud-filtered light giving his
gruesome tattoos a threatening appearance. Maybe that was why the far-off
Serpent Chiefs liked to wear that forked-eye design. It made them appear less
than human. The copper spike in the Great Tayac’s war ‘ club looked bloody in
the dappled shadows cast by the trees.

 
          
“What
news, War Chief?” Copper Thunder asked, slowing to a walk. His warriors glanced
around curiously at the men who stood vigilantly on each side of them.

 
          
Nine
Killer scuffed the leaf mat with his toe. “Oh; a great deal of news.”

 
          
“You
have found the girl?”

 
          
“She
is a woman, Great Tayac. Red Knot. And, no, we haven’t found her.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder lifted his heavy war club. “Then why are you standing here? It would
seem that if a search is being conducted, your men should be spread out.
Searching.”

 
          
“I’m
waiting to make sure that my scouts don’t report that Winged Blackbird has
doubled back.”

 
          
“Winged
Blackbird?” Copper Thunder’s lips pressed into a hard line. “I don’t like
riddles, War Chief.”

 
          
“No?
Great Tayac, I’ve just intercepted a war party from
White
Stake
Village
. These warriors were under the command of
Winged Blackbird. He works for the Weroance, Corn Hunter, of
White
Stake
Village
. Corn Hunter is Water Snake’s brother. It
seems that Winged Blackbird was sent with a message for Hunting Hawk. The Ma
manatowick doesn’t want you marrying Red Knot. I’m to deliver that message to
Hunting Hawk.”

 
          
The
faintest of smiles bent Copper Thunder’s lips. “That fast, eh?”

 
          
“You
and Hunting Hawk have shaken the hornets’ nest, and the insects are buzzing.”

 
          
“This
was a large party?”

 
          
“Two
tens. Yellow Net’s daughter was out gathering wood and saw them skulking along
the bottom of the ridge.” He pointed downhill with his bow. “I caught him just
yonder.”

 
          
“And
you let him go?” Copper Thunder’s face darkened as if a mighty rage were
brewing.

 
          
Nine
Killer planted his bow firmly before him. “I did.”

 
          
“In
the name of the gods, why?”

 
          
“I
am not your War Chief.” Nine Killer peered into those dark, dangerous eyes. He
might have looked into a black abyss, the sort that sucked the soul right out
of a man’s body. “I serve Greenstone Clan, and
Flat
Pearl
Village
. Not you.”

 
          
A
deep guffaw boomed up from the Great Tayac’s belly. With that he smacked Nine
Killer on the shoulder. The blow would have rocked a lesser man on his heels.

 
          
“You’re
a worthy one, War Chief. I hope Hunting Hawk knows your value.”

 
          
“She
does.” Nine Killer noticed that Copper Thunder’s warriors had relaxed. Some
even smiled.

 
          
Copper
Thunder gave him a knowing grin. “We understand each other, you and I. Yes, I
think we do. Now, tell me, warrior to warrior, why let the enemy go?”

 
          
“I
know him. Winged Blackbird is better demoralized than dead. He’ll report back
to Corn Hunter that the message was delivered, and they’ll both be shaken. Corn
Hunter did this thing on his own—rushed it—and sent his warriors unprepared
against us. He will hesitate before informing the Mamanatowick of his action.
Whereas an ambushed messenger can stir a rage for revenge that can fire men’s
souls into action regardless of consequences.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder stared down the ridge toward where the encounter had occurred. “Such a
shame to just let them go.”

 
          
“Perhaps,
but the important thing is what they take with them. None of those twenty will
want to come back. If someone orders them to, they will return with half empty
hearts.”

 
          
A
malicious gleam entered Copper Thunder’s dark eyes. “Yes, well, let’s get on
about finding my wife, shall we?”

 
          
The
Great Tayac strode away, directing his warriors to fan out in a search pattern.

 
          
Nine
Killer took a deep breath. How curious that Copper Thunder talked about killing
with a great deal more passion than he talked about Red Knot.

 
          
I
need to find Red Knot, put her in Copper Thunder’s canoe, and have this over
with!

 
          
He
lifted his bow and gestured his warriors forward. “Come along. Let’s find Red
Knot.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
stood slowly, his gut twisting as he
smacked the damp leaves from his hands. Around him the
midday
forest was oddly quiet. In the distance, he
could hear men’s voices, but for once the implications didn’t settle into his
mind. The only thing more hideous than murder was incest.

 
          
He
leaned against the smooth trunk of the great beech tree. Death wasn’t new to
him—he’d dealt enough of it to animals, and even to men, during the last war
with the Water Snake’s warriors.

 
          
“Why
did you climb up here again?” he asked himself absently.

 
          
Because
she was the center of my dreams. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath,
knowing he shouldn’t have come back to the ridgetop. Better to have continued
stalking the deer. He opened his eyes, fixing the scene in his soul: She lay
sprawled on her face, one arm thrown out, her right leg bent at the knee. The
left leg was straight. Her long black hair was piled over her head in a tangle.
Leaves had been hurriedly tossed over the corpse with some pulled away around
her head, as-if by a hasty hand.

 
          
The
left side of her skull had been crushed, and the wound had bled profusely.
Smudges on her skin showed where High Fox’s fingers had rested on her cheek.

 
          
“Why,
Red Knot?” he asked. “Why did this have to happen to us? I had it fixed, you
see. It was the only way I could have you.”

 
          
The
thoughts wouldn’t quite come together. He forced himself to see her murder as
an unattached hunter would: perplexing. An enemy warrior would have taken her
captive for a slave. A vengeance killer would have left her out in the open to
be found by her relatives: insult to repay injury. Nothing had been cut from
her body for a trophy: no scalp taken, no fingers or ears cut off.

 
          
Bending
down, he carefully lifted her deerskin apron from her rounded buttocks. Like
most women, she’d plucked her pubic hair, and her vulva was exposed by the
lifted right leg. He touched the dribble of moisture with a fingertip and
sniffed it.

 
          
Urine,
and not the slightest tang of semen; proof a man hadn’t been inside her. As to
the urine, her bladder had relaxed in death. He’d seen enough of that from the
deer he’d killed. He dropped her apron and squinted at her right hand. It
clutched something he hadn’t noticed before. He lifted her stiff arm from the
leaves and pried a bunched necklace from the stiffening fingers. A stone
shark’s tooth, carefully drilled, hung from a leather cord. To either side were
four drilled pearls, and to either side of those, a series of polished shell
beads.

 
          
Odd,
he couldn’t remember the necklace. Where did it come from? Did Red Knot ever
wear a necklace like this one? Did anyone in the
Flat
Pearl
Village
?

 
          
High
Fox! Flat
Willow
smiled in satisfaction.

 
          
With
care, he replaced the necklace, then collected leaves and spread them over the
bloody girl’s corpse, letting them sift down naturally. Then he did the same
where Red Knot had been dragged, leaving just enough sign that an experienced
tracker could work out the trail.

 
          
He
glanced down the slope at the tracks the girl had made climbing. From the depth
and the imprint even the blind could see that she’d come up this way from the
inlet below, skirted the giant beech, and started across the ridge.

 
          
Walking
to one side, he followed her probable path across the flat ridgetop. Here and
there, the leaves were depressed, as they would have been by moccasined feet.

 
          
There,
midway across the ridge, the leaves were disturbed. He studied the bloody
leaves thoughtfully, and walked to one side to collect more leaves. These he
carefully strewed over the coagulated blood, hiding it from view.

 
          
Circling
again, he considered the mashed leaves at the base of the walnut just off the
trail. Carefully plucking them aside, he found the faint smudge in the leaf mat
that might have been a moccasin print. This, he left uncovered for easy
discovery. The bark had several small scars on it where it had been picked at
with a thumbnail. Flat
Willow
picked at it some more.

 
          
A
pace from the tree he found a chewed twig of sassafras branch. He lifted it to
his nostrils, sniffing the faint tang. Search as he might, he could see nothing
else out of place. The walnut, witness to it all, could offer no more clues.

 
          
Flat
Willow
crossed the ridgetop, and stared down the
trail that led to Oyster Shell Landing. High Fox’s toe prints marked the earth.
He’d climbed up the trail, and made wilder scrapes as he’d charged back down in
headlong flight.

 
          
Flat
Willow
chuckled to himself, grinning, and shook
his head. By Okeus, High Fox, you haven’t the sense of a rock.

 
          
Fingering
his bow, he turned again, staring at the blanket of leaves that covered the
ridge. No one had a keener eye than he. The story read plainly enough. Red Knot
had come climbing up from the west, and High Fox from the east. They had
met—and he’d killed her before turning to flee.

 
          
“See
anything?” a voice called from down the ridge.

 
          
“No,”
came a more distant cry. Then, “Red Knot!”

 
          
Do
I want to be the one to find her body? Or should I just walk away? Where is my
best interest?

 
          
Flat
Willow
smiled grimly and cupped his hands around
his mouth. “Up here! Come quickly! I’ve found Red Knot—and she’s been
murderedl”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk waited at the opening of the palisade, watching the warriors bring Red
Knot down the forested trail. Her arms and legs had been lashed unceremoniously
to a meat pole. Her head was hanging, her hair dragging the ground, the long
black locks matted with blood and dust. Her mouth slack, eyes half-open, she
stared dryly at the empty sky. Whispering people clustered in a knot behind
Hunting Hawk, unwilling to press too close.

 
          
Only
Shell Comb stood beside her, a gray pallor in her attractive face. She had gone
rigid, as if a snake had coiled its smooth length around her flesh. Her hands
were clenched into tight fists, the muscles of her jaw bunched. Something
indescribable burned behind her eyes: a desperate shining that radiated pain
and horror outward from the soul. She teetered” every muscle rigid, as if her
balance was suspect, and she hovered on the verge of collapse. Well, at least
Shell Comb looked as a Weroansqua should during such a time of trial. Hunting
Hawk lifted her chin,” forcing her gaze to the procession winding through the
stubble and stumps of the fields. The grisly burden swung with each step.

 
          
Nine
Killer led the way, a thunderous darkness in his expression. Oh yes, Hunting
Hawk knew that look well and it boded no good for
Flat
Pearl
Village
.

 
          
What
does he know? What does he suspect?

 
          
Behind
Nine Killer, the warriors marched, fingering strung bows. To a man they glanced
uneasily back at the forest. In the rear walked Copper Thunder, with his
warriors in a tight cluster. They spoke in low tones. Nothing in their manners
reassured her.

 
          
This
is going to be complicated, like an onion, layers upon layers. She pondered
Quick Fawn’s frightened report of White Stake warriors skulking in th woods.
Who knew what mischief they might have committed had the warriors not been out
beating the bush? Each new element uncovered on this grim morning flared like a
spark near thatch.

 
          
She
shifted, refusing to wince at the pain in her hips and lower back. Standing
always hurt these days.

 
          
It
wouldn’t be long now before she was laid up in the House of the Dead. They’d
slice her withered belly open, extract her intestines and organs. With great
care Green Serpent would skin her carcass and tan her wrinkled skin. Her bare
corpse would lie there, drying and decomposing, until Green Serpent directed
Lightning Cat and Streaked Bear to pluck the last of the slack brown meat from
her bones. After that, they would stretch her tanned skin over her dried
skeleton, stuff her with grass, and sew the hide together.

 
          
Amid
great ceremony, she would be laid up with the rest of her ancestors, venerated
and worshiped, her spirit providing leadership and protection for the village,
guidance and inspiration for Shell Comb and other successors.

 
          
And
when my ghost meets the others, what will they say? How will they deal with me?
Her lips twitched uncomfortably. What could a pack of ghosts do to hurt another
of their kind? If they decided to punish her, what remedy could they inflict?

 
          
You
‘re a silly old woman. The things you ‘we done had to be done. Flat
Pearl
remained independent, a leader among the
Fish
River
villages. Greenstone Clan was respected the
length and breadth of
Salt
Water
Bay
. No matter what crimes she’d committed,
those results spoke for themselves.

 
          
She
glanced at Shell Comb, noting the woman’s steely determination: she stood by
force of will, her face like a mask, as her daughter’s body was borne toward
her.

 
          
Perhaps
Shell Comb had finally come to understand the responsibility of becoming
Weroansqua. For once, she acted like a leader, stoic, a model for her people.
Only by knowing Shell Comb as she did did Hunting Hawk sense the underlying
brittleness. But then, that which was brittle didn’t mar or dent. It snapped.
With time, however, provided it didn’t break catastrophically, it might temper
into a tough resilience.

 
          
There
is hope, after all. Hunting Hawk almost sighed with relief—would have, but for
the solemnity of the occasion.

 
          
Nine
Killer crossed the beaten dirt to stand before her, face expressionless, as if
carved from wood. “What happened out there?”

 
          
Nine
Killer drew a deep breath, filling his broad chest. He held it for a moment to
still his inner turmoil. “A busy morning, Weroansqua. We began our search for
Red Knot. As we worked up the neck, young Quick Fawn came running to tell us
that enemy warriors were approaching. I quietly recalled my men, and laid a
trap-into which Winged Blackbird obligingly walked. Finding himself somewhat at
a disadvantage, he told me he was on a peaceful mission, bearing a message to
you from his Weroance.”

 
          
“And
that was?” “The Weroance of White Stake Village wished to delicately express
his displeasure at the idea of our marrying

 
          
Red
Knot to the Great Tayac. In short, Weroansqua, Corn Hunter must have heard that
Red Knot had become a woman. He panicked, and sent Winged Blackbird to try and
talk you out of it.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk glanced sidelong at Shell Comb to gauge her reaction. Her daughter’s eyes
glinted. Good-she was thinking, using her head for something besides grief.

 
          
“I
see.” She gestured to where two warriors still supported the pole with Red
Knot’s body. “And this?”