People of the Mist (21 page)

 
          
Nine
Killer absently turned the cup in his hands, his soul’s eye focusing on his
friends at
Three
Myrtle
Village
, the raids shared, the battles fought, the
camaraderie they’d enjoyed. With each recollection, the sensation of emptiness
swelled.

 
          
The
hanging pulled back from the door, and he glanced up to see Hunting Hawk’s
hunched figure duck awkwardly through, balanced on her sassafras cane. The old
woman straightened, winced, and hobbled forward.

 
          
Tension
rippled through the people, their postures straightening. Fists tightened on
kirtles and bodies shifted uneasily as they glanced back and forth.

 
          
“Miserable
night out there,” Hunting Hawk said by way of greeting. “Freezing rain. Foul
stuff. You’d think it would have a care for old women like me who can’t afford
to take a spill. Why, if I fall down, every bone in my body will snap.”

 
          
Rosebud
stood hesitantly. “Greetings, Weroansqua. Can we get something for you? A cup
of tea perhaps?”

 
          
“Yes,
that would be fine.” Hunting Hawk stopped before Nine Killer. The War Chief
stood and nodded a respectful greeting.

 
          
Okeus
himself might have just walked into the room, the way people fidgeted in the
attempt to look at ease.

 
          
If
Hunting Hawk noticed, she betrayed no awareness.

 
          
“Be
seated,” Nine Killer offered.

 
          
Braced
on her sassafras cane, Hunting Hawk eased herself down with a crackling of
joints and sighed.

 
          
Rosebud
appeared flustered; she almost dropped the ceramic cup she used to dip warm tea
from a pot on the cooking fire. She extended it to Hunting Hawk with anxious
hands.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk sipped the tea and nodded politely. “Thank you.” She raised an eyebrow.
“War Chief, I was wondering if we could talk?” “If you’ll excuse us.” Rosebud
shot a glance at her family. “I think we’ll take this opportunity to pay a
visit to cousin Yellow Net.” Like a flushed covey of quail, the children
scuttled for the doorway and the stormy night.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk’s preoccupation kept her from noticing the panicked retreat. In the
ensuing silence, the old woman turned her brooding eyes on the fire; her
withered brown lips pursed as she watched the flames slowly win the battle with
the damp wood.

 
          
Finally,
Nine Killer asked, “What did you need to see me about, Weroansqua?”

 
          
“A
bit formal, are we? “Weroansqua’? And just the two of us alone?”

 
          
Nine
Killer shrugged as he gave her a wary scrutiny.

 
          
She
took a drink from the tea and wiped her lips with the corner of her soft
deerskin mantle. “I need to hear your thoughts, War Chief. If we decide to go
to Three Myrtle and retrieve this High Fox, what are our options?”

 
          
Nine
Killer ran a hand over the back of his neck, trying to massage the frustration
out of his knotted muscles. “What options are there? If we go after the boy,
Three Myrtle will fight to protect him. Black Spike made that clear.”

 
          
“Can
you win?”

 
          
Nine
Killer couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Win, Elder? If I can take Three Myrtle,
defeat Black Spike’s warriors, and capture the boy, will we have won? If I
attack and they beat us back, or fight us to a stalemate, will we have won? No
matter the outcome of the warfare, the results will be the same.” He met her
hard gaze squarely. “The alliance will be destroyed, fragmented as completely
as if you’d smacked a dry walnut with a stone-headed hammer.”

 
          
“Some
things can’t be avoided.” Hunting Hawk made a sour face. “I’m trapped, War
Chief, like a squirrel in a cage. I keep reaching out through the gaps to claw
a way out, but I can’t find the latch string. Had it been any young woman but
Red Knot, I could wiggle us out of this mess.”

 
          
“Oh?”

 
          
She
smiled crookedly. “Of course. I could put a little pressure on the aggrieved
family, negotiate a deal with the culprit’s clan, and impose a fine. I might
have to surreptitiously funnel a couple of canoe loads of corn, copper, and
puccoon to one side or the other, but I could buy off both parties and reach a
compromise. I could have done it this time if Red Knot was marrying anyone but
Copper Thunder, but I can’t make a quiet fix of this. Not with Copper Thunder in
the middle of it, and Water Snake out in the woods scheming against me.”

 
          
“No,
you can’t.” Nine Killer stared down into his tea. “Red Knot’s death has created
a crack in our alliance. At first opportunity, someone is going to wedge in a
digging stick, and pry us apart.” “I think that will happen anyway.” She pulled
at the wattle of skin hanging under her chin. “I’m not accustomed to seeing
this dullness in your eyes. You don’t look excited about this raid on Three
Myrtle.”

 
          
“Elder,
before I was Blackened and killed, I dreamed of being a warrior. And since I
became a man, I’ve dedicated myself to my clan and my people.”

 
          
“And
very successfully, too.”

 
          
“But
for the first time, I wonder who I am fighting. Where is the enemy? These men
I’ve shared the war trail with? The ones I’ve stood shoulder to shoulder with
in battle against the Mamanatowick’s warriors? The ones who covered my back
when we drove off Conoy raiders?” “The very same. Things change, War Chief.”

 
          
Why
was she here? Hunting Hawk always had ulterior motives. This was more than her
seeking her War Chief’s opinion. She was probing, looking for something.

 
          
Nine
Killer shifted uneasily. “And if I raid Three Myrtle, what have I protected?
Have I saved any lives? Have I defended any territory? Is the Water Snake
weakened? Is Stone Frog?”

 
          
“This
isn’t about those things.” Hunting Hawk sipped her tea and studied him
thoughtfully.

 
          
He
knew that cunning look. She was hiding something. “Then what is it about?
Glory? Honor? I feel a warrior’s pride when I stand over a defeated enemy. I
don’t think I will feel that way when I stand over my cousin’s bleeding body in
Three Myrtle Village. I won’t see it when I look into the women’s eyes, and see
them weeping for men I knew, and respected. So much for courage, and skill.”

 
          
“I
could almost think you didn’t believe that High Fox was the killer. Is that
what makes you hesitate?”

 
          
“Weroansqua,
I have to be honest; too many questions about the girl’s death are unanswered.
Something about all of this isn’t right.”

 
          
“Exactly
what isn’t right? You’ve heard Flat Willow’s account of what happened. Could it
be any more obvious?”

 
          
“No,
but, well…” He frowned, trying to put it into words. “I’ve got a stirring in my
gut that we’re missing something, some bit of information that would make it
all understandable.”

 
          
“And
I’m supposed to trust your gut?”

 
          
He
shrugged and glanced away. “It’s the best I can give you for the moment.”
“Would you prefer that I find someone else to lead this raid?” Her hard black
eyes bored into him to read the secrets of his soul. Was she digging for
weakness? “No, Weroansqua. I am the War Chief of Flat Pearl Village. A man
doesn’t have to enjoy a duty to do it well. If this thing can be accomplished,
no one is more capable of it than I am. If it is to be attempted, it must be
done as efficiently, quickly, and cleanly as possible. We can’t afford mistakes
that would turn a bad situation into a disaster. The best we can hope for is to
strike like lightning, grab the boy, and be gone with the least amount of
damage done to Three Myrtle Village and its defenders.”

 
          
“Keep
the anger and resentment to a minimum?” Hunting Hawk’s questioning eyebrow
rearranged her wrinkles. “That, War Chief, might be our only hope. If you can
enter, seize High Fox, and make your escape without killing too many, we might
be able to reach a compromise in the aftermath. The trick is not to stir them
up beyond the point where we can repair the damage.”

 
          
“To
do so,” Nine Killer whispered softly, “will take a miracle. We’d best pray that
Okeus sleeps late on that day.”

 
          
“You’d
do almost anything to avoid this, wouldn’t you?”

 
          
“Wouldn’t
you? You know the risks.” “To be sure, War Chief. Find me a clean way out, and
I’ll take it. I swear by Okeus.” She drank the last of her tea, and waved him
off when he tried to help her to her feet. She made a face as she straightened
her back and said, “Sleep well, War Chief. Dream of ways to make this raid
work. I want that boy, and without too much bloodshed.”

 
          
She
gave him a curt nod, and pottered off toward the door, her sassafras cane
making a ticking sound as it tapped the packed dirt floor.

 
          
After
she’d stepped outside, Nine Killer stared after her, a frown lining his
forehead. He could imagine her out in the night, her figure hunched in the
misty darkness, crossing the village in her shambling walk—like a spider
creeping along a deadly web.

 
          
Moments
later, Rosebud’s head peered in through the doorway.

 
          
“Is
it all right?”

 
          
“No,
sister. It is not. I fear Okeus is laughing at us this night.”

 
          
The
cold wind blowing down from the northwest sent white-capped waves scudding into
the narrows of Three Myrtle Inlet. The water had a sullen green appearance, as
if resentful of anything warm and alive. Undercut roots resisted its pounding,
struggling to protect the fragile soil.

 
          
Low
gray clouds billowed in the southeast. If anything, they made the winter-bare
branches appear more bleak and questing.

 
          
Threads
of mist blew over the palisade around Three Myrtle Village, moistening the
weathered posts until they gleamed. The thatched long houses too, were mist
darkened and dreary. Curls of blue smoke eddied along the curves of roofs
before being torn away by the wind.

 
          
This
was no day for travel. A lone canoe bobbed and ducked, riding the choppy waves
toward the village canoe landing. The solitary paddler had a cloth blanket
wrapped over his feathered cloak, and his head was covered with a beaver skin
cap. From time to time, he’d rest his paddle across the gunwales and use a
conch shell cup to bail out the water that shipped over the gunwales. Then he
would return to the struggle, driving his boat toward the landing’s lines of
beached canoes.

 
          
As
the bow of his dugout slid onto the sand, a cry went up from the village. By
the time the traveler sloshed ashore and pulled his slim canoe up the beach,
several men had trotted out from Three Myrtle Village, bows strung and arrows
drawn.

 
          
The
traveler raised his hands, and cried, “I come with important news for Black
Spike!”

 
          
Black
Spike stepped out from the overlapping gate in the palisade, a blanket tucked
to his chest. “I am Black Spike, Weroance of Three Myrtle. Who … Stone Cob? Is
that you?”

 
          
“It
is me, Weroance. I come with news!”

 
          
Black
Spike stopped short, head cocked. “What news would the lieutenant of Nine
Killer bring me?”

 
          
Stone
Cob held his empty hands out to Black Spike. “Nine Killer’s lieutenant brings
you nothing; but Stone Cob, son of Blue Fish, of the Star Crab Clan, comes to
warn you that Nine Killer is assembling warriors at this very moment to raid
Three Myrtle Village.”

 
          
Muttered
curses broke out from the men surrounding Black Spike. The Weroance raised a
hand to still them. “Very well, we are warned, Stone Cob. What of you? Why are
you here?”

 
          
“My
mother, my sisters, and brother live in Three Myrtle Village. No matter what
I’ve sworn to Hunting Hawk, or to Nine Killer, I cannot make war against my
kin.”

 
          
“And
what does Nine Killer plan?”

 
          
“He
means to attack you by surprise. He seeks to accomplish by stealth and audacity
what force of arms might fail to do. He hopes to strike in the hour before
dawn, capture High Fox, and escape.”

 
          
“And
when we resist?”

 
          
“He
hopes to be gone before you can organize a resistance. He would do this without
killing anyone if he could.” Stone Cob glanced uneasily at the trees that hugged
the inlet’s northern bank. They lay little more than a bow shot from the
village’s palisade. “He has told his warriors to land there in the middle of
the night. As long as the wind is right, it will carry the scent away from the
village dogs.”

 
          
“I
see.” Black Spike scowled at the dripping trees. “Well, we can prepare for Nine
Killer’s attack.” He glanced back. Then, am I to believe you will join us?
Fight against Flat Pearl Village’s warriors?”

 
          
Stone
Cob shook his head. “No, great Weroance. If it means my life, I’ll never raise
a hand against Nine Killer. He saved my hide more than once. Just as I cannot
be party to the murder of my family and clan, I cannot carry weapons against my
War Chief.” “Then what will you do?” Black Spike asked.

 
          
Stone
Cob raised his hands in futility. “I don’t know, Weroance. Just be warned that
Nine Killer’s attack is imminent. With that, I will take my leave. Perhaps when
this is all over I will—”

 
          
“Oh,
no you won’t, Stone Cob.” Black Spike made a gesture with his hand.
Immediately, two warriors leapt forward, war clubs ready.

 
          
“What
does this mean?” Stone Cob demanded angrily.

 
          
“It
means that you might be here to mislead me. What kind of fool are you? Do you
seriously think I’d just allow you to leave? To do what? Go back and report to
Nine Killer that we are ready and waiting for him?”

 
          
Stone
Cob took a deep breath, and stared at the soaked sand beneath his feet. “Are
sense and honor gone from the world?”

 
          
“Bind
him up,” Black Spike ordered. “Then prepare! Nine Killer will come by water,
seek to land his warriors in the trees in the night.”

 
          
A
warrior asked, “What if Stone Cob told us lies? What if Nine Killer cuts across
to the south, approaches through the fields?”

 
          
“We’ll
prepare for that, too.” Black Spike studied Stone Cob through half-lidded eyes
as the warrior’s hands were bound. “And if that’s the case, we’ll know that the
honorable Stone Cob was sent as a spy to mislead us. Were I to discover that to
be true, I’d bash his brains out myself.”

 
          
Black
Spike turned on his heel and strode back into the palisade. The warriors shoved
Stone Cob after him.

 
          
Nine
Killer could almost believe that Okeus had been against him from the very
beginning of this raid. He’d been able to muster less than half of his
warriors, the others gone mysteriously missing. Most were reportedly “out
hunting.” Then, just after they’d discussed the plan of attack, Stone Cob had
disappeared. Stone Cob, of all people!

 
          
No
sooner had Nine Killer launched his little fleet to paddle down to Three Myrtle
Inlet than the weather had turned blustery, and then downright miserable. Two
of his canoes had swamped, the warriors swimming their sodden boats to the
safety of the shore before dumping them out and re launching

 
          
Wet,
miserable, and shivering, they watched the night sky as the misty rain turned
into slushy snow.

 
          
With
his unerring sense of direction, Nine Killer had led them to the trees just
north of Three Myrtle Village. Here, they huddled in the darkness, soaked to
the bone, teeth chattering from cold, as dispirited as any band of raiders he’d
ever led.

 
          
“What
do you think?” Flying Weir asked as they crouched in the lee of an ash tree and
peered out into the darkness toward Three Myrtle Village.

 
          
Nine
Killer wiped water from his numb face and squinted toward where he knew the
palisade stood. “I don’t hear a thing. Only a mad idiot would be out in weather
like this. Perhaps, after all we’ve been through, this weather is a blessing.”

 
          
“A
blessing?” Flying Weir wrung out the fringes of his shirt, the sopping leather
squishing in his hands. “My balls are sucked up so tight with cold that I have
trouble swallowing.”

 
          
“Well,
I guess if you’re the sort of man who swallows through his balls, you might not
understand a blessing when you had one.”

 
          
Another
gust of wind blew in, spattering them with chill droplets. Nine Killer crouched
down, wincing as the wind whipped off toward Three Myrtle Village.

 
          
He
cocked his head. A nagging hesitation crawled around in his gut, trying to tell
him something.

 
          
He
searched the sky for any hint of light. Just how long did he have until dawn?
The weather worked against the defenders of Three Myrtle Village, but it also
worked against his raiders. When Nine Killer’s party rushed forward, they had
to be able to see their objective, negotiate the palisade gate, find High
Fox—in Black Spike’s Great House, no doubt—and then retreat to the canoes
without getting lost. The one thing he couldn’t afford was bumbling around in
the dark.

 
          
He
couldn’t help but think about how terribly dark it was. “All right,” he growled
at Flying Weir. “This wind is coming from the north, blowing right down our
backs and toward the village. That will give us our direction. As I remember
it, it’s no more than a bow shot to the palisade. I want everyone to join
hands. That way we can’t be separated. I’ll lead. At the palisade, we’ll feel
our way around to the gate and wait until it’s just light enough to see. Then
we can rush them.”

 
          
“Right,”
Flying Weir muttered. He didn’t sound convinced, but he passed the orders on.

 
          
“Let’s
go.” Nine Killer took Flying Weir’s hand and stood, starting off into the murky
night, feeling with his feet. The darkness pressed down on him, as if to
smother his very soul. He could feel Flying Weir shivering; his own body shook
so hard his teeth rattled.

 
          
Step
by step they proceeded, worry building in Nine Killer’s gut. What was it? There
wasn’t some ditch out here, was there? No, nothing he could remember.

 
          
In
the back of his mind, an image formed, a memory of a summer day not so long
ago: three laughing children chasing around with a pack of barking dogs. They’d
been running back and forth across these flats, playing stick and-ball shinny,
the dogs barking and barking … “Hold up!” Nine Killer hissed, squeezing Flying
Weir’s hand.

 
          
“What?”

 
          
Nine
Killer cocked his head, realizing just what had upset him. The wind … right
down our backs, and not a dog barking at our scent.”

 
          
“Maybe
the dogs are inside?” Flying Weir had lifted a shoulder against the pelting
flakes of snow.

 
          
Nine
Killer could sense the unease among his wet warriors. His fears had carried all
down the line. “Think, Flying Weir. You know Black Spike. He’s expecting
something like this. Would he take the dogs in?”

 
          
“I,
uh … no. He wouldn’t. Not the same man who fought with us against Water Snake.”

 
          
Nine
Killer chewed his lip. A cold trickle of water ran down the side of his head,
and along his neck. “It’s a trap,” he decided. “Someone is muzzling those dogs.
Turn around. Have the last man find our way back into the trees. We’re going to
have to do something different.” “Are you sure? If we—”

 
          
“He’s
waiting for us! If we go in there, we’re going to be cut off, boxed, and shot
down like the silly quail we are! Now,-move!”

 
          
Nine
Killer could feel his warriors’ spirits sagging, any last optimism draining
away like the water that streamed down their clay-cold flesh.

 
          
The
chance of quick surprise had eluded him. The chance to use stealth was gone.
All that remained was sheer brute force. An attack against a fortified enemy.
And Okeus could skewer Nine Killer’s soul with stingray barbs before he’d waste
lives like that. No, the best course was to withdraw before first light, paddle
southeast along the coast, and try a cross-country approach to regain the
advantage.

 
          
It
was only after they’d entered the little copse of trees that Nine Killer heard
the anxious whispers of his men. At the urgency in their voices, he hurried
forward, tripping over roots, demanding, “What’s wrong?”

 
          
“The
canoes,” Split Rattlesnake called hoarsely. “They’re gone! Someone has taken
them!”