People of the Mist (27 page)

 
          
Threadleaf
stood up, and her lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Let her go,” she said to
Sawtooth. “I do not know her. This child is unworthy of being Star Crab. She is
no longer a member of my clan.” And she started to duck into the house.

 
          
“Wait!”
her mother called. “Threadleaf, you didn’t mean that. Did you? Oh, Sun Conch,
how could you do this to us? To me? If Threadleaf casts you out… oh, Okeus,
pity me, I will not even be able to speak with you!”

 
          
Sawtooth
rubbed his hands over his face. “Please, Sun Conch, apologize to your aunt.
Pledge to—”

 
          
“It’s
too late,” Threadleaf said. “I did mean it. Sun Conch is now outcast from our
clan. As of this instant, both of you are forbidden to speak with her. Your
eyes cannot look upon her. Your hands cannot touch her.” Threadleaf’s fist
sliced the air. “It is finished.”

 
          
Sawtooth
rose and left the fire, walking across the plaza with his head down, elderly
shoulders slumped. People rushed to him before he reached his own house,
hissing questions, grabbing his arms.

 
          
Sun
Conch stared at her mother. She was holding her stomach and rocking back and
forth before the fire, weeping silently.

 
          
Sun
Conch marched across the plaza toward The Panther, forcing her weak knees to
hold her. When she reached his side, she dropped to the ground and concentrated
on the dull, nauseating thud of her heart.

 
          
The
Panther said, “Nine Killer, might I speak more with you later?”

 
          
The
stocky War Chief rose, glanced at Sun Conch’s face, and said, “Of course,
Elder. I will be around.”

 
          
When
Nine Killer had gone, Panther reached out and placed his fingers lightly on Sun
Conch’s forearm. “You only think you have lost everything,” he said. “You
haven’t.”

 
          
“I
am outcast, Elder.” Her voice was bleak.

 
          
“My
dear girl,” he said softly, his faded old eyes gleaming as if from some inner
fire. “Listen to me. People spend most of their lives weaving cocoons inside
their souls. Cocoons called ‘clan,” ‘family,” or ‘self.” Most people clutch
those cocoons to their hearts as if their very lives depended upon them. They
won’t let the cocoons hatch. They’re too terrified of what might emerge. You
have just been given a chance to see what will hatch. Don’t throw it away.
Wings are beautiful things.”

 
          
Sun
Conch wanted to open her mouth to respond, to ask him questions about what he
meant, but opening her mouth would have meant screaming.

 
          
She
just closed her eyes and nodded.

 
          
At
sunrise, the men, women, and children of Three Myrtle trooped out of the
village bearing their statue of Okeus on poles, singing songs of welcome, and
escorted Nine Killer and his warriors into the palisade, where the lingering
odor of a cooking feast hung heavily in the chilly air.

 
          
Nine
Killer stood in the plaza, smiling uneasily, and wondering what had convinced
Black Spike to do this. Giving a feast in honor of an enemy War Chief and his
warriors wasn’t the sort of thing Black Spike would initiate on his own—not
that the Weroance wasn’t at heart a good sort, but such clever political
maneuvering just wouldn’t occur naturally to him.

 
          
Black
Spike stood up before the great crackling bond fire, his arm in a bulky
wrapping, and called out:

 
          
“Okeus,
hear my words! Divert your wrath around us. We, your people, honor your name
and presence among us. Look into our hearts, and see the worth reflected there.
Turn your wrath upon our enemies, and, if you must do harm, do it to those who
are unworthy.”

 
          
“Great
lord, may you harm the unworthy,” the people chimed in the ritual prayer.

 
          
Black
Spike raised his good arm. “I welcome all of our friends and longtime allies to
share our bounty. A mistake has been made, and now, with good will and
understanding, we, of Three Myrtle Village, offer this feast in hopes that
these last days will be forgotten.”

 
          
A
young woman stepped out of the House of the Dead, bearing a large conch shell,
its contents steaming in the cold air.

 
          
Black
Spike took the shell awkwardly, raised the rim to his lips, and drank deeply of
the bitter brew. “I offer the sacred black drink to my friend, Nine Killer.” He
looked Nine Killer in the eyes, and extended the shell cup, balanced in his
good hand.

 
          
Nine
Killer stepped forward, took the shell, and drank deeply of the hot yaupon tea.
As its warmth hit his belly, and the electric charge raced through his veins,
he replied in his most gracious voice: “To my friends and clans people of Three
Myrtle Village. We happily accept your kind offer of food and friendship. The
offering of a feast reminds us of the lessons taught by First. Man before he
was raised into the sky to become the sun, and First Woman, who was carried up
to become the moon. It was they who, just after the Creation, taught the twins,
Okeus and Ohona, to offer food to visitors that their bodies might be
refreshed. “As your visitors, we accept your offer in hopes that our recent
difficulties are behind us. We have faced many terrible troubles together. We
have stood side by side through storms, sickness, war, and famine. As we
endured those trials, and overcame them, so shall we weather this one. To the
people of Three Myrtle Village, I offer my fullest cooperation in bringing this
matter to a rightful and proper conclusion.”

 
          
There,
that should allow him to react to any future complications that Hunting Hawk
might throw at him.

 
          
He
walked over to where the statue of Okeus had been carefully lowered by the
crackling bonfire, and poured some of the black drink into the bowl placed
before the seated god. Those haunting shell eyes seemed to stare right through
Nine Killer’s soul, the painted grin mocking him.

 
          
After
he returned the bowl to Black Spike, he nodded respectfully to the Weroance,
and went to sit by the fire next to Flying Weir. Haunches of freshly roasted
venison, steaming tuckahoe made from processed arum root, gourds filled with
pumpkin soup, and a big wooden trencher of squash were brought and set before
them after small portions had been offered to Okeus. At the edge of the fire, a
pot of hominy bubbled.

 
          
The
Panther ducked out of Black Spike’s Great House, followed by Sun Conch. It was
like a cloud passing before the sun. People went quiet and averted their eyes,
many making warding signs with their fingers.

 
          
Appearing
oblivious, The Panther met Nine Killer’s gaze, smiled, and turned in the War
Chief’s direction. Nine Killer experienced-that singularly unsettling jitter in
his stomach. How could one relish the attention of a famous sorcerer when
eating the first good meal in days?

 
          
“Greetings,
War Chief,” Panther called out as he approached. The old man groaned as he
seated himself to Nine Killer’s right.

 
          
As
usual, Sun Conch stood on guard behind the old man, her hand on her war club.
The girl had become such a familiar sight that Nine Killer barely noticed her
now-except when she gazed at High Fox. At that moment her eyes shone like
stars.

 
          
“War
Chief, Elder,” Flying Weir mumbled, “excuse me. I see … um, see an old friend
over there.” He beat a hasty retreat.

 
          
Nine
Killer had to keep from making the warding sign himself. He wished he were
anywhere but sitting across from The Panther, but he said, “You did this,
didn’t you? The feast?” Panther inspected the bowl of squash, ran his fingers
through it to scoop up a handful, and gratefully sucked the sweet mush from his
fingers. “Ah, I love squash. Especially on a cool day like this. Something
about it warms the stomach like nothing else.”

 
          
“Did
you do this?”

 
          
The
Panther shot him a measuring glance. “What’s this? Suspicion in your voice, War
Chief? Am I to take it that we are no longer being honest with each other?”

 
          
“I
asked the first question, Elder.”

 
          
The
Panther dived back into the squash, his expression radiant as he licked the
yellow paste from his fingers, smacked his lips, and took another dip. “Yes, I
thought it would be a good idea. Black Spike, when considering the
alternatives, was only too pleased to take my humble suggestion and adopt it as
if it were his own.” Panther made a dour face. “Now, you wouldn’t go around
telling people I had any involvement, would you? It might, well, dampen the
spirit of true brotherhood and reconciliation, much like a storm surge does a
campfire on a beach.”

 
          
“I
wouldn’t think of it.”

 
          
“Good,
I knew you were a man of uncommon sense.”

 
          
Nine
Killer glowered as the’ feasters closest to them picked up their dishes and
drifted away. “Elder, you don’t have many friends, do you?”

 
          
Panther,
who was gumming another mouthful of squash, swallowed and said, “Oh, yes, I do.
I miss my crows and my gulls. They tell me the most amazing things. Did you
know that the moon is a world like ours, but without air and water?”

 
          
“No,
I mean … Your crows told you that?”

 
          
“They
did. And many other things, too.”

 
          
Nine
Killer glanced up at the sky. What a preposterous idea! Everyone knew that the
moon was First Woman. She’d been born as the second fruit of the tree of
Creation, after First Man. She had been carried up into the sky by First Man
just after she’d given birth to the twin gods. Together, they lived in the sky
world along with the hunting star people.

 
          
“I
mean you don’t have many human friends.”

 
          
“People
come and people go. Friendship, now, that’s a transitory thing indeed.
Circumstances change and people change with them. Perhaps it is an experience
that alters a person’s understanding of life—say, an experience in war. Or,
once, I knew a brave man who was elevated to the position of War Chief. He
hadn’t changed, not really, but his friends thought he had. Then, I knew a
Trader once who crossed the Western Mountains, visited the great chieftains on
their high mounds, drank their black drink, and ate from finely crafted dishes.
When he returned, his closest friends called him crazy. They said he was a
liar. Another time, two friends, a man and woman, married, each willing to do
whatever was necessary to live as his mate wished. But once again, War Chief,
the friendship that had lasted for years was altered forever. They divorced
within two Comings of the Leaves.”

 
          
“Nothing
is constant, Elder. Only the sky above and the earth below.”

 
          
“I
wouldn’t bet on them, either, War Chief.”

 
          
Nine
Killer scratched his jaw, squinted as he thought, and finally shrugged. “No, I
suppose not.”

 
          
They
ate in silence for a while.

 
          
At
last Nine Killer asked, “Don’t you miss human companionship out on that island,
or are those things beyond the needs of a … a man like you?”

 
          
The
Panther lifted a white eyebrow. “You were going to say a witch?”

 
          
Nine
Killer’s guts crawled, but he said it anyway. “Witches have evil spirits to
converse with, don’t they?”

 
          
The
Panther sighed, wrists suddenly going limp. The squash dripped from his
fingers. “War Chief, I am going to need your help to see this thing through. I
can’t find Red Knot’s killer by myself. I must have an ally in Flat Pearl
Village. The murderer has cleverly hidden himself, and I will need you to help
me weasel him from behind his cover.”

 
          
Nine
Killer studied the steaming slice of venison in his hand. “I have to tell you,
for a sorcerer, you seem to have a basic lack of understanding as to what your
duties are.” He waved the meat to indicate the surroundings. “A witch should be
sowing discord, acting for his own. self-interest. Not making peace.”

 
          
Panther
resumed sucking squash from his fingers. “Well, War Chief, don’t tell anyone,
but just for your information, I’m not a night traveler. Like I told you
earlier, even if you offered me a witch’s Power, I’d turn it down. It would
cost too much of my soul.” He jerked his head toward the statue of the god. “He
can have all the chaos he wants.”

           
“Be careful of what you say, Elder,
witch or not.” Nine Killer was uncomfortably aware that across the distance the
god’s shell eyes seemed to have fixed on him.

 
          
“My
loyalty is to Ohona, War Chief. The dark god and I made our peace a long time
ago.”

 
          
How
could a man talk so blithely about Okeus? Nine Killer shifted the conversation
to a safer subject. “Then why do you let people talk? Why not do something to
prove you’re not a witch?”

 
          
The
Panther met Nine Killer’s gaze, a twinkle in his eye. “Because only a witch
could have stopped Black Spike from wiping out you and your warriors. Only a
witch could have hinted horrible disaster to the Weroance if he didn’t give
this feast. And, when you finally take me to Flat Pearl Village, we’re going to
need a witch to smoke the murderer out of his hole.”

 
          
The
Panther scooped up the last of the squash, gulped it down, belched, and added,
“But the greatest advantage of all is that when people think you’re a witch,
you can eat an entire serving of squash all by yourself.”

 
          
“Wait”—Nine
Killer raised his free hand—“I’m not taking you to—”

 
          
“Oh,
but you are. If you don’t, I’ll curse you in front of all your warriors. Do you
really think anyone would follow you after that?”

 
          
Nine
Killer blanched. “But you said—”

 
          
“Your
warriors never heard me say it.” The Panther wiped his hands clean on his
thighs, eyes on the steaming pot of hominy across from him. “Besides, having a
witch around is so exciting, I doubt they’d believe you if you told them
otherwise. So, I guess you’ll just have to take me to Flat Pearl Village, won’t
you?”

 
          
Nine
Killer glared, but The Panther seemed nonchalant as he pointed at the hominy
pot. “Could you pass that over in my direction?”