People of the Mist (29 page)

 
          
Moccasins
whispered on the matting. Soft. Indistinct. The guard turned to look toward the
far end of the long house.

 
          
Sun
Conch silently reached for her war club, then slipped it from beneath her deer
hides
Hickory
smoke spiraled up from the smoldering fire
pits, crawled across the ceiling, and glimmered in the starlight shining
through the smoke holes before being sucked out into the night. She rearranged
the blankets so they wouldn’t impair her movement if she had to rise and strike
quickly with the war club. The wooden handle felt icy in her hand.

 
          
It’s
probably nothing.

 
          
Smoky
air stung Sun Conch’s lungs as she inhaled.

 
          
A
shadow moved through the center of the long house tall and graceful. As he
neared, she could smell the scents of sacred tobacco and wood smoke.

 
          
“Big
Noise,” High Fox whispered. “It’s me. I must speak with Sun Conch.”

 
          
Big
Noise replied, “Your father said—”

 
          
“He
said you were to watch the witch, not me. I don’t need your permission, Big
Noise. I just thought I would inform you since you are standing guard.”

 
          
High
Fox silently passed Big-Noise and knelt beside Sun Conch’s bed.

 
          
She
sat up, careful not to awaken The Panther, and laid her war club aside. The dim
light revealed the bruise on the side of his face. “What happened?” she
whispered, and reached to touch it.

 
          
High
Fox caught her hand and held it in both of his. “My father, he—he was upset
with me.” His thumbs moved gently over her fingers. “I told him I thought it
would be best for everyone if I just went away.”

 
          
Sun
Conch couldn’t speak. One part of her wailed that after all that had happened,
all she had gone through to help him, he wanted to just flee? The other part of
her desperately whispered, Run away… with me ?

 
          
She
steeled herself, and said, “We discussed this, High Fox, that night on the
shore of the inlet. You said we had to—”

 
          
“I
know I did. But I’ve changed my mind.” His grip on her hand turned hurtful.
“Sun Conch, everybody thinks I’m guilty! I’ll be killed!”

 
          
“Stop
this,” she ordered, and tugged her hand back. The expression on his handsome
face went from terror to shock in less than a heartbeat. He sat in front of her
with his fingers still clutching the air where her hand had been. Sun Conch
whispered, “You are braver than this. What’s gotten into you?”

 
          
“Sun
Conch, I … I think my father may be turning against me.” His mouth hung open,
the lower jaw trembling.

 
          
“What!
Why?”

 
          
“I
heard him talking. He said that Red Knot was a stupid fool, that she should
have known better than to show interest in a man like me.” A swallow went down
his throat. “It was the way he said it. The tone in his voice.”

 
          
“That
proves nothing, High Fox. He’s worried about you, you know that. His son is in
trouble. People say odd things when they’re worried, looking for a way out.”

 
          
He
fumbled with the laces on his moccasins. “Yes, I I know, but…” He paused for a
long time. “Everyone thinks I did it, Sun Conch. Even The Panther! You heard
him this afternoon! Please. There’s something I need you to do for me.
Something I can’t do myself. I lost something when I was in
Flat
Pearl
Village
, up on the ridge overlooking the canoe
landing. When you are in Flat Pearl, could you …” His eyes shifted to look
behind Sun Conch, and he hastily rose to his feet.

 
          
“No,
she can’t.”

 
          
Sun
Conch swung around.

 
          
The
Panther sat up, drew a blanket over his bony shoulders, and said, “What are you
doing here?”

 
          
“I
came to speak with Sun Conch, Elder.”

 
          
Little
Toad roused and woke Lametoe. Big Noise stepped forward with his war club in
hand to see what was happening.

 
          
Panther
extended a hand in a calming gesture. Softly, so as not to wake anyone else, he
said, “The stories of my sorcery are greatly exaggerated, Big Noise. I assure
you, I am not so Powerful as my enemies would have you believe. Please. Go back
to your guard position. This does not concern you.”

 
          
Big
Noise looked at High Fox, and when the young man nodded, the War Chief returned
to his place by the wall, but he kept his club up and ready in the silvered
light, Panther’s gray hair resembled matted spiderwebs. He lowered his voice,
and pointed at High Fox. “I own Sun Conch. I told you this, and she told you
this. The next time you wish to speak with her, you will explain your reasons
to me first.” The words bit. “Do you understand?”

 
          
“Forgive
me, Elder.” High Fox glanced around. “I meant no offense. I just… 1—I will
leave and let you return to your rest.” He swiftly turned and slipped away,
head down, his movements reminding her of a whipped camp dog.

 
          
Sun
Conch felt as if someone had struck her in the stomach with a blunt beam. She
couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She watched High Fox until he ducked beneath
the door hanging at the opposite end of the house, and vanished into the
darkness beyond.

 
          
She
turned her wounded gaze at Panther. “Why did you do that?”

 
          
“He
seems to think you are his slave, rather than mine,” Panther said mildly. “I
had to correct that misunderstanding. ” Sun Conch lay back down and gruffly
pulled her hides up. “You were too harsh, Elder. He’s afraid. That’s all.”

 
          
“He’s
a coward, girl. He’s been protected his whole life. First, by his father, and
now by you. He doesn’t know how to stand on his own two feet. Or won’t. I don’t
know which, and it doesn’t matter. A coward is a coward.”

 
          
Panther
rolled up in his blanket again and turned his back to her.

 
          
Sun
Conch lay awake long into the night, staring at the smoke that crept along the
ceiling for the smoke holes. She alternately considered Panther’s words and
wondered what High Fox had lost at
Flat
Pearl
Village
that so terrified him.

 
          
Nine
Killer woke to a dreary gray morning, the air almost solid with fog and his
blanket hoary with frost. He sat up and puffed out a white breath that
immediately merged with the surrounding mist.

 
          
Friendship
might have been rekindled, but he’d nevertheless ordered his warriors back to
their camp in the trees for the night. Better that than allow some hothead to
undo all that had been accomplished. He shivered and reached over to stir his
fire for embers, but the damp charcoal was cold to the touch. Muttering to
himself, he stood and peered around in the gray haze. His warriors lay in their
blankets like logs.

 
          
Nine
Killer rubbed his cold arms and bent down for his pack. From it he took a small
bark container and used his fingers to dip out what was left of the contents.
The concoction was made from rendered bear fat, ground puccoon root, and mint
leaves for scent, the latter being his own addition. He smeared it thickly over
his exposed flesh.

 
          
In
the winter, the grease helped retain body warmth. In the summer it protected
the flesh from the ravenous hordes of mosquitoes that rose in humming columns
from the marshes. The little bloodsuckers could drive a man insane at best, and
kill him at worst. In late spring and early summer they swarmed off the
brackish water, the air screaming from their passage.

 
          
He
was about to kick Flying Weir awake when he caught movement from the corner of
his eye—a lone man picking his way through the wraiths of fog, staring down
intently at each sleeper as he passed.

 
          
Nine
Killer recognized the intruder. “Are you looking for someone, Stone Cob?” The
warrior started, glanced around, and located Nine Killer. “I was. It looks like
I found you, War Chief.”

 
          
“I
thought you were out ‘hunting’ like so many of my other warriors.”

 
          
Stone
Cob walked reluctantly forward, his hands out, empty, in a gesture of trust.
“Could we talk?”

 
          
“Say
what is on your mind. But, in the process, you might tell me just what you are
doing here. I thought you were sulking in the forest somewhere.”

 
          
Stone
Cob hung his head. “I did no sulking. I came here, to
Three
Myrtle
Village
. I couldn’t let you kill them, War Chief. I
have family here. They had to be warned.”

 
          
Nine
Killer tilted his head back and looked up at the gray heavens. Overhead, the
bare branches of trees seemed to vanish in fainter’ and fainter patterns the
higher one looked. “I understand. That’s how they knew we were coming, when we
would arrive, and where. That’s how they trapped us here.”

 
          
“Yes.”

 
          
Nine
Killer gave him a narrow-eyed inspection. “But I didn’t see you out there
yesterday.” “I couldn’t bear arms against you. No more than I could have
against my relatives and friends. When The Panther stopped the fighting, I ran,
hid in the trees beyond the fields. I was out there all last night, trying to
decide what to do.”

 
          
“And
what did you decide?”

 
          
“To
come to you, to explain what I did, and why. To tell you that I am not your
enemy.”

 
          
“Nor
my friend, I dare say.”

 
          
“You’re
wrong, Nine Killer. I will be your friend from now until I am dead and my bones
stripped of their meat and placed in the ossuary with the rest of my people.
You saved my life.”

 
          
“But
yesterday you would have watched my death.”

 
          
He
nodded sadly. “It would have been the most terrible thing I ever witnessed.”

 
          
“Again,
I ask, what are you doing here, talking with me?” Stone Cob straightened, head
held high. “My honor demanded no less of me. I could not be party to the murder
of my clans people or my friends here. When you arrived, I could not be party
to your murder, or the murder of my kin and friends accompanying you. That is
over, but my part in it is not. I came here to serve you, to-repay my debt to
you. You may do with me what you will. Restore me to your side, cast me out, or
kill me. Whatever serves you best, War Chief. The decision is yours.”

 
          
Nine
Killer stared into those level brown eyes. His first instinct was to raise his
war club and beat Stone Cob’s brains from his skull. But he couldn’t, not after
all the times they had worked, fought, and laughed together. Nor could he
welcome Stone Cob back with open arms. A betrayal, despite the circumstances,
could not be countenanced.

 
          
Nine
Killer rubbed his grease slick hands together. “You betrayed me, Stone Cob. No
matter how justified your actions, I cannot—”

 
          
Sun
Conch trotted like a ghost out of the fog, her face dour.