People of the Mist (34 page)

 
          
“If
you would excuse me.” Nine Killer smiled to lessen the strain. “My sister is
probably concerned that she hasn’t prepared a feast worthy of a guest.” There.
If she flat refused him entry, he could simply say that nothing was cooked,
take a pot full of something cold, and feed Panther and Sun Conch outside the
palisade.

 
          
He
ducked into the warm interior, and found himself face-to-face with Rosebud. She
wore a mantle over her left shoulder, her right breast bare. The soft hide was
belted at her waist, and hung in gentle folds. Her generally spare movements
were nervous for once, and her hands twisted at the hem of her mantJe.

 
          
Two
fires shed their light over the interior. At the rear fire, White Otter,
Slender Bark, and the rest of the children watched wide-eyed. Nine Killer could
smell the enticing odors of squash, tuckahoe, and steaming wild rice cakes.

 
          
“Greetings,
sister. I can’t tell you—”

 
          
“Is
that the witch?”

 
          
“Sister,
between you and me, no. He’s not a witch He’s an elder, that’s all.”

 
          
“Who
are his people? What is his clan?”

 
          
“Well,
I…”

 
          
Her
dark eyes seemed to widen, and she threw up her hands. “What is it, brother?
What happened out there? Stories are flying around like sparrows!”

 
          
“And
I’ll tell you the whole story, just as it happened. But for now, I need you to
welcome him to your house. Will you do this thing for me?” “My children live
here! Do I need to remind you that—” “Please, sister? Trust me … just this
once?”

 
          
She
stood like wood for a moment, face grim. Then her resolve melted into stubborn
reluctance. “I’ll feed him. But just this one time.”

 
          
He
grinned, then took her hands and kissed them. “Thank you, sister.”

 
          
Rosebud
shook off his hands, gave him a reproving look, and said, “If I ever collect
all that you owe me …”

 
          
But
Nine Killer was ducking outside, returning to Panther and Sun Conch. “My sister
is looking forward to meeting both of you.”

 
          
Panther
chuckled. “You know, I’ve visited people where the men own the house and the
food. At first, I thought it a little peculiar. Over the years, however, I’ve
come to believe there might be something to it.”

 
          
Nine.
Killer paused, considering. “I, too, have heard of such peoples. Met some among
the Traders who pass through. But, tell me, if the men own everything, and
clans and families are traced through the men, how can a man be sure that any
given child is his? A man would have to guard his woman most jealously,
wouldn’t he?”

 
          
“Believe
me, they do,” Panther answered, and walked toward the entrance.

 
          
If
Nine Killer had any qualms, they passed quickly.

 
          
The
Panther, it seemed, could charm the fur off of a beaver. He shed his aura of
Power like the old blanket he carried and beamed at Rosebud as if she were one
of his oldest and dearest friends. His warm smile, gracious manner, and cheery
disposition reminded the War Chief of everyone’s favorite uncle.

 
          
Panther
scooped a mixture of boiled squash, sunflower seed, and walnut from a bowl as
Rosebud said, “I didn’t hear your clan, Elder.”

 
          
He
gave her his sunny smile. “Oh, I doubt you’ve ever heard of them. The High
Steppers, from down south of here.”

 
          
“The
High Steppers, Elder? I’ve heard of many clans, but—”

 
          
From
outside, a voice called, “Welcome home, War Chief. A visitor comes to see you.”

 
          
Nine
Killer tensed, glanced at his sister, and responded, “You are welcome here,
Great Tayac.” A lie if ever he’d said one.

 
          
Copper
Thunder ducked through the doorway, followed by two of his warriors. The man
wore his spider gorget over his chestful of copper necklaces; they tinkled
musically as he walked. A lustrous bear robe hung about his shoulders. His
forked eye tattoos seemed to catch the wavering firelight. The two warriors
stopped at the doorway, both standing rigidly, arms crossed. Copper Thunder
gave Nine Killer a shallow smile as he approached—and then his eyes met The
Panther’s.

 
          
The
Tayac seemed to miss a step. His smile faded. Utter surprise registered on his
face, then a faint flicker of fear.

 
          
“So,”
Copper Thunder said, his voice going low and deadly. “They call you a witch
now.” The Panther’s sunny expression didn’t change. He smiled and sucked squash
from his fingers. Only after he’d swallowed did he say, “I hear they call you
a… what is it? A great something?”

 
          
“Great
Tayac,” Copper Thunder supplied in a threatening voice. “Hmm.” Panther scooped
another handful of squash, ate it, and smacked his lips appreciatively. “That’s
quite a change. From a Grass Mat to a Great Tayac.”

 
          
“You
will never use that name again!” Copper Thunder’s expression blackened.

 
          
Panther
frowned, as if searching his memory. “Seems to me I never did. I was called a
great many things, but never Grass Mat. Nor would I ever want to call myself
that. That was your name, after all.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder crouched before The Panther, his muscles bunched as if to spring.
“Don’t toy with me, old man. I’m not the young boy you once knew. Things have
changed.”

 
          
“Oh,
things always change, Grass Mat, or Copper Thunder, or whoever you are now.
Very well, you will be Copper Thunder, the Great Tayac. After all, they’re only
words, aren’t they? You and I both know that down under the skin, wrapped in
the muscle, bone, and blood, the soul remains as it was, and will be.”

 
          
“You
mock me!”

 
          
For
the first time, the Panther’s eyes hardened. “Never. Not when it comes to the
soul. What have you done? Masked yours, curtained off those parts of it you
wanted to forget?”

 
          
Nine
Killer watched in fascination as Copper Thunder glowered his hatred.

 
          
“It
took me many Comings of the Leaves,” Panther said, ‘before I was willing to
‘pull back the curtains and stare down into my own black depths. I wonder if
you’ll ever have the courage to look closely into yours?”

 
          
“I
have all the courage I need, old man.”

 
          
“Aptly
put. Ask a coward, and he’ll tell you he has all the courage he needs, too. Oh,
I don’t doubt your willingness to face death, or to risk your life and fortune.
But like a quartz crystal, that’s only one facet of courage, Tayac.”

 
          
“Great
Tayac.”

 
          
Panther
dipped up another handful of squash. “I keep forgetting.”

 
          
“How
I have dreamed of this day!” Copper Thunder struck like a snake, his hands
closing on Panther’s neck. “I am going to crush you like the insect you are,
Raven. Feel your life drain away as I squeeze my fist.” The thick fingers began
to tighten on Panther’s skinny neck.

 
          
“No!”
Nine Killer lunged forward as Panther was pulled off balance and toppled
against Copper Thunder. Sun Conch leaped to her feet with her war club raised
over her head. She danced from foot to foot, seeking the right angle to strike.

 
          
To
Nine Killer’s surprise, the old man waved them both back with one hand, then
gestured for Copper Thunder’s attention. When the Great Tayac looked down, he
started, his fingers releasing their deadly grip. A slim bone stiletto dimpled
the skin just beneath Copper Thunder’s breastbone.

 
          
“Another
couple of moments, Tayac, and you would have sent your soul to Okeus,” Panther
whispered hoarsely, the stiletto still in place. The two of you deserve each
other. Remember that, Grass Mat. Kill me, and I swear on your mother’s soul
that I’ll take you with me. Do you understand?”

 
          
Hatred
glittered in Copper Thunder’s eyes, but he jerked a nod. Panther slipped the
slim length of deer bone back into his breech clout Copper Thunder stood, his
hands still working, as if strangling the old man in his imagination. He tossed
his head, flipping his high roached hair to one side. “A great many things are
unfinished between us, Raven.”

 
          
Panther
stared up at him sadly and dipped another handful of pasty squash from the pot.
“I suppose they are, Great Tayac. But, in the meantime, I ask you this:
Wouldn’t it be better if you simply let them be? A man who rakes the coals in
yesterday’s fire pit runs the risk of burning his fingers.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder stalked toward the door, gestured to his startled warriors, and ducked
out into the night.

 
          
Sun
Conch slowly lowered her war club, and clutched it to her chest, breathing
hard. “Blessed Ohona,” she whispered. “That was close.”

 
          
Rosebud
stroked her throat with shaking fingers, terror slowly fading from her eyes.
For his part, Nine Killer’s heart was only now recovering from its frantic
beat.

 
          
Panther
sucked his fingers clean, expression mild. “Rosebud,” he said, “did I tell you
how marvelous your squash is?”

 
          
That
will be all, thank you, warrior.” Hunting Hawk waved her dismissal. Flying Weir
rose to his feet and beat a hasty retreat from her Great House. The door
hanging swayed back and forth after his passing.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk fingered her chin absently, staring down the house to the front room.
There, the slaves sat by the first fire, talking among themselves in low
voices. Now, with Flying Weir’s departure, they stood and began their evening
chores. They were a mixed lot, some taken from the Mamanatowick’s land, others
from the Conoy, and two, oddly enough, from the Susquehannocks once when they
raided this far south. Taking slaves was a mark of triumph, a trophy of a
battle hard fought or a raid perfectly executed. The men, of course, were
killed outright. Only the women and children were kept, being, by nature, more
pliable.

 
          
Hunting
Hawk watched the flames leap and dance for a moment. The mellow light cast a
tawny glow on the grass matting of the interior walls. It sent eerie shadows
flitting across the sooty rafters overhead. Slavery for her people was what she
was trying desperately to avoid.

 
          
Instead
of High Fox safely in her grasp, the situation was ever more out of her
control. Her fire barely held the night’s chill at bay, and couldn’t possibly
illuminate the darkness in her soul.

 
          
Shell
Comb sat by her side and, next to her, Yellow Net. The slaves shot them
surreptitious glances as they went about rolling out the sleeping robes. From
Flying Weir she had heard the entire account of the expedition against Three
Myrtle. What should she do with The Panther? Shower him with gifts in thanks,
or have someone sneak up behind him and bash the brains out of his skull?

 
          
“Tell
me, just what were you trying to do down there?” Hunting Hawk asked her
daughter. “Prove to the world that you’re a mindless fool?”

 
          
Shell
Comb gave her a steely glare. “We have nothing to hide. We’ve done nothing
wrong.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk closed her eyes, taking the moment to collect, herself. “Daughter, it’s
not a matter of what we’ve done, or not done. It’s a matter of controlling our
own affairs. Don’t you understand that?”