People of the Mist (48 page)

 
          
“Now,”
Panther said quietly, “strike him dead.”

 
          
Sun
Conch swung the war club slowly through its arc, the deadly stone-weighted end
reaching just past Nine Killer’s head.

 
          
“Close
enough,” Nine Killer said. “And, if Sun Conch were truly talking to me as she
stepped out, I would have turned, thus.” He faced Sun Conch, the extended war
club next to the left side of his head.

 
          
“If
Sun Conch were to strike you down, the blow would pop your head to the right,
setting you off balance as your knees buckled. You’d fall in .a heap …”

 
          
“Right
where the bloodstain was.” Nine Killer stared down speculatively at the leaf
mat as though seeing it again in his mind: fresh and red. “So she did know the
killer. He stepped out and said something to her. Then struck before she could
react.” “Only someone Red Knot trusted could have walked that close to her.”
Panther dropped to his haunches, picking through the leaves.

 
          
“You
won’t find any blood, Elder,” Sun Conch said. “With the rain and storms, it’s
long washed away.”

 
          
“Oh,
I know.” Panther continued lifting the leaves away and brushing his fingers
over the ground. “Here, let’s sift this anyway. It would surprise me if we
found anything, but perhaps Red Knot had something in her hand besides the
shark-tooth necklace.”

 
          
As
they picked through the leaves, Nine Killer said thoughtfully, “She expected to
meet High Fox, so he would have… What’s this?” Nine Killer lifted a small
wedge-shaped chunk of wood and held it up to the light. It was no longer than a
thumbnail; one side had been rounded, obviously carved and polished. The wedge
shape came from the fact that it was broken, splintered off of a larger piece
of wood.

 
          
Panther
settled next to him, taking the piece. “Well, if I was a guessing man, I’d say
that was hickory wood, War Chief. And part of a tool. That rounded side was
worked.”

 
          
Nine
Killer examined the grainy side where it had broken off. “And not so recently,
Elder. Look. The worked side is dark, stained. Where it broke, the wood is
light, as if freshly cracked.”

 
          
“Anyone
could have dropped that,” Sun Conch said, pointing to the trail. “This trail is
used a lot. It’s the quickest way from Oyster Shell Landing to
Flat
Pearl
Village
without paddling all the way around the
neck. It’s customary to drop a runner off here to let Flat Pearl know they have
company coming. The runner will be in the village two or three hands sooner
than the fastest canoe can make it. I’ve run this myself more than once for Black
Spike. Anyone could have dropped that.”

 
          
Nine
Killer shrugged, on the verge of tossing the chip.

 
          
“No,”
Panther said thoughtfully. “I want to keep it. It may come in handy.”

 
          
Nine
Killer handed it over and Panther dropped it into his belt pouch before
continuing to sift through the leaves. The rest of the search proved fruitless.

 
          
Panther
stood, smacking his hands clean. “Enough of this, War Chief. Show me where the
body was dragged to.”

 
          
Nine
Killer rose and pointed northward along the ridgeline. “Over there.” He led the
way no more than thirty paces to a shallow depression behind a hickory tree.
There, leaves were still scattered from where Red Knot’s body had been.

 
          
Panther
cocked his head, squinting back toward the trail.

 
          
“This
doesn’t tell us much, does it?” Nine Killer propped his hands on his hips.
“Anyone could have dragged her here.”

 
          
Panther
said nothing as he studied the spot, then studied the shagbark hickory that
blocked the view from the main trail. Like the walnut, it remained a mute
witness. The hollow had been formed years past when a tree had blown down, the
roots tearing a hole in the ridgetop. Over the many years since, the deadfall
had rotted back to the soil from which the tree had once sprung. Even the earth
had, for the most part, healed the scar.

 
          
Once
again, Panther crouched down and searched the leaves for anything that Red Knot
or her killer might have dropped—and found nothing. He sighed and rubbed his
sore knees.

 
          
“Anything
else?” Nine Killer asked.

 
          
Panther
winced as his bones crackled through the effort to stand. He hobbled painfully
back to the trail and stared down the east side toward Oyster Shell Landing.
“Yes, I suppose so. I should go down where High Fox says he was waiting.”

 
          
“If
you wish.” Nine Killer tapped his fingers rhythmically on the handle of his war
club. “The only thing down there are huge piles of oyster shells. It is said
that they date back to the days when First Man walked the earth.”

 
          
“I
can believe it,” Sun Conch agreed. “It would take lifetimes to eat that many
oysters.”

 
          
Panther
made a face as he stared down that long slope.

 
          
“Once
down there, I suppose I’ll have to climb all the way back up?”

 
          
“We
could send a canoe around for you.” Nine Killer gave him a crooked smile.

 
          
“If
you have trouble, I think I could carry you up, Elder,” Sun Conch said
seriously. “You’re not that heavy, and I’m a strong girl.”

 
          
“If
it comes to that, Sun Conch, I may let you.” Panther took the first step onto
the steep descent. Aspects of determining the identity of Red Knot’s
killer—like climbing such slopes—just didn’t fit him anymore. “Who knows,
perhaps we shall find Flat Willow’s missing arrow?”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk sat beside the fire in her long house and breathed deeply. Pounded willow
bark! What a godsend! She flexed her fingers. Not in years had she been able to
clench her fist tight—let alone do it painlessly. No matter what other trouble
he might be, The Panther had brought her the first relief she’d had in years.
For that, she could almost forgive him his accusation.

 
          
But
not quite.

 
          
Slaves
and servants bustled about behind her, feeding Copper Thunder’s remaining
warriors. Out of courtesy, the Great Tayac had sent home three canoe loads of
his men, reducing the demands made on Hunting Hawk’s food stores.

 
          
That
was tactfully played, for not even at threat of death would she have complained
about his men eating her winter food supply. To do so would have demeaned
herself in the Great Tayac’s eyes—insinuated that she couldn’t care for honored
guests.

 
          
Normally,
this wouldn’t have been a problem. She would have sent out messengers asking
for donations from the Independent villages, but at this strained time, with
the bad blood between Flat Pearl and
Three
Myrtle
Villages
barely patched, she had no desire to push
her luck.

 
          
The
ten men who remained with Copper Thunder had been helping to make their own way
by scouting, hunting deer, raccoon, opossum, muskrats, and rabbits, as well as
working the fish weirs and casting nets for the killifish that invaded the
shallows on warmer winter days.

 
          
Copper
Thunder sat across from her now and used a piece of damp leather coated with
sand to polish the gleaming copper spike on his war club. With each movement,
his thick muscles rolled under his smooth bronze skin.

 
          
To
her right, Shell Comb wove a section of cloth at her small loom. She had dyed
the fibers different colors, red from puccoon, black from squid ink, yellow
from woodland sunflower, and purple from black cherries. Her nimble fingers
worked each thread through the warp before she packed it tightly with a
fine-tooth bone comb. Hunting Hawk was more than aware of the sidelong glances
Shell Comb and Copper Thunder kept casting toward each other.

 
          
“So,
the old man went to see where the girl was killed today.” Copper Thunder
chuckled. “Tell me, what has he found, poking under rocks here and there? Any
delightful morsels?” “He found my wrath,” Hunting Hawk snorted. “He had the
nerve to say that I would have benefited from Red Knot’s death! Me, her
grandmother!”

 
          
“Surely,
Weroansqua, you shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of insolence.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk bit off a hot retort, needled by the Great Tayac’s voice. A hint of
mockery lay just below the point of perception. As a result, it took her a
moment to recognize the odd look in Shell Comb’s eyes.

 
          
“Don’t
stare at me with those wide eyes, girl,” Hunting Hawk growled. “I won’t have
it. I had nothing to do with the girl’s death.”

 
          
Shell
Comb’s expression cleared. “I—I know that, Mother. I’m just surprised, that’s
all.”

 
          
“I’ll
tell you what I’d do.” Copper Thunder squinted at the gleaming spike on his war
club. “I’d have him removed from my village. He was always trouble.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk sighed. “As a witch, he could cause me more than a few problems.
Especially if he shouted out a curse as we were shoving him out the gate.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder cocked his head as he ran his hand along the smooth wood of his war
club. “He could indeed if you shoved him out the gate. There are other ways. He
could be carried out. Feet first.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk considered that. “Odd as it may seem, the man I usually depend on for such
things appears to be unwilling to take such a step.” “War Chiefs can always be
replaced. Especially if their loyalty is compromised.”

 
          
Hunting
Hawk stared into the crackling fire. Had the old buzzard truly blinded Nine
Killer to his duty to clan and family? If he had, should she replace her War
Chief? Or try to talk him out of his delusion?

 
          
“If
you allow the old man to stay,” Copper Thunder continued, “he will slowly
poison your people. Turn them against you. He can’t help it. It’s just the way
he is. The way Okeus made him.”

 
          
She
worked her hand again, remembering his advice. “What did he do for the Serpent
Chiefs?”

 
          
“War
Chief, and advisor, among other things. Mostly he skulked around their councils
sowing discord. The thing I remember about him the most was how his enemies
always seemed to come up dead. Sometimes without a mark on them.” Copper
Thunder tapped his fingers on his war club. “It was said that he knew plants,
and their properties. I heard once that he was particularly fond of water
hemlock. But he knew the uses of other plants as well. Some that killed
instantly.”

 
          
“I
don’t think I’ll share a meal with him.” Hunting Hawk ran her tongue over toothless
gums as she remembered his words. “But poison comes from more than plants.”

 
          
“He
has a way about him,” Shell Comb declared. “But I don’t think he’s that
dangerous.”

 
          
Copper
Thunder chuckled. “Never underrate him.”

 
          
“If
he is so dangerous, what’s he doing here?” Shell Comb asked, an eyebrow arched.
“Why isn’t he a chief somewhere?”

 
          
“Probably
fled for his life when one of his little plots was uncovered.” Copper Thunder
shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time a man fled just ahead of a Serpent Chief’s
wrath. And one thing about my old friend Raven, he was always clever enough to
save his own skin, no matter how many of his friends lost theirs.”